#because people are tired of getting interrogated and shamed by strangers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bulletproofscales · 1 year

Text

monster fucking march 5 - bulbs, spikes and bumps (namkook)

oh i took my sweet time with this one because it was SO out of my comfort zone!! but i ende dup really liking the dynamic i was able to wrtie. which is kinda what the challenge is about!! tho fr now ill preassur emyself to psot everyday for the rest of march to get to all 10 prompts!! wish me luck :,)

tags: intersex jungkook , jungkook has both genitals , mentions of female genitalia , monster genitals , monster pussy , trans man namjoon , ftm namjoon , post-phalloplasty namjoon , trans dick namjoon , first times , chubby namjoon

3.4k (no wonder it took me forever )

AO3 LINK

“Looking for someone into cock biting-”

No.

“Is there any sadist dtf my ass that has this weird medical condition-”

No!

Jungkook’s hands abandon the keyboard as if it were on fire.

He can’t do this. But he has to.

Already in his mid twenties, Jungkook hasn’t gone past the occasional hand job back when he was just starting college. Back when he knew something was off but never had the urge to experiment and find out exactly what.

Needless to say, it was a very painful first fingering experience, for all the wrong reasons.

Yes, he’s heard people with vaginas say it can hurt the first time. But he didn’t expect his fingers to barely fit. Scrunching up his face as curling them forward and back only seems to make the squeezing worse.

Jungkook knew he was intersex, his mother made a very conscious effort to explain it to him. He has both genitals and he’s gone his life mostly in normality. All of his biology was male except for the vulva behind his sack; so he lived his life normally. Intersex people exist and he doesn’t have to go around telling people, he doesn’t owe that to anyone!

Though… He does panic when in a wild tipsy night by himself he wants to experiment fingering himself, copious amounts of lube as he reaches between his lips; thighs spread open and anticipation pumping his heart.

And when he pulls out to see his fingers swollen and red. It was a bit of a moodkill. If not, the thing that sent Jungkook into cardiac arrest.

Yes, he knows the rest of his biology is all relatively normal. That he could easily just have standard sex in any position without having to involve the anomaly on his body. But now, as if being intersex hadn’t been enough of a stigma for him to overcome, now he has to worry about people finding said pussy he shouldn't have in the first place, has weird hard bumps in it!

His mom was a fumbling mess when he interrogated her over the phone. Something about her making a mistake, falling for some succubus-like man thing, and some of his genes passing onto Jungkook!

So Jungkook’s vagina has bumps, apparently.

He hasn’t had much sex at all after that.

Though redacting this message was becoming a harder task than he had anticipated. Not even anonymity and a strong vpn were enough to make the shame he felt wash away. Writing and deleting and re-writing just to delete again in exhaustion.

And he’s becoming desperate. And lonely.

That's where he finds himself now. In a very deep corner of the internet. An old abandoned website with only a few people in it, describing different genitalia anomalies. As if he was gonna find anyone like him. Jungkook didn’t need to find anyone like him though. He just needed to find someone… willing.

He needs a drink.

It ends up being 5 drinks until Jungkook’s drunken inspiration takes hold of him. Writing an obscene message and posting it shamelessly before he plops on the bed; knocked out by the weird cocktail of anxiety, and alcohol that tired him out.

At least he is relieved he didn’t actually post his number online for a group of strangers. But still inside this obscure forum thing, a little bell shows on his chats. Flinging already, he reaches to click it.

With horror, Jungkook is reminded of his last night’s endeavor when a notification of a message from the same dark website shows up on his phone.

“Hello Im JUngkoook, my vagina has liek bumps in it or sumthing! you dont have to be into it!!!!! as long asd youre down with having sex w me in anywway shape or form (i ahve a penis too ;))) !! im just despedrate ok? text me if your interesdted!! !! :DDD”

icantfeelmydickwhenimwithyou: hi! i dont know if you were serious or not, but if youre from seoul, im a bit desperate and more than ok with… your situation.

icantfeelmydickwhenimwithyou: we wouldnt have to like fuck on first encounter but if you wanna chat im interested :]

Well she fell for a succubus. She can’t tell Jungkook shit.

He stares in awe. Jungkook’s parents have given him so many talks throughout all of his teenage internet friendships about the dangers of the internet and all the creeps that lay within. But Jungkook is actively seeking them out now. Not only that, but he wants to meet with one too. Have sex with them!

Jungkook’s mom would not be proud.

jkabtthecockbiting: i /am/ from seoul

jkabtthecockbiting: honestly…if youre ok to fucking right away id skip the chitchat.

His confidence dissipates when the stranger replies immediately.

Jungkook wasn’t dumb enough to give him his address. Or too agree to go to “Namjoon’s” as he learnt is his supposed name. So they agreed to a love hotel on the outskirts of Seoul. Not the safest place around, but Jungkook can defend himself! He hits the gym! He boxes! That's what he tries to remind himself at least, as he finds himself outside the sketchy area on a random Thursday night.

icantfeelmydickwhenimwithyou: cutting straight to the point huh

And maybe this stranger online posing no hesitation to meet him, should've been a red flag. His mother would be very disappointed. But Jungkook needs to feel wanted. And if a creep sadist perv on Reddit is the one to make him feel that way. Then they meet.

He does regret not having asked for some sort of photo or social media. Jungkook may not be desperate enough to fuck a 70 year old man. But he doubts an old man would’ve figured out a way through underground fetish chat rooms, right? Right.

“Jungkook, right?” Oh.

It's cold, he has his arms crossed over himself trying to protect himself from the falling snow while keeping contact with everyone who passes by. 10:30pm outside, that's what they had agreed on. Of course Jungkook not only got there at 9:50, but had booked a room in the hotel for the night. And now has to think about how he will tell Namjoon that he expects him to pay half of it too… Is Jungkook even allowed to request that? This stranger is the one doing a favor for him.

Even if he hears the steps approaching him, making his head snap up, Jungkook is startled anyways. The stranger must recognize that same jitteriness on himself.

Out of everything he’s imagined, this isn’t what he considered Namjoon would look like. Gentle but broad rounded shoulders, only a slimmer bit taller than Jungkook. Padded chin with some patchy stubble and pillowy body showing through the thick layer of clothing. Pear shaped body clinging to his shirt and jeans; despite the flannel and jacket, it still shows. He smiles a bit, plump lips catching Jungkook’s attention more than his body; dimples showing through.

“I uh… I already booked a room.” He speaks from behind the broad expanse of soft shoulders. Namjoon turned to look over his shoulder, smiling surprised.

“Y-yeah.” He can’t help but grin, feeling the release of tension of seeing this real life 20-30 something person with him; a real, friendly-looking, human. “Namjoon?”

“That's me.” Namjoon offers his hand and Jungkook eagerly takes it, satisfied with the warmth emanating from this man. “Oh you’re freezing. Come on, let's go in.” He says it so casually as if they were getting into his home; it's a bit relaxing as he follows Namjoon without letting go of his big warm hand. Like the rest of him.

“Oh! You prepared for everything! Nice.” Even if his reaction is positive, Jungkook can’t help but feel that familiar anxiety slip through. Is he being too eager? Overprepared? He can only smile timidly and nod as Namjoon makes his way to the desk, asking for a reservation to his name for him; and Jungkook lets himself find refuge behind the mass of the other man. Feels nice.

Namjoon’s smile at him is also very reassuring. “No, no you’re alright.” There's a chuckle attached to the end of his sentence and everything. “I’m not particularly into it. Or I mean, I never tried!” He adds quickly.

Namjoon maneuvers his way through the awkwardness easily. While Jungkook only speaks when they’re in the privacy of the hallway together.

“So… You're into bumpy holes?” He doesn’t bother being subtle. Though he does feel a bit guilty in the way Namjoon chokes on his own spit; but not guilty enough to hide his giggling. “Sorry, too much?”

“I’m your first I get it.” Jungkook reassures smiling.

“But uh… I had bottom surgery about a year ago. And it's safe to have sex, but I still need a bit… uh, more, to really feel anything. Until the nerves heal at least.” Jungkook can only stare a bit wide eyed nodding.

There's something so… relieving about hearing Namjoon isn’t ‘normal’ either. A smile slowly grows on his face. He’s never been with a trans person. But walking with Namjoon now, it just makes perfect sense that they found each other.

“Hopefully I’ll be of help then.” His smile must be contagious because Namjoon is grinning back at him, gentler than last time. “Won’t it hurt the stitching?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Oh no no. Most of the stitching is gone, and the scarring made the skin really tough.” He explains before his smile widens more, a little bit of confidence oozing off him. “You did your homework.”

“You’re not the only one that looked for bottom surgeries!” Jungkook accuses with a finger that pokes at Namjoon’s pillowy bicep. Their giggling rudely echoing through the hallway.

“This is our room.” Laughter still clings to his voice as he gestures to the room. “I’m kinda scared, never been in one of these.” He confesses.

“I can still appreciate it!” He whines but the laughter makes it less serious. Jungkook is starting to worry less about their night together, and more about if the other customers will file a complaint about them. Which feels a lot better. The door opens and Jungkook prepares himself to be grossed out.

“Does it look like I have?”

“That was the anxiety, Namjoon.” Jungkook deadpans earning another wave of giggles.

They turn to each other in pleasant awe, smiling softly in the brief moment of silence. Jungkook catches Namjoon’s eyes glancing down towards his lips before their eyes meet again.

“Oh!” “This is so much better than I expected.”

“Me too.”

He wouldn’t be able to tell you who leaned first, all Jungkook knows is it is his own back pressing the door shut close; once the eager weight of Namjoon’s body presses flush against his. Softened belly and chest engulfing him in warmth as Jungkook cups his face, feeling big hands cup at his waist and squeeze. Coaxing a moan to vibrate for his lips to be swallowed by Namjoon.

This is where he would start to feel nervous, jittery over not letting himself get to enjoy too much. Jungkook would have to stop them before it gets too far, before he has to explain himself; make excuses for his body. But he doesn’t have to, not when Namjoon’s hands softly caress the hem of Jungkook’s shirt. Stripping his jacket and shirt alike, leaving him bare.

Goosebumps break down his back from the feeling of the cold wall against his skin; but Namjoon’s warm hands tug him closer and away from it. Jungkook’s muscular thigh slots between Namjoon’s thicker ones in an attempt to stabilize himself. A bit harshly but it seemed to do the trick for the other; moaning deeply into Jungkook’s lips.

Jungkook doesn’t feel like covering up, he feels like revealing Namjoon too.

His own hands strip his jacket off before letting his hands get a feel of his tubby torso, pudgy and soft to the touch. Jungkook’s hands are desperate trying to memorize the curve and thickness of his waist, and Namjoon’s chuckle into the kiss does nothing to help. Confidence making his dick twitch in desperation; which he is sure Namjoon can feel, from the way they’re pressed together.

“F-fuck… Fuck can I?” He whispers as his hands trace to Jungkook’s belly, settled on the waistband of his pants; where Jungkook’s bulge is beginning to show. He nods urgently, his own hands aggressively tugging down at Namjoon’s sweatpants; everything on his body jiggling softly with the strength of Jungkook’s pulling. Too preoccupied licking his lips at the sight of Namjoon’s semi to worry about himself.

“Pleasantly surprised.” The flirty giggle clings to his voice as his hand curiously caresses the chubby bottom of Namjoon’s belly, trailing down to wrap around his dick. Both of them looked down at Jungkook’s tattooed hand.

“You’re hard.” Jungkook whispers with an awed smile and very shameless staring.

“Surprised?” He retorts with humor and endearment.

Harsh, he’d told Jungkook. So biting his lips, he squeezes Namjoon’s shaft, letting his nails sink a little into the skin in a way he’d never dare to try on himself. But Namjoon seems to melt into it, his thick thighs shivering in what Jungkook can only assume is a mix of pleasure and pain? He moans like its only pleasure.

“We don’t have to do anything.” His thumbs rub soothing circles along his squeezed knees. And oh, how could Jungkook pass up an opportunity like this? When is he ever going to find someone like Namjoon again?

“I wanna see too…” His voice sounds significantly deeper than Jungkook remembers it. Making his heart skip a beat as he looks up to Namjoon; whose half lidded eyes do nothing to calm his stammering pulse. Warm hands squeezing gently at his waist; so much softer than Jungkook’s treatment.

Guiding him towards the bed, their legs still tangling together as Jungkook lets himself fall on the surprisingly soft mattress; Namjoon standing in front of him. He instinctively presses his thighs together in an attempt to hide his vulva. But those same big hands are rubbing at his knees as Namjoon carefully kneels on the bed. The hunger in his eyes dissipated for something softer.

Jungkook has to really bite into his lip to stop a shaky whine from slipping, so many years of self neglect leaving him needy and so sensitive. But even so, a choked whimper slips past. “Can I?” Namjoon asks, regardless of the desperation in Jungkook’s eyes when he snaps up to look at him again.

“I want to.” Jungkook confesses vulnerably. “Just, uh… force of habit.” He chuckles a bit at himself, taking the first step as his thighs begin to spread for the dreamy man. The rush of adrenaline makes his breathing already a little heavy. Biting his lip preparing himself for the worst.

But Namjoon’s expression only melts with lust, exhaling as he doesn’t take his eyes off Jungkook’s crotch. “Oh look at you…” He whispers and it feels like his voice could rattle at his insides. Warm hands still very much secured on his muscular thighs. Jungkook can feel his face burn as he forces himself to look up once Namjoon’s fingers abandon his leg to caress his lips, tentatively. Only the tips of fingers feeling him up.

“You're so wet…” He mumbles against Jungkook’s lips. Only getting a desperate moan in response. His jaw dropping, looking up at Namjoon with eyes that struggle to stay open. “I can’t finger you but–but we’ll take it slow, yeah?” His thumb presses against his clit, and Jungkook’s eyes roll with a trembling whine.

“Yes!” All self control leaves him, body trembling, begging for Namjoon to do something more than to caress the shaven lips of his pussy. “Yes Namjoon, please-” The sentence dies in his throat as Namjoon’s fingers press between his lips, rubbing up and down without pressing in just yet. Wet and sloppy noises coming from within him; only more accessible as his dick hardens against his flat tummy.

Namjoon smiles at the shivering man beneath him, taking the liberty of leaning closer and really making Jungkook’s legs spread. Opening to fit the girth of Namjoon’s hips; calves squishing into the chub a bit. Plump lips take a hold of his, greedily kissing as Jungkook is engulfed by the softness of Namjoon’s torso.

He has to make an effort to stay lucid enough to respond. Nodding quickly before he can even coordinate to speak, stuttering as his own hips grind against Namjoon’s fingers. Stabbing jabs of pleasure spreading through his navel. “Yes–Yes please!” Shaky hand presses to Namjoon’s cheek just to pull him in for another kiss, to let his weight press him down to the mattress. For the first time in a while, Jungkook allows himself to feel empty, to yearn for the warmth he so desperately craves. Worsening when Namjoon pulls his fingers away.

Something in his stomach tightens in anticipation, for it all to go invariably wrong. But Namjoon aligns himself, taking a curious look at where their crotches meet, sliding on a condom before he starts pressing in. Frowning in concentration, while Jungkook’s heart goes rigid. Gasping quietly at the stretch, he feels his bulbs press onto Namjoon’s dick in a tight fit. Jungkook can only imagine the pressuring squeeze they’re pushing onto Namjoon’s dick; even if he feels more stretched than he ever dared to try.

Even as his heart raises to Jungkook’s throat he stares at Namjoon wide eyed. Taking in his groans, trying to read if it's the pain or the pleasure overpowering his senses. Though Namjoon’s continuous, even if slow, sliding into him is somewhat of a good sign. Regardless, he asks.

“G–Good?” The insecurity shows in his voice even throughthe heavy breathing and fucked-out stutter. Namjoon opens his eyes for him with a haze of their own; his voice sounding a little breathless itself when he responds.

“I won’t.” He whispers leaning to take Jungkook’s lips into another kiss, both of them smiling into eachothers mouths before his hips begin to grind. Their kiss is sloppy enough that it's not able to silence the moan of pleasure out of Namjoon’s throat. Unable to help himself as a rhythm begins to build. As Jungkook begins to lose himself, his insides churning in a pleasure that takes him from within. Feeling through the nubs inside him every inch of Namjoon’s skin, his own bumps, his own imperfections. Filling him to the brim with quickening thrusts.

“Oh Jungkook… It feels amazing.” He whispers leaning so their noses brush, fully bottomed out he can feel the way Namjoon’s entire body shivers in pleasure. “Y-you?” His smile is giddy even if it's shaky; like he is holding back.

It feels ridiculous for him to even ask! Jungkook is nodding before the words come out again. “So, so good, keep going!” He can’t help but grin excited, nodding in encouragement; seemingly contagious as a wider smile spreads on Namjoon’s own face.

He is beyond controlling the string of moans that Namjoon coaxed out of his chest with each thrust. Warmth, all he feels is warmth. From the inside out, form the jiggling soft body pressed on top of his, weighting on him like a blanket. Namjoon’s own moans, deep and lustful, making his eyes roll back as his legs hang heavy and useless at either side. Dick rubbed against the bottom of Namjoon’s belly, sinking into it deliciously.

Jungkook never could’ve imagined, he could ever feel this good. That he could ever cause this much pleasure to someone else.

It's pointless to try to warn Namjoon about his orgasm. Legs squeezing into the sides of his chubby belly as he spurts against the very bottom roll. “D–Don’t– Don’t stop!” Is all he manages to say. Hands cupping Namjoon’s thick neck howling in pleasure as he continues. Shamelessly enjoying after so many years of deprivation.

He never wants it to end.

“F-fuck –fuck don’t say that, Jungkook. I’m – I’m going to-” Namjoon’s own speech is cut off with a shivered moan, his entire body trembling and spasming as he grinds his hips into Jungkook’s bumped heat.

And for a moment everything stills, looking at one another with widened eyes. Like it's the first time in a while either of them have been able to feel this amount of pleasure.

The first, but definitely not the last.

#omg posting this was a PAIN #tumblr i hate you #monster fucking march #monster fucking #mosnter genitalia #instersex jungkook #trans man namjoon #depictions of female genitalia #bottom surgery namjoon #first times

18 notes · View notes

burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

temerity

― the perfect job for an overworked, tired, and romantic you is obviously a stressful, demanding, but oh so aesthetic coffeeshop. your job only becomes better when a handsome redhead appears through the door with a loud bang, and you can do nothing but fall for him. or the five times kirishima orders coffee and the one time he doesn’t.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, fluff, light angst, pining, coffee shop!au, modern!au, college!au, happy ending, five times he did and one time he didn’t trope

word count: 9,394

a/n: happy birthday to my beautiful love @ikinabi!!!! this was written for you based off of your favorite tropes including your favorite word, bet you saw this coming a mile away because my interrogation for this was absolute ass. also sorry for the angst, I couldn’t help myself! for the rest of you non-reds, this was a pretty damn fun piece to write. kirishima was modeled after how red sees him too, sorry. I haven’t typed that much in a single sitting in a long time, so it was p refreshing. like always, enjoy and leave a comment if you enjoyed ;-; (oh and thank you all for kiri coffee taste suggestions)

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

O N E

Working in a small coffee shop isn’t exactly what you had once thought it to be.

For years you had been attending the small coffee shop just by your university. Most of your studying, homework, and late-night mental breakdowns had taken place in the corner of the shop, hidden from the sight of the patrons, which was conventionally the best spot for the strongest wifi.

You had been there so many times, having tried every single drink on their menu, and had gotten to know every worker there ― including the owners. So when the invitation to work there was brought up the one night you showed up in hysterics because you had lost your other job, it shouldn’t have taken you by surprise.

So now, in your final year of university, you stood at the counter. A textbook cracked open near the register light, the gentle coffee shop tunes playing merrily in the background. The intricate, familiar, and distinguished smell of both fresh and aging coffee beans with day-old pastries soaked deep into every centimeter of the room.

The coffee shop was typically slow at this time at night, most people, thankfully, choosing to keep their caffeine addictions primarily in the mornings. Or, as a student had once confessed, didn’t want to make your job more demanding, so they made their own caffeinated drink this late at night. Regardless, it didn’t matter; the morning and afternoon crowds at this coffee shop were busy enough for you to be grateful for this downtime, especially as midterm season was beginning to approach. With this upcoming season, you knew you would be pouring liters of coffee down red-eyed, broken-spirited, college students' throats in the coming days.

Humming, you flipped the page of your biochem textbook, information on amino acids and protein structure twisting in your mind. At the same time, you tried to absorb the chaotic, overflowing amount of information presented on a single page. With a pen to your lip, you frowned at the sentence, rereading phrases over and over again as you struggled to figure out just why Hydrogen formation was so important.

That didn’t last for too long, fortunately.

For when you were about to scream to your coworker who was hiding away in the backroom about how amino acids could go fuck themselves, the front door slammed open.

Despite the wooden door being extremely, almost stupidly heavy (to the point where there was a sign that clearly read: YES WE ARE OPEN, THE DOOR IS JUST REALLY HEAVY, outside), it crashed into the wall, causing a loud smack to rattle the shop. You, having been so absorbed in your studies, jumped at the sound. Your body flinched as a surprised shriek left your lips.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry! It said the door was heavy, but I didn’t think it would slam open like that!” came an apologetic and obviously embarrassed voice from the entrance.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline. You focused your attention on the man who was frantically checking potential damages to both the door and the wall. All while he continued to apologize.

Red hair and red eyes are the first things you noticed about him.

Red hair that obviously was dyed, red, warm eyes seemed smooth and seemed to melt into sugary brown, and a rather large scar over his right eye that stopped just at his eyebrow. His smile was broad, exceedingly bright, albeit stiff.

Despite your pumping blood and the way that your fingertips tingle with your fear, a smile and laugh pressed to your lips as he fumbled to close the door behind him (although it was nearly closed by the time he fumbled for the metal brass door handle). Pushing up off the counter from where you were lying, you shut the textbook you had, waving off the new customer.

“No worries! Most people either overcompensate or can’t open the door at all,” you explained with a pinching smile, the laughter in your tone so noticeable despite your intent to keep your humor hidden. Your smile and softly thudding heart only seemed to increase stupidly as the red-headed man approached the cash register.

He was dressed horribly.

He wore an orange gym shirt, most definitely worn with age, and a bit too small on his… physique, navy blue basketball shorts that had white stripes on the side of his thigh, and black athletic crew socks with bright red crocs.

A living, walking fashion disaster.

“Um,” you stifled a teasing snort, “what can I get for ya?”

The man (was he a himbo? he seemed like he could be one through his appearance alone!) crossed his arms across his chest, lower lip jutting out as he read the menu under his breath with curious, wide eyes. His head tilted to the side, his gaze seemingly stuck on a single area of the menu, and with all the curiosity of the world weighing down on you at this one, very moment, you turned behind you.

“Anything catching your eye?”

“This is… uh, this is my first time in here,” he admitted, his gaze falling from the menu, catching your own eye when you turned back around to face him. His eyes were wide, clear as they were alarmingly honest; he paused for a bit before eventually adding, “actually.”

“Well,” you began, your own honest smile brightening on your face, “lucky for you, I’ve tried everything on this menu. Pick your poison, I can tell you what everything tastes like.”

His eyes widen in what you can only recognize as being overwhelmed, but you try to hide the way your smile is turning into a smirk when he begins to list out drinks.

Drink after drink he names, most of them being dark, black, bitter-tasting coffees, and you can see some hesitation in him with each name he lists.

“You don’t seem to know what kinda coffee you like, huh?” you eventually point out once he’s had you repeat the entire menu for the dark roasts the shop had.

“That would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve never had coffee in my life before,” he laughed partially in embarrassment, but much more in some underlying mirth and energy, he seemed to easily hold. Energy that seemed to warm your chest more than any cup of coffee on a cold morning. “I’m what you could call a coffee virgin.”

Now that got a snort out of you.

“Okay, coffee virgin,” you teased, immediately grabbing a kids' throwaway cup behind the counter. “You should’ve started with that!”

“I didn’t want to come off as uncultured! I mean, I’m down at the university, the uni down the street, I’m a university student myself! But being twenty-one and never having coffee before? It just seems… I don’t know so unmanly!”

All while he was confessing the reason as to why he had never in his life had a single cup of coffee, you had poured the simmering black coffee that he was most interested in into the cup. It was filled with only a small amount of the black, bitter liquid, just enough to give him a good taste of the drink. Placing the kids' cup in front of him with a satisfactory thunk, you grinned up at him.

His hand was pressed to the back of his neck, an almost shameful look on his face with just the smallest blush brightening his cheeks and ear tips.

“I think it’s cool you’re a uni student without a coffee addiction,” you smile earnestly, pressing the kids' cup closer to him. “Shows a different kind of man that you’re able to handle a workload without a caffeine drip.”

If you didn’t know better (and honestly, you didn’t, you were probably projecting the weird stranger crush you had seamlessly formed on him), you would have said he forgot how to speak. He clears his throat, his embarrassment fading into a small, soft smile, and he picks up the cup.

“Thank you for the sample.”

He takes a drink of the warm liquid, and immediately he seems to crush the paper cup in his hand, a suppressed hysteric of coughing spluttering past his fisted hand on his mouth, tears springing into his eyes. You yelped in surprise, hands fluttering out to smack him on the arm in a failed attempt to reach his back.

“O-Oh my god!” he eventually wheezed, his eyes staring down at the crushed cup as if it was some sort of vermin, a creature that had no use being alive but still pitied it. His other hand wiped at his lips as to rid of its taste. His head snapped back towards you, his eyes wet with betrayal from both his thoughts and taste buds. “Can you do something, not this at all?!”

You purse your lips for a second, thinking about just what could suit his apparent dislike for bitter, black coffee. With a single idea in your head, you leaned forward onto the counter, a smile back on your lips.

“Do you like cinnamon rolls?”

He blinked.

“Who doesn’t?”

“For here or to go?” you asked, head tilting to the side before you eventually remembered that the shop was closing in a few minutes. “Actually, it’ll be to go!”

“O-Oh, okay!”

“Can I get a name?” you asked, your hand grabbing the paper cup and a sharpie to write his name. There was no reason for you to write down his name; he was the only person in the shop right now.

“K-Kiripima,” he answers with wide eyes and red cheeks. Your eyebrows scrunch.

“Kiripima?”

“No! I’m, oh my god, this is so unmanly of me,” he bemoaned, his head shaking. “Kirishima Eijirou! I’m Kirishima Eijirou!”

The pealing laughter that erupted from your mouth stood no chance at being silenced. And so with an embarrassed nod of your own, you pressed off the counter, writing his name was the neatest writing you had, before setting off.

You worked fast behind the counter, making the specialized drink just for the blushing himbo of a man before you, well, at least until he interrupted your chain of thoughts and actions.

“Biochem, right?”

Placing the cup where the steamed milk machine was, you turned to look at Kiri(p)shima, who was pointing at your textbook with an all too familiar look on his face that told you he recognized it.

“Unfortunately,” you smiled at him, eventually shrugging. “I also go to the uni down the street.”

“Aw damn, sucks I’ve never seen you there before!” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck when he glances up at you from the textbook before looking back down. “I took this class last semester!”

“Oh? Who’d you have?” you asked, continuing on with your work, your suspicion of him being a himbo slightly dwindling.

“Chaney!” he responded, and you looked over at him; you had him this semester, too. “It was the worst! I dropped out the first week! Didn’t help that I thought biochem was a split biology and chemistry course… teaches me not to listen to Kaminari and Mina… ah, I mean, my friends!”

Himbo indeed.

Laughing at his flux in judgment, you placed the steaming cup of sweet, sweet coffee in front of Kirishima, hands pressing onto your hips as you did so.

“How about this?”

You watch as the redhead grins at you, picking up the cup of coffee and drinking it despite your last second squeak that it was probably way too hot to be consumed.

“HOLY SHIT! This is so much better! It tastes just like cinnamon rolls! Bro, you have some serious talent!” Kirishima yelled, his eyes not quite as bright, but his smile definitely still as warm. “How much will it be?”

“On the house,” you admitted with a shrug, your cheeks warming with his look of disbelief. “I took your, uh, coffee virginity away and nearly killed ya, it’s the least I could do!”

Kirishima narrows his gaze on you, his smile softening in tandem while he looks over at the menu again, taking another stiff sip of the coffee.

You watch as he takes his wallet out of his pocket, and with a little effort, pulls out two thousand yen.

“For the next few customers then, yeah?” he smoothly states, already moving back towards the door long before you could demand that he come back and take his money with him.

“Hey!” Kirishima yells, his hand had opened the heavy ass door with no problem or strain. “What's your name?”

“Why?!” you yelled back despite your instincts screaming at you to tell him your name.

His grin stretches so widely you take notice of his glinting, almost abnormally sharp canines from the counter.

“So, I know who to blame for my caffeine addiction!”

You laugh.

“Y/l/n y/n,” you smile, your stomach flipping at the way he seems to brighten with that information. “I promise that’s my real name too, no mess-ups.”

Kirishima laughs, red staining his face.

“Guess we can’t all be as amazing as you, huh?”

You didn’t get the chance to even scream in your fluster because he was already gone. The heavy wooden door closed by the time your coworker emerged from the back, an all too curious look on their face.

“What was that?”

You shrug, a smile stretching further on your face.

“Hopefully, a new regular.”

T W O

“Kiripima!”

If there was a way for you to not giggle at the way Kirishima nearly slammed the door through the wall in his shock embarrassment, you would have liked to know.

“My name is Kirishima, y/l/n!” he yelled back, his cheeks the same color as his spiked hair. “I mean, if you want to call me Kiripima, that’s okay! It’s just… my name is Kiri-shima!”

“Sorry, sorry, Kiripima was too cute to resist!” you admitted with a smirk, your body leaning forward, elbows pressed onto the counter, hands pressed against your cheeks. “What can I get for you so late at night, Kiri-shima?”

Kirishima smiles broadly, his hands sinking into his pockets as he walks over towards you and the counter. He’s dressed much more normally today, he wore black jeans that are slightly dirty with some sort of white powder, and his shirt is a crimson red. It’s tight against his biceps but fits him much better than the last shirt he wore, and on the fabric right above his heart, lays a simple print: FATGUM’S GRUB.

“Nightshift, unfortunately, finally caught me this week!” Kirishima sighs, his shoulder-shrugging but the smile remaining just as firmly on his face. “It’s no biggie, though; it’s for one of my bros who needed the night off!”

“Oh, so you’re an everyday hero?” you tease, enjoying the way that he grins wide enough to show off his sharp canines before it humbles into an embarrassed smile. “How manly of you.”

“Nothing anyone else wouldn’t do,” he mumbled, his gaze falling to your shoulder in his embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, if you say so,” you relent, sighing softly before straightening up and smiling up at the red-haired man who was busy taking in your menu once again with significant hesitation. “What can I get for you this time, Kirishima?”

Kirishima’s eyes glinted over, a laugh once again rumbling in his chest before he sighed, “What do you suggest for me, y/l/n?”

And so, at nearly ten p.m., you stood behind the cash register, Kirishima’s coffee long since given to him, and the two of you were intently talking, laughter and enthusiastic yelling being exchanged fervently.

You learned his name was Kirishima Eijirou; he was twenty-one years old, born and raised in Musutafu. You knew that while yes, he most definitely a himbo (something you confirmed with strategic questions, and not straight up asking him), he was an engineering major! He played a ton of sports but seemed to prefer heavy contact sports, rugby, and soccer being his top choice of sport. You even found out that this man (who often used the term manly in a way that meant ‘approved by Kirishima’) was the biggest fan of the old movies and comic book hero Crimson Riot. You figured this out when he pulled out his phone to show you a picture of his new goldfish and accidentally revealed his lock screen being him and the famous actor behind the superhero.

“You’re telling me you’ve NEVER seen an All Might movie, but you’ve seen ALL the Crimson Riot movies?!” Kirishima yelled, his arms shooting out past the counter to grab you by the shoulders, shaking you intensely with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face.

“Be careful with your coffee!” you squealed, trying to keep his elbow from knocking over his cup that had still gone untouched.

“Y/L/N!” he exasperated, pulling himself in closer to you, his eyes wide and bright, quickly drowning you with his radiant energy and overwhelming enthusiasm. “Answer!!!”

“Oh my god! Yes, Kirishima! I have never seen an All Might film but have seen every single Crimson Riot film!” you confess, your cheeks hurting from your laughter, and growing sense of embarrassment because everyone in the world has seen the All Might movies!

Hell, even people who weren’t from Japan had seen them all!

The movie superhero was a blockbuster smash with every movie they did!

“Why not?! How not?!”

“Because my dad never let me watch them growing up because the guide warnings,” you wheezed, your stomach cramping with your laughter, your hands grabbing onto his sturdy ― and holy fuck, were they sturdy ― biceps trying to ease his excited(???) shaking. “Besides, my dad is a hardcore Crimson Riot fan; he would have a heart attack and die if he heard that I went to go watch an All Might film.”

“Holy shit,” Kirishima breathed, a glazed over glee washing over his face in some euphoric bliss. “Your dad… is so manly, I think I could marry him.”

Your laughter only grew when Kirishima wiped tears from his eyes, and you patted his arm in your condolences.

“I think he would not take to someone claiming to be the biggest Crimson Riot fan!”

Kirishima grin only grew, “Bet he wouldn’t!”

You tilted your head, your smile becoming a bit lopsided, ready to take that bet right there, right now. You knew your dad was most definitely still awake at this time.

But the words never got to pass your mouth because as soon as you opened your mouth to speak, a loud ringtone interrupted you.

You also hated the fact that you recognized the ringtone to be the Crimson Riots theme song.

Kirishima’s warm hands pulled away from you, his overeagerness abandoned as he pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear without checking who was calling.

“It’s Ei, talk to me.”

The nickname of his first name caused your stomach to flip, his smooth baritone voice easily sending shivers down your spine. Still, with the mention of such an intimate nickname… the chill crawling down your spine, teasing every nerve in your system, was inevitable.

You watched Kirishima’s face. The way that he easily took in the words of whoever was on the other side of the line. The smile on his face remained if only muted just a bit as he agreed left and right with whoever was on the other side.

“Nah, I can get there in a few! Don’t worry about it, Fat, I normally show up early to shifts regardless, I don’t blame ya! Yeah, yeah, okay, yeah! Yeah! See ya soon!”

Disappointment blossomed in your chest, the horrible feeling of having to say goodbye to a customer who had only come in twice! Twice! Most times, you never wanted to see any customers, even some regulars, more than once in your lifetime! But again, there had been no other customer in your life as a barista that had been as kind, friendly, and hot as Kirishima.

“Well, I gotta go now,” Kirishima softly sighed, his lips pressing into a half-smile, his eyebrows scrunched together in his (maybe) reluctance to leave. “Fat, er, my boss, got overloaded with the late-night munchies, so…”

“Time for the fanboy to leave?” you finished for him, your fingers looping into your apron, your eyes glancing at the clock that showed you that you should’ve been cleaning up five minutes ago.

“Yeah, sadly!” Kirishima laughed, his hand grabbing the coffee and pocketing his phone as he made his way to the front door. You followed after him, ready to lock the door after him in case some desperate customer tried to come in. “Well, thank you for the coffee again! I gotta see just how much you know about the greatest superhero ever the next time I drop by!”

You smiled.

“Next time?”

Kirishima paused for a bit, “Yeah, next time!” he pushed through the front door, and you watched as he exited the shop, his body turning so he was looking at you while he walked backward. “I told ya, y/l/n, it's pretty unmanly of you, but you got me hooked on caffeine!”

There was no time for you to argue otherwise because he turned on his heel just as quickly and began jogging off to his own job.

“You’ll close up by yourself?” your bitchy coworker asked, and you startled, seeing that she was also pushing past the door. “You kept us over way later because you can’t stop flirting with the customers, which by the way, is against protocol.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, whatever, bye.”

T H R E E

“Next in line, please!”

It was busy.

As you had once thought many, many weeks ago, the midterm season had finally come with full force, and it was horrible. There were at least four crying college students found in any of the studying rooms the shop had from sun up to sundown. Some of the students were found soaking their tears onto the worn leather sofa, some moments from dying on the plenty of counters and tables.

On multiple days there had been students who stayed the entire day, drinking whole pots worth of black coffee when they were ordinarily sweet coffee drinkers. You had to give some freshmen girl a tight hug the other day who was seconds from taking a W on her transcripts because she absolutely could no longer handle her math class. You had the unfortunate time of giving a student the news that no, today was not Thursday, it’s Friday, so yes… they missed their midterm for a professor who would refuse to reschedule any missed exam.

But it wasn’t all too bad.

Kirishima had been showing up practically every day now; he would order a pastry every time, opting out of a drink by showing you his three-liter water bottle. It was nice to have someone like Kirishima around (partially because you usually worked with a younger coworker,) who was both strong and sweet. He wasn’t majorly concerned about his midterms, stating that he had study groups with his friends and had been on top of his game and only came to the coffee shop to do light personal studying. So, during your mad dashes to make the 2,783rd cup of coffee within your shift, you couldn’t help but glance over at Kirishima, who was comforting crying students. When they weren’t crying, and you weren’t desperately trying to appease the caffeine raged customers, he chatted with you, seated on the counter by the coffee counter.

Having him around so much was actually both making your day better and much, much worse. On the one hand, that meant that since you were paired up with coworkers you didn’t get along with, you had a fantastic company that literally made the nights go by so fast as you and he became closer and closer friends. But, on the other hand, it also made your once attraction to him, having been solely based on physical looks to bleed over to personal traits, and you wanted to cry with every poor attempt of flirting that flew over his head.

However, you did get to learn that 1. he did, in fact, dye his hair red because you had the privilege of seeing his black roots. And that 2. despite his phone being filled with the craziest metal and rock songs, he really only listened to a playlist buried in his phone that was filled with soft acoustic guitar and sweet bubblegum pop songs. It was great.

But it was no time to think about your tall, red-headed crush. You had much more pressing issues with the large coffee crowd in front of you. It was rush hour, and since you were scheduled for tonight's shift, they asked if you wanted more hours for today since they were training someone new.

Obviously, you had agreed.

You had forgotten the horrors of rush that included sleep-deprived, caffeine-infused insanity of students coupled with the ever-demanding adults with jobs that they very much needed to return too. It was always horrific.

But you for sure never expected to see your crush before you.

“Kiri!” you smiled, the smile on your face was one of pure exhaustion and joy of seeing your friend crush. Your gaze quickly dropped away from him, your eyes returning to the paper cups you held, writing in their orders and name as quickly as you could. “How can I help you?”

Kirishima visibly gulped, and you froze a bit before setting down the large order on the counter for your coworkers to eventually get to. You knew by the pile-up on orders you would be switched out with the new hire after Kirishima and the person behind him.

“I, uh, I need to ask you something!” Kirishima spoke sharply, his arms stiff at his side. His usual kind and gentle smile on his face is mechanic and dull. He was… he was sweating? Pity filled your stomach; maybe he had done terribly on a midterm.

“Do you need a new coffee rec?” you immediately ask your mind on the set menu behind you, trying to come up with a coffee just sweet enough for the charming man in front of you. “You haven’t had a drink in a while, I don’t remember what you had last, though.”

“No, not that! I have a… well, I have a confession!” Kirishima tries again, his body somehow becoming even stiffer as he nods his head in growing speeds. “Yup! A confession!”

“Would ya hurry it up, kid! Some of us got work to get to!” came a crabby voice from behind Kirishima, and you winced, looking past your crush to the eldering man who looked like he was eating and shitting stress every day for the past three years.

“Sir, please calm down, it won’t take too long,” you frowned, not at all happy with the sheer impatience of the customer. You turned back to Kirishima, an apologetic look on your face. “But a confession? Okay, well, actually… I have one for you as well!” Maybe you could get yourself to confess you liked him?

But the old man’s interruption seemed to have calmed Kirishima down significantly, who snapped out of his haze.

“Sorry, sorry!” he apologized to the man behind him, bowing deeply for his troubles before facing you again and laughed. The palm of his hand hit his forehead as he groaned lowly. “Sorry, this is so unmanly of me, y/l/n! I mean, I shouldn’t even be doing this because you’re working, but I finally… I just…”

He trailed off, and you found it impossible to follow his train of thought, something you weren’t too bad at doing.

“Just what?”

It was with that the world seemed to still.

The noise of the busy coffee shop, the hustling of your coworkers, the chattering of the studying students, and business calls going mute as you stared up into Kirishima’s red, comprehensive, honest eyes.

“Well, it’s just that I, um, I--”

“Listen, kid,” the man behind Kirishima snapped at him. “I have twelve minutes to gather my drink and make it back to my meeting with my executive board. And you’re holding up the damn fucking line! Make up your mind on what coffee you want, because you’ve been in this line with me for almost ten minutes, order it and pay! Let’s get moving!”

“Sir!” you gasped, horrendously mortified a customer was acting like that! “That’s incredibly rude! He hasn’t even been here for a minute!”

“It’s actually been three!” he sneered.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, not at all positive if it had been three minutes because by god did you get lost in Kirishima’s eyes.

“No!” Kirishima interrupted you before you could begin, and you looked up at Kirishima, who looked like a kicked puppy, and that sent your heart into a whole series of palpitations you didn’t know would happen with him. “It’s fine, sorry, I got worked up… um… one of my best bros likes his coffee black, and well, I like it now too. A regular black coffee, to go…”

You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, Kirishima slipping the exact amount of money for the drink before disappearing into the crowd.

Your sight narrowed when it befell onto the old man who looked proud of himself, “Finally! Now, let me see what you guys have! I don’t know what I want!”

F O U R

Kirishima was late.

So late, so very, very late.

He checked his phone for the time yet again, somehow praying that in the last time he had checked his phone (which had been three seconds ago), the time hadn’t shot forward by ten minutes, and by the spirit of god had maybe, possibly rewound by ten minutes. He only hoped that he wouldn’t show up too late today; he actually needed something with caffeine to keep him awake today.

But he saw the coffee shop straight ahead, the small white light by the front door still buzzing and bright with the illuminated: OPEN! sign. Kirishima barreled through the front door with now practiced and known strength, his forehead sweating profusely, and his heart hammering in his throat.

“I’m… here!” he panted, his eyes finding yours as you were cleaning up the counter with a disinfecting liquid and cloth.

He had seen you yesterday, but still, seeing you at the counter, your gaze on what you were doing was like an arrow to his lungs. He looked at you in his personal slowed downtime, the way that the halo of frizzy, curly, flyaways from your hair gleamed softly with the backlight, the warmth of your skin, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes as you looked up, and he was met with the depth pool of your warm eyes.

Beautiful.

His eyes fell onto your lips, and noticed they were moving ever so slightly, and he realized that he couldn’t hear what you were saying.

All the tables had been wiped down, the chairs by the table turned upside down, laying on the tabletops. The floor still streaked with what was definitely a mop, and guilt bubbled in his stomach. You were closing up, and by the looks of it, were nearly done as well.

Kirishima paused, he was here one minute before closing, and he froze. The heavy wooden door closing behind him with an awkwardly loud thud that only seemed to thunder in his ears as the world finally caught up.

“―anything?”

Kirishima blinked, his cheeks exploding with heat.

“What?”

He hadn’t heard you utter a single word.

He watched the way your lips pulled into an endearing, yet slightly exasperated smile, your eyes rolling.

“Did you want anything?” you repeated, hands placed on your hips in a taunting, near commanding way. “Coffee’s still on the pot, so if you want anything, let me know!”

“Did you already clean up?” Kirishima asks, his eyes falling to the floor to find the different wet streaks on the tile and avoid them if his shoe was dirty. He stops when he sees the cleaned and cleared coffee counter, and guilt floods him. “It looks like you’re mostly cleaned up; I don’t want you to get things dirty again, it’s okay.”

“It’ll take me five minutes tops to clean back up!” you retort, hands already moving to grab a to-go cup for him to have.

“No, no!” Kirishima exclaims, moving back towards the door as fast as he could. He didn’t want to cause you more work, and if anything, he would just wait for you to leave the shop, and he would simply walk you back to your apartment! That seemed like the more manly thing to do, right? “It’s okay! I’m okay! I’ll live without a cup!”

You snorted, slamming the cup onto the counter with definitive intentions, “Don’t be ridiculous, coffee addict!” you pointed to the spot before the cash register, pen in hand as you readied to write down his order. “Come. Don’t be silly! Can you turn off the open sign for me, though! What do you want?”

“I feel bad,” Kirishima frowns, turning off the neon light per request before turning back towards you. His hands stuffed into his pockets. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I don’t have to,” you say with a grin and a roll of your eyes. “But since I’m the reason your addiction is a thing, I’m more than happy to deal with the consequences, Kiri.”

There’s a beat, and Kirishima walks to the counter, his lower lip jutted out in a small pout, but the energetic smile painted on your lips melts his pout into a smile immediately.

“What do you suggest?”

“Café de Olla.”

His face scrunches at the so, very not Japanese words that come from your mouth.

“Cafe de la what?”

He watches your smile brighten by a tenfold, enjoying the way your eyes easily glitter with your mirth as you turn away from him.

“Café de Olla,” you repeat again, and he can only assume it’s Spanish. “It’s a Mexican coffee, that one of the transfer students we hired from Mexico introduced us to!” Kirishima watched as you went to a small pot of coffee, put a cleaned ladle in, and eventually poured in a slightly steaming cup of dark coffee. “I can’t remember the ingredients, but the main one is cinnamon! I know you like cinnamon, and since you’re a big boy black coffee drinker now, I think you’ll like it!”

Kirishima missed the teasing look on your face when you placed the truly dark coffee in front of him.

“Um,” Kirishima nervously laughed, staring at the cup of dark liquid before him. He hated black coffee. “Are you… are you gonna put any sugar or milk in it?”

“Nope! Drink up, handsome!”

Kirishima whimpered at both the nickname you had been calling him as of late and the coffee before him. Eventually, he picked up the warm cup, not at all deceived by the warm, sweet aroma of the cup of coffee in his hand ― the black coffee had smelled sweet too. Not one to back down, especially as you were in the process of cleaning up for the day, he took a hesitant, gentle sip of the coffee and froze.

Despite the bitter, dark persona the steaming cup gave, the liquid was sweet.

Very sweet.

It was light in its spice, warming him gently, and giving him a world of flavors he hadn’t been aware of. He drank the rest of it eagerly.

“Good, right?!” you exclaimed excitedly, having caught onto what Kirishima already knew to be his unmistakable likeness. “I wasn’t too sure of it at first either! I mean, I don’t really dabble with straight black coffee, but this just hits differently!”

Kirishima placed his sample down, the back of his hand rubbing his wet lips, his smile wide and excited. He couldn’t believe he actually liked a cup of coffee! “That was SO good, fuck! I didn’t think I was going to like that! Can I have a cup of this?”

He watched as you nodded your head excitedly, more stray pieces of hair falling out of place, framing your face even more as you grabbed the cup and made due to filling it up. Kirishima watched you the entire time you filled his cup up, his fingers blindly holding his bills of cash to give to you.

‘I’m going to do it,’ he thought as you placed a lid on the cup.

‘You got this!’ he encouraged himself as you walked over, handing off the warm cup into his hands. He softly smiled at the feeling of your warm, soft fingers brushing familiarly against his own.

‘DO IT!’

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“Babycakes, are you done out here?!” a voice hollered, and Kirishima stilled when a face emerged from the back. “I’m exhausted and ready to go!”

He watched as a tall girl with green eyes and brown hair emerged from the back room, her arms stretched precariously over her head, stepped into the bar. And the world slowed when her arms quickly enveloped you.

It was then that he remembered what you had said yesterday. The way that your face morphed from apologetic to bashful, the fluster in your eyes, and the way you bit your lip nervously as you said you had something to confess to him… was she… your confession?

“Ami!” you spluttered, and Kirishima watched the way the girl who was draped over your body, much taller than you were, smile at you endearingly as you, in your fluster, failed to get her off. “Kirishima ― a customer is here!”

The word customer echoed like a bell in the world's deepest cave in Kirishima’s ear.

He was just…

He was just a customer, after all.

His smile faded from a genuine one to a phony one as he watched your coworker/girlfriend fight you on showing affection, and eventually, you won.

“S-Sorry about that!” you stammered, trying to fix your outfit, your hair chaotically was undone. His throat nearly sealed off when your pristine eyes locked back up his; he felt light under your gaze, but oh, so, cold. “You were saying?”

“Just… um, thank you!” Kirishima mustered a feeble laugh, his hand grabbing the coffee in his hand, and without so much as a goodbye, he left the coffee shop. Your echoing salutation doing nothing but making him nauseous as heartbreak overtook him.

F I V E

The last time you had seen Kirishima, you served him the café de olla during that night, which was weeks ago.

By weeks you meant nearly two months; finals season had just finished.

Despite your obvious disappointment in not seeing the one person you were enamored with, you reasoned with yourself with every disappointing redhead who would enter the coffeeshop that you had never asked for his phone number, and he was an engineering student. He had to be busy.

Even if he wasn’t busy, you tried to reason, your brow set in a knit position as you washed the ceramic cups in the sink, he had every reason to never show back up again. He wasn’t your boyfriend or anything…

Thankfully, you heard the all too familiar sound of the front door being opened, and now with new company policy, you called out in greetings.

“Welcome!”

You quickly patted your hands dry on your apron, knowing that your coworker was on break at the moment, and turned to the entrance of the shop, and froze.

It was an all too familiar head of bright red spikes.

“Kiri!” you exclaimed happily, rushing over to the register with a bright, wide smile as you restrained yourself from flinging over the counter and hugging him tightly. Of course, that would have been both unprofessional and probably pushing the boundaries of your friendship/one-sided affections. “It’s been so long, how are you?!”

Kirishima stood on the other side of the counter, his hands shoved into his blue hoodie pocket, his eyes for the first time ever almost empty, the smile you knew he wore almost religiously, nowhere to be seen. In lieu of the smile, were lips pressed into a stout line, his face puckered just slightly enough as if he had smelled something sour moments before.

What was going on?

“You okay?” you ask, your once outstretched arms retracting into yourself, seeing that he was not reciprocating your movements. Your head tilted. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, Ei,” came a new voice. “Is something wrong?”

You almost startled when a girl with curly, pink hair seemed to appear from behind Kirishima. She had eyes of liquid gold, and a teasing smile on her face as she nudged Kirishima. “What’s going on?”

Your stomach flips in unwelcomed jealousy, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek in hopes that the girl wouldn’t catch on.

When the seconds felt like minutes of silence, the girl merely sighed, her attention focusing onto you with a look of slight mischief.

“Please excuse my friend―” you relax with the f word― “we’ve been friends since grade school, and he’s never been like that! Maybe he caught a bug during breakfast?”

“Mina…” Kirishima spoke softly, not quite a warning, not quite a whine.

“You must be the famous ‘y/l/n,’ I’ve heard so much about you!” the girl ― Mina ― exclaimed excitedly, her hands grabbing yours while nodding excitedly. “When I heard that Ei hadn’t gone for coffee in so long, I obviously had to force him to come! That and he totally made one of our friends throw away my coffee, and I need the coffee in my bloodstream to survive my dumb classes!”

The one-sided tension between you and Mina expelled quickly.

“Kiri hasn’t been here in a while, but I’m sure he’s got his reasons,” you defend your crush, your smile soft as you traded your locked gaze on Mina to look at Kirishima, who weakly, barely, horribly returned the smile. “But I can definitely help with the coffee! What can I get for you?”

“Good question…” Mina sighed, her eyes studying the menu with practiced skill.

Eventually, Mina ordered a chai tea latte with an oat milk substitution, a pump of caramel, and two shots of espresso. She squealed with delight when you placed her order in front of her, and maybe had you not been excited to get Kiri’s answer, you would have noticed the way his friend strategically walked towards the door to give you two your space.

“So, how can I help ya, handsome?” you ask, your smile back to full power, although a bit shy, unaffected by the brick wall of a man before you. “We’re out of the café de olla right now, but if you don’t mind waiting fifteen minutes, I can make you a fresh batch!”

That’s a lie, the pot of Mexican coffee is still completely filled, ready for Kirishima should he want it. But you were selfish; you were trying to get him to stay longer.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Kirishima shakes his head. “I don’t wanna bug ya. I’ll just take a caramel latte, no worries.”

Disappointment rams through you, but you try your best at hiding it.

“Oh, okay! I’ll get that started for you!” you try to chirp, grabbing a to-go cup and beginning the relatively short task. “How’ve you been?” you ask, trying to initiate old conversations.

“Good.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear! How were your finals? Mine was terrible! I had a professor who forgot what time section we were, so not only were we given only thirty minutes to finish the exam, but there was no compensation for his mistake!”

“Wow… that sucks. Mine were fine.”

“Nothing crazy happened?”

“No.”

“Um, okay… well, did you see that the animated Crimson Riot movie is out?!” you ask, pathetically hopeful that the biggest conversation card you held right now would give you something better than these simple, halfhearted responses. The movie had had no promos, just a message from the local theaters that it had been made and to come and watch it.

“Yup.”

…

“Oh, that’s cool! I just found out this morning when my dad called me! I’m not near home, so I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come and watch it with me?”

You froze. Was that a date you had asked him out on? It was, wasn’t it?! Your face exploded with heat, your fingers trembling as you poured the finished hot coffee into the cup.

“...I’d rather not.”

Oh.

“T-That’s okay! I’m sure I can find a friend or something to go watch it with me… or I’ll just wait until a holiday to see it with my dad… if it’s still out.”

“Hopefully, it’s still out by then,” Kirishima muttered, his face refusing to look at you, his eyes buried into his wallet as he handed you the change for his drink. “Thanks.” he rushed, grabbing his cup and turning on his heel.

“What’s wrong with you?” you manage to ask before you can keep your mouth shut, but you can’t help it. Your chest aches with his dismissal, with every sentence he spoke that horribly and effectively shut you down before you even had a chance. In the end, it seemed that your hurt feelings won out your need to be polite. “Did something happen? A-Are you okay? Did I do something?”

Kirishima freezes in his path.

“No, nothing happened.”

That was not the answer you were hoping to get.

“Then why are you acting like this?” you ask, your voice bordering a desperate plea for an answer.

For the past many weeks, you had never once thought that he had been avoiding you, ignoring you. You thought that maybe he had just been busy with his personal life, too busy with school and work to spare his free time entertaining you at work. But even if you were disillusioned with your admiration and feelings for him, you knew the two of you were friends. You had to have been friends!

Silence.

“What’s going on?” you ask again, your voice feeling small and weak.

“Nothing,” Kirishima reiterates, his head turning so you both looked at each other through the corner of his eyes. “Nothing happened, I just… couldn’t show up.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like being around you, not anymore.”

Those words wash over you like freezing water; they’re harsh, cruel, and mean. His face twisting up as if he was some snarling, upset animal. He didn’t want to be here, his face screamed, he felt like some cornered, caged animal.

Muted anger and heartache wash over you, your head nodding numbly as you laugh humorlessly. You had been the problem.

“Sorry for… for making you feel obligated in showing up,” you whisper, your soul feeling as though it was leaving your body, your face twisted in the horribleness in his words.

I don’t like being around you, not anymore.

He wasn’t even apologizing… he’d meant it… didn’t he?

Kirishima moves to walk away, his eyes glazed over similarly to your own, but you’re not done. Not quite yet.

“You know,” you manage to speak out, your voice starting off paltrily, an almost chuckle tickling the back of your throat, humming deeply in your chest. He stops. “This entire time, you always boasted about being ‘manly’… about being chivalrous and a decent human being. For the most part, I’ve always agreed and thought that you were manly, chivalrous, and a more than decent human being but now… I can’t believe you. You really came all this way after two months of avoiding me to tell me that you would never be showing up again? That the reason for you not returning was because you’re sick of me?”

He’s silent for a bit, and it's then you notice the tears falling down your face, “Thought it was manlier to tell you I wasn’t coming back then to stop showing up without a reason.”

“You already did that!” you snapped, suddenly piercing, thundering anger running through every cell of your body, raising the hair on your body. “You’re being a complete fucking dick now, Kirishima! For what? At least before I thought it was because you’re busy, but no, you just had to tell me it was because of me! Oh my god?! To think I have a crush on you?! That I was ready to confess to you the next fucking time we had a moment together?!”

You felt hysterical, his reasoning jumbling and twisting in your mind, not at all feeling coherent, and your blazing feelings that were now biting you in the ass… you wanted to make him feel guilt most of all. With tears falling bitterly, angrily down your face, you stared at Kirishima. He was finally facing you, looking you dead on with emotion-filled eyes and a gaping fish mouth ― opening and closing pathetically.

“Get out,” you spoke with a serenity you were not quite feeling, your finger thrust toward the front door.

“Y-Y/l/n―”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you laugh bitterly, no longer wanting to have whatever it is that he wanted to say.

He was just a customer, not a friend, only a customer.

You didn’t need to be his friend anymore.

“Get. Out. Now.”

You didn’t wait for him to leave, turning on your heel, you walked to the backroom, not daring to return to the front until he left.

You’d forgotten how much rejection hurt.

O N E

Whoever said heartbreak was healed with a wild night out, a pint of ice cream and crying had clearly been built differently from you.

One wild night out with your friends, two pints of ice cream, and thirty crying sessions later, you were still sulking as you simply existed. You weren’t even sure why you were overreacting either?! He had been a crush, not a boyfriend!

Lord save you for whenever an actual reciprocated lover dumped you, you were probably never going to recover. Still, you couldn’t let it affect you all that much; you were still going about your day as you usually would, just… sulking.

“You’re a blessing in my life,” your coworker sighed as she came out from the back, her hands moving to release her hair from her bun, her purse slung against her chest as she continued to thank you. “I promise you the next time we work together, I’ll clean up on my own!”

You shake your head, waving her off as you dried some of the dishes lying about.

“We aren’t busy, and there’s no one here, I’ll clean up just fine!” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder to look at her. “Just buy me a pastry tomorrow or something. I’ve closed on my own many times, I’ll be fine! There's no coffee demand this late at night anyway!”

“Fine! I won’t forget! But don’t complain if there’s more than one pastry!”

“Oh my god, LEAVE!” you yell, blindly pointing at the door for her to leave, and you hear her resounding laughter as she finally does go.

“Oops, sorry, welcome and excuse me!” you hear her exclaim as she steps out, and you turn around, already knowing that it’s a customer.

Taking your coworkers' welcome as the company greeting, you merely shouted out that you’d be right with them as you finished washing ― you were almost done with them anyways. Finally done, you turned around, eyes on your thighs as you dried your hands on your apron.

“Alright, how can I help…” you froze when you caught sight of familiar, warm red eyes. “...you.”

Kirishima.

He looked at you with blushing, puffed cheeks, his eyes full of mixing, swirling emotions that you probably couldn’t handle to hear (especially if he had come to yell at you). You don’t know what to do, merely looking at him before sighing.

“The usual?” you ask, moving to get things as smoothly and effortlessly as you could (you had been yelled at for your emotional outburst by your boss).

“Uh, actually, no. I’m okay,” Kirishima spoke up as soon as you pulled out a paper cup, and you stopped, looking at him with your best attempt at dull, emotionless eyes.

“What can I get for you then?” you try again, hating the way that you want to smile at him, to pretend that nothing happened two weeks ago; that this was his first time back.

“I have to confess something,” Kirishima states, his fingers fisting into his ridiculous mismatched athleisure clothing. “I actually really, really, really hate coffee…”

You blinked.

You hadn’t expected that confession.

“Um, okay? Well, then can I make you some―”

“I’m not quite done, sorry,” Kirishima apologized, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in his embarrassment. “I hate coffee, and I don’t like being dishonest, but really, I feel like I’ve been lying to you this entire time.”

“...what?”

“I told you at some point that I had come into this shop by coincidence, but that’s not true! I’ve been passing by for months before stepping foot into here! I had always seen you working through the front window, and you just… you captivated me from that very moment, but I’ve been too weak, nervous, and totally unmanly and could never build up the courage to come in! It took me a year to build up the courage to come in ― which is why I nearly broke the front door that first day! I was so nervous about messing up; I just overexerted my strength!”

Kirishima laughed, his hands raking through his spiked hair, and you could only stare at him as the gelled hair began to fall under his ministrations.

“See, the truth is, I’ve liked you for a long time. Like a long time. And then, when I came in, and we became friends, I only fell for you even more, and I’ve been trying to work up the courage to confess to you! But every time I tried, something bad happened! Like the grouchy old man in the line, how you got sick and couldn’t work! But a true man doesn’t give up until it’s over… and I thought that girl who was hugging you and kissing your cheek that one day was your girlfriend, so I gave up! But the thing is, I was a coward, so fucking unmanly that I couldn’t be around you without you being mine! And so I left because it hurt… but it hurt not being around you, so Mina brought me here! But then you said… you said you liked me back, and unless you’re in a polyamorous relationship, there’s no way for you to have said feelings and confess them to me like that!”

He stopped, his breath frantic, panting, and you could only look up with him with a mirrored breathing pattern despite your quietness.

“I’m here because I’m tired of being weak and unmanly. I’m here because I have deep feelings for you, and I want to ask you out!”

You’re silent for a bit, the temerity of his words loud and clear in your ears, ringing with the need to be addressed. For the first time since he had walked out of your life for the first time, a warmth bubbled in your chest.

“You know,” you whisper, your eyes locked with his, the tears in your eyes freely showing. “This coffee shop does, in fact, have tea?”

“Wha―?”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish the curious ask, your hands grabbing his shirt and bringing him close, his nose brushing against yours but your lips hovering below his own.

“Can I kiss you?” you whisper, your eyes falling to his lips for a second before coming back to his eyes that shone brightly, vividly, excitedly.

“Please?”

Your lips found themselves pressed against his, and the two of you stood there, leaning against the counter by the cash register. Lips passionately, smoothly, deeply pressing against one another as electricity traveled slowly down your spine as his hands pressed against your ribcage. When you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open after yours, and he had the brightest, dumbest smile on his face.

“Would you like to go see the Crimson Riot movie with me?”

#kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #mha

419 notes · View notes

cherryobx · 4 years

Text

Cell mate for the night//JJ Maybank x reader

requested?: yes honey “jj meeting the reader in a cell as she's being interrogated and smart mouthing the police n introducing her to the pogues? only if you have time don't rush yourself🥺”

A/N: i LOVE the idea but i hate the way i wrote it, i still hope you enjoy it

summary: JJ meets you in the weirdest way possible

warnings: a few curse words i think, grammar mistakes and bad writing, incorrect stuff (i don’t know anything about what goes down while interrogating lmao and i 100% know they don’t put 2 people in the same cell but oh well it’s for the sake of the story)

WC: 1416

NOT MY GIF!!!

Yet again, JJ found himself in a cell at the local police department. He had been there quite a few times but not at a late time like this. It was almost 12 a.m when he was brought in.

He was there for a pretty stupid reason. He got into a fight at a party and the police were called. The other dude was let go. He was a kook. They never got into serious trouble. But JJ was kept there for the night. He was lucky they didn’t call his dad.

But what JJ didn’t know is that he’d meet the love of his life that night.

You were caught vandalizing a boat. But you, of course, called it art.

“I was just drawing pretty pictures! You’re gonna put a teenager into jail for drawing?” You scoffed in the backseat of the police car, rolling your eyes.

“No, I’m not taking you to jail. And you were not drawing, we both know it. It’s called vandalism.”

When you arrived at the station he got you out of the car and held a firm grip on your hand as he pulled you through the building, making his way towards the cell.

“Aw, man! I have to share my cell? What a shame,” you commented as he unlocked the only cell that was in that room and slightly pushed you in. The blonde boy, already in the cell, was watching your interaction with the cop.

“Come on, Steve! I didn’t do anything serious,” you complain, leaning against the cell bars, looking at the cop.

“Let me out. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll even be your friend if you let me out. We’re already on first-name basis.”

“No, we are not, Y/L/N.” The cop was looking through the drawers. He was probably looking for your file.

“So it all meant nothing to you? How we met on the dock? How we held hands for the first time?”

“Y/L/N, we didn’t hold hands. I was dragging you here. Please, let me do my job and tell me everything you did today. And be honest.” He took a seat behind his table and pulled out a pen to write everything down.

“I already told you in the car. Do I need to repeat myself? You have trouble with your memory or something?”

“Y/N/L,” he said in a warning tone.

“What?” you innocently asked.

“Talk.”

“I am talking right now. We’re having a conversation. What else do you want?”

He sighed, looking down at the papers in front of him. You could tell he was already done with your bullshit.

JJ was watching the interaction between you and the cop, smirking. He didn’t even know you but he already liked you. Not only for your good looks but the way you were talking to the cop. You didn’t care that you might get into more trouble than you already were. He admired your personality.

“Y/N, this is your last warning. Talk.”

“Take off the handcuffs and then we’ll see,” you tried to compromise with him. To your luck, it worked.

After getting free from the restraints on your wrists, the cell was locked again and the cop took his seat once again.

“Now, tell me everything.”

“Well, I was in a spectacularly good mood today. I was feeling artsy, you know. And the boats looked really boring,” you explained, emphasizing on the word ‘really’.

“Go on.”’

“And then I decided to make them a little less boring. That’s it. There’s nothing really. So, when will I get out?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“You’re gonna leave a kid in a cell with a random stranger for the night?”

He got up from his seat and put the papers back in the drawer where he took them from in the first place.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks, chief. I’ve always wanted to sleep on a cell floor. You’re fulfilling my dreams right now.”

“You’re welcome.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a loud thud.

“Ouch, a random stranger?” JJ asked as if he was hurt by your words.

“I said what I said,” you said, sitting down and leaning your back against the bars of the cell so you could face him.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“I’m JJ. And I just have to say, you’re really good at pissing people off. You got him off of your back in 2 minutes. I have been here for the last 2 hours, talking to him.”

“Well, JJ, what did you do to end up here on this fine night?”

“I got into a fight,” he answered.

“Ooh, a bad boy. What a rebel,” you sarcastically said, making him laugh.

“Are you new here? Cause I haven’t seen you around.”

“Oh, I’ve lived here my whole life. Most of the time I’m just doing my own thing.”

JJ patted the spot next to him on the so-called bed, silently telling you to go sit next to him. Well, it kind of resembled a bed.

“You’re gonna get sick if you sit on that cold concrete floor.”

“So nice of you to care about my health, stranger,” you chuckled and got up from the floor and joined him on the bed.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and let out a tired sigh. JJ leaned his head against yours and you sat in silence for a while. It was a beautiful sight, honestly.

You had known JJ for only some minutes but you felt sort of connected to him. Like you had known him for years instead of minutes. And that feeling made you comfortable around him. So comfortable that you fell asleep on his shoulder.

You woke up at the sound of a door slam, followed by a “Good morning, lovebirds!”

In the middle of the night, when you were sleeping JJ leaned against the wall behind him and placed your head on his lap so you could sleep more comfortably.

“Good morning, Steve! So nice of you to finally come back. I missed you.”

“Y/L/N, stop. It’s too early for that.”

The cop came over to the cell, taking out his keys and finally freeing you.

“Maybank, you’re free to go.” JJ just nodded and sent you a smile as a goodbye.

“Y/L/N, we have some unfinished business. I need you to sign these documents. I’ve contacted your parents about the fine.”

“Fine? What the fuck? These it’s not spraypaint, you dumbass. It can be washed off easily.”

“I know. And you’re going to be washing it off tomorrow morning.”

“Then why do I need to pay the fine?”

“Because.”

You huffed in annoyance and took up a pen from the table and signed the papers placed in front of you.

“You may go now.”

“Thanks, bestie, see you soon.” You waved at him as you walked out of there.

“Hopefully not,” he mumbled but you still heard.

“Ouch. I heard that, you prick.”

When you exited the police station JJ was waiting for you. He was sat on the stairs, his back turned to you.

“Waiting for someone, Maybank?” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him. He got up from the stairs, following you.

“Yeah, just this girl I met at a police station cell.”

“She must be amazing,” you jokingly said, flinging your hair over your shoulder.

“She is indeed. And I was wondering if she’d like to meet my friends? I feel like they’d like her.”

“Why do you think so.”

“Cause she’s really cool. I like her.”

“You do now, huh?” you asked, turning around and facing him, smirking.

“I do.”

“Then she’d love to meet your friends. Take her to the right now. She’s busy tomorrow. She has to wash the paint off of a boat tomorrow,” you said, still talking about yourself in third person point of view.

And he did take you to meet his friends. They really liked you, as JJ had expected. You became best friends with them and started hanging out with them every day.

A few weeks went by and you fell for JJ. You had already started liking him the night you met but as time passed, you really fell for him, and you fell hard.

Love strikes you at the weirdest times and in the weirdest places. And you were okay with it. You wouldn’t change anything about the way you met JJ.

taglist: @teamnick @www-imbored-com @delightfullynlove @prejudic3 @afterglows7b-tch13 @tomhardybby @ad-infinitums @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @ilovejjmaybank @mdlyncline @allycat449-blog @abbiesthings @teenwaywardasgardian @copper-boom @canibeoneofthepogues @fttayla @ifilwtmfc @bedazzledbanks @jeyramarie @joshy-obx @pink-meringues

PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK!!!! (it helps me get better at writing)

340 notes · View notes

monkeebratz · 5 years

Text

Bio!Dad Bruce - Summer Begins

Going with the nice, Sabine-and-Tom-send-Marinette-to-Gotham-during-the-summer version, Marinette goes to visit Bruce and Alfred in Gotham during the summer. Its honestly kinda a clusterfuck, since you have the Miraculous Team being told she’ll be out of town and coming back as needed using the horse miraculous. (Her notification for the akuma alerts is the alt. Ladybug intro at full volume. Same for the hero discord they made pre-hawkmoth defeat. Adrian set it to that right before she left. Marinette’s going to kill him next time she sees him.)

(also the miraculous team consists of Abeelle (Chloe), Viperion (Luka), Chat Noir (Adrian), and Himeryu (Kagami). Please forgive my horrible mangling of French and Japanese but Chloe and Kagami got to keep their miraculous with a costume and name change. Everybody knows each others identities and support Marinette going to Gotham after Hawkmoths defeat. They’re hoping she’ll be able to have a break. She absolutely doesn’t.)

Anyway. Bruce and Alfred sit the boys down and tell them that another of Bruce’s children will be coming to stay with them over the summer. She’s had a rough time in Paris and she’s coming to have a break. Damien is threatened by the idea that Bruce has a younger, blood child, and is not excited about having a civilian in the house while they do hero work. Jason makes jokes about how of course Bruce has a hidden child in France, that’s just par for the course at this point. Tim’s pretty excited? more family! Dick, on the other hand, is all about it. He’s so ready.

(Again, forgive me, i’m not familiar with most of the robin’s but I’ll do my best.)

(Jason: Wait. You have more children? Where the fuck have you been hiding them? Alfred: Marinette lives in Paris with her mother and father. Tim: OH my god. Is she an assassin too by any chance? Is she going to murder us with an Eiffel Tower charm? Damien: Oh, shut up, Drake. Dick: We’re all going to die, holy shit. That or she’ll be like. Sweeter than sugar. Bruce: -DEEP SIGH- Boys. Please.)

Alfred makes it clear that they’re not to interrogate Marinette and make her feel uncomfortable. She’s been having a rough time at school and in the city in general and she doesn’t need all the boys getting on her case. Its still a lot, though. Four brothers she hadn’t really interacted with beyond what Bruce and Alfred have told them, and she’s pretty proficient with English but having 3-4 native speakers all talking over each other while you’re trying to figure out what’s going on is Stressful As Hell. Bruce is tired. There’s many jokes about how Bruce’s bio children are a little devil and a little angel.

The first week is a crazy adjustment period. The first few days are just the Wayne’s going about their routine and Marientte getting used to everything. Mostly the fact that the Wayne’s live in a mansion and she knew Bruce was rich and ran a company but its different knowing and seeing that first hand. Bruce offers to take Marinette shopping or to Wayne Enterprises but she declines, saying she’ll go out once she’s more settled. There’s lots of her being on the phone with the Super Squad bc she’s super anxious about being in the house with near strangers and in a new city and with all the Miraculi she hasn’t given out yet.

Because yeah, did I mention that she’s the Official Guardian now? And has all the Miraculi hidden in a box in a box. Like. She made a box for the Miraculous Box similar to her diary box. And you know that Damien. Suspicious, assassin-trained, Damien. Went to snoop through her room. And got his hand caught in the box. Kaalki sees this and warns Marinette, who’s probably chilling out in the library, and rushes up. There’s yelling. Yelling that brings Alfred and Jason and possibly Dick up to see the youngest of them screaming at each other in French and Marinette is in the middle of a panic attack and Damien’s pride is hurting that he got caught and couldn’t get out. Alfred breaks it up and brings the boys back downstairs an when he tries to comfort Marinette, he comes back to a locked door and Marinette being comforted by the kwami’s. He assume’s she’s just on the phone with people tho. There’s panic with the Super Squad about someone trying to steal the miraculi and everyone promptly plans to come to Gotham. Without telling Marinette.

Its all around a rough time.

The next day, Bruce tries to sooth all the ruffled feathers and they take a family trip out to the city. Shows Marinette all the interesting stuff around Gotham, the old buildings and historic district and lots of Wayne buildings and such. They stop at the city gardens and Marinette just lays in the flowers and tries to calm down. Damien makes a comment and oh wow, look at that. You somehow got an incredibly staining flower on your suit. Such. A. Shame.

How do Damien and Marinette make up, you ask? But kicking the shit out of each other under the guise of training, of course. Because, lets be real, nobody ever expects Marinette to be a fighter. The Wayne’s all train, of course, and Bruce and Alfred know that Sabine taught their girl some things. But she can hold her own against all the boys. All of them. Hell, she can hold her own against Bruce. Against Damien. They’re all frankly shocked and slightly terrified bc uh? Where did you learn this? How? Why?

Meanwhile, Damien and Marinette are still yelling in French and basically tearing the training room you know the Wayne’s have apart as they jump around and use the room to their advantage. But its cathartic. Because Damien doesn’t want this newcomer to hurt his family and he’s used to high level threats and even family can be a threat. Especially family, honestly. And he’d do whatever it took to keep his family safe, despite his piss poor attitude about everything. And Marinette? Marinette still has such a weight on her shoulders, she took over a duty she wasn’t truly prepared for, and she’s terrified about what will happen if she fails, even if everyone keeps telling her she’s won. Because lets face it, evil never really dies and she has to be above it all and always on top of her game. And she doesn’t really know the Wayne’s, not like her family back in Paris, and she wants to be close, but it scares the shit out of her. She’s always messed everything up, what happens if she messes this up too?

... Basically this fight ends up with a big heart to heart and they call a truce while the rest of the family stands there confused and a little terrified. Bruce. Bruce what is wrong with your bio!children? BRUCE.

Alfred has a sinking suspicion about what’s going on here though, but keeps it to himself.

(Next in, Multimouse meets Batman and the Birds. Also a partial identity reveil. Family bonding. Y’know. The usual. Also the Super Squad kidnaps their leader and the Wayne’s promptly panic. Again.)

(Also just a reminder, guys, if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask!)

#miraculous ladybug #batman #maribat #biological father bruce wayne #miraculous ladybug au #batman au #damien wayne #bruce wayne #marinette dupain cheng #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson

726 notes · View notes

mediaeval-muse · 3 years

Text

Book Review

The Wolf in the Whale. By Jordanna Max Brodsky. New York: Redhook, 2019.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, magical realism

Part of a Series? No

Summary: A sweeping tale of clashing cultures, warring gods, and forbidden love: In 1000 AD, a young Inuit shaman and a Viking warrior become unwilling allies as war breaks out between their peoples and their gods-one that will determine the fate of them all. "There is a very old story, rarely told, of a wolf that runs into the ocean and becomes a whale." Born with the soul of a hunter and the spirit of the Wolf, Omat is destined to follow in her grandfather's footsteps-invoking the spirits of the land, sea, and sky to protect her people. But the gods have stopped listening and Omat's family is starving. Alone at the edge of the world, hope is all they have left. Desperate to save them, Omat journeys across the icy wastes, fighting for survival with every step. When she meets a Viking warrior and his strange new gods, they set in motion a conflict that could shatter her world...or save it.

***Full review under the cut.***

***Mild spoilers in the plot section.***

Content/Trigger Warnings: rape, sexual assault, racism, misogyny, blood, violence, infanticide, slavery

Overview: I’m not an expert on Inuit culture, so if there are any Inuit, Indigenous, or scholarly reviewers out there who can speak more about the representation in this book, I highly recommend listening to them over me. (I am, however, a medievalist, so I can speak to the Norse elements in this book, if desired.)

The Wolf in the Whale is the kind of book that I have wanted for years; one that pushes back against the colonial gaze and gives us a perspective on Vikings from a non-European point of view. Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure if this book did that for me. Brodsky (from her own research note) is not Inuit herself, though she does detail her research process and seems knowledgeable about some aspects of Inuit culture. Combined with some storytelling elements that she included in her tale (such as rape and misogyny), I feel somewhat conflicted about how to rate this book, even as I appreciate what it was trying to do. I think for me, personally, The Wolf in the Whale didn’t do as much interrogation into gender identity as it could have, nor do I think making Inuit spirituality/religion fit into Norse mythology entirely rejects a colonial point of view. I did, however, appreciate the premise and the writing, so I’m giving this book a 3.5 star rating.

Writing: Brodsky’s prose is very literary in tone, and I thought that Brodsky wrote with an easy balance between telling and showing. She uses neither flowery language nor sparse descriptions, and it was easy to visualize what was going on without feeling like everything was being spoon-fed to me. I also think the sentences flowed well and the pace was generally appropriate, and I found it easy to keep reading, even though this book was around 500 pages long.

This book is, however, written in first person, which I personally don’t care for because first person can make some descriptions seem awkward. Brodsky manages to sidestep a lot of awkwardness by using a more literary style, reigning in some emotion to make it feel as if the POV character is retelling their story from a future, detached kind of mental state. So props to her for that.

Plot: The Wolf in the Whale follows Omat, an Inuit girl who is raised as a boy, as they struggle to ensure their family’s survival. Over the course of the novel, Omat encounters food shortages, divine conflicts, and strangers (including other Inuit, Indigenous peoples, and Norsemen), and the majority of the latter half of the book is spent following Omat as they search for their cousin, Kiasik, who has been kidnapped by Norsemen.

In general, I think the structure of the plot worked well. Brodsky divides her book into sections that reflect different conflicts in Omat’s life, and I think the events unfolded in a logical way. I also really enjoyed the valuation of stories (especially when Omat and Brandr, a Viking, bond over storytelling) and the magical realism that gave Omat a connection to the spirit world. I furthermore appreciated that Omat’s story was one of Inuit contact with Vikings; as a medievalist, I’ve studied sagas that this book is loosely based on, and I appreciate the fact that Brodsky represented the Vikings not as heroic explorers, but colonizers and slavers.

I did not, however, enjoy the fact that so much of this book seemed to revolve around misogyny, and I got a weird sense that even though Omat is our POV character, Norse mythology seemed to take center stage when the Vikings showed up. First, the misogyny: I can’t speak to the accuracy of the Inuit stories about their gods and goddesses, nor can I say for certain if Inuit peoples have strict prohibitions against women doing men’s work and vice versa; thus, I can’t say whether the numerous stories about rape or the taboos that Omat is punished for violating are accurate or exaggerated. However, I think I can say that Omat needed to have a much more defined personal journey that didn’t revolve around her disdaining women’s work or being sexually assaulted. As a girl raised as a boy, Omat is incredibly anxious about being perceived as a hunter and a man - to the point where they express a lot of disgust or shame at being seen wearing women’s clothes or doing women’s work. I think there’s a way to explore Omat’s gender anxiety without denigrating the role women play in Inuit culture, as without women’s work, everyone would die. To be fair, Omat does learn to appreciate women’s roles over time, but I think that process needed to be more gradual and punctuated with plot points where a woman’s skill or knowledge proved to be valuable.

I also do not think there needed to be so much sexual assault (or threat of sexual assault). While I do think Brodsky showed Omat to be affected by her rape, and there’s a nice moment towards the end where Omat addresses all the rape that their goddesses have endured in their stories, I also think the constant threat of sexual assault was a little much. Again, I can’t speak to whether Inuit culture expects women to essentially be sexually available for their husbands at all times and able to be “loaned out” to other men, but I think I can say that as a female reader, I was tired of Omat being threatened to be raped all the time, by Inuit and Viking alike. I would have preferred that Omat come to view their stories in a new light after their assault, and that Omat form bonds with other women who straddle the line between male and female (such as Freydis and Loki, despite their antagonism) in order to grow as a person without a concrete binary gender identity.

Now for the Norse mythology stuff.

***HERE BE SPOILERS.***

While I did like the magical realism that made Omat’s spirituality feel real, I think actually speaking to Norse gods themselves pushed this book from historical fiction to fantasy for me in a way that felt jarring. Also, I think that Brodsky put a little too much value on Norse mythology to the point where it became validated over Inuit spirituality towards the end. To explain: Omat learns in the book that Inuit gods are actually the Frost Giants from Norse culture, and while I get that Brodsky was trying to make all religions fit into one cosmic system, it felt like she wasn’t so much rejecting colonialism as much as she was imposing it. I didn’t like the fact that Inuit gods being Frost Giants meant that Norse myths are real and Inuits have to fit into Norse cosmology, not the other way around. Moreover, Omat is responsible for bringing about Ragnarok, which means that the big mythological battle is between Inuit and Norse gods. While all the gods are reborn, so to speak, after the battle, only the Norse ones speak to Omat, which felt a little unfair.

Characters: Omat, our POV protagonist, is a compelling character in that they have interesting strengths, flaws, and personal challenges. As a girl raised as a boy, Omat struggles to find an accepted identity within their culture, while also getting in trouble for pride (especially when they try to “prove” that they are a man). I liked that Omat was so interested in stories and connected so strongly with the spirit world, and I found their courage to be admirable. I did have some problems with Omat’s utter shame at all things feminine; as mentioned above, I think the acceptance of women’s work and a female body could have been a good character arc, but I think everything was too mired in misogyny to be powerful.

Brandr, a Viking and Omat’s ally-turned-lover, was admirable in that he rejected a lot of the violence of Norse culture and learned to see Omat as a capable, formidable leader. It was a little strange to me, however, that Brandr seemed to offer Omat what their people could not: acceptance of their gender-fluidity. It seemed like almost a critique of Inuit society, though to be fair, Norse people also expressed a lot of misogyny and homophobia in this book. I hated the fact that Brandr was revealed to have raped 3 women prior to meeting Omat, and while it’s good that Brandr realizes how wrong he was to do that (even though his culture told him that it was expected of a Viking), I think he got off far too easy.

Supporting characters were interesting in that they were heavily flawed. Kiasik, Omat’s cousin, struggles with his affection for Omat and his envy of them, leading him to make some decisions that open a rift between the two. Freydis, the legendary leader of the Viking expedition, is determined and harsh, which is fine since she is a major antagonist, but I would have preferred more commentary on gender roles when Omat saw her inhabiting male and female roles. Various Inuit characters were also interesting, such as Omat’s grandfather and adoptive mother, who support Omat in their personal journey. Issuk and his family were hard to like, since Issuk is a braggart and a rapist and his band does little to stick up for Omat.

TL;DR: The Wolf in the Whale has an exciting premise and does well with its magical realism. Moreover, it is well written and clearly has good intentions; however, misogyny and Euro-centric/colonial biases still creep up and detract from the valuation of the main character’s Inuit culture.

#book reviews

3 notes · View notes

thestuckylibrary · 4 years

Text

A Year in Reading: 2019 - Blue

So real life kind of kicked our asses in 2019 and we weren’t able to keep up with the monthly Mods’ Reads posts. We’ve gotten some questions about them and we still intend to keep them a thing, hopefully, in 2020. But for now, this will have to do. Below the cut is everything I’ve read in the past year:

(It’s a long list and I may have missed some things we try and warn for, so make sure to check tags and warnings on any fics that catch your eye <3)

January

Slainte mhaith by Speranza (oneshot | 1,180 | M)

Under the Bridges of Fame by alby_mangroves, notlucy (complete | 89,678 | E)

For better or for worse (usually worse), Steve Rogers has been the most famous guy in the room for a while. And though newsreels have given way to YouTube, people’s reactions haven’t changed much in seventy-some years. Steve’s become an expert at keeping his head down and getting on with his life.

A head-on collision on a busy street sends books flying and sweeps Steve off his feet. The point of impact has a name: James. A charming mess of long hair, thick glasses, and a crooked, not-quite-smile. If he recognizes Steve, he chooses not to comment, placing him firmly in Steve’s good graces.

As far as Steve can tell, they might be Bogie and Bacall all over again, save for the group of idiots with selfie sticks who surround them. But for once, the request isn’t for Steve.

Which begs the question: if James is James, then who the hell is Bucky?

So, You’ve Adopted a Fruit by Nejinee (complete | 17,769 | E)

Steve knows that Bucky’s trying his best to stay whole in this new modern world. Then Bucky finds a struggling little scraggly creature and decides immediately to wrap it up in his open heart and take it home. It’s a bit bizarre seeing a former assassin taking to something so small and helpless, but to Steve it all makes sense.

Part 1 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

Sandy Cheeks by Nejinee (oneshot | 4,227 | T)

A day at the beach with Steve, Bucky and Blueberry.

Part 2 of 2 lovestruck idiots and a dog

The Job Between Here and There by Pohadka (series, ongoing | 182,404 | M)

He might be free from HYDRA’s command and making his own life now, but James Buchanan Barnes is far more lost than he’d ever been before. Nothing matches the vague memories he’s recovered so far, and the world has progressed far beyond needing soldiers. To find out what he wants, and how to get it, he just needs a little… Leverage.

all systems snot by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (oneshot | 2,962 | T)

They don’t let you suck dick in quarantine.

A Hatemance For The Ages by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (series, ongoing, restricted | 28,750 | E)

This is what happens when you find your soulmate… and instead of birds singing and roses blooming, you discover they’re an insufferable jerk. But an insufferable jerk that you low-key really want to bang, if nothing else because MAYBE THEN THEY WOULD SHUT UP.

Features the worst, most annoying iterations of Cap!Steve and Modern!Bucky. There is nothing these two wouldn’t do for each other… out of spite.

[A series of occasional short fics that I write when I just want snark and hate sex]

The Department of Special Collections by alby_mangroves, Speranza (oneshot | 4,867 | T)

It was a messy thing of leather and papers and rope. It looked like Phillips had carelessly thrown a bunch of documents onto an old piece of black leather and then rolled the whole thing up and tied it … The papers inside were all different sizes, everything out of order and haphazardly stacked, like someone had been in a hurry and just grabbed it all.

love is blind (steve and bucky are just dumb) by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 4,409 | T)

“You shouldn’t have interrupted their date, then,” Natasha pipes up, finally showing her face as she gives Bucky a wave and a tiny smile. “I like the hair.”

“Thank you.” Bucky preens a little. He ignores the teasing about this being a date; Nat and Sam somehow got it into their heads that Steve and him were dating via Skype calls. They’re not. They’re just friends who video call sometimes. Friends do that.

Part 3 of Happy Steve Bingo

Part 1 of men with no plans

i love him and our goat children by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 5,526 | T)

“Bucky, why does Sam have a photo of you surrounded by goats and the words “Always be happy with Jesus” on it?” Steve asks, looking at him on the screen.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky move in together, adopt some goat kids, and live happily ever after.

Part 2 of men with no plans

Part 4 of Happy Steve Bingo

February

Treasured by Dira Sudis (dsudis), Sealcat (complete | 24,609 | M)

When everyone in town became convinced that a dragon really had come again to the Old Lair, and that the town would have to offer it tribute, they all looked at Steve.

Honestly, he was relieved.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

“No, but—” Steve broke off his instinctive response. All his life, he’d believed in doing what was right… he was not about to stop now. Wincing at the prickling pain in his feet, he straightened up to his full height. “Yes. If it means you’ll leave this place.”

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

Steve gritted his teeth and refused to answer. The dragon could very well find that out for himself. He stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back. Then the dragon got up, turned around, and went back into his cave.

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

It's A Funny Story... by perfect_plan (oneshot | 6,009 | M)

Bucky just had the most mind-blowing sex of his life with a handsome stranger and nothing can ruin his day. That is until he goes out to breakfast with his room mate to meet Sam's best friend who just moved to town.

total eclipse of the bark by Deisderium (oneshot | 2,627 | T)

Steve's first day at the flower shop, he walks into the break room to find an extremely large and muscular man having a breakdown because his dog is sick. Only an asshole wouldn't try to comfort that large and muscular man.

Karma's A Fake Orgasm by gracie137 (complete | 51,653 | E)

There’s another abandoned mug, festering with mould in the living room — Steve offically has the world's worst roommates. And complains about them. Often. Bucky, tired of his lack of action, decides it’s time to avenge Steve's sleepless nights and unsanitary conditions once and for all. They’ll pretend to be the world’s most annoying couple: excessive PDA, loud fake sex, and general repugnance. The plan sounds easy enough; it will be strictly platonic. Or will it?

Part 1 of Revenge Is Best Served Horny

A minor misunderstanding, solidarity, and reunion by owlet (oneshot | 2,456 | T)

Barnes should know better. Lidia should charge her phone.

Part 8 of Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail

Licence To Thrill by roe87 (oneshot | 4,153 | M)

James is a Russian spy, ordered to take down American agent Steve Rogers.

Steve is an American agent, ordered to take down Russian spy James.

But when they first meet, things take a different turn.

(Or, a spies meet cute)

You Can't Take the Sky from Me by LeisurelyPanda (oneshot | 6,259 | M)

Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew were flagged by an Alliance ship after innocently minding their own business during an illegal salvage operation. It's not Bucky's first scrape with the oppressive, bureaucratic Alliance military, and it won't be the last. However, most Alliance vessels don't send someone so... adorably susceptible to Bucky's charms to interrogate him.

Steve was conscripted into the Alliance at a young age. He's been around long enough to know that it's not what everyone said it was when he was conscripted. A dashing rogue in his interrogation room, however, offers what might be his only chance at escaping this life.

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 5,186 | E)

“You should come over for a drink.” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says instead of answering Steve’s very valid question.

“I really don’t think I should. Sounds like fraternizing with the enemy.” Steve says, even as he’s abandoning his tree and moving towards the gate.

“Look at is as a know thy enemy thing instead,” Christmas Stealing Hot Neighbor says before flashing Steve a smile and oh, oh no, Steve is screwed.

Aka Steve Rogers is competitive, Bucky Barnes is into his hot new neighbor, and Christmas Feelings ensue.

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

10-94* by gravesecret, softcorehippos (complete | 38,817 | E) *graphic violence

Late at night, when the city sleeps, they race.

Bucky Barnes owns a garage and race for pinks, Steve Rogers is an FBI Agent with a lot of people to prove wrong.

Destiny Knows Better by Polska_1999 (oneshot | 4,251 | T)

When Steve woke up after the ice with a new soulmark, and one that offended him no less, he made it his personal promise to hate the person that the universe chose to replace Bucky. Shame that the universe didn’t quite get the memo.

Part 9 of Sprint Towards Blackout (Happy Steve Bingo 2018)

Sergeant Hot Pants by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 11,798 | E)

When Sergeant Bucky Barnes is assigned to temporarily take over for Maria Hill, Steve can't quite keep his shit together. Not around Bucky, who is the hottest Alpha Steve's ever seen.

Lessons Are So Cold by herecomesbucktofuckshitup (complete | 57,575 | E)

Steve knows that he's small. He knows that someone has to go undercover at the local high school, and he knows that he was the right person for the job. He just wishes he wasn't. And Steve really really wishes that the cute boy he'd hooked up with the night before his mission hadn't turned out to one of his teachers.

Patience by cleo4u2 (oneshot | 5,073 | M)

You should never Google yourself. Steve knows that, he's been out of the ice for over a year, but he just can't help himself. After finding a gorgeous, sexy brunette thirst tweeting about calling him Daddy, he can't help himself from responding, either.

We Are The Lucky Ones by blithelybonny (oneshot | 28,563 | E)

The Soldiers will be drift compatible -- of that, there is no question. They were bred for perfect synchronicity; two halves of one whole, one mind in two perfect bodies.

But they cannot be allowed to remember. The drift may be catastrophic.

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

No Kind of Life by Speranza (oneshot | 1,995 | not rated)

"You know I have to do everything the hard way, Buck. It’s the fundamental fact of my nature.”

The Gentleness That Comes* by doctormccoy (oneshot | 8,566 | M) *sex work

Steve Rogers never really views the things he had to do to get by before the War with any sort of shame or embarrassment. People ask him for his opinions on modern issues in interviews, but Steve has gotten good at talking around those types of questions. Fury insists that there's no way to answer them without casting a shadow of controversy across the reputation of the Avengers, and that's the last thing Steve wants.

But then a sex tape is released featuring Tony Stark in bed with another man, and Steve can't stay quiet any longer.

Expressive Force by Avaaricious (oneshot | 3,795 | T)

AKA the "You punched me in the face while gesticulating wildly to a friend" AU

Part 1 of Meet-Ugly

Bite Your Tongue by Avaaricious (complete | 34,193 | T)

AKA the "I work at a department store and if you take out and unfold a shirt and then leave it one more time I'm going to stuff it down your throat" AU

Part 2 of Meet-Ugly

March

Misdemeanor by Avaaricious (complete | 9,140 | G)

Based off this tumblr post by peterssquill:

Some cop, unlucky enough to pull over Captain America of all people: Sir um could I see ur... uh... license?

Steve Rogers someone who never bothered to get one: ....no

Part 6 of Meet-Ugly

P.O.W. by Avaaricious (oneshot | 20,420 | T)

AKA the "You're strapped to a table in a lab and I've come to rescue you, but you think you're hallucinating and kiss me" AU

Part 5 of Meet-Ugly

Part 1 of Fixed Points

The New Super by gr8escap (oneshot | 3,001 | T)

Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.

Part 6 of Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo]

Seashore by Speranza (oneshot | 505 | not rated)

Fan the Flame by Avaaricious (WIP | 253,880 | M)

AKA the "I thought you were a dude-bro and meant to swipe left on Tinder but I slipped. We matched and now I'm stuck talking to you" AU

Part 4 of Meet-Ugly

Heckin' Chunker for Love by canistakahari (oneshot | 2,708 | T)

On the inside of the big floor to ceiling window of the office across the street, someone has used Post-it Notes to spell out a message:

W H A T I S Y O U R C A T ’ S N A M E ?

Like Playing With Fire by GoldBlooded, LeisurelyPanda, wilfling (complete | 33,567 | E)

James is heir to his family's business, brought over from Mother Russia by his great-grandfather in 1917. In 1918, an Irish organization also moved to Brooklyn, a little too close for comfort. They've been rivals for over a hundred years, and it can get pretty stressful. Sometimes James needs to blow off some steam, and if a handsome stranger named Grant wants to do the same, James certainly isn’t going to say no.

Steve, heir to the Irish family, has never met James Barnes. But they all know that he's an arrogant, dangerous enemy without honor, as evidenced by the way the Russians are crossing lines again. On the way to a 'meeting' between the two families, Steve doesn't spare his counterpart a single thought... because his head is swimming with a man named Bucky and the earth-shattering night they've just spent together.

How will Steve and James cope when they find out they're sworn blood enemies? What happens when the 'meeting' is sabotaged by an unknown third party? Will the Irish and Russians be able to look past ancient, ingrained hurts for the sake of survival? More importantly, will Steve and James be able to ignore the ever-growing attraction between them?

I’m a Sucker for a Wild Boy by jinlinli (complete | 9,897 | T)

Steve is a vampire who’s never met a werewolf in his life before. Bucky is a werewolf who doesn’t even know vampires exist. Naturally, neck biting means two very different things to them.

In which Steve goes for a midnight snack and accidentally gets himself werewolf married.

The Very Heart of It* by merryofsoul (restricted, oneshot | 17,743 | M) *graphic violence

In which Captain America adopts a dog from Bucky and they become friends — and then more.

A Piece of Silly Affection by Reccea (restricted, oneshot | 11,687 | E)

Steve looked good, He looked hale and hearty and uninjured in his leather jacket, too-tight shirt, and jeans. He got off the motorcycle and his movements were graceful and fluid - no obvious signs of injury. He took off his helmet and --

Oh.

Steve had a beard.

Bucky’s mechanical hand spasmed oddly.

Life of the Party by AggressiveWhenStartled (complete | 21,689 | E)

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled (Senforza) (oneshot | 4,127 | T)

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

Bad Moon Rising by spacebuck (complete | 57,533 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a lot of things:

- a nurse - the owner of a dorky dog that's too big for his own good - a lot older than he looks (by a lot more than you’d guess) - one of the last born-werewolves of his generation (namely due to point number one)

He's also one of the most powerful werewolves in New York City, not that he uses that power for more than keeping up with his work and playing with his dog.

But, when the once-in-two-hundred-years lunar event known to wolves as the Triple Moon comes along, Bucky's more than a little peeved to get to Central Park to find cloud cover blocking the majority of the power the moon is supposed to be giving him.

And then he finds an unconscious man in a clearing.

He doesn't connect the two, though in retrospect he should have - witches are sneakier than they appear.

much tattoo about nothing by Deisderium (oneshot | 14,579 | E)

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

April

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Tired of being kept awake at night by a screaming baby, Bucky decides to take matters into his own hands. Mostly he wants a good night's sleep, but what he gets is a beautiful baby boy with big blue eyes, a lonely father trying to move on from tragedy, and a chance at a family he never expected to have.

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Coming Up Aces by greenbergsays (oneshot | 1,771 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a charismatic, flirty asexual man that lives with his awkward pansexual best friend, Steve Rogers.

Part 7 of Tumblr Ficlets

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

A really beautiful, young man with a strong build and broad shoulders was standing in the doorway. His wispy brown hair framing an expressive face with beautiful pouty lips, an adorably cleft chin, and steel grey eyes that remembered Steve of the stormy seas of Ireland, of his ancestors’ home.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Or: the one where Steve, the selkie with a coffee shop like they wished they had at 2 Broke Girls, gets accidentally selkie-married to Bucky, the dryad who just came back from an extended tree time, and they are both just idiots in love at first sight.

The Roommate by layersofart (layersofsilence), Niitza (complete | 28,632 | T)

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Make My Wish Come True (all i want for christmas is you) by chicklette (complete | 27,516 | M)

Steve's spent his whole life pining for Bucky Barnes. Why should this year be any different?

A Holiday fic that begins on New Year's Eve and wraps up on Christmas Day.

Cause & Effect by Avaaricious (complete | 25,810 | T)

When Bucky falls from the train in the Alps, Steve will do whatever it takes to mount a rescue mission, consequences be damned.

One possible outcome continued from my fic P.O.W.

Part 2 of Fixed Points

And So It Goes by Avaaricious (oneshot | 9,267 | not rated)

Life goes on for Steve and Bucky as they enter a new century, but there are fixed points in the universe; things that are destined to play out a certain way no matter what.

Part 3 of Fixed Points

come as you are by silentwalrus (WIP | 10,897 | E)

Steve comes back to the States. He pursues truth, justice and the American way. Bucky comes back too. He pursues inebriation and intercourse.

Part 3 of Bucky Barnes Gets His Groove Back & Other International Incidents

Just This Once (The Everybody Lives Remix) by Dira Sudis (dsudis) (oneshot | 6,808 | T)

A way it could have happened.

Ain’t Gotta Hide This Heart of Mine by yourekindof_weird (oneshot | 3,882 | G)

“Uh, so listen, Steve,” Rebecca says. She seems nervous now and she’s biting her lip, “I don’t want to, uh, come across as rude or anything, but I don’t think a relationship between us would work out,” Rebecca fiddles with the straw wrapper from her cranberry juice, “Mr. Stark sort of sprung this on me and I agreed because I was sort of startled,” she makes eye contact with him, “but I’m actually pretty gay, so…” Steve can’t stop the sigh of relief that makes its way out of his mouth. ... Steve has been dating Bucky Barnes, an ER nurse, for over a year. None of the Avengers (excluding Sam) know about this. It leads to the Avengers (mainly Tony) trying to set Steve up on dates.

Kiss Me Once Again by ShowMeAHero (oneshot | 1,171 | T)

Steve’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“Why?” Bucky says. “It’s been half a minute for me.”

Blood Is Thicker Than Carpet Cleaner by Alexicon (oneshot | 5,872 | T)

Just because it had been a joke didn’t mean it was a bad idea. Steve opened the phone book to the business section and searched fruitlessly for the right entries for about six minutes until he finally came across ‘Cl’ by sheer luck when a few pages stuck together as he turned them.

For some reason, his eyes were immediately drawn to a small, bleak ad in the corner, with only a few words, a phone number, and a thin black border.

The ad’s content:

“Winter’s Cleaning Services. Fees paid half up front. Specializes in blood removal.”

Well. That was. Specific.

Steve Rogers is Captain America, a superhero. Bucky Barnes is the Winter Soldier, an assassin. Steve needs someone to clean his apartment. Bucky shows up to a meeting with a potential client. Neither of them got quite what they expected.

Part 7 of marvel works

May

before we can breathe easy by belovedmuerto (oneshot | 22,052 | T)

No one touches Steve.

Bucky sets out to do something about that

Check, Mate? by talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove), wearing_tearing (oneshot | 1,938 | T) (reread)

A notification from Check, Mate? blinks back at him. Steve’s heart speeds up when he opens the app and then his face breaks into a blinding grin when sees what’s waiting for him.

James likes him back.

Part 1 of endgame

Part 5 of Happy Steve Bingo

Check, Mate! by talkplaylove, wearing_tearing (oneshot | 13,097 | E)

Bucky gasps and stares down at his crotch, sex-addled brain making it harder for him to focus on what the fuck is going on. Steve himself takes a second to realize what the fuck just happened, but when he does, well.

“Did you just fuckin’ knot me?” Steve asks, eyes wide and voice loud with shock.

Or the one where Steve and Bucky meet on a dating app, and everything happens way faster than anyone expects.

Part 2 of endgame

You Will Meet a Stranger by spitandvinegar (restricted, oneshot | 3,061 | M) (reread)

When the mask falls off Steve recoils.

He'll never forgive himself.

Idioglossia by hotelmichelle (oneshot | 20,434 | M)

“James and Steve. If I have to tell you one more time to stop talking, you will be separated. Do you understand?”

Bucky stares up at Mrs. Wheatley with the face that gets him out of trouble when his ma is in a good mood. Steve becomes suddenly fascinated with his correction work. It would have been convincing enough, if their papers weren’t blank.

Or: Steve and Bucky make up a secret language

Part 1 of secret language 'verse

My Arms Were Made To Hold You by portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles (oneshot | 55,101 | E)

Part 1 of Never Let You Go

Don't Let the Tide Come and Wash Us Away by alittlewicked, hey_you_with_the_face (oneshot | 10,039 | E)

There was a man standing in the shop. A man with Steve’s leather jacket wrapped tight around him – or at least a jacket that looked like his seal skin.

Anyway.

Steve was unabashedly staring (sue him, it was his shop).

Super Soak That Ho by silentwalrus (oneshot | 1,434 | T)

It all starts with them going to a movie. “Let’s see this one,” Steve says, pointing to the listing for ARRANGERS: RAGE OF MEGATRON. “It’s supposed to be based on a true story.”

“Fine,” Bucky says. They go to the movies.

This is crack, guys. Expect no redeeming features here.

liquid measure by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,594 | M)

Just a normal domestic afternoon with two supersoldiers.

sneeze disease by silentwalrus (oneshot | 5,540 | M)

Bucky starts to believe in a vengeful god on May the twelfth, year of our Lord two thousand and fucking eighteen, because that’s the day he makes fun of Clint Barton for carrying around a dainty little packetful of tissues in his pocket and honking into them like a congested donkey every fifteen minutes. “Fucking polleb,” Clint swears, wiping at his watering eyes. “Fucking claritin. Fucking zyrtec. Fucking bastards, all of dem.”

“What’s happened to your pokeymen now?” Bucky asks distractedly, not looking away from where Natasha is very slowly setting the last Joker on her vast, exquisitely balanced house of cards.

“Dat’s not - dey’re not pokémon,” Clint says, aggrieved. “Dey’re drugs. And dey don’t work for me.”

couples therapy by silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 19,275 | E)

“You can be rougher,” Bucky says. “If you want.”

They’re about four minutes post orgasm and Steve is still trying to figure out where his legs are. “Muh?”

snackfic by galwednesday, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt (series, ongoing | 12,300 | G-T)

Convenience series for my off the cuff ficlets, largely unrelated to each other or my other works unless stated otherwise

death of an artist by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,237 | G)

our intrepid heroes take a day trip to sunny, idyllic Giverny.

ain't really quaint by quietnight, silentwalrus (complete | 44,045 | M)

Natasha stops by on a Tuesday, early enough in the morning that it would have been late by Steve’s old standards. Now, though, it takes him nearly three minutes just to limp to the door, yawning, and when he opens it he has to lean heavily on the doorframe.

“Hi,” Natasha says, over the beginnings of birdsong. She’s not alone. “Can we come in?”

Part 1 of farm hell

You Sure Are Looking Good by Defiler_Wyrm, the_genderman (oneshot | 7,002 | E)

When your boyfriend’s a werewolf, some roleplay scenarios just fall into place so naturally. Bucky’s got some fancy lingerie, a danger kink, and a Red Riding Hood roleplay brewing up. Steve’s ready, willing, and eager to play his Big Bad Wolf.

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by spacebuck (oneshot | 8,238 | E)

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Chlorophyll by Plumcot (series, ongoing | 19,095 | T)

Steve Rogers doesn't have time for your fancy relaxation. He doesn't have time for your comfy pillows, or your body wash, or your chamomile tea that tastes like plant matter with a side of "why". Steve Rogers only wants one thing in life; to work until the end of days, because at least then he can say he didn't waste his time on Earth doing nothing.

Bucky Barnes has flowers in his hair and chlorophyll in his skin, and he doesn't have time to be stressed. Why would he, when there's rain to dance in, sun to bask in, and philodendrons to talk to? So he is, understandably, very worried about his (sadly) human neighbor who wouldn't stop and smell the roses if he faceplanted in a flower bed. Obviously something must be done.

Steve isn't all that happy when a green-skinned stranger shows up at his door and tries to give him a plant.

June

get it together by silentwalrus (oneshot | 2,089 | T)

“You wanna go out?”

Boeuf Mystère by galwednesday (oneshot | 1,230 | T)

“Quick question,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up, but didn’t stop moving passports and stacks of cash into a nondescript blue duffel, his mind busily ticking through logistics. He’d grab the glock taped behind the hidden drawer in the desk on their way out, and they could buy new clothes once they got across the border into neutral territory, so they didn’t need much else, apart from whatever Bucky wanted to bring. One duffle should be enough. “Yeah, honey?”

“What the fuck.”

Part 12 of Tumblr ficlets 2018

Part 1 of Steakout au Poivre

The Sins of Our Fathers* by inflomora, noirhound (complete | 33,943 | M) *graphic violence

His family called him Bucky.

The arenas in Athens called him the Winter Soldier.

The Spartan Brotherhood calls him Iakov. He defends the light from the dark that once coursed through his veins.

When the location of the Tesseract—a powerful Piece of Eden—is made known to the Brotherhood by a pair of Assassins from Athens, it is up to Iakov and his men to secure it before the Order of Hydra does, and it will take the cooperation of both Bureaus to succeed. His job is not made easier when he finds himself falling for his commanding officer, a certain blond Athenian Assassin who hides a powerful secret.

But they are not the only ones after the Tesseract. With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, a dangerous enemy looming unseen over their shoulders, and nobody left to trust, they must find and bring the Tesseract to Athens before it falls into the wrong hands—that is, if they manage to survive the trip.

Part 1 of Death is A Debt (We All Must Pay)

might never be normal again (but who cares) by napricot (complete | 51,540 | E)

The beginnings of a plan took shape in Steve’s mind, as clear and simple as a tactical frontal assault. He’d prove to Bucky that this was it, he was staying: Steve was retired from the fighting game, Steve wasn’t going to let anything keep pulling them apart. Maybe then when Steve finally told him he loved him, Bucky would believe him.

All things considered, Steve thought he’d handled the whole Thanos killing half the universe thing and the ensuing bitter, desperate quest to defeat him pretty well. Sacrificing his super soldier serum to use one of the Infinity Stones wasn't a problem either, not when it meant getting back the half of the universe they'd lost, and especially not when it meant getting Bucky back. But retirement and finally confessing his feelings for Bucky? Those were proving to be more challenging.

can't hardly weight by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 3,760 | T)

When Steve Rogers woke up in the future he was given a phone and shown how to use social media.

Well, no, in all actuality he was given a two week crash course entitled The Future And You, a six hour sensitivity course, a brand new id, and a credit card.

In which Steve gets a crush on an instagram gym thot and laments over it a lot to the intern stuck with him.

The Art Of Cooking For Two by littleblackfox (complete | 92,761 | M) (reread)

“Any questions?” “Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.

I just met you (and this is crazy) by littlesystems (complete | 41,784 | E)

After Steve gets outed by a grainy cell phone picture, it takes the media less than 24 hours to discover Captain America’s secret relationship with James Barnes: classical musician, teen heartthrob, and son of a former president.

The only problem? Steve has never met James Barnes in his life.

Part 1 of I just met you (and extras)

All of Your Love is Sunlight by canistakahari, WarlockInTraining (complete | 22,657 | E)

Sometimes the path to happiness involves bad timing turned good, a butt plant, and a little everyday magic. For Steve and Bucky, it's all that and more.

Dirty Pics by lillupon (oneshot | 3,117 | M)

There’s this one guy Bucky slept with three months ago who still sends pics of his ass whenever Bucky asks. What can he say? Grant’s got an ass that just won’t quit.

Hey, Asshole! A New York City Love story by bunnymaccool (oneshot | 14,818 | T)

Bucky's running late for the bus and he's stuck in line behind some ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio bastard who's too busy flirting with the baristas to get his frickin' order in. After he tells the dude off, completely in his rights he feels, the damn oversized puppy-faced ass keeps following him around and trying to apologize. And okay, dude is hot like burnin', but Bucky just doesn't have the time or patience for soothing the wounded ego of some gymrat wannabe with an obsession for dressing like he's hiding from the mob and .... why are you laughing, Sam?

Part 1 of New York City Assholes

Snapshots by layersofart (layersofsilence), newsbypostcard (oneshot | 18,579 | M)

Steve picks up the picture to be sure of what he saw, but there's been no mistake. "It doesn't even have a Navy stamp," he says, turning the photo toward her. "What is this?"

"Are you asking me?"

"It looks like a pin-up."

"Yes," Natasha agrees. "It does."

---

Post TWS: Steve is trying to find Bucky. Instead, he finds the sexy Navy "propaganda" Bucky somehow never mentioned he modeled for before the war.

I Wished On The Moon For You by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (oneshot | 14,581 | T)

“Holy shit,” Sam says, and then delighted, “Holy shit. You look like my nana’s dog. This is incredible.”

“Yeah, funny that, when they gave him the serum it only really worked on the human bits.” Bucky, whose reaction to Sam thus far has been standoffish at best, and like a wolf whose territory has been invaded at worst, sounds amused, the asshole.

Steve growls a little.

Or rather: A story in which Steve Rogers is the littlest werewolf who could and Bucky Barnes comes in from the cold and makes him his home.

Love in a Time of War by cleo4u2, cobaltmoony (complete | 20,775 | G)

James Barnes is a world renowned opera singer who has dreamed of performing in an opera composed by Steve Rogers. When his dream finally comes true, he quickly regrets what he’s always wished for. But while Steve can’t stand James, Bucky can’t stop wishing they could have some kind of future together. Will Steve realize he’s wrong about Bucky? Or is the damage from their first meeting too much to overcome?

Brooklyn by togina (oneshot | 8,749 | T)

"Captain America, what's your stance on gay marriage?"

Everyone knows that, by now. Everyone but Bucky.

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (oneshot | 1,138 | G)

“Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her.

“Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?”

“The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

“It’s not like you to prevaricate, Romanov.”

Natasha pressed her lips together. For a moment, Bucky thought she might start laughing. “It might be easier just to show you.”

OR: Steve’s been hit with a rather telling curse.

Ruff Day by ellebeesknees (umetnica), emptydistractions (complete | 20,570 | M)

Bucky's life is a mess: The US government's been breathing down his neck ever since his trial, the Avengers are a constant pain in his ass, and putting his brain back together hasn't exactly been a walk in the park. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he fled Hydra.

He's doing okay, but what he doesn't need is any extra stress. And what he definitely doesn't need is for Steve to tangle with an amateur sorcerer and end up a massive, overly friendly, eighty-pound, shedding, slobbering dog. That Bucky's now responsbile for. For the foreseeable future.

But hey, silver lining. At least now Steve can't talk him to death.

This Side by brideofquiet (restricted, complete | 35,321 | T)

Bucky Barnes restores antiques for a living. Steve Rogers saves the world. Bucky has no reason to believe their paths will ever cross, right up until they do.

Or: the Notting Hill AU.

Behold, a Man by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 9,296 | T)

At sunrise tomorrow, Bucky knew he was going to turn into a rooster. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse knowing it was coming. What he did know was that it didn't matter where he slept: his room, Steve's room, Stark's lab—it was going to happen. The curse of the were-cock had struck and there was no escaping. As the elevator carried them back down to their floor, he started chuckling.

Steve gave him a look of concern.

Bucky waved it away. "Just thinking. Curse of the Were-cock'd probably make a lousy movie."

Steve snorted, then said thoughtfully, "I don't know. Maybe it depends on what sort of movie you're making."

Rusted Gate by hafital (oneshot | 19,677 | E)

How many times has he replayed this scene? The young private, the forest path, the rusted gate. Steve and him. This last chance to tell him. He knows what’s about to happen. Why can’t he tell him? How many times has he tried to change how it ends? Maybe this time, he can get it right.

Honestly, Fuck Brooklyn by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou) (oneshot | 8,243 | E)

So, aliens are attacking and have shredded Brooklyn to smithereens, which pretty much makes it a typical Tuesday afternoon in New York. Bucky Barnes, long time Brooklyn resident, has Been There and Done That. What's less typical is the redhead who breaks into his apartment to rescue him, the underground bunker he's stashed in, and the sudden appearance of masked superhero Captain America kissing Bucky breathless and calling him baby. Good thing Bucky knows how to throw a punch.

((Or, the one where it takes yet another apocalypse for the somewhat oblivious Bucky Barnes to figure out that his dorky artist boyfriend Steve is actually Captain Goddamned America. Whoops.))

I saw you there, I saw you then by cleo4u2, xantissa (oneshot | 19,320 | E)

An accidental slide of a thumb brings Steve and Bucky back together.

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic (oneshot | 12,246 | E)

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

No One Wants Your Opinion by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 5,600 | E)

Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

July

Honey Honey* by justanotherStonyfan (series, ongoing | 544,594 | E) */others, past but explicit

The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Clean-shaven, and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him.

Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid.

AKA, the Accidental Sugardaddy!Steve AU I always wanted.

Through The Woods by alby_mangroves, VenusMonstrosa (complete | 64,082 | E)

There’s a legend in Mansewood, nearly as old as the town itself, about a pack of werewolves that once lived in the forest. They say only one survives; a monstrous and snarling beast with fur like a blizzard and fangs the size of daggers. They say it guards the lands and all creatures in it, and no hunter has faced it and lived to tell the tale.

Steve doesn’t care about any of that. He only wants to know if it prefers T-Bone or ribeye, and would it please stop tracking dirt through his house? He just mopped the floor.

Part 1 of Through The Woods

streamlined by nickel710 (series, ongoing | 56,248 | G-M)

In which Bucky Barnes, Iraq war veteran and bicycle enthusiast, streams Overwatch on the side for fun under the handle President15, and one day his friend-of-a-friend FalconKnight introduces a new player to the crew, THECapRogers. It would be totally absurd for the actual Captain America to hang out in his stream and argue about baseball, right? ...right?

BuckRogers vs. the Internet by galwednesday (series, complete | 5,642 | T-M)

“Remember what I said about internet trolls?”

“Don’t feed the trolls.”

“Exactly. Did I not say the same thing to Barnes?” Tony asked rhetorically. “Were those not my exact words? I could have sworn they were, and yet.”

“Bucky’s feeding the trolls?”

“He’s throwing a goddamn seven-course troll banquet. Every time someone on Twitter asks if your relationship announcement is real, he replies. Colorfully.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask what “colorfully” meant, then caught the gleam in Tony’s eye and put two and two together. He blushed. Colorfully. “Oh.”

(Steve and Bucky announce their relationship in a very dignified press conference. Bucky then replies to every goddamn tweet asking him to confirm it with a different dirty euphemism. Things escalate from there.)

Just About Half-Past Ten by rohkeutta (oneshot | 1,978 | T)

But as he reaches Madison Avenue, Stark Tower a mere block away, the skies open with a whoosh, and he barely manages to duck under the construction scaffolding perched over the sidewalk. Thunder rumbles overhead, and Bucky frantically checks every compartment of his bag for an umbrella he knows is there.

It’s not. He does find some loose glitter, though, and a lipstick he wore for Pride and had thought he’d lost, plus a spare MetroCard he can’t remember buying.

He also gets a crystal clear flashback of leaving the umbrella under his desk to dry yesterday morning, and never picking it up again.

Leave Those Umbrellas At Home by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,441 | T)

Bucky watches the watery snow come down and thinks about it, his mood deflating steadily. He imagines Steve going home the next morning, sitting down at his desk and opening his Super-Secret Sexcapade Journal and writing Bucky’s name in next to a carefully-thought Preparation & Performance Grade.

B+ for the effort to look nice naked, C- for being embarrassingly vanilla and wanting to do it face-to-face so he could scritch his fingers through Steve’s beard and hair. Not worth a repetition. Kinky Grade: F.

Bucky’s being uncharitable and he knows it, but Hangry Barnes can be a sad sack of shit when he wants to.

Page One Rewrite by thedoubteriswise (oneshot | 3,008 | T)

World War II enthusiasts and film geeks rejoice! Much like the Sentinel of Liberty himself, a few reels of missing Cap footage have been brought back to life.

We're All in the Gutter, but Some of Us Are Looking at the Stars by chipofftheoldblock (complete | 45,045 | M)

I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, and Maria looked a little appeased, though now she was gesturing for him to get off stage. And then he smiled real big and wide and sincere and said, ‘Guess I’m just real fuckin’ tired of everyone treating me like an idiot. To answer your question, ain’t a lot I really miss. Polio was pretty fuckin’ awful, and so was the food, and the racism and homophobia and hatred so many folks had for one another for dumb-as-shit differences was so goddamn stupid -’

Maria was suddenly on stage beside him, pulling his microphone away and grabbing his arm with a steel grip. Steve just leaned over to Nat’s mic with a shit-eating grin on his face and said, ‘Thank you so much for your time.’

Steve's tired of the world treating him like he doesn't know a damn thing about the future. Bucky's tired of not knowing a damn thing about the past.

They meet somewhere in the middle.

when he gets older, he might be the one* by cobaltmoony, CoraRochester (complete | 32,398| E) *underage

In which a freak run-in with the Cosmic Cube ages Steve into his fifties, and Bucky— still trying to figure out who he is after decades of brainwashing— decides it’s time to come home.

Part 1 of when he gets older, he might be the one

crowding the hitter by rooonil_waazlib (complete | 12,917 | E)

But the trash monsters are coming closer, and Bucky’s going to be pissed if he has to get his grate replaced tomorrow.

He turns off the panini press, heads into his bedroom, and pulls his college baseball bat out of the closet, pausing only to pull on the slacks he’d just taken off. He’s going to go defend his shop, and he’s not going to do it in his underpants.

Nobody Likes Unsolicited Dick Pics (Except When They Do)* by Blondie_Bluue (complete | 21,864 | E) *chose not to warn

When Bucky Barnes accidentally sends a dick pic to a wrong number while looking for a little action, he never expected to get a positive response.

Feelings are caught, drama ensues, things work out in the end

i'm a ghost, you're an angel (one and the same) by voxofthevoid (complete | 31,133 | E)

“You fucked him.”

Bucky licks his lips and nods. Fury lets out a deep breath and leans back in his chair in a movement that’s terrifyingly controlled but spills danger out the edges.

“Twenty years,” Fury says slowly, taking special care to imbue each word with his personal brand of bone-chilling judgement. It used to make Bucky quiver in his boots back when he was a baby S.H.I.E.L.D agent with two functional arms. “In that time, I have asked, threatened, coaxed, and damn near begged this man to work for us, or at least with us, and what finally gets it done is your dick?”

“Ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, I’m not saying any part of my anatomy is what persuaded Commander Rogers to agree to this, but hypothetically, if that’s what did it, let’s just say he would have found my ass far more persuasive than my dick.” Bucky pauses, secretly relishing the sour-lemon look on Fury’s face. “It still hurts, in case you’re wondering.”

- Steve tries to seduce Bucky over to the dark side. But the Avengers are more grey than dark, and it’s still a paler shade of grey than what S.H.I.E.L.D’s got going nine times out of ten. Bucky really should be more concerned about the seduction part.

Part 2 of i'm guilty of treason (i've abandoned control)

turn me up when you feel low by faerietell (oneshot | 13,891 | T) (reread)

Steve Rogers is a man out of time, in a city that used to be his home, a city he no longer recognizes. Through charming radio host, Bucky Barnes, he relearns his city, adopts a dog, and falls in love.

August

A lot of Good Omens reading happened in August.

When the Season Comes Around by theheartischill (oneshot | 34,447 | T)

The other problem is that Steve loves him, and Bucky isn't sure he remembers how to love.

Despicable by TheVagabondBoy (series, ongoing | 8,450 | T)

Bucky Barnes just wants to scavenge spaceship-wrecks and get a nice payday for it. He really wasn't planning on finding a survivor on his latest wreck.

The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat (complete | 29,744 | E)

"Do you want me to eat you?"

"But you don’t look very filling." The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. "I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?" he asked hopefully. "I’ve heard they taste better."

"Well? Come on, tribute."

or, how Steve ends up working for a dragon with a very odd sense of humor

Quench by AidaRonan (complete | 9,417 | E)

This guy, he had never met. He definitely wouldn’t have forgotten it if he had. Shaggy dishwater blond hair run through with natural golden highlights, a thick brown beard, and a body like a Mack truck made out of ribeye.

“Fuck me,” Bucky gasped.

“Excuse me?” Or the one where archeology intern Bucky Barnes meets actual archeologist Steve Rogers and reaches levels of thirst scientists once believed to be theoretically impossible.

haha, jk by relenafanel (oneshot | 13,523 | T)

(A tale of Not Unrequited Love)

Steve: I love you. Bucky: oh no. (and other fallacies)

Bucky learns to never say never when it comes to the effect his best friend can have.

Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (complete | 67,777 | E)

Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour's drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

Bucky hasn't had much luck over the past seven years. Disaster caused his family to move from New York to Indiana, and his life has steadily fallen apart ever since. After one too many heartbreaks, he decides to hitch his way back to the last place he remembers being happy: Brooklyn. He's in the homestretch when he finds himself stranded in a half-empty tourist town in the Catskills and decides to take a chance crawling into the back of someone's truck.

AKA the "Lumberjack Steve/Twink Bucky" fic of our hearts. Bucky spends so much time thirsty as hell.

Part 1 of All That You Are to Me

Pod Bless America by Deisderium (complete | 6,13 | T)

Bucky can't believe his favorite podficcer recorded his newest fanfic AU of the show Commandos. He's even more surprised when the customer who busts him listening to fic while he's working in the office supply store turns out to be that podficcer.

* The guy—maybe bi_shield?—took his phone, looked down at the screen, and smiled. "Yeah, that one's mine," he said with no evidence of embarrassment. "It was a good one." He handed the phone back to Bucky.

"I wrote it," Bucky croaked.

Thunder and Ice* by Quarra, TrishArgh (complete | 18,027 | E) *tagged rape/noncon for mentions of sex pollen

Bucky is back with Steve in Avengers Tower and recovering well from his time with Hydra and the Avengers are working together better than ever too; but Steve still feels like something is missing in his life. At the urging of his loved ones, Steve takes up creative writing in his free time to help him regain a sense of happiness and purpose.

And his favorite subject to write about? Having sex with Bucky.

It turns out that other people seem to like what he's writing about too. So much so that Steve picks up a pen name and becomes a published romance novelist. But how long can Steve's secret smut writings stay secret, especially given who he's writing about and how public it becomes?

Be Careful What You Post on the Internet by itshysterekal (oneshot | 19,117 | E)

Bucky just wants to get on to the next mission, but the therapist he's forced to see insists he take up a hobby. Cue his writing of highly explicit Avengers RPF to make fun of Stark and his headlong dive into social media. He never expected a hobby to change his life.

September

THE Steve Rogers PROBLEM by relenafanel (series, ongoing | 85,015 | T-M)

Meet SSA Bucky Barnes: Hostage Rescue Team member extraordinaire. He loves his job, his body, and hooking up. He hates civilians and local enforcement officers trying to do his job and fucking everything to shit.

Meet Bucky Barnes: fan of the television show The Howling Commandos extraordinaire. He loves writing fanfic, creating fanart, and staring at Steve Rogers' ass. He hates the long journey of doing the necessary physical therapy on his arm (and also that no one told him he knows Steve Rogers).

Meet Bucky Barnes: Steve Rogers' boyfriend. He loves Steve. He hates the idea of that being his sole identity.

Green (Heart)-Eyed Monster by TheIntelligentHufflepuff (oneshot | 1,822 | T)

He shakes his head, tries to turn away. But his eyes rove back, insatiable. Steve is spinning Sam, goofily. Sam stumbles, and Steve instinctively grabs Sam to his chest to keep him up.

For a wild, petty moment, Bucky wishes he'd just fall.

[Post-Endgame, except an Endgame where nobody died. Bucky gets drunk and jealous at the after-party, but makes up with Sam and gets together with Steve the next day]

Love's Just a Feeling by fadefilter, Mystrana (complete | 26,359 | E)

Not Without You is on tour, and the lucky fans at their sold out shows are always treated to the best show: great music and excellent entertainment, courtesy of Steve and Bucky, who can't seem to keep their hands off of each other—both onstage and off.

The tour's almost over, but Steve's got a bit of a problem. Despite constantly reassuring the rest of the band that neither of them will develop feelings...

...he's pretty sure he's developed some feelings.

No Retreat, Baby, No Surrender by itsnotbleak (complete | 39,792 | T)

"You think your old army buddy is working at Subway?”

“Of course not,” said Steve, trying to sound like he thought the idea was ludicrous. “Bucky died in 1944. I just...” He didn’t know what to say, so he slapped on his best lonely soldier face and lied. “It’s just it’s nice to pretend for a bit, you know?”

“No,” said Natasha. “It sounds deeply unhealthy, but you do you.”

In which Steve finds a man that looks a lot like Bucky making sandwiches in a Brooklyn subway. Except Bucky died seventy years ago, and this guy shows no sign of remembering Steve.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (restricted, complete | 21,980 | E)

“Holy shit,” says Steve. “I’ve been knocked out twice by the same guy.”

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 by crinklefries (oneshot | 24,627 | T)

Bucky stares at his best friend as though he’s absolutely lost what’s left of his dumbass mind.

“Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

Steve sighs and sags back onto the couch, covering his face dramatically with one large, well-manicured hand.

“Dean Coulson thinks we’re dating. And gay. But like, for each other. And now I need you to fake date me so I can convince the Chancellor to fund my research.”

or;

Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way. It's not so much a forest of pine as a whole landscape of it. It turns out fine, probably.

Beyond the Yellow Book Road by crinklefries (complete | 30,057 | T)

Before he was Captain America, he was Steve Rogers, knobby kneed and wild-eyed, with scrapes on his knuckles and a book in his hands.

In 1942, he leaves for war and eventually crashes the Valkyrie.

That's only the beginning of his story.

In 2011, Steve's body is dragged from ice off the coast of Greenland.

In 2015, he meets a bookstore clerk.

This is what happens when a superhero loses his way home and the only way back is through the Yellow Book Road.

October

In The Next Life We'll Be Good by Nori (series, ongoing | 83,018 | M) (reread)

Steve is resurrected 500 years into the future. Humanity is on the brink of extinction, hostile aliens are clawing at the door, and the only thing standing in the way are Guardians. Figuring out how, exactly, to be a Guardian doesn't come easily for Steve, no matter how much he wants to protect the innocent. Luckily for him, he has friends who're more than willing to show him the way.

---

Breaking your hand doesn’t actually help in any way,” a voice says from behind him. Steve twists at the waist, less surprised than he probably ought to be.

“Hey,” Steve says, feeling a smile breaking over his face. “You’re all about clandestine meetings, huh?”

“Maybe I wanted to be a spy in my last life,” the scout replies breezily, drifting like a shadow to stand adjacent to Steve.

Far Strayed* by eyres (complete | 18,344 | M) *chose not to warn

They’re not going to stop coming after me,” Bucky tells Steve, somewhere in the air above Siberia.

“Let them come,” Steve replies, furious still.

After Siberia, instead of seeking refuge in Wakanda, Bucky and Steve go on the run.

The Biggest Part of Me* by Anna_Heyward (complete | 69,992 |E) *chose not to warn

Newly divorced single dad Steve Rogers moves his kids from the suburbs to Brooklyn to start their new life together, and becomes captivated by the young man who works at the coffee shop downstairs from Steve’s apartment.

Bucky Barnes is 25 years old, working part-time in a coffee shop and still living with his mom. When a handsome single dad in a pinch offers Bucky a job as his nanny, Bucky takes him up on it.

(AU of the movie The Rebound.)

Part 1 of The Biggest Part of Me 'verse

Knit One, Purl Two, Is How I Say "I Love You"* by Ignisentis (oneshot | 4,636 | T) *chose not to warn

Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading at the sound of the familiar gentle clacking of the wooden needles Steve has always preferred to use when he’s knitting. He used to knit back in the day whenever he wasn’t drawing. He said it helped calm him down, that he liked making things, especially for Bucky, that it made him feel like he was contributing more since it was hard for him to hold down a regular job.

Bucky thought it was all of those things but also that Steve Rogers was never the kind of man who could keep his hands still.

He used to knit Bucky socks and hats and scarves whenever he could get his hands on some yarn. He’d always wanted to make a sweater but never could get the same kind of yarn in sweater quantities.

Now, though. Now Bucky has a handful of sweaters that Steve’s made for him: a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater with a shawl collar; a simple pullover; a replica of Steve’s WWII dancing monkey sweater he wore on stage that Steve gave him with a smirk; a chunky Tweed cardigan with elbow patches; the lightest, most sumptuous cashmere henley-style pullover; even a Fair Isle with the Ghostbusters symbol worked into the yoke. Fuck, but Bucky loves that movie. And the sweater.

i just called to say i love you* by brideofquiet (oneshot | 7,895 | T) */others

Both times Steve makes a fool of himself in front of the soccer coach, it’s mostly an accident.

Grass, Fire, Water? My Only Weakness Is You! by powercrow (complete | 52,725 | E)

Steve first notices Bucky at a Pokémon GO raid at the local Target.

He’s immediately intrigued, but interpersonal relationships have been a real struggle since his mother’s death. Bucky’s not without his own bullshit after the disastrous end of a prior relationship. PoGo somehow brings them together anyways, and they become friends, catch lots of Pokémon, deal with their issues, and eventually fall in love.

November

You can't hurry love by obsessivereader (oneshot | 8,547 | E)

“Jesus!” Steve hurries forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Before he’s even halfway into the room, the man’s already on his feet and turning around. He has a face as perfect as his ass. High forehead, square jaw, pink lips with a hint of a natural pout. Short, wavy, dark brown hair. His wide, deep-set eyes are a clear and luminous gray. Those eyes widen as the man takes in the sight of Steve staring at him.

Something about that wide-eyed, slightly nervous look catches at Steve’s memory. “Bucky?”

Steve remembers a shy, sweet teenager, with soft round cheeks, eyes too big for his face, and a wild head of hair. If this really is Bucky, some time in the last few years, he grew into his face and is now so gorgeous that Steve’s having a little trouble breathing. The lean, toned body beautifully displayed by a black shirt and gray pants don’t help the breathing situation either.

“You… have a beard now,” Bucky says faintly.

or, Bucky finally gets to do something about his decades-long crush on his best friend's older brother...

Part 1 of Happy Steve Bingo!

Stay with Me* by em_dibujsb, maikurosaki (complete | 79,903 | E) *graphic violence

When Bucky Barnes accompanies his family to a ceremony dedicated to George Barnes' activity, he expects free food and drinks, the occasional boring speech, and watching his dad blush furiously as he gets to finally meet his childhood hero. What he doesn't expect is saving Captain America's life and getting shot in the process. What follows is a slow road to recovery, eating hospital food (still disgusting), making new friends (Avengers!!! Seriously, the Avengers!) and pining over Captain America (he won't comment on that). It sounds simple, but it really isn’t!

Anything You Ask by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 6,187 | E)

A skinny blond kid appears in Bucky's candy store, and when her frantic father comes looking for her, Bucky doesn't realize he just met his mate. Over the course of several months, he falls in love with Steve Rogers and his daughter. Fortunately, they love him right back.

Poppies of the Field* by kaasknot (complete | 63,417 | M) *chose not to warn, temporary major character death

"Thank you for purchasing a StarkTech Companion 'Bot! Please state your name for licensing."

Wherein Bucky is a severely agoraphobic combat veteran, and Steve is the android he buys out of loneliness.

So Alive by GottaSaveBucky (Cosmic_Entity_1of4) (complete | 108,978 | E)

A man wearing a light denim jacket over a dark blue shirt came into the shop, a box tucked under his right arm. Despite it being late afternoon, he was wearing sunglasses with bright blue lenses, and his long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy little bun. A few strands had escaped, framing his strong, unshaven jawline. The man looked into the café, smiled widely, and waved in Clint’s direction as he kept walking into the bookstore, and Steve’s mouth went completely dry.

Beautiful, was the only word to describe that smile; straight, white teeth framed by full, lush, red lips, bracketed by laugh lines and an adorable dimple in his right cheek, a charming little chin cleft just visible under the light stubble—Steve was struck literally speechless. And that was before he got a glimpse of the man’s backside. Slim hips and a round, firm-looking ass led to long, lean legs that were encased in snug, dark blue jeans.

“Guh,” Steve said, watching the dark-haired man continue on to the back of the store.

__________

A bookstore AU starring our favorite OTP, set to the song “So Alive” by Love and Rockets (from their fourth album “Love and Rockets,” 1989).

** COMPLETED **

Part 1 of Brooklyn Heights Books

backs treat boys by rohkeutta (oneshot | 2,570 | M)

“What? No, you’re not boring,” Steve protests, bless his heart. “It’s just—I have this kink in my back, probably from work or the gym. It’s hard to get comfortable.”

“Where?” Bucky asks, looking back down at his tablet and swiping to the next slide. He took a beginners' massage therapy course at the community college last summer to keep himself from doing something dumb, like fucking his way through the city because he was bored while Steve was on a work thing in Europe. Missing his best buddy was perfectly okay, but even Bucky, a self-proclaimed Cheerful Thot, felt it might be a little excessive to go on a one-night-stand binge just because his pal was out of town for a few weeks.

Part 9 of a pocketful of mumbles

Metallurgy by eyres, TheFriendlyPigeon (complete | 22,129 | M)

he battle quieted for the moment, the great metal giant turns, at last, and sees Steve. Dark, almost human hair frames a sharp, steel face - but, Steve is caught by its eyes. They’re bright silver, sparking in the sunlight, shot through with gray and blue, visible even at this distance. Something about them nags at Steve, calls to him, reminds him of…

Instead of making the Winter Soldier, Hydra transfers Bucky's consciousness to a metal body, locking his mind within a prison of steel and programming. However, Bucky is stronger than they could've ever imagined.

Press Play to Start by layersofsilence, talkplaylove-art (talkplaylove) (complete | 31,502 | M)

Steve still doesn’t understand; and then he does, or he thinks he does, in a burst of clarity that he immediately wishes he hadn’t gotten.

The thing is that it’s not possible. James shifts his position ever so slightly; his shoulders shift smoothly under his tac gear, and it’s not possible that Steve could be programming another human.

CA:TWS AU - in which Steve Rogers, SHIELD agent, finds out that HYDRA is not so old and defeated a foe, and that the Winter Soldier is more than a whispered rumour.

Something that Feels Like Hope by BeaArthurPendragon (oneshot | 7,669 | E)

Captain America, feeling gloomy around the holidays and exhausted from hobnobbing with the rich and famous at yet another charity gala, escapes into an empty room for some peace and quiet.

Army veteran James Barnes is the founder of the Gulmira Project, which provides high-quality prostheses to civilians injured in the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars, and needs to find a place to practice his speech.

You'll never guess what happens next.

Eight Invitations* by alby_mangroves, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (oneshot | 3,345 | E) *chose not to warn

Part 15 of 4 Minute Window

December

Cute Stitch Witch Discount by stevergrsno (noxlunate) (onesoht | 3,089 | T)

He’s barely finished with his drink when Bucky appears in front of him, a cup in hand. “Our famous cocoa,” He says, setting it onto the little table next to Steve, “On the house.”

Steve plucks the cup up off the table and cradles it close, inhaling the smell of chocolate and cinnamon. “Thank you,” Steve says, and then, “I can pay though, really.”

“Call it the cute stitch witch discount,” Bucky says with a wink before he’s turning away and disappearing behind the counter to take care of another customer.

In which Steve has magic, meets Bucky 70 years later, and as always, falls a little bit in love with him.

Part 24 of Happy Steve Bingo Fills

How to Woo the Winter Soldier* by writeonclara (complete | 21,566 | G) *chose not to warn

“I think I’m ready to date again,” Steve said.

“What,” Natasha said.

“What?” Clint said, lowering his binoculars. He blinked at the dumbstruck look on the Captain’s face, then followed his gaze to where he was staring dopily at—at the Winter fucking Soldier.

“Steve, no,” Clint groaned.

Or: Steve courts the Winter Soldier.

Ever Mine, Ever Ours by hitlikehammers (oneshot | 2,914 | E)

Steve goes back to return the Stones, for the sake of the universe.

The extra Pym Particles he palms when Bruce isn't looking, though? Those are for the heart he has now and the heart he took into the ice; those are for the loves he's known and held and lost and found, those—

Those are for the sake of his soul.

Avengers: Endgame Fix-It.

Gone, Baby, Gone by crinklefries (complete | 38,943 | M)

An entity known only by the name LEVIATHAN finds each of them, sending, initially a solitary text: Our name is LEVIATHAN. We have a job for you. You have three minutes to decide.

Well, what’s a group of bored, reckless thrill-seekers with very specific skills and long criminal histories to do? They needed the money and, well, it sounded fun.

[ or;

Steve is the head of a new criminal crew, Bucky is the getaway driver, Sam wears a LOT of bold outfits and gold jewelry, and the rest of the Avengers help too.

There's heists and fast cars in a neon-noir setting, but most importantly, Bucky wears a crop top that says be gay do crime and he is, in fact, gay and he does, in fact, do crime. ]

Home Is Wherever I'm With You by cydonic (complete | 88,570 | E)

This is what happens when you buy a house to flip having only seen the online images: you get more than you bargained for. Bucky Barnes brings all the tools to handle a dilapidated home, but he's hardly prepared for a smart-mouthed child (with poor aim), a crying baby, and the hottest dad he's ever seen in his life living right next door.

That House-Flipper!AU.

Part 1 of Flowers in our Eyes

Caramel Macchiato by littleblackfox (complete | 15,450 | E)

"You ate my bees," Bucky says. Because his own tongue fucking hates him.

Empires Fall, but Not Us by AidaRonan (oneshot | 21,611 | T)

When Steve was ten, he met a boy with a clockwork heart.

A cyberpunk tale of friendship, love, loss, and reunion; framed by the battle to bring hope and joy back to a City drowning under Hydra's rule.

No More Shame by thepinupchemist (oneshot | 3,287 | T)

“I think the Winter Soldier is going to our synagogue,” Billy said, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Or: Billy Kaplan helps Bucky Barnes find his way.

No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You to Pine by galwednesday (oneshot | 16,466 | T)

"Agent Rogers. We have to stop meeting like this." The Winter Soldier crouched in front of where Steve was slumped against the wall, hands and forearms glued to the stone behind him by some kind of sticky polymer. "Comfortable?"

"No," Steve lied. "My blood circulation has been cut off. I've lost all feeling in my hands."

"Oh, so I should probably cut you loose," the Soldier deadpanned.

"It's a medical emergency. You don't want to be responsible for me losing limbs, do you?"

"Tell you what, if you lose your hands, I'll make you some new ones." He held up his metal hand, smallest finger crooked. “Pinkie promise.”

Secret Agent adversaries-to-lovers AU where the Winter Soldier keeps tying Captain America to walls and sticking around to chat. Shut up, Natasha, it’s not flirting, okay? (It’s definitely flirting.)

Part 2 of The Adventures of Captain America, Not-So-Secret Agent

Proprietary Information by notlucy (complete | 85,141 | E)

Okay, so Bucky Barnes has a crush on Steve Rogers. The guy's gorgeous, talented and, oh yeah, the Chief Design Officer of the biggest tech company in the world. In other words: he's so far out of Bucky's league that he might as well be in a different stratosphere.

Part 1 of Additional Information

you, the moon by dirtybinary (oneshot | 2,339 | T)

Stimulus. The sight of one Bucky Barnes, age seventeen, best friend, roommate, favourite nuisance, coming home after work. Subject’s Response. A swoop of the stomach, like when one pointed one’s bike down that steep hill beside the church and pedalled really fast, but without the inevitable sprained ankles and bloody scrapes.

Steve likes Bucky. Bucky likes food and cats and girls and maybe, just maybe, Steve.

Steve deals with this very well indeed.

Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk (oneshot | 15,314 | T)

Rogers was a tiny man. Bucky was sure he easily disappeared in a crowd and became invisible. He was tiny and short and skinny and didn't look like much. But his fists were clenched to his sides in anger, his jaw was jutted out, his boney shoulders were square, and his voice held more power than his body looked like it did.

Screaming and yelling and swearing like a damn sailor and asking for a fight, Bucky found him breathtakingly gorgeous. Like a tiny ball of energy and rage and justice that shined brighter than the fucking sun, punching his way through the evil and disgusting trash of the world.

Bucky never believed in love at first sight and the way his heart warmed and pounded at the mere sound of Rogers didn't really change his mind. But it did make him stop and stare, desperately reaching out for the feeling he felt when he looked at him because it was good and Bucky hadn't had good in his life in years.

OR – in which one armed veteran, suffering insomniac, and grump extraordinaire Bucky Barnes gets turned into a puddle of goo by the tiniest, angriest, most wonderful guy in the entire universe.

Stop Dragon My Heart Around by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (oneshot | 15,127 | T)

All Bucky had wanted was gold. A few jewels. Not a king's riches, not a prince's fortune, just enough he'd never have to worry about anything ever again. It was what had sent him racing to the dragon's cave when he'd overheard the news that the Prince had killed her.

But he should have known better. Nothing good ever came from eavesdropping, and nothing good ever came from listening to men in pubs, and now instead of gold, instead of jewels, he had an egg. A dragon egg, and no idea how he was going to keep it alive.

The dragon egg wasn't all he had, even if he didn't know it. He also had a full-grown dragon on his trail, one who'd sworn he'd find the egg--and the human who stole it.

I Know the Drill by castiowl (oneshot | 4,869 | T)

Bucky says some explicit things to his dentist while under the influence of anesthesia following a wisdom tooth removal. The rest is (embarrassing) history.

Our Broken Parts (Smashed on the Floor) by This Girl Is (non_sequential) (oneshot | 11,702 | E)

Steve is sent undercover to catch an elusive Russian assassin. He didn’t want to do it in the first place; he’s damn certain he won’t be asked again.

great whales of the sea by canistakahari (oneshot | 3,002 | T)

“Whales make sounds,” says Bucky, shocked.

“They sing,” Steve says absently.

show me your insides, show me your secrets (show what you wanted, so i can be it)* by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 8,731 | E) *chose not to warn

They took down a lab full of mutated animals today. It was normal enough at first, James with his metal arm and Steve with his shield, the two of them armed to the teeth with guns and knives. But then the creatures kept coming. Steve wrapped himself around a horse-sized something that might have been a wolf in another life and broke every one of its bones with a single, heaving squeeze of his limbs. James punched through the chest of a biped taller than him with his flesh arm and ripped its heart out for good measure.

There was no pretending after that.

James smiles at Steve, a small, heated thing.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t talk."

“And if I say no?” Steve asks.

James shrugs, and the gesture is nonchalant, but Steve can see the tension underneath.

“Then I will be very disappointed, and I will leave and take my whiskey with me.” James tilts his head to the side, an animal-like motion that’s a strange cross between predatory and adorable. “But somehow, Captain, I don’t think you’ll say no.”

- Captain America and the Winter Soldier are assigned a joint mission by their respective masters. They are strangers until they're not.

Part 1 of lay your heart into my perfect machine

Yours is the Only Ocean by seapigeon (oneshot | 6,256 | T)

"Sirens aren’t monogamous. She’s free to mate with whoever she wants.” Steve turns his head, and for the first time, he looks tentative. “So am I.”

It takes Bucky almost a full minute to understand.

“Oh,” he says, going warm down to his tailfin.

A Puppy Dog's Tale by roe87 (oneshot | 1,630 | T)

Bucky finds a lost puppy running around in the park, but who does the pup belong to?

Part 24 of Steve/Bucky modern au's

a modern feast (from one-hundred-and-two feet) by Spacedog (oneshot | 3,061 | E)

steven grant rogers is a good neighbor. he vacuums at times that aren’t ten-thirty at night. all his parties end at nine on the dot. and when he brings someone home, he’s cool about it. which makes it even more a shame that 106, the guy living across the hall from him, with the big, blue eyes and the adorable chin dimple and the ass steve can bounce quarters off of, is practically a thoughtful, neighborly, ghost.

luckily, when steve needs something from the local bodega, he strikes an agreement that 106 is more than willing to oblige.

(or: alternate universe, neighbors to hookups to lovers.)

some of them want to use you (some of them want to get used by you) by voxofthevoid (oneshot | 14,136 | E)

He’s dragged forward, his thrashing not doing a thing against the hydra’s shocking strength. At its widest, his tentacle is as thick as Bucky’s wrist. It tapers off towards the end. It’s subtly textured, not slimy like expected, but no less terrifying for it. The hydra pauses once Bucky’s under the cave’s opening, halfway between Pierce and the darkness on the other side.

“Johann is dead,” says the hydra. “I killed him.”

The words mean nothing to Bucky. But when he twists around to see, Pierce’s face is bloodless.

It’s the first time he’s seeing true fear on Alexander Pierce’s face.

“The deal you made with him is null and void, Alexander Pierce,” the hydra says. “And your people shall be better off for it.”

Pierce’s face tightens further.

“But you,” the hydra says – no rumbles, his voice making the water tremble. “You, not so much. I don’t appreciate this sacrifice.”

- Bucky is chosen as his shoal's annual sacrifice to the hydra that lurks in their territory. Things take an unexpected turn when the monster that greets him in the dark turns out to be a wholly unfamiliar beast.

Discord and Rhyme by velvetjinx (oneshot | 9,148 | E)

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are werewolves. They have feelings for each other, but are too busy pining to notice that they both feel the same way. Their inner wolves have had enough, but will that be sufficient to bring them together as humans?

Rose-tinted Glasses by Niitza (oneshot | 11,215 | T)

It all started because of Becca.

All I Want for Christmas by Pineau_noir (oneshot | 8,377 | M)

We're gonna live like it's 2012! Everybody lives at the Tower and they're all happy! All the domestic fluff!

Steve is retired from action, living his best life, helping with the Avengers and gently flirting with his favorite art store employee, Bucky Barnes, at Christmastime.

Written for the incredibly kind and talented TrishArgh who won my 2019 FTH auction.

The Last Contract* by xantissa (oneshot | 29,681 | E) *graphic violence

The world was dying, at war for years with alien invaders who were slowly and methodically wiping out humanity. Steve’s hope for the future was nearly gone having fought a losing battle for so long. In what little free time he had, he looked for the dragon sleeping under an old castle that his mother had told him stories about. He knew it was just a fairytale, but at least it was something to do. He never expected to actually find a man locked in a cave filled with magic. Nor did he expect to agree to some strange bargain with him. Steve had expected him even less to actually be a dragon. In a world all but destroyed, can Steve survive the consequences of his own actions?

Once More With Foresight* by galwednesday (complete | 7,317 | T) *polyamory

Bucky left the towel draped over Steve’s head and pulled his phone out of his pocket when it chimed with a new text from Natasha. She’d sent him a picture of Sam asleep, his legs sprawled over the shield on one end of the couch and his head in her lap on the other. Bucky snorted and tilted the screen so Steve could see.

Steve shook his head, mock scandalized. “Captain America for five minutes, and he’s already using the shield as a footrest.”

“I know for a fact you scrambled eggs in that thing.”

“That was to feed my team, Buck. It was my sworn duty as field commander.”

“It was a dare from Jones.”

“So it was two things,” Steve said, and ducked out of Bucky’s half-hearted noogie attempt, pulling the towel back to use as a defensive barrier. Bucky sat on the couch beside him and leaned into Steve’s shoulder. It was sharper than Bucky remembered; Steve had lost weight since last week. Since five years ago.

If Only In My Dreams by odetteandodile (complete | 28,317 | T)

Bucky is a highly successful cooking and lifestyle blogger, the gay New England Pioneer Woman if you will. He writes all about life in his Connecticut home with his D.H. (darling husband). Only problem? It’s all complete fiction. He actually lives in a shitty Brooklyn apartment, is single as hell, and has visited Connecticut exactly one time at the age of eight.

When his agent Sam informs him that he's been offered an exclusive sponsorship deal with Stark Media and a three book contract to go with it, Bucky's forced to fess up to Sam, who's predictably...displeased. But Sam's also convinced the deal is too good to miss—even if they have to put on a little bit of a show in order to get it.

So Tony and Pepper descend on Bucky and Sam's fake home for Christmas with a devastatingly handsome War Hero in tow, and their already complicated plan quickly gets even more complicated as Bucky finds himself falling head over heels for Steve. Can he keep it together just for the holidays? Did he ever have it together in the first place?

Not Without You* by SevereStorms, wreckingthefinite (complete | 94,402 | E) *graphic violence

Six months earlier, Bucky would have said the prospect of dying back home in Brooklyn sounded like a dream. Now, faced with his own imminent demise in a Brooklyn that is almost unrecognizable, it’s decidedly less appealing.

Honestly, it’s just sort of bizarre. Survive Afghanistan and come home to die in the pseudo-zombie apocalypse. Can’t make this stuff up.

Servitum by justanotherStonyfan (complete | 42,745 | E)

Steve appears in the hallway, and James turns his head to look at him, doesn't move otherwise. Steve’s in pale blue jeans and a white button down with the four buttons open and his tag chain visible beneath, which is sexy as fuck, but it’s even sexier when he towers over James like this.

"James?" Steve says, and he's not worried, James can tell. He's on the edge of it, sure - he's bemused, and prepared for something to be amiss - but he's not worried yet, so James closes his eyes for a moment.

"Help," he says, and then looks up at Steve. "I've fallen and I can't get up."

Part 28 of Honey Honey

Wenceslas by dragongirlG, mcl4r3n (complete | 17,915 | M)

Steve is a short, skinny Brooklynite with a very stable, predictable life, which he built after losing his memories in a traumatic accident six months ago. He works from home on a steady stream of art commissions, goes to weekly trivia nights with his superhero friends the Avengers, and tries not to get bothered by the constant feeling that something is not quite right.

When Steve invites a homeless man with one arm to take shelter in his apartment during a December snowstorm, both of them enter a dreamscape that unravels the fabric of their memories and reveals the truth about their identities—and their relationship to each other.

A wintertime fic featuring dream-sharing, identity porn, and Steve in the 21st century, inspired by the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the musical composition Wenceslas Suite by Bob Chilcott. Now complete!

Scenes From A Marriage: Captain America At Home by alby_mangroves, lim, Lunate8, RevolutionaryJo, Speranza (complete | 19,239 | E)

Welcome to the 4 Minute Window Advent calendar for 2019! As always, my goal is to tell a little bit of story in this universe each day (knock wood) between the Immaculate Conception and Christmas. Explicit eventually, the rest as it comes. This year there's loads of multimedia, as you might glean from the list of contributors.

Part 16 of 4 Minute Window

#mod picks #mod blue

148 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

FBI: Confrontation

Simon makes some questionable decisions.

Previous: Rescue / Interrogation / Awkward / Painkillers / Father / Flashback / Visitation / Intravenous

This is simultaneous with Intravenous so Simon is not yet aware of the events of that chapter.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

TW for: past child abuse, referenced death/murder of a child, abuse of power, systemic injustice, slut-shaming and feminized slurs relating to it, suicidal ideation referenced in the least respectful way possible, gore.

----

Simon parks illegally outside of the biggest house he has ever seen in real life, and before he gets out of the car he pulls his arm out of the sling and tests the range of motion he has in his shoulder.

It hurts to raise his arm, and it hurts to make a fist, but not too much to manage. He leaves the sling in the car.

The house— actually it’s probably big enough to be safely classed as a “mansion,” big and square and ugly with ornate columns and banks of windows that may as well be one big billboard reading “old money”—is surrounded by a fence slightly taller than Simon is himself, with clearly electrified wire at the top; the gate is carved stone and metal but clearly more functional than decorative. There’s a buzzer beside it with a keypad and a camera above it.

Simon holds down the buzzer and fishes his badge out to point it up at the camera. There’s no way anybody’ll be able to read it but it’s been Simon’s experience that people don’t actually read the badge, just having something to hold up confidently is enough, and the almost unbearable level of rage hammering in Simon’s temples is currently translating into complete, serene confidence that has the person manning the buzzer scurrying to open the gate faster than Simon can say “Agent”.

“Please come in, Agent Blake.” This voice is new, not the first one that answered the buzzer, and it sounds fussy and exasperated, like Simon is here to make a customer service complaint. Simon bounces once on the balls of his feet. That doesn’t sound like the voice of Heinrich Lange Senior, which makes it the voice of an obstacle he’s either going to go around or through. “Stephens will show you in. I can give you a few minutes.”

Simon doesn’t answer. He doesn’t greet “Stephens,” either, when the nervous-looking security guard comes around from the gatehouse to escort him up the needlessly-long drive to the front door of the mansion. Stephens tries twice to engage Simon in conversation, and Simon doesn’t even consciously decide to ignore him, it’s just a consequence of the size of the feeling in his chest, so big he can barely even recognize it as anger anymore. It doesn’t leave room for anything else.

Simon knows the owner of the stuffy little voice the second he sees him. Stephens the security guard leads him into a parlor off the house’s palatial entrance hall, and a man in a crisp gray suit is already seated at a meeting table waiting for him. He has narrow wire-rimmed glasses, an earpiece, and a tablet he’s holding like a clipboard and busily tapping away on, though he sets it down with a heavy sigh when Simon enters.

“Thank you, Stephens,” the man says, and gestures at the seat across the table from him. “Please sit down, Agent Blake.”

Simon doesn’t sit.

“I want to talk to Heinrich Lange,” he says, hearing his own voice in his ears like it’s a stranger’s, the voice of some very calm reasonable man he has never met.

The fussy man sighs heavily, steepling his fingers in front of him on the table. “So I understand. Agent Blake.” He looks at Simon, with tired eyes and pinched lips that are clearly supposed to send the message I am far too busy and important to be meeting with you. “My name is Carl Schoffstall. I manage the Senator’s affairs. I understand you were a member of the team responsible for finding his son Arthur.”

“Art,” Simon says immediately, without even deciding to. Carl Schoffstall twitches slightly as though in discomfort.

“I take it you’ve spoken to the boy, then,” he says bleakly.

Simon raises his eyebrows and nods, because wow, this should be good.

Schoffstall sighs and takes his glasses off, folding them neatly on the table in front of him, so he can look up at Simon with the utmost seriousness. It’s like he’s trying very hard to look like Simon’s disappointed dad. Simon is so angry he almost can’t even feel it anymore, like he’s just barely hearing the blood roar in his ears from a different room.

“Then perhaps you’ll know what I mean when I say that Arthur Lange is a very troubled young man,” Schoffstall says. Simon almost wants to laugh. “Candidly, Agent Blake, he was traumatized by his younger brother’s accidental death several years ago, and I don’t believe he ever fully recovered. Is that why you’re here, Agent Blake? Has Arthur been feeding you stories about the manner of his brother’s death? Whatever he’s been saying, Arthur wasn’t even present at the time of the accident.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Simon says.

Schoffstall blinks rapidly, clearly caught off guard. Then he huffs, glaring at Simon. “Well, Senator Lange has nothing to do with your case, Agent Blake, and I think you’d be much better off to leave the Senator to grieve in peace, thank you.”

Simon does laugh at that, a single harsh bark. “Oh, haven’t y’all heard? His grieving’s a little early, he hasn’t succeeded in getting Art killed yet.”

Schoffstall pales, his hands skittering across the table to find his tablet while still staring at Simon with alarm. “Agent Blake,” he says in a mock-scandalized voice. “I have no idea what you—”

Simon leans forward, drops his palms on the table, leans just slightly into Schoffstall's space. He honestly has no idea what expression is on his face right now, but it makes the smaller man lean back and clutch his tablet to his chest like it’s a shield. “You ‘manage his affairs,’ huh? All his affairs? You didn’t make the actual call, but you must’ve known about it, right? Or maybe he didn’t feel like he needed help killing his son. Maybe that’s all old hat to you people by now.”

Schoffstall actually gasps, this time, and now he’s frantically tapping away on the tablet. “Agent Blake,” he says, looking back up at Simon and pressing the tablet back to his chest like Simon is going to try to read it over his shoulder. “I can assure you, I would know about any phone call— the—” Schoffstall trails off, raising a hand to his earpiece, and then he sags in his chair, letting his forehead smack into his hand, and mutters to himself, “Wonderful.”

When Schoffstall looks back up at Simon, most of the scandalized how-dare-you-even-suggest act is gone, and he looks like a normal overworked publicist. “Senator Lange has agreed to speak with you,” Schoffstall says flatly.

“Has he,” Simon says. His heart picks up, and the feeling in his chest is too large for him to tell if it’s anger or excitement.

“God,” Schoffstall says, and gets to his feet. “I’ll walk you up. But for the love of God, Blake, don’t antagonize him. I’ve done enough cleanup for one week.”

Simon thinks he might be smiling at Schoffstall now. Certainly he seems to be baring his teeth.

——

Simon hasn’t done much research on Heinrich Lange, Sr., but he remembers the old man’s military background the second Schoffstall opens the office door and he sees the man standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to them, at full parade-rest.

Schoffstall opens his mouth, and then Heinrich Lange turns at the sound of the door and shoots Schoffstall a withering look and the little man sighs, gives Simon a mocking all-yours gesture into the room, and leaves, shaking his head.

Simon closes the door behind him.

Senator Heinrich Lange is a broad and taut sixty-five, wearing a suit like he’d rather be wearing a uniform. He looks at Simon, still half-turned toward the window, his big heavy wooden desk unoccupied between them, and waits for Simon to talk first.

Fair enough, Simon thinks, his good hand clenching in anticipation.

“You’ll be happy to hear that your son is going to live,” Simon says, still in that same distant reasonable voice. Heinrich Lange’s face doesn’t change. “It was touch and go there for a while. Some of the hospital staff were taking bribes to deny him medical care. But we’re working on tracing that attempt on his life back to its source.” When Lange still doesn’t respond or move or blink, Simon adds. “We’re working on that right now, actually.”

Lange narrows his eyes at Simon, and what he says is, “Leaving the boy to his own histrionics isn’t exactly a murder attempt.” He turns more fully to face Simon. His face is totally impassive. “It won’t hold up that way in court.”

Bold of you to assume you’ll make it to court, Simon doesn’t say. “Your son is in the ICU, Lange. Denying someone life-saving care is murder, Senator.”

Heinrich Lange rolls his eyes. “I know my son,” he says, “and whatever shape he’s in, he got himself into. If you asked him, he’d tell you to hold the pillow over his face yourself, Agent.”

Simon has to catch his breath. He doesn’t say, your son held on to life by his fingernails when I would have given up a dozen times over, your son is nineteen and you and the devil combined couldn’t kill him and he’s twice the man you are; because he does not actually care what Heinrich Lange thinks, he’s here to talk about what Heinrich Lange has done.

“That’s not what he talked to me about, actually,” he says instead, and Lange sighs with exactly the same impatience Schoffstall had.

“You’ve been listening to him talk,” Lange says in a tired voice. He sits down heavily at his desk, no longer looking at Simon. “Look. How much do you want?”

“What,” Simon says.

“Whatever I’ve done, Agent, I can’t undo it now,” Lange says down at his desk, scrubbing a hand across his forehead like a tired old man. “Whatever the boy’s been telling you, he’s got no case against me. He just wants to dredge all my mistakes up again so he knows he’s not the only one still thinking about them.” He shuffles papers around on his desk, like he thinks he’s making some great admission. “Well, I— there’s not a day I don’t think about what happened to Michael. And once Arthur’s succeeded in getting himself killed, I’ll be alone with it, which will be punishment enough. You can tell him that if you want.” He runs a hand through his close-cropped gray hair, and then looks up at Simon. There’s a pen in his hand, and now Simon realizes there’s a checkbook out on the desk, too. “But first tell me how much it will take to get you the fuck out of my sight, Agent.”

“Jesus,” Simon says. He’s literally nauseous at this point. “I don’t want your fucking money. Christ.”

“Then what the fuck are you here for?” Heinrich Lange snarls, pushing himself up to his feet. “I suppose you’re here to sweep to his rescue, like the other one. Been telling you lots of sob stories, I imagine, about his terrible unfeeling father. He wasn’t here when Michael died, do you know that? He makes all the right noises now about how much he loved Michael, how all he cares about is justice for Michael, but that night what he cared about was drinking and whoring himself around half the East Side.” Lange’s face twists. “I suppose you already know about that,” he spits. “Is he well enough to fuck you yet, or did he promise to suck you off la—”

Simon punches him in the face.

Lange stumbles back into the window, eyes and mouth wide and shocked, raising a hand to catch the sudden gush of blood down his chin from his busted nose.

The desk is heavy, but not so heavy Simon can’t shove it out of the way with one arm and his hip if he really tries.

Lange launches himself at Simon the second the desk is out of the way, which is admittedly a surprise for the two seconds it takes them to crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs, and then Simon’s head is blessedly empty except for fighting protocols so well-trained his conscious mind doesn’t have to get involved at all.

Their training seems to be roughly equivalent, but Lange is sixty-five and out of practice, and Simon has recently been shot.

Lange lands on top of him and his first punch lands hard against Simon’s eye socket; it will bruise and gives Simon a few seconds of seeing stars but it’s a rookie move to punch solid bone with unwrapped hands and Lange’ll regret it tomorrow; Simon drives his fist up into Lange’s age-softened belly and it’s easy to shove Lange off of him; Lange is immediately winded and looks almost offended. Simon thinks that’s what happens when you’re used to punching unarmed children and grabs for the collar of Lange’s shirt, yanks him down to sink his fist into the old man’s kidneys again.

Lange shoves Simon away by the shoulder, and by sheer bad luck his thumb lands squarely on the bandaged gunshot wound in Simon’s shoulder and Simon feels an immediate hot gush as it bursts straight back open. He stumbles back with a strangled yell.

Lange’s eyes flash like a predator seeing wounded prey, but Simon isn’t prey yet; he kicks Lange hard in the sternum when the old man darts forward to go for his shoulder again.

The fight is short and very messy.

Simon’s fist crashes into Lange’s teeth and he feels two of them give. Lange bodytackles him into a bookshelf, sending his spine back against the edge and then giving three hard jabbing hits to his wounded shoulder. Simon brings his knee up into the old man’s stomach and when the old man stumbles back he brings Simon with him, pulls him down by his jacket, jams his fist into Simon’s ribs.

By the time Schoffstall throws the office door open and four armed security guards pour into the room, the office floor is covered in loose pages from the bookshelf and shattered knickknacks from the desk, and Simon and Heinrich Lange are panting roughly in unison, Simon with a fist full of Lange’s shirtfront and Lange about to jam his thumb back into Simon’s shoulder. There is blood all down the front of Lange’s shirt and soaking the sleeve of Simon’s jacket.

“Senator!” Schoffstall practically squeals, and Lange shoves Simon away—Simon staggers dizzily against the wall, just barely keeping his feet—and yanks his shirt back into place, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve.

“Get him out of here,” he snaps, jerking his chin at Simon, and two of the guards descend on him. They’re about to seize him by the arms but they pull up short at the absolute ruin that is his shoulder and sort of awkwardly push him upright instead.

Schoffstall is hammering desperately at his tablet. “I’m calling the police,” he squeaks, but Lange makes a harsh sweeping gesture at him.

“Don’t,” Lange says in a nasally voice. He’s looking at Simon like he’s impressed, like he thinks they’re respectful rivals now, or something.

“You don’t decide what’s punishment enough,” Simon says, and he spits at Heinrich Lange before they drag him out.

——

Simon has seven missed calls from Rona. Rona never, ever calls him more than once, but as he’s staring down at his phone in the car it rings again.

“Where the fuck are you,” Rona snarls, and doesn’t give him time to answer. “Actually, I don’t care. Get your ass back to the hospital now. You fucking moron.”

Simon’s—fairly confident he can get back there without passing out. Maybe he should call a taxi just to be safe. “Lange paid off the nurses to leave Art alone,” he tells her, by way of an explanation. “He already killed his other son, and he wants Art dead.”

“Does he really,” Rona says with absolutely no surprise, and Simon can hear her teeth in her voice, and knows that at least thirty percent of her anger is directed right at him. “Apparently,” she says, and Simon goes cold to his bones at the sound of her voice, “he’ll have to get in line.”

#fbi au #whump #original whump #fist fight #reopening wounds #past abuse #child abuse tw #protective #protective caretaker

10 notes · View notes

treytheyouthguy · 4 years

Text

From the Journal of Craven

(I’ve recently gotten to be apart of a new D&D Group from the Geeks Under Grace Community, and one of our players wrote a summary of the first session from the perspective of her character, and it got me wanting to attempt it myself. So here goes nothing!)

Name: Craven

Race: Kalashtar

Class: Barbarian (Eventually Path of the Totem Spirit)

Age: 25

Alignment: Lawful Good

Appearance: 6' 1", Dark Brown Shaggy Faux-Hawk Hair, Medium Length Well Kept Beard, Glowing Cerulean Eyes, Pale Skin

Fun Facts: Often will speak telepathically to strangers before meeting them to scare them. Has been apart of civilized society, but is somewhat socially awkward and often described as "literal". Sometimes talks to himself, or at least seemingly to himself.

It seems my travels have brought me to a city known as Galandel.

Usarus has led me to believe that we will find the help we need here, though he is getting less and less helpful. I swear, sometimes I think he likes to watch me get into strange circumstances and awkward situations.

I stumbled upon a scuffle in an alley involving a devil girl and a hooded figure. I attempted to ask the devil girl if she needed assistance, but I don’t think she likes intrusions of the mind, because she screamed at me in devil tongue.

Then, almost out of nowhere, a man claiming to be a champion of a deity named Tier? Tyr? Tire? named Valzan. He honestly looked just like the heroes from the book of stories father would read to me. The stories seemed to become even more real when he began to interrogate a ruffian. I surmised that the evil-doer was there to apprehend the devil girl.

Valzan seemed eager to help these two alley dwellers for some reason. The Devil-Girl seemed even more uneasy, yelling and calling the villain a “Slavers Lapdog”, which I couldn’t help but chuckle at. I once again attempted to establish a telepathic connection, but to no avail; the naughty nair-do-weller ignored my plea and was bent on making things worse. Two more bad men came from out of the shadows, and it was clear that this group was in for a fight.

I drew the blade that father gifted me as I became a man. I couldn’t help but think that he and mother would be proud of me: though I didn’t know these individuals, I was upholding the virtues instilled in me as a child.

I pulled my first swing, merely attempting to show that I meant business, but as I missed, I could feel Usarus’ rage coming over me. Father always taught me that if there was a way to settle a score without shedding blood, then to do so. However, the Spirit of the Forest was not as honorable, or at least not since the injustices that has fallen upon the Forest back home. His anger and fury bubbled like the stew from Mother’s cauldron.

The Heroic Valzan and the Angry Devil-Girl aided in the fight, and the Hooded Mystery Woman made sure to stand her ground, protecting the devil girl at all cost.

I could feel my body tensing up and my eyes radiating even brighter. My hands clenched the hilt of my blade ever-so-tightly, and I grit my teeth so tightly my gums began to bleed. I raised my blade high above my head, and I could hear my own voice inter-mingling with my Usarus’ as I bellowed, “YOU HAVE ANGERED THE SPIRIT OF THE FOREST!” My blade cut into the man in front me as if Usarus’ own razor sharp claw was mawing him. His torso was cleft in twain, and his blood sprayed across the brick walls between us.

I stood there, panting. I turned to see the spiritual visage of Usarus; he looked at the carnage and snorted, and then looked at me and nodded. It was as if the bloodshed pleased him.

I know that Usarus isn’t evil; he’s a protector. He can be gentle and kindhearted. He can even be playful. But lately his anger has overcome him, and he is becoming vengeful and stoic.

The other dispatched the other foe, and only one assailant remained. I had finally calmed down and rejoined reality.

Valzan literally scared the piss out of the man. I know for sure it was piss, I could smell it. But the fool decided to run. The Champiom Valzan took off and I followed. I liked his style, and desperately wanted to see how this ended.

By the time I caught up to them, the fool-hearty thug had gone limp on the ground, defeated.

Valzan complimented me, and I him. He then asked if I would take the bow shell of a man to something called the Church of Tyr. I asked what a Tyr was, but he just looked at me puzzled. I mean, I’d heard of churches, but had never been to one. Valzan was heading back to find the girls from the alley. I even tried asking the criminal now in a headlock under my arm who Tyr was, but he didn’t bother to answer.

Upon reaching the church, I was greeted by an elven woman named Alyssia. I took the man down stairs to the basement as instructed by Valzan and found out from Alyssia that apparently Tyr was a deity that she and Valzan worshipped. I had no idea that people worshipped deities! The people of my village thanked and served the Spirits like Usarus. I turned to ask Usarus about the deities, but he still wasn’t very talkative. I’m beginning to be worried about him at how long these bouts of stoicism were lasting.

Eventually my fateful allies made it to the Church and Alyssia offered us food. FOOD! Glorious food. The Devil-Girl, who was acting suspiciously cat-like, clearly wanted to eat, but was extremely timid. I tried offering her my father’s jerky, but she wasn’t having it. In retrospect, I may have knelt down and gotten a little too close when I offered.

After some convincing, the Hooded Mystery Woman convinced the Devil-Girl to eat. Later Valzan, the Mystery Woman, and myself descended to the basement to question our “guest”. Valzan asked if I wanted to be a “good cop or bad cop”, but I had no idea what that meant. He then asked if I wanted to hurt the captured criminal, and I obliged. I’m not a bad guy, but this man clearly was, and I’m pretty decent at hurting things.

Valzan poured water on the unconscious fellow, so I poured the whole barrel. Apparently that was not the way to go. Valzan payed the man a compliment, so I called him beautiful. Again, that was wrong. I could hear Usarus laughing at me, so I decided to let Valzan take the lead. The Hooded Mystery Woman held back, just watching.

The man was hired to “bring the Tiefling back to his employee”, but she had fought back and escaped. Fiery, that one, which is funny, what with her being a Devil-Girl and all. The man pleaded with Valzan and had decided to repent of his crimes and wanted to serve his time and be turned over to the authorities. I was stunned, but held my tongue, when Valzan went along with this. I mean, in the Forest, justice is decided by the strong and able creatures, and those who were weak and in the wrong suffered. But, Valzan was showing mercy. It was refreshing, honestly. I had shed quite a bit of blood in the name of “Justice”. So Valzan took the man to the proper authorities.

Upon his returning, Valzan and Alyssia explained what this church was, a place for the wronged where they could find peace and justice. They offered to let the Devil-Girl a home there. They assured her that she would be safe, fed, clothed, and that she would have her justice. The Devil-Girl seemed uneasy, and then the Hooded Mystery Woman spoke up and approached her, and for the first time, I could see the Devil-Girl resting easy, or at least somewhat. This Hooded Mystery Woman was helping her feel more comfortable.

So for the next week we all stayed together.

The Hooded Mystery Woman, or Strive as I found out her name was, seemed to have an affinity for caring for this Devil-Girl, who we took to calling her Shadow since she was glued to Strive like she was her personal Shadow. Valzan and Alyssia continued to be hospitable and accomplidating to us, as well as patrolling the streets to find evidence of the wrong-doers who descended on our little Shadow.

As for me, I just rested. I had been on such a long journey and constantly on the move that it was nice to just sit and catch my breath. Usarus finally spoke again and told me to stay put. “This group will help you find answers.” At night I would sift through the memories of my ancestors with the aid of Usarus, searching for any answers there may be for the plague that is descending on my home.

We eventually decided to leave the church and spread our wings. Alyssia stayed at the church, but Valzan served as our guide. He led us to an axe throwing game that I technically won, but decided to be chivalrous and neglected to accept the prize.....

Valzan accepted the prize offered which came in the form of free drinks at a near by tavern, which apparently is where a woman works that Valzan desperately needs to speak with. Shadow also stumbled upon some shiny glass. She liked shiny things. She reached for the glass, but Strive stopped her and Valzan offered a shiny bauble instead.

We first went to a library, which was recommended to stop at by Strive. I was happy to go, actually. I was able to ask the librarian about plagues and magics that affect plant life, and found a book on the history of plagues. I over heard Strive ask about herbalism and curitive properties and turned to Usarus. I said that she could help us, and he agreed. Finally, something to go on!

I approached her and asked about her help with my quest, and told her that I felt she was key. I blushed as I realized this may sound like I was courting her. I then stumbled over my words and finally walked away. I turned and yelled Usarus, exclaiming that he could’ve stopped me. He laughed. She laughed. I walked and check out my book, hanging my head in embarrassments shame. There was something about that woman, and it left me with my words tangled and trampled on the ground.

We then found an exotic pet store, but soon left after finding out that the OWNER WAS AN EVIL MAN! No bears?! Fine. But hedge-hogs are bear like?? USE SQUIRRELS AS BAIT!?! What a monster! I turned to Shadow and said we should leave! It was traumatic for us all.

We finally made it to the tavern on the top of the hill. We entered and Shadow immediately went to a table. The rest of us followed and soon the very woman Valzan had saught after came to take our orders. I ordered all of the sweets they had in an attempt to win over Shadow, and after Valzan asking to speak to the woman alone, we had our food and Valzan was asked to wait until things weren’t as busy. We sat and began to enjoy our food, but suddenly an elderly unkept man burst through the door, exclaiming that his daughter had been taken. Our group began to ask for details, when the entire tavern erupted in laughter.

Things are getting strange.....

3 notes · View notes

unfolded73 · 5 years

Text

Transformative (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

A Stevie Budd character study: she navigates being David's Best Person at the wedding reception. This fic explores an idea I've been playing with that Stevie is aro. Although this is set at David and Patrick's wedding, they exist mostly in the background of this story.

This is dedicated to my fandom BFF, @j-philly-b. After eleven years of dragging each other from one fandom to another, I literally don't know what I would do without you in my life.

Thanks to @startswithhope aka @language-of-love for giving this a quick beta read.

Rated Teen, 3260 words. (ao3) / (schitt’s fic masterpost)

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

Stevie is making a concerted effort not to drink too much at the wedding reception, and not only because she tends to try to make out with people when she gets boozy. There is also the very real worry that the tears she managed to keep from spilling over during the ceremony, while David and Patrick said their vows, will overflow if she gets drunk.

And no, before anyone asks, it’s not because she’s still hung up on David, God. She got over that not too long after she told him she had, her face-saving lie becoming retroactively true. It’s just emotional, seeing her closest friends making each other so happy. Especially when she thinks back to what David was like when he first got to Schitt’s Creek, to see him so euphoric now is… it’s a lot. It makes her emotional, and Stevie is not a fan of being emotional in front of people. She’s not a fan of doing much of anything in front of people, but between the musical last year and being David’s best person today, she’s been forced to get used to it.

Which reminds her, she has to give a fucking toast in a little while.

Well, maybe one more drink won’t hurt. For courage.

She makes her way over to the bar and orders herself a glass of white wine (as long as she stays away from the hard stuff, she’ll be fine). When she thanks the bartender and steps away, she almost collides with a guy in a charcoal suit holding a bottle of beer.

“Oh! Sorry,” Stevie says.

“No worries. It’s Stevie, right?” the guy says, reaching out with his free hand to shake hers.

“Yeah.” She’s probably supposed to ask his name, but she drops his hand and waits for him to volunteer it if he wants to.

“I’m Tim. One of Patrick’s cousins.”

Stevie eyes him. She met several cousins at the rehearsal dinner, but she can’t remember if this was one of them. “He has a lot of cousins.”

Tim laughs. “Yeah. I’m not even sure how many of us there are.”

There’s a lull that Stevie doesn’t know how to fill. “Okay, well--” She starts to step away, back toward her seat at the head table.

“So you’re David’s closest friend, I take it? Since you were his best…”

“‘Best Person’ is what we went with.”

“Not that you’re full of yourself or anything,” he says with a grin.

Stevie doesn’t feel like doing this. She doesn’t feel like bantering with a guy (even a reasonably good-looking one like Tim) at a wedding. She doesn’t feel like at some point making the decision between going to bed with this guy and not. She doesn’t feel like doing the walk of shame from his hotel room (she assumes hotel; she’s pretty sure he’s not one of the wedding guests staying at her motel) and figuring out how to get back home without bumming a ride from her one night stand. She’s so… tired of all of it.

“It’s just, when I heard Patrick was engaged to this guy, I googled him, and…” He shrugs. “I mean it’s not that I don’t trust Patrick’s judgment, but…” He seems to be leaving a blank for her to fill in. What, does he expect her to agree with him? Yeah, dude-I-just-met, my best friend is a shallow slut who’s going to break your cousin’s heart, you got it out of me!

Stevie blinks at him and pastes on a fake smile. “But what?”

“No, I mean, nothing,” he flounders.

Another similar-looking guy comes up and claps Tim on the back. “Whatever he’s saying, ignore him; he’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, that was starting to become clear.” She does recognize this one from the rehearsal dinner. Another cousin from Patrick’s never-ending supply of cousins, one who actually had some kind of ushering responsibility, if she remembers correctly.

“Tim, I think I saw some kids loitering around your car,” the new cousin says. “You might want to go check.”

Tim gets a panicked look on his face and bolts away.

“Thanks,” Stevie says. “Sorry, I know we met last night but I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s Dennis. And don’t worry about it, no one deserves to have to make conversation with Tim for any length of time.”

“Yeah, he seemed like a real prince.”

Dennis winces. “He didn’t say anything homophobic, did he? Because I told him--”

“No, nothing like that. Just… David-phobic, I guess.”

“Aren’t you David’s closest friend?” he says with an eye roll. “Sorry, I called Tim an asshole when clearly I should have said ‘stupid asshole’.”

Stevie laughs at that.

“Look, as far as I’m concerned, Patty’s always had a good head on his shoulders. Okay, yeah, I guess he took a while to figure out , you know… what he needed in a partner,” he says, gesturing over to the dance floor. Patrick is currently laughing at something David is saying and attempting to restrain him from leaving to sit down when the DJ starts to play ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca.’ “But he’s clearly figured it out now. So David’s okay in my book, because he’s what makes Patty happy.”

Stevie bites her lip about ‘Patty’. She’s not going to make fun of Patrick about the nickname today, oh no. She’s going to save it until after they get back from their honeymoon, and then she’s going to pick her moment and tease him mercilessly. She might call him Patty for an entire week if she doesn’t get bored with it.

“Patrick’s what makes David happy too,” she says, surprised that something so sentimental would come out of her mouth to a near-stranger. “Okay, I gotta…” she says, gesturing back to the head table before escaping from Dennis. She doesn’t gotta anything at the moment, really, but the escape feels necessary.

Necessary but short-lived, because Stevie can barely take another sip of her wine before Alexis is dragging her out on the dance floor. The song is one of David’s favorite Mariah ballads, and Alexis pulls Stevie into a slow dance like they’re a high school couple at prom, her bony arms slung over Stevie’s shoulders. The fact that, as part of the wedding party, they are wearing matching dresses makes the tableau look even weirder, or so Stevie assumes. Still, she puts her hands on Alexis’ tiny waist and dutifully sways to the music.

“You couldn’t dance with Ted to this?”

Alexis huffs. “Ted is doing shots with Ronnie and Jocelyn.”

“Oh my God, they are going to drink him so far under the table--”

“I know,” she says with an eye roll. “He’s such a lightweight.”

“Alexis… David is married,” Stevie says, because even though she’s been along with him and Patrick for the entire ride, the fact that David Rose is a married man… it’s like learning that a starfish has mastered calculus.

“Right?” Alexis says. “I literally never thought this day would come. Like, ever.” Then Alexis’ eyes wander the room and a grin unfurls on her face. “That guy you were talking to earlier is watching us. I think he might be into you.”

Stevie starts to turn, but Alexis quickly says, “Don’t look. The cute usher. Dennis, I think?”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s probably looking at you, Alexis.”

Alexis simpers. “I get why you would think that, but I’m pretty sure it’s you this time.” She wiggles her body, and Stevie feels the undulations of Alexis’ hips under her hands. “Stevie’s gonna get some!”

“No, I’m not gonna fuck one of Patrick’s cousins, but thanks for your well-wishes.”

“You could, though.”

Stevie sighs. “I know that given my past and my low standards--”

“Like David,” Alexis says with a giggle.

“--that this might come as a shock, but the thought of hooking up with someone at this wedding, even a cute boy, is a painfully dull idea. I think I’m past that.”

Alexis gives her a serious look. “You don’t want to do meaningless sex anymore, I totally get that.” She gives another wiggle of her hips like she’s a happy puppy. “So what we need to do is, we need to find your soulmate.”

Stevie drops her chin to her chest. “No, that’s not…” She sighs, and then looks back at Alexis. “That’s what everyone always says. ‘You haven’t met the right person yet’ or ‘Let me fix you up with my friend’ or ‘You just need to put yourself out there.’ But what if I’m… happy like this? Running the motel, helping Mr. Rose plan the Elmdale expansion, hanging out with my friends, or just being by myself in my apartment? What if I’ve only been looking for a romantic relationship because everyone tells me I’m supposed to, and not because I’ve ever actually wanted one?”

Alexis looks pensively at her, taking all of that in.

After Emir, Stevie spent a lot of time thinking about her feelings -- more time than she ever wanted to spend thinking about her feelings. She’d liked Emir a lot and the sex had been fantastic, but she realized that a lot of her heartbreak when he made it clear he didn’t want anything more than an occasional hook-up was because of what she thought it said about her. That she was provincial and small and worthless. Even her feelings for David, when she’d really interrogated them after he stole Roland’s truck and ran away, were rooted in insecurity about herself. David Rose was the very definition of experienced and worldly, and the idea that he might care even a tiny bit less about her than she cared about him had been excruciating. It wasn’t that she loved David, at least not that way. It was that she couldn’t bear to watch him inevitably lose interest in her as a person. She’d wanted so much to keep David in her life. The sex was incidental to that, except for its inherent power, in her experience, to keep men interested.

Alexis is giving Stevie a soft smile, one that would have been completely foreign on her face a few years ago. “If you’re happy, babe, then that’s all that matters.”

The Mariah ballad is reaching its vocally excessive climax, and Stevie notices the DJ signaling her. “I guess it’s time for me to do this stupid toast now.” Her stomach flutters with nerves. Despite her foray into the world of theater, she feels a little like she’s headed to her own execution.

Walking over, she takes the microphone as someone presses a champagne glass into her hand. The song fades out, and the sound of her throat-clearing comes blaring out of the speakers. There’s some glass-clinking from someone, and then everyone quiets down. Stevie pauses, looking out over the crowd. She sees Patrick and David standing side-by-side, arms around each other, smiling at her.

“Hi, everybody. I guess it’s my job to give a toast to the grooms, so, uh, here goes.” Stevie flinches at the whine of feedback on the first few words and adjusts the position of the mic in front of her face.

“I remember the first time that Patrick walked into the store while I was there, probably helping David do something that he was too lazy to do on his own.” There is a smattering of laughter from the assembly, and it makes her feel a little bit better. “It didn’t take more than a few minutes of watching them talking to each other, kidding around and trying to one-up each other, that I knew there was some kind of spark there. Apparently I was the only one who knew, though, because David invited me to come on their first date with them.” More laughter. “I mean, they did figure it out eventually, based on the fact that I caught Patrick with a hickey on his neck at the store a couple of weeks later. And the fact that they were desperate to fool around together in my apartment when they couldn’t find privacy anywhere else.” Patrick puts his face in his hands at that, shaking his head. Stevie thinks fleetingly that she should feel bad saying all that in front of the parents of the grooms, but she very much does not. “I mean, when you think about it, there’s no way David and Patrick would even be together now if it wasn’t for me. It’s a favor they may never be able to repay, but I’ll take cash if you guys want to try it.”

That gets her a really big laugh, and Stevie beams.

“My point is, I’ve had a front row seat to all these milestones between these two, and…” She pauses and swallows on a dry mouth. She once told David she was incapable of sincerity, but she is going to attempt it now. “I’ve heard that love can be transformative, and I always thought that was bullshit. But watching Patrick and David, the way their differences complement each other, the way they support each other through good times and bad times, the way they love each other…” Her voice breaks on that; Stevie struggles to hold it together but she is rapidly losing her battle with tears. “I guess it might be true. So anyway, I’m glad I got to watch them fall in love, and I’m glad I got to be here today to watch them promise each other forever.” Holding up her champagne, she finishes with, “I love both you idiots. To David and Patrick.”

There is a rousing cheer and a chorus of ‘To David and Patrick,’ and Stevie hands the microphone back to the DJ like it’s made of snakes and hurries off the stage. She looks down at her glass, realizing she forgot to take a drink after her own toast.

Swigging down the champagne and setting the glass aside, Stevie looks up to see David approaching.

“Don’t you dare hug me, David.”

“I’m going to,” he says with a smiling head-shake, that smirking smile he has when he can barely contain his happiness.

His tuxedo fabric is smooth against her cheek, his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. Stevie returns the hug, settling into it like a comfortable blanket.

“You made me cry, so you get a hug whether you like it or not,” David says.

“Please, you’ve been crying off and on all day; you can’t blame me.” She pulls away, then reaches out absently to brush away any trace of her makeup (expertly applied by Alexis this morning) from the lapel of his jacket.

“True.” He’s giving her a knowing look. “You know, you can be quite the romantic.”

“About other people’s relationships, yes I can,” she says with a sage nod. “Like, I can appreciate another person’s cute baby without wanting my own baby.”

David shudders at the mention of babies and makes a disgusted face.

“How does it feel to be somebody’s husband, David?”

David turns to look behind him, and Stevie follows his gaze to the dance floor where Patrick is dancing with Mrs. Rose. Stevie grins, wondering who’s leading in that pair. “So far, I guess it’s okay,” David says with another smirk, his eyes shining, then he looks back at her. “I love you.”

“How dare you,” Stevie says, the lump in her throat growing larger.

“I know. Come on, let’s dance.” David takes her hand, and Stevie lets herself be led.

Much later, as she watches the people on the dance floor and catches her breath, Mr. Rose makes his way over. “So I was thinking about the new motel,” he says by way of greeting.

“You were thinking about the new motel at your son’s wedding?” Stevie asks, not really surprised but enjoying the chance to shame Mr. Rose a little.

“Well, I don’t mean…” He opens and closes his mouth a few times before explaining, “I was thinking about it last night.”

“And what about it?” They were breaking ground on the Rosebud Motel in Elmdale next month, which, for reasons that still mostly surpassed her understanding, was going to be styled in much the same way as the original Rosebud Motel. Hipsters like the aesthetic, Alexis had told them. Even the use of the term ‘motel’ contributed to a sort of ironic realness, she’d said, a statement that gave Stevie a good laugh at the time.

“When the new motel is built, someone will have to run it and I was thinking, why not Stevie?” Mr. Rose says with a big grin.

“I already run a motel.”

“I… I know that, Stevie, but the new motel is going to be bigger, and in a town with a lot more going on. Better restaurants, better culture, more to do. It might be an interesting opportunity for you if you want it. We can hire someone else to run the original Rosebud.”

She blinks. Stevie Budd has spent her entire life in Schitt’s Creek. She went to high school here, spending her Friday nights learning to shotgun beers or giving a fumbling handjob in the backseat of a car. She’s always expected she’d probably die here in her shitty apartment, maybe with a couple of pet cats to round out the lonely spinster aesthetic.

“I don’t know, Mr. Rose. My friends are here.” She gestures toward the dance floor, where Ted and Twyla are flailing around to ‘Don’t Stop Me Now,’ and then cringes at the idea that she would actually miss a lot of these people if she moved.

“Well, Elmdale isn’t that far, so you’d still be able to spend time with the gang here.” Mr. Rose pats her gently on the shoulder, his body language filled with hesitancy. “You can stay in Schitt’s Creek if you want to, of course you can. But I want the choice of which motel to run to be yours.”

She can’t decide if she wants to bask in the fatherly smile he gives her or flee from it. “Thank you, Mr. Rose.”

“And who knows, if we keep expanding?” He holds his arms out wide. “Think what the future might hold!”

“Uh huh.” She looks back out at the dancers, but she can feel Mr. Rose’s eyes still on her.

“You know, Stevie, I hope you know I’m not… I’m not just giving you this opportunity out of some kind of fatherly impulse.”

The war between basking and fleeing intensifies. “Fatherly--?”

“It’s because I’ve been watching you since we hired more staff, and you’re very good at managing people -- getting them to do what you need them to do. I hate to admit it, but you might be better at it than I am.”

Stevie blinks. She didn’t expect to be getting a performance review at David’s wedding, but that seems to be what’s happening.

“So I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather see running the new motel. It’s not only that you deserve the opportunity, Stevie. It’s that I’m confident you’ll succeed.”

“Oh.” She feels her eyes welling up with tears for approximately the fiftieth time that day. “Thank you.”

He gives her a warm smile. “We can talk about it more later. You should go dance with your friends.”

She goes. Stevie dances in a loose circle with the people who have gradually wormed their way into her heart over the last few years, with the people who have made her feel like her life is full. Smiling and closing her eyes, she soaks up some of that transformative love for herself.

#stevie budd #stevie budd ff #schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #my fic

14 notes · View notes

saveme-ruinme · 7 years

Text

Ambivalent | TWO

~ Superhero AU ~ Namjoon x Reader ~ fluff/angst ~

character guide/summary // ONE

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: well this took forever, lets hope the next chapter comes a bit faster. Probs not tho, sorry.

When you came around, your head was pounding. A dull throb had settled in the back of your skull, presumably where the intruder had hit you to knock you out. You groaned quietly, moving to rub the back of your head only to find that you couldn't move your hands. Looking down, you found that your hands were bound to the arms of the chair you were propped up on with black zip ties that dug painfully into your skin as you twisted your wrists around.

You shifted around in the chair to find that your ankles had also been zip tied. The room you were in was completely bare. It was nothing but white walls, a door, and a metal table in front of you, and a camera up in the corner of the room, the red light blinking at you. You didn't understand why you were here, why you had been kidnapped from you own bed. As far as you were aware, you hadn't done anything wrong. You were almost painfully compliant with rules and laws, afraid of any trouble you would find yourself in.

Anxiety and panic raced through your veins, making you tug and pull at your restraints harder, ignoring the sharp stings of the zip ties cutting into your wrists. The plastic of the chair sticks to your bare thighs, and you realise belatedly that you're still not wearing pants. You would've started laughing at the ridiculousness of it if you weren't terrified for your life. Instead, you tugged harder against the zip ties, cursing whoever had bought you here and bitterly hoping the asshole got a good look because you'll make him pay for it. Well, not you, you can't fight anyone, but maybe Jimin. Jimin would probably make the kidnapper do something terrible, or Yoongi would set him on fire for you.

Not that you'd actually ask either of them to do that for you. You'd be too scared to live with the guilt if something really bad happened to them, and if you asked Jimin and Yoongi for revenge, they'd probably do something really bad to them. Growing tired of rubbing your wrists raw against the plastic, afraid that you’d cut your wrists, you slump back against the chair. How in the fuck did you end up in this situation? You couldn't understand what you done to be kidnapped.

As you sat there mentally listing anything that could potentially get you kidnapped, the only door in and out of the room opened and a man stepped in the room. You studied the man who stepped into the room as he closed the door behind him. He had chocolate brown hair, and wore a pair of black thick rimmed glasses. The man was dressed quite well, as you noted his blazer worn over a plain white shirt. He had a plain brown folder in his hand, and if movies stereotypes taught you anything, it's that that folder probably was all the information he could find on you.

"Good to see you're awake," the man spoke, sitting down in a chair opposite you. "Although I apologise for how you were subdued, he didn't mean any harm."

"Who, muscles?" you ask sceptically. "What kind of name is that?"

The man chuckled. "It's an alias, used to protect his identity. Mine is Einstein."

"'Einstein'?" you echo, not sure if he was pulling your leg.

"A joke between my friends," he explained simply, smiling.

You noted how 'Einstein' dimples' shined whenever he smiled, making him look unfairly attractive in your opinion. He didn't have the same intoxicating beauty as Jimin, but as he snickered at his own joke with his cute dimples peeking, you realised bitterly how charming this self-proclaimed genius was. He was composed and calm, and you weren't wearing any pants.

"You haven't told me your name," he reminded you, making you embarrassed at having been caught staring at him.

"___," you answer quietly, shifting uncomfortably. "Why am I here?"

"My men found you in sleeping in the same home as Min Yoongi," Einstein informed you.

"What about it? We live together- so what?"

Einstein looked taken aback. "Do you know who Yoongi is? What he's done?"

"What has he done?" you ask, afraid of the answer.

"You don't know?" Einstein questions, looking openly shocked.

You shake your head, feeling dread settle in your stomach. The business that Yoongi, Jimin and Seokjin got up to was kept far away from you. You didn't want to know what information lay behind their cryptic answers, scared of what you might find. They were the first real friends you'd had in a long time, and you stayed ignorant toward whatever they did to keep your friendship. You knew it was never anything good, as there had been a few instances when the police would show up at the house demanding for either Jimin or Yoongi. But you figured if you didn't know what they did, then they were still the good people you knew them to be.

"Did they not tell you anything about what they do? You never wanted to know?" Once again, you shook your head, feeling shame creep into your face. The man in front of you leaned back in his chair, his face becoming neutral once again as the shock slips away from, leaving no emotions behind. "May I try something? You might've heard something and not known what they were talking about."

"Try what?" you ask slowly.

Einstein took a breath. "To read your mind."

A dramatic pause filled the room as Einstein gauged your reaction. He expected disbelief, or denial, as that seemed to be the most common reaction from all the people he's told thus far. He even got punched in the face once when someone asked him to prove that he could read minds, and Namjoon told him that he knew that man was cheating on his wife. Not exactly his finest moment, and looking back at it, he probably should've just told him that the colour he was thinking of was red, and that he thought of it because he couldn't stop glancing up at the red snapback perched on Namjoon's head.

You, on the other hand, looked only mildly surprised, if not a bit impressed. What intrigued him the most was how quiet your mind seemed to be. Usually when he told people he could read minds, their thoughts got so loud that it was hard not hear them even if he did try to actively block them out. However, as you sat opposite him, he couldn't hear a single thing from you. It was as if you were not phased at all by his ability.

"Ah, sure I guess. Not like I can stop you," you complied easily, which shocked Namjoon once again.

You seemed to be full of surprises from the minute Jeongguk had brought you back, slung limply over his shoulder wearing no pants. The story of you seemed to get stranger as they told him that you were able to resist Hoseok's empathetic abilities - something that annoyed the empath - and that you were sleeping in a lair of villains of your own free will. There was nobody keeping you there, and nobody to stop you from leaving. Now you had admitted to being friends with them without knowing the crimes they committed on an almost daily basis, but were somehow not surprised at his admittance of being a telepath?

"You're not surprised," Namjoon observed. You shook your head. "Forgive me for prying, but why are you not surprised?"

You shrugged. "Not that different from someone else I know."

"Kim Seokjin, you mean?"

Now Namjoon was getting somewhere with you. It was difficult for him to grasp where you stood with them, what you knew and what you didn't.

"How did you know?"

"He and I were old friends once," he said wistfully.

You were confused, Seokjin had never mentioned knowing anyone with abilities other than Jimin and Yoongi. "He's never mentioned you."

Einstein's gaze bores deep into you, catching you off guard. "I didn't think he would." He sat there for a moment, lost in nostalgia as he remembered the person Seokjin used to be. Namjoon didn't understand why Seokjin had turned away from him, using his gift to manipulate people. Forcing himself out of those thoughts, he looks back at you. "I'll try not to be too invasive."

You raise your eyebrows at him. You didn't think anyone interrogating you would be so courteous. You thought he would just rip the information out of you and then decide how involved you were based on that, but the man sitting in front of you was set to prove you wrong in the way he considers your words before doing anything else. It was a rather sharp contrast from the person who knocked you out to bring you here.

"Ah- okay," you consented dumbly.

"It would help if you thought about the last time you felt they were being suspicious and weird, that way I don't have to dig through your mind. You might have accidentally witnessed something I can present as evidence against them."

"You want me to help you prove my friends are criminals?" you asked incredulously.

"___," he sighed, surprised that you had called them your 'friends'. He didn't know who you were to them, but he didn't think that either of them considered you to be their 'friend'. "They are already criminals. Dangerous ones. I'm trying to put them away to make the world a better place."

Namjoon watched your expression harden when he called them dangerous. He expected you to get upset, to tearfully defend them or blindly deny any evidence that suggests they would be criminals. Instead, you glared at him as if daring him to say something about any of them. You couldn't fight for yourself, something that you had accepted years ago, but you would always fight for you friends.

"Just because they've done some bad things doesn't mean they're bad people. Like how doing good things doesn't make you a good person."

He pitied you. Clearly you didn't know the extent of bad things Jimin and Yoongi got up to. Even he didn't know what Seokjin got up to, he could still tell that it was related to whatever the other two were running around doing. If he knew Seokjin as well as he thought he did, then it was safe to assume that his old friend was the one pulling all the strings. To what end, Namjoon was unsure of, nor the extent he’d go to achieve his goal, so the telepath was doing the safe thing and trying to put them all behind bars before something drastic happened.

“Please cooperate with me. I’m trying to save people.”

You scoff. “Is that why I’m here? To be saved?”

Annoyed that the progress he made talking to you had done a complete 180, he decided that it’d useless to try and talk you through it anymore. Whatever they had done to you would be revealed to him once he was inside your mind, and then he’d know the extent of the damage they had done to your mind. Namjoon guessed that Park Jimin’s seductive persuasion was heavily involved in the poisoning of your mind, and Seokjin probably knew all your weak spots, easily able to exploit you in that regard. And then there was the mystery surrounding why they kept you around.

Namjoon was excited. You were like a puzzle for him to solve, trying to find all the parts of you and put you all back together so that you may be able to return to a normal life. Resistance from you is inevitable, but Namjoon was sure he would be able to work around it and make you that your ‘friends’ were far from good people. He wouldn’t even consider them to be decent people.

“Don’t try and resist,” he warned.

“Not like I can,” you mutter, twisting your wrists around in the restraints.

Belatedly realising that you had been left in your restraints, Namjoon figured that you were better off left in them. At this point he had no idea what you were capable of, and it seemed like the safer option to leave you restrained. Not until he at least figured out what Seokjin wanted from you, as there was a reason he kept you around that Namjoon – or yourself, for the matter – had yet to find out.

Without another word, Namjoon opened his mind, telepathically grasping for yours. Reading someone else’s mind was less of hearing everybody in his head, and more like him being in someone else’s head. It felt like he was extending his mind to fill the room; sometimes it felt like he was bigger than his physical appearance and his entire being could expand to travel around the whole globe at once. The people in the room would be aware whenever he expanded his mind like that if they had the right mental training.

The ability to open his mind beyond himself is how his telepathy works, anyone who is caught in the same area are vulnerable to him, like their head has been cracked open for him to see all their secrets. Through the years Namjoon has been able to go from just extending his mind around himself, to being able to extend himself to one person. Learning flexibility in a mental context was tough and he often suffered through a lot of migraines, but it was worth having meticulous control over his power. It made things easier in this context, where the only mind he wanted to get into was yours, and nothing else would distract him.

Realising that he was trying to read your mind from the way his attention had zeroed in on you, you stubbornly looked away from him, not wanting to meet his eyes. After all, eyes were the windows to the soul and it might be easier for him to get a peek inside that, or so you rationed. Really, his intense focus on you was making you uncomfortable, causing you to fidget around as much as could considering you were still tied to the chair.

After a long moment of silence, you snuck a glance over at Einstein. His laser focus had increased, and there was a deep frown marring his handsome face. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why he had that look on his face, like he was disappointed about something. You hoped that it was because there was no incriminating evidence in your memories, therefore no reason to arrest Yoongi.

You hoped Yoongi was okay wherever they kept him. No doubt they had put him in more serious restraints than the zip ties you woke up in. They wouldn’t even be considered a barrier for Yoongi and his pyro kinesis, he could melt them in a second. You wished that he would come and free you, bursting through the door in a hell fire craze to get you out of this bizarre situation you had somehow landed yourself in. Or perhaps Jimin and Seokjin would use their magic. It would be less violent if they did it, something you’d appreciate since violence wasn’t something you liked to witness. You just wanted to go home, you wanted to go back to sleep and forget that this ever happened.

“Would you look at that,” Einstein muttered, gaining your attention.

You felt your heart drop at that, dread pooling in your stomach. Einstein sounded astonished making you uneasy. Whatever he found out to make him sound like that would be nothing good, you were almost too afraid to ask. “What is it?”

“I can’t read your mind,” Namjoon admitted, falling back in his chair shocked at the new information.

He had never been in this situation before, he’d never met anyone he couldn’t read. This was a whole new experience for him and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or how he was supposed to react.

Namjoon opened his mind and reached out for yours. He did what he always did, what he had been doing since he discovered his telepathic abilities. He was waiting to hear something, to hear anything from your mind. Some minds whispered to him like they were afraid to think too loud. Others screamed information that sometimes disorientated him. His favourite was when he could see people’s memories playing out like a movie, those were always the easiest for his mind to comprehend.

However, when he tried to see into your mind, there was nothing. There wasn’t a wall to keep him out, or even white noise playing in your head to make it hard for him to get inside. Those were tactics that he had come across from others. Your mind was entirely different from anything he had ever encountered because it felt like there was nothing there at all. Trying to read your mind was like trying to read the mind of dead person; there was absolutely no life coming from inside your head. No hints that you had a mind at all.

The more he thought about, the stranger it seemed. No wonder Hoseok wasn’t able to use his empathy, he probably ran into the same problem Namjoon did. If you weren’t sitting in front of him, clearly alive and using your head, then he would’ve thought that you weren’t real, that you weren’t human. But you were human, Jeongguk had proved that when he knocked you out. If you an android of any kind than you wouldn’t be phased by Jeongguk’s blow against your head, let alone have passed out from it. Namjoon had checked you over himself when you got here to make sure there was no lasting damage. You had a heartbeat, he felt himself.

What in the ever loving fuck was going on? Why would Seokjin want someone like this?

“What do you mean you can’t read my mind?” you ask sceptically.

“Exactly that, it’s like you don’t even have one,” Namjoon tells you, still in disbelief. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend that he couldn’t read your mind, as well as coming up with any plausible reason why he couldn’t and attempting to figure out what Seokjin wanted with someone like you.

“Of course I have a mind! I’m using it right now!” you defend hotly, offended that he would say such a thing.

“Tell me; was Seokjin able to use his power on you? Has Park Jimin ever been able to persuade you to do anything?” Einstein questions suddenly, lurching forward to bombard you with questions.

“Uh- no? Not that I know of,” you answer, startled at his sudden change in attitude.

“Interesting,” he starts to babble. “You are able to resist any kind of telepathic power- perhaps even physical abilities? No, then Jeongguk’s strength wouldn’t have worked against you. Maybe unnatural physical abilities- has Min Yoongi ever used his pyro kinesis against you? Did it have any effect?”

You were in open astonishment now, watching Einstein mumble to himself in an attempt to understand the lack of affect his telepathy had on you. “I’m pretty sure Yoongi could turn me to crisp if he wanted.”

“So you are not immune to physical attacks, alright.”

“Uh- okay- but what is going on?”

Einstein looks up at you, much more excited than you would’ve thought considering his super power had no effect on you. This is such a weird day, you think to yourself.

“Did you know about your ability?” he queries, studying you intently.

You squirm at the attention. “What ability?”

“You are immune to telepathic abilities. I would guess every and all kinds of telepathic abilities.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. “But I thought that there were a few people who do it too, Jimin said that I probably wasn’t the only one who could resist him.”

“Seokjin never told you?”

You shake your head, confused and dumbfounded at the same time. Never would you have guessed that being able to tell Jimin no would be considered a super power. Yet, here you were, being told that a mind reader couldn’t read your mind and that it wasn’t a coincidence that he wasn’t able to. You really didn’t understand what was going on anymore.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay here until we’re able to find out what the extent of your abilities are,” Einstein announces, standing up and ignoring you protests. “We don’t know what you are capable of and it is standard protocol that anyone with unknown abilities be tested and cleared.”

“I’m not an STI!” you exclaim, flustered at the thought of having to stay.

“It’s for your own safety, as well as the safety of the general public,” he informs robotically, not even paying attention to your anymore.

“Hang on! You can’t just keep me here!”

“Someone will be along to take you to a different holding cell where you will be sorted and moved into the appropriate facility,” Namjoon repeats the company protocol like he’s done a dozen times before.

This time is different, though. He can feel it in the excitement that rushes through him at the new information of you being immune to all telepathic abilities. He wants to know more, he wants to figure out how you work, how you’re able to effortlessly keep your mind closed off to him. Namjoon has found a new mystery to solve, and he is ecstatic at the thought of figuring you out.

“Wait a minute- what about my friends? What the hell is happening?”

“Don’t worry ___,” Einstein smiles at you, the first genuine smile since he walked in the door and your heart skips a beat at the sight of his cute dimples peeking out. Despite the crazy situation you found yourself in, you still manage to somehow blush over it, and the way your name sounds coming from him as his voice dips lower from his apparent excitement. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Without waiting for a reply, he breezes out of the room, leaving you sitting there pulling at the zip ties wrapped around your wrists as you call out to him.

What had you gotten yourself into?

#kreativewritersnet #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts #bangtan #bts x reader #bts au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #mine #fic:ambivalent #superhero au #bts imagine #bts scenario

16 notes · View notes

ark-of-eden · 7 years

Text

Thoughts on the Function of Art?

(R:) I didn't want to append this to that big thread about censorship, questionable story content, and authorial intent because I am a Small Person who just consumes things and I was pretty sure that I can't actually add anything useful to the discussion. But I'm still stuck on it a little, so here is a thing that I'm putting behind a readmore in case everyone is fucking tired of the whole censorship debate.

tl;dr: Riss is old and grew up in an environment that was not exactly info-rich when it came to controversial issues. Riss is clumsily attempting to tape this and that together for some reason, possibly just to get it out of the brain. (This ultimately turned into a long fucking story about my early life that doesn't really go anywhere. It's just a long fucking story.)(**ALERT: This includes discussions of stereotypes, slurs, and fetishization.)

People in that thread pointed out the weird over-reliance on interrogating an author about what exactly they meant by writing certain content and that authorial intent should be a yardstick for whether certain content is edifying (and deserving of existence) or not. Other people wisely pointed out that every consumer will inevitably interpret every creation through the lens of their own experience and come up with a different take on what the piece is "saying" about whatever it depicts.

Back when I was very young, there was no way to directly contact any sort of creator. Novels had small text somewhere that mentioned how to send snailmail to the author C/O the publishing company, but naturally there could be no expectation that an author would ever actually write you back. Direct contact with creators was usually in the context of them being guests at a con or signing or gallery showing, which was sort of like seeing a band play live. Every other exposure to them was one-way or indirect, through their work or news articles or possibly from hearing a radio interview or watching a TV program about them, if they were important enough. This was pre-widespread-Internet, so nobody had blogs; some big-name people had fanclubs that mailed out regular newsletters, but the vast majority of creators had nothing but their content in circulation.

I guess that the point of saying all of that is just to illustrate that the present-day situation in which creators have public social media accounts that one can just drop into and toss opinions and questions about intent at them is...kind of a luxury, in my experience? For writers of "classics," there might be printed articles or essays in which they went on about their intent or process, but for creators who weren't popular while they were alive, historians have to go mining for diaries or letters to even get an idea of what sort of person they were, much less what they meant when they wrote that one scene from that one novel that was Kind Of Problematic.

And that was a tangent leading around to a perspective about creative work in general that I heard very early on and took to heart when it came to consuming media. I read somewhere that the point of creating something was to produce a response or emotion in the consumer. Any response. The creation was meant to be a catalyst for newness or change in the viewer, even if the response was something like anger, fear, or disgust. The worst possible response to a creation was dull indifference, because it had failed to do anything at all to the consumer.

I saw supporting evidence for this perspective in a lot of media. Bands built up weird, elaborate Aesthetics purely to draw attention to their songs, not because they were demonstrating some deeply-held belief system. (I've lost track of how many CDs I saw from bands who made dark music about cruelty, despair, and the emptiness of the universe and yet, in tiny liner-note text, poured out flowery squee about how they thanked the loving Lord God and Jesus Christ for blessing them with their musical careers.) Artists who talked to other artists about their craft admitted that they often made the art they did just because they wanted to make it for no special reason, but they fabricated deep-sounding bullshit to attach to it so that collectors would buy the thing just for the story that went with it.

A piece that kept getting talked about over and over back then was Piss Christ, which was literally a large glass jar full of urine that had a crucifix floating in it. Large sections of society were fucking outraged that this thing even existed, that galleries dared to let it darken their doorways, that the artist was even depraved enough to think up such a thing. I don't recall what the artist herself (I think it was a she) said about why she made it, but what was clear to me was that she had succeeded at the goal of art like an absolute champion. Nobody could look at that piece without having some kind of intense response, and whole groups of educated people were compelled to spill out their opinions and argue about it. Piss Christ was Successful Art, the thing that every piece of art wished that it could be. It didn't matter that most of the responses were negative. Apart from making it, the artist did nothing to encourage all the discussions prompted by the art's existence. People used it as a springboard for debates about What Is Art Really, the empty veneration of religious iconography, public obscenity, and all sorts of other things, entirely on their own.

Granted, there were clear downsides to not having instant access to people's creative narratives and backgrounds, or to the greater community of consumers. There were panels discussing themes in modern writing at cons and sometimes a nearby book club where people could rec things and talk about good and bad aspects to whatever they were reading, but if you weren't in a position to have either of those things? There wasn't a lot to do but chat with any reader buddies you might have or actually trust marketing. This book is a NYT Bestseller and has its own special display in Borders? Well, must be a well-written book with quality content, or else it wouldn't have that kind of backing, right? (I was such a trusting little idiot back then, seriously.) So this was when all those toxic norms of casual misogyny, racism, and queer villainization went unchallenged in a lot of places and was just The Way Things Are.

My family moved around to many parts of the US while I was young and I swear I never heard people anywhere bothering to have a discussion about the trend of weak female characters or how POC cultures kept getting reduced to exotic window dressing. There was a sense that those kinds of intellectual topics were the sort of thing that academics did in far-off Academic Country, where they only read classic literature and went over word-by-word symbolism with ever finer combs. I'm no quality literature historian, but I imagine that those kinds of thematic conversations probably got louder as widescale communication got easier, such that a person could throw out into the aether, "Is it just me, or is the only time when cultural elements from Asian, Middle Eastern, Native American, or African civilizations turn up in mainstream lit is when they need 'exotic savage foreigners'?" and people would be able to chorus back, "OMFG THANK YOU I thought I was the only one bothered by that!!" (I mean, advancements in communication helped every minority find other people like themselves, which is why the Internet is part of real life and a genuinely precious resource to isolated odd folk who are forced to live in places that are hostile to them. You no longer have to live your entire life being the only lonely freak instance of your kind in the entire universe.)

So I recognize the shitty situation of having mainstream marketers telling people which stories were good and which story elements were admirable without also having access to Discourse that would challenge those norms. I remember just accepting that girls would hardly ever be able to be heroes the way boys could be, and that people from far-away cultures were always primitive and backward but in fascinating ways. Nothing in my daily life countered anything that I read. Discussions that I found online much later in life caused me to rethink the trends in everything that I'd read as a kid and see it all with fresh eyes so that I could realign my opinions. It's vital to have discourse and challenge happening alongside creation so that we don't have generations of people absorbing shitty norms that are supported by fiction and not realizing that there are even alternative ways of seeing things.

But there's still that issue, in my mind, of a good creation being one that creates ripples far outside of itself by prompting any kind of response in the consumer. Which is, I guess, why it seems fine to me that Problematic things exist and that people encounter them even if they come away hating those things. The encounter with that thing can make a person think about their own perceptions and experiences, and it can prompt conversations about was learned from that encounter - the why of the result and what it means. Obviously, the same can be done with media that makes a person happy or comforted, and that ends up in Discourse because people end up comparing their experiences and questioning whether the people who are happy/comforted are correct to feel that way about the media.

(Bonus Tangent: it's never possible to be incorrectly upset/offended, only incorrectly happy, strangely. Because telling people that they are not allowed to be upset about something is controlling and aggressive, but telling people that they're wrong to enjoy something is...I'm not finding any positive result. It's shaming, which is a response used to exert social control over others. Talking about whether or not casting shame on total strangers leads to the desired result is something that even I don't want to take the space to talk about. I'm one of those who considers emotion to be out of a person's control. Emotion precedes action. What's important, IMO, is what action a person takes regardless of what emotions they might have, because it's possible to choose actions. Telling a person that they're not allowed to feel a certain way is an attack based on something that a person can't actually control. Whenever I see antis saying things like "no one should ever enjoy this content," I wonder how people are supposed to casually shut off their enjoyment. Can the antis shut off their outrage with a flip of a switch, since it's just an emotion too? Attempting to reprogram a person's emotional or motivational palette leads to things like conversion therapy, which has a high rate of failure/relapse and tends to traumatize people into other mental deformities. That's why it's far more useful to focus on responses to emotion instead of emotion itself. People with uncontrollable emotional responses - such as phobias or fetishes, say - can learn adaptive actions faster than they can unlearn emotional responses.)

This was a hugely roundabout way of saying that I really think that bad media or problematic media are still important. They can prompt discussion and introspection, as mentioned, but, IME, even a shitty representation of a concept can put cracks in a person's worldview and make it possible for them to be open to better ideas in the same vein later on.

For instance, I had that strict mainstream heteronormative upbringing. The only thing I knew about queer people for a huge part of my life was that they needed to be pitied because they were going to hell, and the closest thing to a trans person that I knew about was that Crying Game trap drag queen concept where the sinister man in a dress seduced honest straight men with borrowed feminine wiles. (I literally did not know that transgender people were actually real until after I was 20, which is one reason why I am such a massive late trans bloomer.) I also had that strict gender role upbringing in which there were certain things that a person must and must not do in order to be "proper."

Back when I first got on the Internet and started interacting with fandoms, genderswap fics were popular in my circle. Often, it was basically the same plot as the source material, but you'd switch everybody to the opposite binary gender and then, based on the assumption that men and women think and do things in slightly different ways, the plot would usually derail from canon because the genderswapped characters wouldn't do the same things that they canonically did. It was just one of many common fanfic thought exercises.

Looking back, reading genderswap fics was something that started eroding the strict worldview that I'd inherited. The "men and women just naturally do things differently" was enough in line with traditional gender roles that it passed by my defenses, but the swapped cast of just about everything ended up with lots of strong, heroic women and the occasional male sidekick. Further, writers tended to use the "women are more socially/emotionally intelligent than men" stereotype to correct shitty things that male characters did in canon because, if they were women, they'd be too smart and perceptive to do whatever stupid thing they did and everything would have happened differently. Nowadays, there's formal discussion about the lack of strong female characters in mainstream fiction, but in fandom, female writers just fixed the problem directly with genderswap so all the interesting, powerful people could be women and the guys could be useless arm candy for once. It was a way of reclaiming importance and power when canon media didn't give women much else to work with.

(I became aware while ago that Discourse is informing people that genderswap fics are hugely offensive to trans people. Now, I've described my crappy upbringing, but as a trans person, I don't understand this at all. I get that the "opposite gender" swap upholds the gender binary, but the issue is offense against trans people, not against genderqueer or nonbinary people. I seriously don't get why I should be offended? Is it because the genderswap doesn't include actual RL transgender experiences, as if the entire cast were realistically transitioning as a plot element? Genderswap is not acceptable unless it specifically includes things like "this is the story of how Cloud Strife got her testicles removed and enjoyed growing breast buds thanks to HRT"?? Maybe I'm an idiot, but those are two distinctly different story concepts and both have merit. o_o)

Later on, I became aware of people who were preoccupied with stories and fantasies of fantastical gender transformation, usually male to female. Some stereotypical male character would get injected with an alien serum or zapped by a fairy's wand or something and he would immediately metamorphose into a woman. There was often a disturbingly rapey element to these stories, like the boy wouldn't want to be transformed and was horrified while he was changing, but after he settled into the woman-shape or had sex as a woman after changing, he realized that he loved it and felt so much better that way. The stories were mostly just short repeats of this exact same situation, written by different authors with slightly different details, and this group never seemed to get tired of them.

Eventually, I learned that most of the people in the core of this group identified as trans women, but they lived in circumstances where they weren't permitted any female expression or had lost hope of ever transitioning. They fixated on transformation fic as a way to soothe the pain of living. Looking back, the noncon/dubcon themes that kept appearing in the fics made sense as a way of indirectly satisfying the powerful social forces that were demanding masculinity of them. The male characters were trying hard to stay male, fighting back against the transformation; they were clearly performing all the do not want signals expected of men threatened with feminization. They fought the good fight, but the enemy overpowered them! Womanhood was forced upon them! It was totally unexpected that they enjoyed being a girl after all, but because their maleness had been aggressively destroyed, they were free to stop performing resistance and love themselves.

But you can find fetish material like this in a lot of places, without any context as to the intent of the creator. (And I'd argue that it counts as a fetish if you crave it as necessary somehow, regardless of whether or not you're jacking/jilling to it.) Some people would write the same kind of stories for forced feminization as a type of humiliation. Among furries, transformation fetish material seems to add an extra angle of growing into new power and strength by a change into some larger, more magnificent creature in addition to changes involving sexual characteristics.

Further into the fantasy fetish scene is smut involving dickgirls/cuntboys. Those terms are inherently objectifying and fetishizing; the focus is entirely on the genitals and how a person has the "wrong" ones for their body. Understandably, this is where trans people get turned into dehumanized kink fuel, and real life "tranny chasers" exist who try to weasel into relationships with trans people just to have an embodiment of their fetish.

Artists seem to be slowly getting better with at least giving a nod to real trans people when tagging this sort of art, but (likely to get the most search hits) usually it's just "transwoman/man" alongside "dickgirl/cuntboy." And the art, at least, is clearly designed as fap fuel, so it's not like changing the label makes the content more respectful to the real humans it resembles.

Fetish art with that sort of name shouldn't be uplifting or encouraging because it makes trans people into objects, I know. But I enjoy it when I see it not because it gets me hot in itself, but because I feel heartened when I see sexy art of, essentially, trans people who have not had any genital surgery. I'm fortunate in that I don't have the worst soul-crushing dysphoria surrounding my (still XX factory standard) genitals, but I know a lot of trans people get seriously torn up about theirs and worry that they'll never be truly attractive to others because their genitals are "wrong." While it's possible to find humiliation art online of people with all kinds of body configurations, I tend not to (YMMV again) find much that seems to be specifically shaming or hating on characters who have trans genitals specifically because they are wrong/ugly/queer/etc. They're just participating in enthusiastic hot sex like all the other characters. Sometimes they're literally just standing around looking sexy, like any other badly-posed pinup. But when they're in the mix of whatever smut they're depicted in, they're objects of desire with their own sexual power, unashamed and equal to the others, and the other characters find them attractive and are clearly really excited to be doing whatever they're doing with that hot trans character.

And this response is very problematic, I know, because smut of trans characters that's designed to satisfy fetishes actually does lead to cis stalkers who want trans partners as living sex toys. And art of pre/non-op trans people being sexually liberated and desirable might end up being nearly indistinguishable from most of the fetish art I've seen, apart from lacking the objectifying dickgirl/cuntboy label. I hate seeing those terms in art tags, but the art itself makes me happy. Not even aroused, just happy to see characters who are essentially pre/non-op trans people being desired and enjoying themselves. When you've lived your life believing that you're ugly and unlovable, seeing people similar to yourself in those kinds of situations is a Band-Aid on an old, deep wound. I wish someone would look at me that way. I wish someone wanted to touch me that way. And even if you can't have that for yourself, you can at least look at art where similar people can, and even if those trans people are imaginary six-breasted purple foxtaurs, you can still feel like at least there are trans people somewhere in the galaxy who are free and happy and desirable. It's the same as those trans girls who spent years telling each other the same MTF transformation story over and over and over even though it was pure fantasy. They needed periodic inoculations of that fiction to keep themselves afloat when they believed that they could never have the reality.

That's why, to return to my earlier point and to the points that the people in that big thread probably said better than I have, I don't want bad media to go away. Even gross White Man Story For White Menfolk fiction can at least prompt discussion and response and might have little bits in it that made someone out there think of something in a way that they haven't before. Even depictions of minorities that are pretty clearly designed to be shallow fetish fuel might be a lifeline to some isolated person to whom that shitty depiction is the most positive representation of their identity that they've ever seen. You'd hope that they'd quickly be able to find better ones, but beggars can't be choosers, and if that shitty depiction hadn't existed then they might never have had the chance or the knowledge that different views were possible. You just can't know what people see and think when they consume a particular piece of media. They bring so much of their own context into the experience.

That's why I wish people would focus on action instead of on vague, catastrophizing speculations about intent or potential or who has a "right" to create or consume certain things. There are at least a couple of stories floating around about female fic writers who regularly wrote m/m smut, but who, IRL, opposed same-sex marriage and disowned their queer relatives. IMO, that's how you can tell who is making objectifying content - by whether they treat actual, living representations of minorities/fetishes like frivolous entertainment. I would bet that those IRL-anti-queer fic writers wrote things that were indistinguishable from the general mass of fanfic, which was why other fandom people were shocked to discover their IRL actions. People create things for all sorts of different reasons, not because ther creations are a clear window into their innermost motivations. You just can't know what's in a person's head, no matter what sort of things they create.

And I've literally spent hours writing this and sort of vaguely editing it paragraph by paragraph, so I'm going to post this now and release myself from childhood memory hell. Ultimately, that reblogged thread still said all of this better, but I just had a compulsion to LET ME SING YOU THE SONG OF MY PEOPLE FOR TEN FUCKING PAGES. :P

And oh hey, I was so caught up in time-warping back to the 80's and early 90's that I forgot that Wikipedia existed, so here's their page on Piss Christ. Turns out the artist was male. Says it was only a photo?? Lies!! I distinctly remember seeing the goddamn gross jar of pee!! Because human memory is a reliable, unalterable record!! (Okay, I've clearly gone on too long here. I apologize to the whole internet in advance.)

#fetishization #queer #early life experiences #slurs #queer fetishization #fandom politics #not even sure what to tag this as so just sort of be generally cautious

1 note · View note