#I feel like that’s just the covert way of saying (I miss how feminine you used to be) bet. I don’t miss her tho

[anika-ann]

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader    Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit? 

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”  

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”  

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.  

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.  

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

#catfa 10th anniversary challenge #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #barton reader #barton reader fic #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fafiction #steve rogers fanfic #my timid hello my clumsy goodbye #anika ann

[parachutingkitten]

Season 5 Analysis

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I am going to be applying the concept of criticism to a TV show you presumably love and adore as much as I do. If you do not want your idea that the show is immaculate to be challenged, I would not advise reading past this point.

Additional Disclaimer: This includes criticism of Nya’s arc, so if you’re the type of person to get catty about this subject, turn back now.

Mood for this season: It’s spoopy time.

You don’t need to, but if you are interested, and haven’t seen my analysis of past seasons, you can find those here:

Pilot - Season 1 - Season 2 - Season 3 - Season 4

You can also find all of these, and future installments, on my blog using the tag #analysis 

Hey everyone! I’m still doing these things! Let’s see, when was my last one? Over two years ago...? Yikes, I owe y’all an apology. I really didn’t mean to put these off that long. Anyway, get ready to hate me, cuz although (for the most part) this seems to be the fandom favorite season… I think it’s overhyped. I know, don’t kill me. I’ll explain myself. I don’t think it’s bad or anything, it’s very well structured, but I definitely wouldn’t rank it among my favorites. First, for a little context, I am making a one second of every ninjago episode video right now, so I’ve been binging the series and all it’s shorts back to back, so I think I’ll have a bit more to say about connective tissue between seasons, and hopefully you guys can look forward to more of these analyses between now and the new year when I’m releasing that video. I’m also officially a film major now so… sorry if I come of as extra pretentious or get too deep. Anyway, let’s jump into the thick of it, shall we? 

Plot

This is probably the area I have the fewest number of complaints about. This season has a breakneck pace and it keeps everyone busy. I think that’s why people like it. Everyone’s favorite has something to do. Which brings me to the question… which ninja’s season is this? Lloyd is on a lot of the promotional stuff, but he’s possessed and out of the picture for over half the season, so that can’t be right. Cole turns into a ghost, and the season is a ghost season, but that can’t be right cuz I don’t know that I’ve ever heard anyone claim it was his. Nya reaches her true potential, maybe it’s hers? Well, she does have a large b-plot, but she is consistently not a part of the a-plot. Kai has a whole thing with being protective of Lloyd, he has his fear of water, maybe it’s just another Kai season? Thing is, it’s no one’s. It is an ensemble season, and I think that’s a healthy thing for ninjago to keep doing. The more we label certain seasons for certain ninja, the more complaining we’ll get about who’s turn it is for screen time that we’ll miss out on telling a good story. Also, If the season is focused on a ninja you don’t like, you are less likely to like the season (see my next analysis for that can of worms). Again, this season tells it’s story really well. Morro directly ties into the ending of last season, and Nya’s getting water powers was foreshadowed the season before. That’s some cool connective tissue to start. The opening episode establishes the three different things the ninja will be looking for, and for once they’re actual tools instead of a series of weapons, blades, masks, whatever. I like that. Jay has some really good humor, Zane has his speech changes, Kai has his irrational fears and protective instincts, Cole has his ghost angst, Lloyd has to deal with his father’s passing, Nya is a new water ninja, Wu has a shop to run and a student to reconnect with, even Ronin has an arc about developing morals and gaining friends. There’s the mystery about how to deal with the ghosts, what the rules are, there’s the leader subplot, the ninja’s money situation, and lore of the different realms, they even worked in Skylor and Borg, there’s a lot of cool stuff going on. This is a tightly woven script that manages to include a lot of new concepts that you get pretty quick. I don’t feel like there’s even that much fat to cut. The opening is a little slow and strange, and the cloud kingdom episode feels a little unnecessary, but I do like the idea of visiting a different realm early in the season so the audience isn’t caught off guard in the climax. Again, the plot all works for me, it’s the other stuff I find myself pretty meh on.

Characters

Ronin

I’m pretty sure Ronin is the only new (non villain) character introduced. I like him a lot. Ninjago needed a true wildcard to shake things up and be unpredictable. I also think he’s pretty nicely woven into the action of the plot. I think his introduction is a bit strange. Like, the ninja already know him, but we’ve never seen him before? Just the way they talk about him sounds like they’re quickly recapping who this guy is for those who missed previous episodes. It’s fine if the ninja already know him but either 1) Introduce or foreshadow him a season earlier or 2) Introduce their dynamic to the audience before it becomes plot relevant. Maybe the ninja are grumbling about him being a nuisance while tea shenanigans are going on or something. Or maybe you have a scene of him stealing the scroll and making snarky remarks about the ninja while he does it. Idk. just something so his sudden plot relevance isn’t out of nowhere. Also, I don’t hate his and Nya’s dynamic, but I know a lot of people love it, and I’m just not totally here for it. Is he supposed to be a father figure for her? Mentor? Frienemy? Just plain friend? (love interest???) it’s not super clear and I could have used some clarification. I also like his use and tie to the next season, so overall, well integrated character.

Nya

I’m adding in Nya here cuz she goes through a major character change, and how she’s handled is one of the things that rubs me the wrong way about the season. A lot of people will probably disagree and/or hate me for this section of the analysis so… here we go! The thing she has to get past to reach her true potential is fear of failure (supposedly) and the solution to that is to just… not care as much? First of all, I know this isn’t supper important, but the fun thing about the ninjago elements is that every elemental master matched up personality wise with their element. Jay is the energetic master of lightning, Kai is the hothead master of fire, Zane is the calm and calculating master of ice, Cole is the strong and dependable master of earth, Lloyd is the literal child master of energy. This especially goes for all the new season 4 masters. So what qualities are often associated with water personalities? Well, serenity, control, flexibility, elegance, patience… calm. You know, like a Zane type character (the element directly adjacent to hers). These are things that Nya isn’t - or at the very least don’t define her. (there’s also something to be said about water and its ties to more feminine qualities, which Nya has been actively shown to reject, but I won’t go into that rant here.) She was designed as the fire master’s sister, and when you try to fit a fire personality into a water shaped character mold… it doesn’t exactly mesh well. It doesn’t make sense. But, like I said, whatever. Maybe that’s the point? Like she has to change her personality to be more in tune with water? Sure. But let’s talk about this fear of failure thing. Because that’s the stated thing that dialogue tells us she needs to overcome. But when has Nya ever been afraid of failure? Fear of failure means avoiding doing something because of fear. Nya is ridiculously persistent, always has been (you know, fire personality). She tries training when no one tells her to, she makes her own alter ego to try and be a hero and save the people who would constantly tell her she wasn’t ready. Wu says she only wants things that come easy, but that’s never been her character before now, she has carried the team with her tech, research, and covert ops that no one forced her to do, all things which are not easy. Fear of failure is usually characterized by what if questions. If Nya is so afraid of failure, why don’t we hear her saying stuff like “but what if I’m not strong enough, what if I can’t save them in time, or worse, what if I lose control of my power and end up hurting people?” Cole shows much more of a fear of failure this season surrounding his insecurity about being a ghost. He wants to sit out from missions because he’s not sure he’ll be able to do it - he’s afraid of failure. But whatever, the writing isn’t clear at expressing her true setbacks, but she does display a real problem that a lot of people have and I think could have been well done if set up correctly. She shows an undying persistence that gets her too close, and makes her increasingly incapable. She lets her frustration hinder her progress (again, fire personality trait), and I think that’s interesting because I don’t think ninjago has done this character arc yet. The supposed solution to this problem is that she just needs to… care less? And yes, I kind of see where they were going with this, we sometimes cloud our natural potential by thinking about it too much, but saying “you need to stop caring” is the absolute wrong way to word it. Caring is not her problem, the problem is her control over the emotions that come from her caring. Caring is a good thing, and teaching kids that if you’re ambivalent about your problems, they’ll go away is not a good message. What she needs to do is take a step back. She needs to take a break, stop to think, and look at the big picture instead of hyper focusing on the roadblock directly in front of her. The usual and much better wording of the moral I think they were going for is “stop overthinking things”. Teaching kids to look at a problem from a different angle and give themselves time to cool down is a great thing. And just think of it, in the climax she could have this ah-ha moment where she steps back and looks at the bigger picture - the whole town, surrounded by the ocean - and gets the idea to sink the preeminent into the water, you could even easily tie that back into the bucket exercise, and that’s what triggers her true potential rather than the current… I’m honestly not sure what. Random flashbacks and the end of the season approaching quickly. Alternatively, you could tie it more directly into samurai x, and make her struggle with letting go of the past and allowing yourself to give up something good in your life to progress to something better. Anyway, I don’t think this was a bad decision long term, she needed to be solidified on the team as a full fledged ninja, I just think this season doesn’t handle the transition that well. Anyway, whatever, I’ll be waiting for your hate comments in the notes.

Romance

Um… there’s none this season? Like there’s a few Wusako moments that are still as weird as they were in season 2, but they’re really not prevalent. There’s also the Jay seeing the future thing which has some weird implications next season (again, some interesting connective tissue between seasons), but that’s about it. Maybe that’s part of why I don’t love this season? Like where’s the pixane? Lol, I’m kidding. But maybe that’s why a lot of people do like it. If you don’t like the canon ships… this is a nice little safe haven for you. Rare for a majority of the series.

Villains

So Morro is a good idea… in theory. I know he’s the fandom’s favorite edgy boy, but idk I think the brand of angsty teen they ended up with was more of an angsty 13 year old than 17 year old. His voice is really grating and I always want to yell at him to just… go get some cough drops. Stop throat screaming, use your diaphragm man! Also, everyone goes on about his last minute redemption, but as far as season 5 goes, he has like half a second of a change of heart. Literally, when Wu comes over and he’s drowning, he’s still being a persistent little idiot like “you never cared about me nooooo!” and it’s only at the last possible second that gives him the crystal, and even that he does it kind of saltily. The preeminent is pretty cool, I like her concept, her design, all that. All the other ghosts are fine I guess. Nothing super memorable out of them, although their aesthetic, especially when there’s a bunch of them swarming around is pretty cool. One last thing was I never understood how Morro “becoming the green ninja” worked and what exactly it was that… did for him? Like he didn’t actually get the power of energy, right? I don’t remember him using it. Did just him defeating Lloyd make him the green ninja? How does that transfer work? And why did he need it to take over the world or realms or whatever? Like I get that it’s supposed to give him more power and what not but idk, it wasn’t super clear. That’s a minor thing though.

Climax

Pretty cool. I like the ATMOSPHERE. Green light is a hard thing to use and justify correctly, but it works really well here, especially with the dark kinda gray blue sky complimenting it. When the preeminent starts walking into the ocean, it’s genuinely terrifying, but you understand exactly how it works and why she’s strong enough to do it. Nya’s true potential is again a little out of left field and could have had some better motivation put behind it. Like what is it Nya learned in that instant? To not be afraid to protect people? She’s… been doing that. Idk. I’ve hit on that enough for now. Overall, there was good variety. I like the green ninja fake out, I like the realm hopping, I even like the little Garmadon visit and Lloyd getting the robe. I feel like we didn’t need a part one and two, you could have had different titles. I mean come on. But hey, now we know, if Pix had only been there, the whole climax would have been wrapped up in like 10 minutes apparently. Pix for the win.

Humor

Really good. Like I’m surprised how much I laughed. Jay wasn’t annoying humor, it was good stuff, there were some good running gags, there’s a solid fourth wall joke about who the lead ninja is at the beginning of the season. Overall, I am pretty impressed. My favorite joke was perhaps the bit where Jay is sarcastically positive, the voice acting is just really solid. Then again, there’s also the whole Borg scene where he roasts half the ninja, that’s solid stuff right there. There’s just some really solid character interaction this season and the humor feels a lot more natural and less forced.

Drama

Okay, we’ve got a lot this season. Y’all know how I feel about Nya’s arc by now. It does not work for me. Ronin’s relationship with her is alright, but kind of comes out of nowhere. Ronin’s solo plot about kinda working for the ghosts works. Cole’s ghost angst works for the most part, although I wish he would have actually skipped a mission and then gone in to help save his friends once they can’t do it without him. That was probably the most solid drama of the season. The other main thing we have this season is Kai’s whole… fear/protective streak. This also doesn’t really work for me. Like, I get that Lloyd and Kai are friends and stuff, like his whole true potential was centered around Lloyd. But like, why does it have to be framed so weirdly? Sometimes in trying to make it seem like Kai is protective of him, it seems like the other ninja just like… don’t care about him? Not all the time, but there are some weird vibes. Also, it doesn’t really go anywhere. No one learns anything about themselves from this subplot, nothing comes of it, there isn’t really a payoff. Also, Kai has yet another irrational fear, this time of water, which really comes right the hell out of nowhere. They try to explain it away like “Oh, Kai feels powerless and so water can get to him” but like… what? That’s the exact situation he was in at the end of season 2 and he seemed perfectly content to literally swim across the ocean (which um… what do you mean the sworn protector of ninjago can’t swim?). Where is this coming from?! Again, it doesn’t really go anywhere, there’s not a point where he has to learn to confront it or he grows because of it. It’s just pointless stuff added cuz the writers like giving Kai vague trails to try and develop him. The cloud kingdom is kinda cool. That last minute twist about them working with Morro is… stupid and unnecessary though. 

Spotlight Episode

I really like the Spinjitzu master tomb episode. Some cool riddles, I like the first two rooms a lot. I do think the third room is a bit strange. Like, the clue was “don’t look ahead” and the solution was to look beneath them, which is the exact same solution as the previous room. Like, you already have magic ice that shows the future, why not play into that? Don’t look ahead could maybe mean don’t look to the future, the opposite of that being the past. Maybe they have to draw on their past adventures to solve it somehow? Learning from the past is a good lesson, right? But overall, I really like it. Some real solid humor this episode. This episode has the sarcastic Jay optimism, Kai totally stalling for time, Zane dealing a pretty sick burn on Cole, just a lot of fun stuff. I like it. It just has great energy and nothing feels like it’s drawn out for too long.

Misc

The aesthetic this season… can be inconsistent, but the main ghost vibe displayed in the opening theme is really solid and I really like it

Speaking of the opening, Ghost wip is great and the opening in on par with last season’s (which is my fav) for sure

Ice age references… okay.

Chima references…. OKAY...

Okay, but like Deepstone can… kill ghosts? Or not? Is it just something ghosts can touch? It’s supposed to be like water in weapon form, right? Like that’s how I understood it when they first introduced it. Wouldn’t the deepstone bars kill Ghoultar then? And then like, Cole’s bike is made of deepstone. He uses it as a weapon. Wouldn’t it kill him? It kills other ghosts when they touch it. How… how does it work?! I need answers!!!

The captain of the steam boat says they’re going as fast as possible, but later Ronin comes in and cranks it up like twice as fast… that always bothered me like, why would he lie about that? Who is this captain and why is he so chill about everyone’s lives?! And then later Wu cranks it up yet again, like the ship had slowed down to it’s previous speed. What the hell is happening with the controls of this ship???

So pissed that the nasty CGI nightmare cloud monster that chases the ninja is named Nimbus. Totally forgot about that. I have an OC with a cat named Nimbus… I promise, there is not going to be a stupid twist bout the cat being the monster thing in Mists of Fate. That would be very stupid.

I was all excited that season 13 gave us minecart chases, but I totally forgot season 5 gave us one first. I really like the return to the caves of despair btw, good reuse of a known location.

How many times this season did we do the: 

Kai: Oh, I don’t like water, I can’t do it uwu  Cole: ...You serious?

Thanks for reading! And if you got this far… I don’t know. I would love to hear your thoughts if you have any! These are just my opinions, so don’t think too much of it if you disagree.

-Kitten

#ninjago #analysis #ns5 #ninjago possession #parachuterants

[karmabansheenz]

Do I Stay or do I Go Now?

Well, everyone, this is it, my first ever Fanfic. I’m a Guy Ritchie super fan and I, like most, am obsessed with the character dynamics between Ilya, Solo, and Gaby.  As I attempt to pay homage to this, please forgive any faux pas! Trigger Warning: Fiction contains attempted sexual assault.  

1960’s

Napoleon Solo Ilya Kuryakin Gabriella ‘Gaby’ Teller

Who am I?

I’m an orphan. My Father was a Nazi rocket Scientist and my Mother – I don’t speak of her.  

I am not proud of my lineage, not many daughters of the Nazi regime are.

I don’t like to go on about myself and neither do I particularly enjoy talking of the past. Therefore, all you need to know is that in the pursuit of trying to locate my Father I was recruited by one Alexander Waverly of the British intelligence agency and have now somehow found myself embroiled within a covert operations team alongside a devastatingly incorrigible American CIA Playboy, Napoleon Solo and a giant brooding Russian KGB Agent, Ilya Kuryakin.  

Our codename; U.N.C.L.E.

“My, my Gaby.” Waverly tutted, jutting his short chin out as he admonished me, “We are particularly disinterested today I might say.”  

He wasn’t wrong, he was never bloody wrong but I refused to take the bait, instead, I simply folded my arms across my chest lounging further back in the dark leather armchair.  

Beside me, I felt Ilya tense, not one to approve of my ever being anything but the soft feminine creature he so yearned for me to be.  Unable to resist I, therefore, took a deliciously long, sweet time altering my crossed legs.  Fingers suddenly struck, ticking against his pressed grey trousers. It was a dead giveaway that I’d be successful in agitating him and only happy to further the strain I cocked my head and slipped the end of my pencil into my mouth.  

Napoleon’s sharp kick to the back of my chair startled me as I slid against the linoleum floor.  

“What?” I asked him doe-brown eyes wide.

“You know what. Take pity on Peril.”, the almost permanent natural quirk to his lips made it hard to take him seriously.

“Don’t speak for me, Cowboy.”  

I rolled my eyes at the deep gravelly growl.  

“Don’t do this, don’t do that.” I mimicked his surly monotone. “Can’t you ever have fun?”  

“It’s nice,” interjected Waverly in his overly dry clip, “to see that after two successful missions you’re still all such good friends. Now if you don’t mind,” the slap of a stack of folders hitting the desk echoed around Alexander’s office, “back to business.”  

I took the top folder scanning the front page of the dossier, paying particular attention to the small polaroid attached.  

“William Chisholm,” The ice in Waverly’s glass chimed as he swirled his whiskey around, “Philanderer, business tycoon, madman. Quite standard statistics for a man with naturally sadistic tastes. Rumor has it he’s grown tired of kidnapping and trafficking women for fun and now has decided that biological warfare is more ‘his thing.’”

“Sounds like a real swell guy.” Napoleon drawled rising and releasing the top button of his shirt as he helped himself to a drink. “So, what's the plan?”

“It's delightfully simple really.” Waverly’s eyes met mine. “He’s very, very partial to a particular type of woman. And we, well we just seem to have exactly what he's looking for.”  

“No.” Ilya stood his chair crashing against the floor. “Absolutely not.”  

I took the whiskey from Napoleon's outstretched hand and shot it back. “When do we start?”

Ilya took a menacing step towards me and ignoring him I stacked my feet up on Waverly’s desk, empty glass shaking in Solo’s direction for a refill. Waverly cocked an eyebrow at me and I smiled,

“Well...?”

***

“Let's run through this, again shall we?”  

Ilya towered over Napoleon, “I. Don't. Need. To. Go. Through. It. Again.”

Solo pushed on unperturbed. “Gaby and I will attend the event together in the pretense of being Husband and Wife.”  

“You are not-”

“Oh, for god's sake Ilya.” I turned from the window overlooking New York City’s grandeurs skyline, my small foot tapping against the plush mustard carpet. “It’s a good plan, Solo and I will-”

“You should be My Woman.” the big blond Russian barked.

“Yes, yes,” I waved my hand at him, “Because it worked so well the last time, we played pretend.”

“Face it Peril,” Solo fitted his sapphire cufflinks, adjusting the sleeve of his tailor-made shirt, “Once again our Little Iron Curtain Girl has the right of it. You couldn’t even standby and be mugged next to Gaby. How do you think you’ll behave when the entire goal is to try to have her accosted?” he slanted an eyebrow, expertly knotting his bowtie even without the use of a mirror.

Ilya’s huge hands curled into fists at his side. “I do not like this plan.”

“You don’t have to like it.” I sighed lifting my thick brunette hair over my shoulder as I turned my back to him. “Now, zip me.”  

Napoleon saluted me with his glass as he left the sitting room.  

“Gaby,” I felt the hairs on my neck spark to life as his large index finger pressed against the top of my spine, skimming down, dipping into the low curve of my back before he pulled at the zipper, quickly covering once exposed skin.  

I could feel the heat of his body behind me so close pressing inwards without moving. I turned, sliding the string straps of the dress up and over my shoulders as I craned my neck all the way back, just to look up at him.  

“Gaby.”

“It’s time.”  

I smiled at Solo’s perfectly timed call, feeling Ilya’s long fingers slide from the back of my neck where they’d briefly tangled into my hair.  

“No garter this time?” I quipped up at him. His light grey-blue eyes were sad as he reached into his pocket pulling out a large engagement ring with a familiar centered pearl, surrounded by diamonds.  

“No.” He took my hand, sliding the band onto my finger and this time I let him. “I will be listening.”

I smiled feeling my bottom lip tremble with a sudden stab of fear. “As usual.” was all I managed as we gathered to leave.

Ilya again balled up his fists, “I will be able to hear her Cowboy. But you, you do not let her out of your sight.”

Solo bristled, his pretty ego so easy to rattle, “Christ Peril, you think you’re the only one who cares about Gaby?”  

“Not out of your sight Cowboy!”

Napoleon wrapped the white minx coat around my shoulders and nodded at the Russian, suddenly utterly serious. The intensity of the moment made the fine hairs on my arms prickle.

I rested my tiny hand on Ilya’s wide chest, feeling the quick thud of his heartbeat, pearl winking from the overhead lights. “I will be fine Ilya. I’m a big girl.”

***

Solo pressed against me as we swayed to the live orchestra at the Charity Gala. It was always the same, deranged men hiding behind mountains of good deed diversions.  

“Spotted him yet?” Napoleon's warm whiskey-scented breath tickled over my ear and I moved to tuck my head under his chin scanning faces around us as he waltzed me across the floor. I spied ‘him’ suddenly striding down the main stairway, a stoic blond porcelain doll upon his arm.  

“Gaby?”

“Mm-hum.” I made the affirmation in my throat gently taking over the lead in the dance to turn Solo back the way we’d come.

“Well done.” he smiled down at me. “Ready?”  

I wasn’t, not really but when did that ever seem to matter?  

Dressed head to toe in red I knew I was hard to miss and though I was small, I was not oblivious to the desire to ‘protect’ that that brought out in most men. William Chisholm's character profile was simple. He liked a good chase and he certainly enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him. Therefore, in order to bait our trap well, Napoleon and I were really going to have to sell this sham marriage.  

My back now to the target I felt Solo’s hand slid down drifting over my backside. I reached behind me and gripped his wrist. “Naughty boy.”

“But Darling,” he drawled his middle American accent thick like honey. “It’s simply impossible not to misbehave when you look like this.”  

“But Darling,” I cooed, “This is not the time.”

His dark blue eyes flashed along with his smile and probably for the first time, this close I really, clearly understood what that azure gaze could do to a woman when you had its full attention.  

“It's always time.” he teased filling his hand and squeezing.  

I turned it up, giggling and slapping at his tuxedo covered shoulder. “Not here.”

His hand trailed upwards cupping my face and I turned away in a spin but was quickly pulled back and dipped over his strong arm. “At least play fair Mrs. Jones.”  

Laughing as he set me back on my feet, I noted eyes on us. Happiness did that, it drew people like flies, sucked them into its web. A few even softly clapped as he kissed my hand and led me from the dance floor deftly plucking two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “To us.”  

I clinked glasses with him and sipped coquettishly.  

“Careful now.” he chuckled catching my chin in his thumb and forefinger, dipping to press his mouth against mine. My lips tingled and my knees wobbled as his tongue swept along my lower lip. I let my eyes shine; wasn’t sure I could have stopped them. “Shall we leave early?” he purred his gaze flicking quickly to the left.  

“I would hope not.”  

I pressed my fingers to my lips in feigned surprise, drawing away from the unfamiliar voice.  

Solo turned to face the cause of our interruption, shifting slightly so his body was between me and our Mr. William Chisholm. “Excuse me I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand, “Theodore Jones.”

Chisholm took it, his dark green eyes never leaving my face. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jones.” Releasing Solo’s hand, he sipped from his own glass, eyes raking over me. “And who might this delightful creature be?”

‘Theo’ moved backward his hand again at my lower back, “Ah, allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Olivia.”  

William took my proffered hand his thumb grazing my knuckle's as he pressed a lingering kiss. “Wife?” he glanced back at the porcelain doll. “Yes, I have one of my own though I must admit she seems rather dull compared to yours.”  

Solo cleared his throat, pressing me possessively against his side.  

William’s smile thinned. He was by no means an unattractive man, wavy black hair, tanned skin, fit build. But knowing what I did, I could see it. The underlying darkness that sequestered his inner demons.

“How have I never met your acquaintance, before now?” he inquired casually, too casually.  

Before Napoleon could answer I excused myself feeling both men's eyes on me as I weaved through guests in the pretense of needing the powder room. After touching up my lipstick and tucking away a few loose curls of hair I reentered and helped myself to a new glass of liquid courage.  

I was unsettled. I felt like I’d stared into the belly of the beast, and it had rattled me.  

Strolling through the wide corridors of the gallery I finally stopped before an abstract painting of two bodies intertwined. I drained the flute I held and reached for another, fingers colliding with Chisholm's.  

“Please, allow me.” he raised the glass, licking off the droplets that had spilled over the rim before handing it to me.  

I took it, trying to make every movement exaggeratingly slow. Through shuttered lashes, I stole a peek up at him and was pleased to watch his nostrils flare.        

“Where have you been hiding Mrs. Jones.?”    

I turned my back on him facing the painting once more. “Olivia, I insist.” Sensing him move rather than seeing him, I assumed he’d come to stand directly behind me.  

“Not Livi? Or Liv?”

His breath brushed my bare neck and I snorted into my champagne. “You insult me, William.”

“How so?”  

Looking back over my shoulder at him I again sipped my drink, “Do I look like a Livi or a Liv to you?” The question hung in the air, I felt the heat of it and cleared my throat putting space between us. “Besides I’m sure my husband told you of our recent adventures abro-.”

“He did,” William interrupted, “But I would prefer to hear your take on matters.”

I smiled, obviously wanting to make sure our stories matched I obliged him stepping slightly further away each time I felt him reach for the small of my back. “Is your curiosity quite satisfied?” I ended.

“No.” He breathed his movement more determined this time as he caught my wrist. Startled and playing the role I needed to, I tried to pull away. “Not at all I’m afraid.”  

I eyed him nervously.  

His smile flashed, predator-like. “I know your type Olivia.” he jerked on my wrist dragging me against his body. “You like to play at being in charge, but that’s just because someone hasn’t taken you in hand properly yet.”  

It was a risky move but I went with what my instincts told me as his hard mouth crushed down on mine. Reeling back I slapped him, immediately covering my mouth with my hands in shock.  

His eyes were alight. “Oh yes, I know your type indeed.”  

“I have to go.” I stammered.  

“Where are you staying?” he caught my upper arm, “Answer me.” his voice, though quiet, cracked like a whip.  

Impeccably timed as usual ‘Theodore’ appeared around the corner with my fur coat in hand. “Darling, there you are.” he slid me back into the minx, “We’re going to be late.”

“Another engagement?” Chisholm feigned polite interest.

“I’m afraid so.” Solo smiled.  

“Let me extend an invitation to you both to join me at my home tomorrow.”  

I pressed into Napoleons side averting my eyes from William. Letting the men speak, though made sure enough that Chisholm could see my shaky hand clutching at my husband's jacket lapel.

“It’s a little get together. A celebration of a job well done for tonight's event. I won’t take no for an answer.”  

“Well if that’s the case,” Theodore Jones quipped and the men shook hands again, “We’re staying in room 308 at the Waldorf if you would like to send the information over. Sadly, I must insist we leave now though.”

Knowing that Chisholm would expect further contact, I purposefully denied him interlocking my hands around Solo’s elbow as we nodded our goodbyes and slipped from the venue.  

***

  “Why must you always insist on behaving like this?”

I rubbed my head in my hands eyeing the half empty bottle of vodka sitting in front of me. It had been a long night, Napoleon made sure we had stayed out in case we were being followed.  So, of all the wonderful thing we could have done in New York City, we’d attended the god-awful opera for appearances sake and now, well after midnight, all I wanted was to drink myself to sleep.  

  “More importantly,” I complained, “Why must you always insist upon making me drink alone?” I shook the vodka at Ilya, “Besides, this is my room. So, I will drink how I like. In my room.”

 “You are like a little girl.”

Swigging straight from the bottle I waggled my finger at him.

  “Hey!” I cried out, dumbstruck as he moved suddenly, snatching it out of my hand and striding straight across the room, begin emptying the rest of my vodka down the bathroom sink.  

I flew after him, slapping my hands against his back and shoulders. I might as well be hitting a block wall for all the notice he took. One steely strong arm held me off as he poured out my only hope of a good night's sleep. “Stop!” I yelled resorting to yanking at his shirt.  

Finished he swung to face me his eyes a stormy grey. “I will do it.”  

I chewed on my bottom lip backing away from the raw heat of him, even as I stubbornly lifted my tiny chin, “Do what?”  

  “You. Know. What.”          

  “Pfft.” It was an un-lady like snort, my eyes daring him, “You had your chance in Istanbul and you didn’t.”

His face was stony as he towered over me “Do not speak to me of Istanbul.”

  “Why?”  

His palm struck the wall beside me. I didn’t even flinch.

  “Why Ilya?” I purred finger jabbing him in the chest before trailing down lower, “Is it because you liked it?”

His jaw ticked, “Stop.”  

My finger hit the ridge of his belt buckle, “Ilya?”  

He was staring at my hand, resting above the seam of his trousers.  

“Is it because you like to listen to me?” Tick, tock went his jaw again. “Did you want to watch me?”

Squealing I found myself suddenly tucked under his arm as he carried me from the bathroom. “What are you doing?!”  

Huffing as my elbow found his abdomen, he juggled his hold on me until I was face down staring at the ugly carpet of the suite's bedroom. I could feel the restrained violence in him. Actually, folded over his thighs I could feel all of him.  

His hands on my shoulder and hip pinned me and then he branded me with one.  

I couldn’t even cry out, or gasp.

The second one was harder, sharper and mouth open against the side of the bed I sucked in a breath at the third before coming to life. “Ilya stop it!” I scrambled to free myself from his lap, fists clutching at the bedding and his trouser leg. “Stop Ilya!”  

Four – Five.  

  “Ilya!” my blood pounded in my ears.  

Six.  

I screamed and he released me so suddenly I fell onto the carpet on all fours. Scrambling away I sat against the wall, hissing at the tenderness of my backside, ending up on my knees.  

  “Bastard.” It was a sob.

His eyes lifted from staring at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him, to my face and I read the regret in them, and... something else entirely.  

  “Russian Bastard.”  

Shame flickered across his aquiline features and my gut responded in kind. How long had I taunted him, teased him, goaded him into putting his hands on me?  

I had wanted him too and knew him well enough that nothing would have driven him to touch me like his anger would. We'd worked side by side for well over six months and other than wrestling in a hotel room in Italy he had only ever really touched me with his eyes. He didn’t think he was worthy of me; he didn’t think he was enough.  

And here it was, my moment to tell him, he was.  

And I couldn’t do it.  

On his feet suddenly he paced before me, long legs eating up the limited space in the room. Hands plowing through his thick blond hair before he froze in place, staring at the door to the room.

  “No.” I whispered.  

He made to move towards it and I grabbed one large hand in both of mine. “Ilya.” He looked past me still at the door, “Please,” I begged softly, “Please don’t leave me here on my own.”

The plea hung in the air between us. I pressed my forehead against the backs of his knuckles. “Please.”

And then...  

Finally, his strong long fingers wrapped around mine.  

***

“Good Morning.”  

Solo’s voice was irritatingly bland as if finding his partners together abed was nothing out of the usual. Granted we were both still completely clothed I was however fully curled atop the huge Russian like a happy kitten.  

Ilya’s arms that had been wrapped around me dropped away as the curtains were opened and sunshine stung our eyes. As we moved away from each other the Americans eyebrows did suddenly arch in surprise as I wiped quickly at the corner of my mouth and he spied the corresponding wet patch on Ilya’s shirt.  

The envelope in Napoleon's hand was waved in front of my face. I snatched it from him, broke the seal and scanned the contents as he dropped into one of the suites armchairs.  

Snorting I flattened it against Ilya’s chest in disgust.  

  “What?” Solo smiled drolly.

I looked up at Ilya watching his expressionless features as he read the letter and then reread it. “I don’t like it.” was all he said after a while and handed it over to the American.  

  “Oh, for god's sake,” I quipped heading towards the bathroom, “that's all you’ve said since we arrived!” Shutting the door, I slid back against it to the floor, my hands were shaking.  

  “So, it’s a different invitation than we were expecting.” Solo called out, “But it’s still an invitation.”

  “Oh wow,” the Russian drawled, “Love your logic Cowboy.”  

I pressed my face into my hands, I wanted my mother and that gross juvenile desire only fueled the rise of quickening anxiety I'd begun to experience. Splashing cool water on my face I flushed the toilet for effect and returned to the room, leaning against the wall as casually practiced, as I could.  

  “We go then?” even I was impressed with how disinterested I sounded.  

Napoleon's fingers drummed on the armrest.  

Ilya stared at me, I stared at Solo, Solo stared at the ceiling.  

The clock in the room ticked, ticked, ticked.

  “We go.”

***

  “You never cease to surprise me, Gaby.” Waverly signaled for the waiter as I removed my enormous white circled glasses and folding them placed them carefully in my handbag.  “Tea?” he asked.

I shook my head.  

  “Very well. Just the one tea then.”

I waited until we were left alone again.  “Thank you for coming to meet with me.”

  “Yes well, you didn’t really give me choice.” he cleared his throat and busied himself with his cuffs.  

I forced a smile.  

Again, we waited for the waiter to finishing serving Waverly his tea.

 “So?”

I watched people on the sidewalk outside the café, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him when I made my shameful admission. “I can’t do this.”

The teacup clinked loudly as it hit the saucer on the table but I bravely continued,  

  “It's different this time. I just, I can’t.”

Alexander took a deep breath, leaning on his elbow’s he stapled his fingers in front him peering over them at me. “But I’m afraid Gabriella, that you and I both know, you don’t have a choice. Do you?”

I snapped my eyes to his and was shocked at the sadness there, it was genuine.  

  “Somethings different Waverly.”

He lent back, resumed drinking his tea and mused. “I’ve never lied to you Gabby. So, I won’t start now. He’s a dangerous man, but no worse than the dangerous men you’ve faced before. Remember who your uncle was?”

Remember who my uncle was? What a hellishly absurd thing to say, how could I possibly forget?  

Me? His innocent, pretty, little, trusting niece.

Waverly read the change in my expression and held up his hand, “Forgive me.” was all he said and we resumed a collective silence.  

  “He sent us, well I should say, my husband, this, this morning.” I slid it towards Alexander.  

I didn’t watch him read it; I had already memorized it.  

Mr. T Jones,  

I delightfully request your presence tonight at a rather intimate gathering at my home.   All I ask is that you bring your lovely wife with you of course, along with a very, very open mind.

R. Chisholm

Waverly pushed it back towards me, “What did he say when you met with him last night?”

  “He invited us to a party, a celebration to mark the end of the charity drive I assumed.”  The silence stretched out, “I’ve read the dossier, I’ve read his file, I know what he’s capable of. You all know, yet you all expect me to somehow walk in there as bait while you search for files.” Silence still, I was beginning to become agitated. “Me, my body, myself – for what? For paper? For documents?” I’d started to hiss.  

  “Gabriella,”

 “No!” I slapped the palms of my hands on the table. Wavery looked bored. “If I do this. If I do this thing for you, it is the last assignment Alexander. The last!”

He was lazily nodding, more so to keep the peace. I was drawing lots and lots of very unwanted attention.  

  “Say it.” My eyes dared him to refuse.  

  “Yes.”

I unpacked my sunglasses. “Say it properly.”  

Waverly crossed his arms and sighed. “Very well Miss Teller. After the successful completion of this assignment, I will release you from the task force, codename UNCLE.”

***

My Hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My mascara wouldn’t stop running. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding.  

I needed a drink.  

Startled as I left the bathroom and found Solo again in the armchair of my suite, I didn’t have time to paste on my normal bored façade.  

  “Where is Ilya?” I rushed out panicked that he too might see me in my current vulnerable state.  

Solo, ever the gentleman, was quick to pour me a drink, and then another. “He’s busy playing with his Russian tech.” his long slender finger wiped at my cheek coming away black.  

I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to cry again.  

Wrapped up suddenly in Napoleon's arms I felt him kiss the top of my head, “It will be over before you know it.” He rocked me slightly as my breathing softened, “We may even get to dance again. You danced divinely Mrs. Jones.”

I laughed, soothed by the natural confidence Solo exuded. “For a chop-shop girl?”

He pulled back to look down at me eyes sparkling as he winked, “For a chop-shop girl.”

The suite door suddenly crashed open and desperate to hide my very real fear from Ilya I flew back to the safety of the bathroom as he advanced quickly on Napoleon.  

  “Now Peril, it's not what it looked like!”

From within my sanctuary, I heard the sound of splintering furniture, followed by plenty of huffing and grunting.  

Fine, I thought, just fine. Let them tear the place to shreds. They’d been acting like caged bears with sore heads ever since we arrived, it would do them both good to burn off some steam while I somehow got myself together.  

***

  “You’ll never get in.” Solo mocked.

  “I will.” Ilya was dusting the sleeves of his tuxedo as we emerged from the Mark X Jaguar and Solo handed the keys to the awaiting valet.  

  “No. You won't.”  Napoleon retorted

  “Watch me work Cowboy.” At the last minute, the Russian disappeared leaving just the two of us to be received at the front doors of the mansion. Wealth had never impressed me, Alexander Vinciguerra had tried to dazzle me with his enormous fortune in Italy, and I was even less moved as I stood in the ridiculous chandeliered foyer of William Chisholm’s ‘home’.

A home had to have a heart and I knew enough about this one's owner to know that wasn’t possible.  

  “Theo!” The booming cry came from down the hallway. “So good of you to join us.”  

The men heartily shook hands and I pressed tighter against Solo’s side.  

  “So good of you to bring your little wife too.”  

He gestured for us to follow him and I kept step with ‘Mr. Jones.’

  “You picked our curiosity with your strange invite William. We weren’t quite sure what to make of it, were we Darling?”

I smiled, shaking my head. “No, it was very vague.”

William laughed; it was forced. “Well you can’t go around advertising your personal life when you’re an upstanding citizen like myself.  I couldn’t quite risk openly inviting you to a swinger's party, having just met you.” His eyes never left my face as he spoke. “How would I know if you’d go straight to the papers, invite in hand.”

At the mention of swinging my heart dropped to my stomach, my fears confirmed and I pulled sharply on Solo’s arm, “Theo, we should go.”

  “Now see here,” Solo began squaring off with William “This is absurd, I-”

  “Mr. Jones, I specifically requested an open mind,” the quick clip of shoes told me at least three men were approaching us from behind. “I’ll be so disappointed if you tell me you’ve left that behind.”  

I peered over my shoulder at the same time as Solo, acknowledging the presence of the three large suited men. The message was clear.  

  “I suppose, err that is, there is no harm in a married couple broadening their horizons.”

William clapped Theodore on the shoulder, “Yes indeed! Well said Mr. Jones.”  

We followed Chisholm into the next room, Solo having to drag me the rest of the way.  

  “If it was good enough for the Romans and the Greeks!” William declared pushing red wine glasses into our hands, “It’s good enough for me.”  

I turned my back on the debauchery before me, cheeks flaming from the site of half-naked men and women openly coupling in front of one another. Gulping at the wine, Solo’s hand had ended up pressed against my abdomen and I could feel the tension in him. Being a handsome, quick-witted Playboy was one thing but this was too lewd, too base. I knew he disapproved.  

Seeing the stricken look on my face William countered, “Perhaps a quiet alcove for a gentler immersion?”

I allowed myself to be led and sat docilely beside Napoleon.  

  “Theo, let me properly introduce my wife, Tatiana?”  

The demure porcelain doll from the night before had been replaced by a lively half-dressed one that happily trotted over, arms wrapping around her husband as her eyes undressed mine. Although nowhere near as tall, her sharp facial features reminded me of Victoria Vinciguerra. I disliked her immediately and by the tightening of Solo’s hand on my knee, he’d made the unpleasant comparison also.  

  “Darling, are they here to play?”  

Napoleon cleared his throat as she moved towards him and not even having to act my eyes filled with tears. I didn’t want to see this; this sort of thing wasn’t for me.  

  “Olivia?” my husband called as Mrs. Chisholm suddenly perched on his lap and began to undo his tie.  

  “I’m fine.” I stammered, glancing around. I needed to get this over with, fast. “Where are the facilities?”

William gestured to the other side of the room and without delay I made a beeline for it. I didn’t dare look around until I was outside in the hallway again.  

Trembling, I was so far out of my depth.  

Thankfully alone, I slid past the obvious powder room making my way quickly up the stairs looking for a study. All our intel had said was it was in the left wing but so far the only bedroom after bedroom lined the hall.  

I was beginning to panic; I could feel the bubble of it rising up threatening to choke me as I opened the final door - to the master bedroom. Heat flashed behind my eyes, there were no more rooms to check.  

Hands against my heaving rib cage I stole one last look around the master bedroom, a tiny sliver of light I hadn't seen before winking under an internal doorway, into which - was a study.  

I had never shaken so much or worked so fast in my life. The bottom drawer was locked and running my hands under the desk I hit a secret compartment, my fingers touching the cold metal of a key as the sound of the outside master bedroom door closing reached my ears.  

I don’t know how I managed it but the key was back in place, papers folded and tucked in my purse and I was standing at the far side room, a book, hastily plucked from the wall to wall shelves, open and in hand as Chisolm entered.

Mask in place I turned slowly.  

  “Can I help you with anything?” he asked nonchalantly leaning against the desk I had been rummaging through only seconds before.  

I took a deep settling breath, “Books comfort me.”

He smiled lazily, “I think you were more comfortable downstairs than you want to admit, Mrs. Jones.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come, show me what novel was more interesting than getting to know me better?”

I obeyed, handing him the book and he briefly eyed the cover before placing it on the desk. “Emily Bronte. She has a unique way of describing love.” he mused as he lifted my hand to cradle his tanned face. “Will you haunt me I wonder?” he turned me suddenly, roughly, unzipping the back of my dress.  

I went numb. I had what I needed, clutched stupidly between my hands, by all accounts the job was done but my limbs started to go cold with the realization that this time there may not be any escape.  

  “Theo?”  

Chisholm’s lips pressed against my shoulder urgently as he took the purse out of my hands throwing it to the floor and yanked my dress down to follow it. “Where’s Theo-” I cried out as his hand tore into my hair, scattering pins as he wrenched me back to face him.  

  “It seems your husband can’t handle his wine, Mrs. Jones.”

In any other circumstances, I might have found it funny that once again the great Napoleon Solo had been easily incapacitated by another spiked drink, instead, my teeth chattered. “William,”  

  “Shhh, shhh, shhh.” His hand was still fisted in my hair as he lowered his forehead to mine, “Looking at you I think I do finally understand what drove Heathcliffe mad.” His teeth crushed against my lips as he forced his thick tongue inside my mouth.

Everything in this moment was predator verse prey and as the prey, I froze. William laughed amused as I screamed suddenly pinned underneath him on my back. Stars burst in my vision, as after successfully raking my nails down his face he struck me, hard and the back of my skull bounced against the floor.  

I fought to stay conscious, “Stop - stop – stop-”  

And then... he stopped.

Over-aroused by my terror Chisholm hadn’t heard the large blond Russian enter the room, he didn’t have time to feel the long blade slip deftly in between the back of his ribs. All he had time for was a wide-eyed stare a question on bloody lips as his head hit the carpet beside mine.  

Ilya ridiculously casual, rolled the dead man off of me, shucking his impossible shoulders out of his jacket and then dressing me in it.  

 “Ilya.”

He brushed the hair from my eyes watching where I pointed and gathering me in his arms, stooped to pick up the discarded purse before leaving the room. Exiting the mansion from a side door I soon found myself tucked inside the back of the Jaguar, large hands holding the sides of my face. “Gabby, look at me. You will wait here.”  

I shook my head at him. “Ilya,”

  “You will wait here and I will be back how Cowboy says, Lick it Spit.”

I didn’t have time to correct him, he was already gone.  

***

    “Gabby, stay awake.”  

Solo’s drawl sounded foggy in my ears.  

  “I’m sorry Gabby.”

I must be in shock, Napoleon never apologized.  

***

   “Gabby, wake up.” -  Ilya’s curt clip.

  “I suppose a thank you is in order.”  - Solo.

  “No.”

  “That's twice now you’ve saved my ass Kuryakin.”

  “Three times, if you count Istanbul.”

Solo chuckled beside me. “Well then, damn. I guess I really do love your work Peril.”

***

Too much to drink Ilya had told the concierge as he carried me through the lobby and knowing our room number and how often I requested room service for a ‘top up’ I guessed it was an easy sell.  

  “Ilya.”

His steely blue eyes were at my level as he knelt beside the bed and removed my shoes which after everything were still absurdly on my feet.  

  “I don’t want to talk Gaby.”  

He was angry. Very.  

  “Ilya.” I touched his cheek, “I’m sorry.”  

Unplanned, it had come out in a sob and unbelievably I watched the Russians eyes redden.  

“No, I’m sorry.” he croaked his accent even thicker than usual, “I should have been faster. I was too slow.”

Hot tears streamed down my face, he and I both knew he’d been just in time but I couldn’t form the words. I couldn’t reassure him that somehow my body had remained unmolested. I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat because it was so clear now. Clearer for me than it had ever been before.  

As soon as we had arrived at the mission, all I had wanted was to be safe in Ilya Kuryakin’s iron curtain embrace. Whenever I was scared or unsure, he called to me, like a lighthouse to a lost ship looking for port.

He was my church, my sanctuary. He was, home.  

It wasn’t practiced, it wasn’t restrained. I threw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips against his. Fervently. Urgently.  

Months of unspoken sexual tension exploded, utterly engulfing us both and hands that I had witnessed committing the most violent of acts suddenly touched me like I was the most precious object in the world.  

Softly, tenderly Ilya worshiped all of me showing me wordlessly how much he cared and how much he loved.  

Crying out against each other's lips at the end, he crushed me to him, as if he wanted to take me inside his body and unable to resist, I kissed him, and kissed him and kissed him.

And kissed him.                                                                                                       

***                             

Sitting down to breakfast the next morning, Russian on my left, American to my right I stopped buttering my slice of toast as Alexander Waverly entered the dining room.  

The folded newspaper tucked under his arm looked larger than normal and following my gaze he sighed,  

  “Yes, well I suppose I can’t say it was a total disaster, considering.” he jostled the paper to make a point. “But killing the man wasn’t really necessary, was it?”  

Cutlery clanged onto the table from both the left and right of me and sensing his error in judgment Alexander took a quick step back. “Fine then,” he held up his free hand, “What's done is done, Lads.”  

Sighing Waverly looked down at us all, his ragtag group of ‘professionals’. “I guess you’ll be saying your goodbyes then Gaby?”

My left hand pressed quickly overtop Ilya’s to stop the sudden ticking fingers on his thigh, large pearl winking from the overhead lights,  

  “No Alexander. No, there won’t be any goodbyes.”                                                                                

#Napoleon Solo #Ilya Kuryakin #Gabriella Teller #Gaby #ilya #red peril #Alexander Waverly #Guy Richie #henry cavill #armie hammer #Alicia vikander #U.N.C.L.E #the man from uncle #fan fic writing #fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic problems #fanfic film

[tarithenurse]

girl i dont know about u but it was whedon who made nat’s infertility as some kind of defect and something that made her a monster and thats why people are so ticked at the way he wrote nat. so for you to say that he’s at least standing up for women in that way is ????? what

Oh...yeah...I guess I should have seen this coming, so first off:

I don’t mind engaging in discussions about tough topics, but this will be the only time I do so with anyone who doesn’t have the guts to do so openly, preferring to hide behind anonymity rather than stand by their words.

Other asks (prompts, or whatever) are still welcome to be anon, though.

...

So. Where to start?

Let’s start easy: “girl i dont know about u...”Well...I suppose I could explain a lot of things about myself, but most would be a repition of my first response to the post this is all about, so start with reading that.

Then:Josh Whedon chose Nat’s infertility as a topic. I’ll go that far and agree to that. But does that make *him* the one declaring Natasha, and by extension other infertile women, to be monsters? Or is he pointing out an existing problem?

I’m gonna come back to that, but first:Natasha has a lot of red in her ledger. She knows so, she has said so...and she’s trying to clear it out (remember her talk with Loki in the first Avengers movie). It could be relevant to pick up on how she used to kill people when she worked as an assassin/spy after the training in the Red Room, and as a part of her arch it would make sense to focus on her trouble with negotiating her past now that she’s defected and joined the “good guys”. It’s mentioned now and then, of course, but not fully explored.

Why not?Because that arch’s been reserved for Bucky/the Winter Soldier. He’s the one that gets to deal with the switch and the guilt of past actions. Maybe because he’s journey through that hell hole’s both present (Nat having gone through several stages of this before the movies) and also a lot more condensed because of the status and relationship to the heroes that he has.

Which is why we don’t even get to see the full consequences of Natasha putting herself in the hot seat when Hydra in SHIELD is fully exposed and all her own covers are blown. The consequences aren’t just domestic (senate hearings etc), but you can bet your ass that she’s become a market for her old handlers and any other covert teams anywhere in the world...but it’s still too close to Bucky’s arch that this issue was granted proper attention.

Do I think that’s a shame? Yes.If it had been done, though...how many people would’ve complained that it was a rip-off of Bucky’s story and not “fair” that Nat doesn’t get a unique issue to tangle with?

So what does make her unique?Well for one: she IS a woman. Excuding femininity. What really defines a woman?This is of course a very long list...but historically and culturally speaking, I think you’ll have to admit that some of the sociological aspects have been tied to “Motherhood (TM)”.

And that’s where we come back to the beginning.

YOU may not have experienced the pressure from society of “having” to get children. I’m happy you don’t. Maybe you’ve just been lucky, maybe you’re not old enough yet and can’t fathom that other people may have a different reality...but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.

I can just say that the scene were Natasha words her lack of confidence and how much she KNOWS she’s missing out on (whether by choice or not) that left me crying because FINALLY someone put into words what it feels like for me and others.

Has anyone ASKED Josh Whedon WHY he chose that subject? Maybe he knows someone who’s been the target of that kind of abuse? Or maybe...sure...maybe he just couldn’t figure out anything better.

But...Be very careful with placing blame on someone for something that isn’t actually their fault. There’s a fine line between criticising a director’s or actress’ choices to bashing them for something out of their power.

For the same reason:Feel free to disagree with me, to stick to your opinions...but don’t get pissed off at people for thinking something else.My opinion doesn’t hurt you. It doesn’t devalue those who aren’t able to get children though they badly want to. It doesn’t diminish you.

[absentgoji]

looks like i missed DID awareness day? i had no idea it was on 05/03.

here are some questions you peeps are answering and i think it would be a good exercise to do so too, right now. then do it again maybe in a couple months.

i know you're asking each other by ask, but i dont have any followers so i will just answer them all by myself.

DID Awareness Day Questions:

What is one thing you wish everyone understood about DID? no, it is not like split , nor any other representation in media. no, its not noticeable (or, at least, not easily noticeable). people with DID are not multiple persons inside a body. people with DID are not 'survivors', 'fragmented heroes', or whatever romantic nickname you wanna call them. we are people who have to deal with a mental illness because of past trauma we wish we hadn't been through. people with DID are not doing this for attention: believe me, id rather have to deal with any other thing than not knowing myself, not being reliable. not everyone shares the same experience, each person deals with their disorder in a different way. however, DID has very specific symptoms we all do share, even if we describe it in a different way.

Are you in therapy? What is your experience with therapy like? yes. im in therapy, but i dont really find it helpful for this specific disorder in my case. i may see a different therapist soon because mine, even though they did diagnose me, has been treating the disorder tangentially. anxiety, adhd and depression were their main concerns. it took them some months to get to it, putting the pieces together (memory loss, derealization, depersonalization, distorted feeling of self, me talking about myself as if i was talking about a different person), and when they finally did, we worked directly on it just for a few months, then moved on to other things and we only get back to it occasionally.

Do you have an inner world? If you do, what is it like? i know i do have one. at this point i dont know if i made it up or if it was there from the beginning. i dont really 'go there' anymore. its nothing very logical, but more like different locations my different shades like to be at. when i talk to myself in a more active way i can usually find me (them) there. but its been a while since i last did that. i will address this in a different post.

What is communication like between you and the others? Do you have any particular systems set up to help with communication? writing. if i feel like i have something to talk about, i will write about it and probably answer to myself when i feel i have a different opinion. sometimes i will tell my friends about something and they remind me about that opinion later on. its not their work and i dont do it on purpose, but i know thats one of the ways i have of knowing what my other shades feel like. communication used to be better, but at some point i decided i did not want to have that approach to this anymore and i just stopped trying to communicate directly.

Has any conventional advice for DID ever not worked for you (journaling is unhelpful, can’t visualize an inner world, etc)? trying to make a scheme about how this works has been quite a mess, at least for me. i learnt (through tumblr, mostly) many things i had to unlearn. i learnt there were categories (protectors, etc.), and my shades didnt really fit the labels. i learnt that the same triggers make the same shades come out, but, for me, it might not happen that way. noticing stuff didnt work the way 'it was supposed to work' was harmful and i would stress so much about it. if this was supposed to be logical, it wouldnt be a disorder in the first place.

What does “safety” mean for you? feeling free to talk about me in any way i want to, not being afraid of making people feel uncomfortable or cringe, having them accept me as i am. i dont want anybody to pity me, handle me with special care nor anything. i am a normal person and i want to be treated as such.

Do you have any introjects? How do you feel about their source? How do they feel about their source? no.

Do you have any non-human alters? no

Is there anything that makes you feel like your experience with DID is “different” than what you see other people with DID talk about? all of the above, i think. also memory loss, maybe. the most common approach to it i usually get to read about is full blackout, 'alters' not knowing what others did, etc. in my case, while that can and has happened, is not the most common scenario. i dont remember if it used to be different in the past. ive been in therapy for like three years now and my memory has definitely gotten better. now i can describe three types of memory: - things i do remember. - things i dont remember, but i know. - things i dont remember, and i dont know.

Who is the most likely to get into a fight (physical or verbal?) Who’s the most likely to try to patch things up afterward? i would say my most problematic shade is purplish (i havent decided if i want to go back to using names again) and the one thats there to fix things right after is red.

Does anyone wish they could make big changes to your body’s appearance? yes. in most of my shades i identify as a woman or a nonbinary person with a feminine leaning presentation, but there are a couple of them that makes me really want to start transitioning. its pretty uncomfortable.

Choose some parts/alters and describe each in 5 words or less. i will answer to this question once i decide how i want to describe myself.

What does dissociation feel like for you? stuff happens and my brain just cant grab any thought. its hard for me to talk. im thinking about many things and none at the same time (crossed conversations). nothing is real. if im in a room, theres nothing outside the room and the walls, floor and furniture are fake. sometimes i am fake. people are not real and i can be careless about the way i talk to them because i dont believe it will have any consecuences (its a dream, right?). if dissociation is strong enough, my senses dont work well. i cant hear well, food doesnt taste like anything... (this is just my brain not being able to process whats happening, i believe).

How often do you think you switch? as of today, i have no idea. i dont usually notice the exact time i do, but some time later, when i catch myself thinking in a different way or doing someting 'out of character'.

Do any of you experience body dysphoria or dysmorphia? see number 11!

How many parts/alters do you think you have at this time? this is something i also stopped doing. it makes no sense, in my case, to try and keep count of them.

If you have younger parts/alters, what makes them happy or excited? i dont have any part that's significantly older or younger than the 'core?' one.

Do you consider yourselves to be covert or overt about having DID? covert. im really self conscious about it.

Do you experience denial often? How do you react when you experience it? all the time. i try to tell myself i have nobody to lie to, and that theres no point in pretending when theres no one around... so why would i fake it?

What grounding methods or skills work best for you? Do different skills work better for different parts/alters? relaxing, talking to someone, receiving some comfort and ignoring the fact that im dissociating are the things that work best for me. i usually check tiktok or twitter, listen to some music or talk to my partner til i feel better. if i dont, taking a shower also helps.

What does “recovery” mean for you? i dont know yet. i think 'being a single shade' is not possible for me, because i know that DID is not a disorder that can be healed, so i just hope i can learn how to live healthily this way.

#did #osdd #did awareness #some qs #idk #dissociative identity disorder

[spectrumscribe]

Apologize, idiot.

Part of my Voltron/TMNT AU, Leo has some apologies to make after his mistakes with Donnie.

Previous fic.

—————————————————————

The moment Leo walked into the cafeteria, and saw that not only Donnie was there, but Raph too, was the moment he about-faced, and started marching the exact opposite direction.

He did not need this. He did not need this. The garrison was already watching him, and now he had two of his younger brothers to keep out of trouble too?

Donnie might’ve been helpful, even in his current undercover status, but Raph wouldn’t be. Raph’s talents lay with engineering and punching things- not with covert espionage.

Leo quietly despaired, and decided he’d be going hungry that evening.

If they all gathered together, the way his two brothers were, then someone would definitely notice. The garrison probably already knew that he and Raph were related, same last name and all that, but Donnie had still been anonymous! What was Raph doing, blowing Donnie’s cover?

This was all going to go down the toilet, and every bit of Leo’s careful observations would be worthless.

He saw Raph the next day, during the assigning for new recruits into the garrison. Leo, standing apart from the new cadets and with his own senior ones, met Raph’s eyes for a split second.

Raph gave him a furious glare, and mouthed, “I’m going to kill you.”

Well. It was lovely to see him too.

Leo ignored his brother, same as he’d been ignoring Donnie, and stared ahead. Pretending not to see Raph’s continued fury.

  He could only avoid Raph for so long though, since he knew his younger brother made up of at least 50% sheer determination.

A few days later, Raph cornered him as he was leaving his room, for a washroom break, in the dead of night no less, and got Leo’s collar before Leo could even react. Leo was yanked down to eye level with Raph, and met the full brunt of Raph’s glare.

“You have. so much. fucking apologizing. to do.” Raph ground out in a furious whisper.

“Nice to see you too,” Leo said, also in a whisper.

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up- I want to punch you in the nose so badly right now,” Raph hissed. Then he started tugging Leo along, ignoring Leo’s attempts to get away. “But Don says he doesn’t want me to, so you’re going to go apologize to him before I do.”

Leo gave up trying to get away, and let his brother bully him out of the garrison. It was a miracle they didn’t get caught, slinking through the dark halls like they were. Leo just wasn’t sure why he was supposed to apologize to Donnie. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done recently that warranted it.

Maybe this was about the fight they’d all had, sometime after dad and Karai had left? Probably.

Raph pushed Leo out onto the roof of the garrison, and Leo adjusted his light jacket with a huff. Raph was just lucky Leo had still been dressed when his brother kidnapped him; otherwise Leo might’ve been a bit angrier that this was happening.

Mostly, he was concerned they’d all get caught breaking curfew. He didn’t need extra eyes on him, not when he was still pushing to make the top ten cadets, and still struggling to get below the thirties.

Donnie was hunched over a collection of computer equipment, because of course he was. Even with the long hair and makeup and what was probably a set of their sister’s earrings, Donnie always had technology on his person. That’s just how he was.

Donnie’s typing didn’t pause as Leo and Raph approached. Instead it seemed to speed up.

“Uh, hey…” Leo glanced around for any sign of their superiors, and found none on the empty rooftop. “Donnie. Hi. You wanted to talk to me?”

Donnie’s fingers sped up again, green code flying across the screen. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t pitched up like it usually was lately. “So you did know I was here.”

Leo blinked. “Well, yeah. I knew you were since the first day you got here.”

Donnie’s fingers finally stilled, and he tugged his large headphones down onto his neck. He turned his head, looking at Leo through his glasses. He wasn’t giving away any emotion. “Funny. You didn’t give me any sign that you knew.”

Leo shrugged, because he guessed that his acting had just been that good. “I was pretending not to.”

Donnie’s eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a thin line.

“What?” Leo asked. “What’s with the look?”

“Was it because of my cosmetic changes?” Donnie asked, tone careful.

Now Leo was really confused. “No…? Why would I ignore you just because you got extensions?”

At that point, Raph grabbed the back of Leo’s jacket, and shoved him forwards. “Oh for- you two need to stop dancing around it and just say it already! Donnie, since you won’t, I’ll say it.”

“Say what?” Leo asked, trying to avoid getting caught again in Raph’s range.

His brother gave him a scowl, and growled out, “Donnie has been thinkin’ you didn’t recognize him because of all the feminine shit he’s got on. Further on that, he’s been feelings pretty lousy about the fact that his own fucking older brother couldn’t tell who he was, just because of said feminine shit.”

Leo opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to hurriedly say, “I was just doing what I thought Donnie wanted me to! That’s the point of going undercover, right? I mean, the garrison threw him off base! Permanently! I just thought-”

“You still could have made an effort to acknowledge your own brother, undercover or not!” Raph shot back.

“I- I couldn’t risk it! The garrison has been watching me for months!” Leo defended himself. “I haven’t been able to figure out why, and they wouldn’t tell me anything about dad or Karai either-”

“That doesn’t. fucking. matter.” Raph growled. He reached out, and shoved Leo towards Donnie again. “Apologize! Now. For being such an incredible idiot.”

Raph crossed his arms, standing back to watch Leo and Donnie. He gave Leo a look that meant they weren’t going anywhere until this was over.

Leo sighed, and chanced a glance at Donnie. His younger brother was looking at him cautiously, and Leo noticed for the first time, there was an amount of hurt to his posture. Like he was curled onto himself, trying to protect his softer parts.

Oh. Shit.

“Donnie, I didn’t mean to,” Leo said honestly, kneeling down on the roof beside Donnie. “I really did think that’s what you wanted. I’m sorry I…”

“Ignored my very existence and feigned that you didn’t know me for close to two months now? Yeah. Thanks.”

Ouch. So Donnie was holding a bit of a grudge. Fair enough.

“Yeah,” Leo said lamely. “I’m sorry for all that.”

Donnie averted his eyes, looking back at his tech instead.

“Did you know me on sight?” Donnie asked, still staring only at his keyboard.

“From the second I saw you,” Leo said. He’d seen his brother walk in, hair long and glasses in place, and it’d only taken a second glance. “I was confused, but I knew it was you. Donnie, I wouldn’t ever not recognize you, I swear. Binder or no binder, I’ll be able to tell.”

Donnie blinked rapidly, and hastily raised a hand to scrub at his eyes. “Yeah. Well. You’re still a huge asshole.”

Leo reached out, and gave his brother a one armed hug. One he probably should have given a few weeks ago. Multiples times. “I know. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. I’m trying to be less of one.”

“No you’re not,” Donnie mumbled, giving Leo’s side a light jab. Then his lanky arm wrapped around Leo’s waist, and held tight. “You’re a huge asshole and an idiot. Always have been.”

Leo winced. He guessed he deserved this right now, considering what he’d likely been putting Donnie through. “I have a lot of apologizing still, don’t I?”

“A shit ton,” Raph said, and Donnie hummed an agreement.

Leo sighed, and released Donnie from their hug. “That’s fair. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Yeah you better,” Raph and Donnie muttered at the same time, both in low tones, only to crack up a split second later.

Leo rolled his eyes. “The twin thing got old when we were six, guys.”

“Shut up, you don’t get it because you’re an end child,” Donnie, and Raph, chorused. They shared grins, and Leo found himself feeling out numbered.

“I almost miss Mikey,” Leo said dryly. “At least he would’ve probably backed me up.”

   Nice of Mikey to make that statement incorrect a few minutes later, when a ship fell out of the sky and Leo’s youngest brother set a portion of the desert on fire.

At least they got their sister back, even if things went south right afterwards.

Next fic.

#my writing #leonardo #raphael #donatello #Leo is a good bro but he fucks up sometimes #he's trying for the most part #lmao can't wait to introduce Mikey properly into things #except they're human in this verse #TMNT/Voltron AU #Turtle Paladins

[brendagilliam2]

Jennifer Brook on design research at Dropbox

Jennifer Brook will talk about user research and demystifying fieldwork at Generate New York on 28 April, which also features Sara Soueidan, Abby Covert, Steve Fisher, and many more. 

Get your ticket this Thursday, 9 March, in our 24-hour flash sale and save 50%!

It’s hard to know where to start when talking to Jennifer Brook. There’s the time she went to California to work on the first New York Times iPad prototype, and ended up presenting it on stage with Steve Jobs at Apple’s 2010 iPad keynote announcement. Or the time she reportedly lived in a tree house for several years; or when she motorbiked around Southeast Asia during a gap in client work.  

When we catch up with her towards the end of 2016, she’s just undertaken a huge move and joined file hosting service Dropbox’s research team full-time as lead design researcher – relocating from New York to San Francisco, and putting her successful independent consultant business on hold. The new job signifies the end of what Brook calls a “multi-year transition” from interaction designer to design researcher, and was driven by her passion for research. 

It’s an interesting move for someone who spent their initial career working in letterpress and book-making, and more recently collaborating with forward-thinking organisations on a freelance basis. How did Dropbox manage to lure her in-house? 

Meaningful problems

 “Last spring, I was working with the Dropbox design team in NYC on some research for new product features,” she explains. “During field visits, I fell in love with the people who use Dropbox. It was eye-opening to see the diverse problems people are using Dropbox to solve. We talked to theatrical set designers who use it to coordinate complex workflows and collaborate with the dozens of people involved in making major Broadway productions. I interviewed someone working for the UN on peace building and crisis management, who uses Dropbox to collaborate with field offices around the globe.  

“People were working to solve meaningful problems, across time zones and borders, and I felt inspired by their stories,” she continues. “The challenge of going in-house is finding problems you’re excited to work on for long periods of time. The kinds I discovered last spring felt rich, complex and worthy of my focused time and attention.”   

Jennifer Brook fell in love with the people who use Dropbox when she was working with the Dropbox design team

Exciting times

Brook’s role at the company – which she describes as an authentic, audacious and inclusive place to work – is to shape strategic research. It is, she says, a “delightfully hybrid” job – on one hand supporting and mentoring a small team of talented, autonomous researchers embedded within product teams; and on the other, planning and designing her own research studies.    

“I’m doing fieldwork that investigates the culture and values of highly collaborative teams,” Brook explains. “My biggest challenge will be prioritising what we research next. There’s a balance to cultivate between taking on projects that will have an immediate impact, and advocating research that can have a longer-term impact.”  

Brook’s love of research was born within her own design practice, where she spent a number of years working almost exclusively on research projects. Strong patterns soon emerged, proving that when a team began a project with open-ended, qualitative inquiry (“Interviewing, observing and working to understand as much as possible about the people you most want to serve”) the resulting ideas and products were above and beyond what could be achieved from only looking inward, or at competitors.  

Understanding people through inquiry-based research, Brook says, is critical to making work that strives to be original, relatable and on-point. “When, as designers, we can embody the problem through direct contact with people, we become agile in our approach; less attached to our solutions. When something changes – a business strategy; a goal – we can respond in kind because we have in our head and our heart a well of insight we can draw upon.”  

In her talk at Generate New York Jennifer Brook will share with you how to get started doing the kind of research that will spark your team, excite your stakeholders, and motivate you to deliver your best work.

Tablet experience

Brook knows this first-hand. Before launching her consultation practice, she worked on UX for the New York Times’ first-generation mobile, iPhone and iPad apps. While there, her team was invited to Cupertino to build the NYT’s iPad app a number of weeks before Apple announced the device.  

“We arrived with a prototype,” she recalls. “This was our first attempt at thinking about what a tablet experience might look and feel like for the New York Times. We were overly focused on form, and we hadn’t taken into consideration – until we had the actual device in our hands – the  most likely context of use.”

But a summer earlier Brook had worked with the research team on inquiry-based investigation, focusing on people who use mobile devices to read the New York Times. “The research was broad, and we asked a lot of open-ended questions,” she explains. “I had first-hand experience of hearing readers’ stories and internalising both what they loved about and longed for with digital reading experiences.” 

The team’s challenge with designing for the iPad was they didn’t know how people might use it: the platform being designed for didn’t yet exist. However, because they had done their homework, they were able to abandon the prototype and quickly invent something new, by developing hypotheses based around customers’ stories.”  

Working inside Apple was an unparalleled experience. As Brook later realised, her team’s work during that month wasn’t to create a compelling app; it was to craft a story to share with the world about why people should care. “The lesson that has stayed with me,” she says, “is what being able to tell compelling stories about our work is as important as doing the work.”  

Facing criticism

That wasn’t the only lesson Brook learned during her time at Apple. The team were told from the outset that Jobs expected the same sort of honesty on the iPad as he would be providing on their prototype. She’s commented before that his critique after their first demo was brutal. But it was more than that: Jobs’ management style became a key driving force in her decision to step into a leadership role in the tech industry.  

“His critique was bruising, yes,” she agrees, “and it was meant to be. His feedback was candid and valuable, but also harsh. The mythology and glorification of the management styles of people like Steve Jobs, as well as the unexamined emulation of these styles by people in positions of power, is harmful.”  

She continues: “I believe we’re undergoing a major, necessary culture shift toward the cultivation of feminine values in business. I want to live in a world where we don’t have to bruise each other in order to make great work. I believe in making work that is inclusive, kind, useful and meaningful. This demands that we cultivate ourselves in these ways.”  

Brook’s stake as a leader now is to mentor, support and encourage young designers’ and researchers’ practice. “There’s a place for feedback and critique,” she reflects, “but also a need for warmth and care in how we communicate and relate to each other.”  

Understanding people through inquiry-based research is critical to making work that strives to be original, relatable and on-point, Brook says

Asking questions

Despite moving into a research role, Brook still considers herself a designer. Instead of shaping information architecture, interfaces, flows and prototypes, her craft lies in how she asks questions, where they lead, and how these discoveries are framed and shared with teams and organisations.  

“The transition from designer to researcher was a long one: I thrive as a researcher, but wasn’t certain about giving up the design part. I still use my design skills every day, but in a slightly different capacity,” she explains. “I believe this is one thing that makes me a good researcher: I understand the kinds of information and insights designers need to feel inspired and confident in their practice. But as a researcher, the work I do can have impact across many aspects of an organisation. As many designers know, designs often fail because of business or strategic decisions.”  

If there’s one over-arching lesson she’s learned along the way, it’s to stay in tune with your interests. “Pay attention to aspects of your work that energise you; figure out how to do more of those things and less of everything else,” she advises. “Don’t be attached to the form your practice takes. Learning what we love to do; working to cultivate this love is a lifelong project worthy of our time and focus.”  

This article was originally featured in net magazine issue 290; buy it here. Photography by Bryan Tan. 

Don’t miss Jennifer Brook’s talk at Generate New York on 28 April, a one-day/two-track conference with 14 speakers covering information architecture, design systems, chatbots, practical frontend solutions, and more. 

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