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discokicks · 9 months

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BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life.

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care.

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting.

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours.

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers.

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something.

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt?

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so.

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth.

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be.

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth.

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it.

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you.

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter.

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis.

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C��mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him.

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand.

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number.

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read.

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning.

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names.

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you.

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.)

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee.

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you.

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight?

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes.

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it.

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat.

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past.

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember.

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips.

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is.

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.”

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him.

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs.

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point.

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply.

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back.

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips.

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say.

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close.

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.”

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make.

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing.

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so.

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings.

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention.

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating.

me too.

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #bad ideas #the one who's not a loser but THEE loser #discowrites

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justanotherwriter140 · 1 year

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Kung Fu Panda 4 - Edited

A really, really long discussion post.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve expressed an explicit opinion on anything, hasn’t it? Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever done a hot-take post. I guess now is as good a time as any to write my first one, given our current situation...

So, the elephant (panda?) in the room: CinemaCon.

While we’ve hardly even had twenty-four hours to process this new information, I know that there are already a lot of strong opinions out there, and many of which are displeased. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone who’s necessarily happy about the news we received yesterday, and while everyone has differing reasons as to why they’re not thrilled, I think there are a lot of common factors among the skeptics. IMO, all of the concerns I’ve heard since the announcements have been understandable. Here’s a list of the most significant concerns:

Chen/Fox Warrior

A replacement for the Dragon Warrior

A villain whose “power” is (potentially) resurrecting past villains from the dead

The Furious Five and their relevancy

Director Mike Mitchell

Many fans are finding themselves confused with this alleged plot, mainly because (to put things bluntly) it doesn’t make any sense. I have a plethora of questions in regards to the second bullet alone, imagine how many I have in total!

You won’t have to imagine, actually, because I’m doing you all the favor of writing down my every thought. Strap in, folks!

First of all, who is Chen (?) and why is she relevant? While these are things that will, without question, need to be answered in the upcoming film, I’m still feeling apprehensive. Why would Po choose her as the next Dragon Warrior, a title that for three consecutive movies has been regarded as the highest possible title that any living being in this universe can achieve? What makes Chen the next Dragon Warrior, what makes her eligible? The Dragon Warrior is essentially OP at their full potential, and if we’re assuming that this title can in fact be passed on, why would Po give this power and influence to someone he meets in the same movie in which he makes the life-altering decision to seek out an heir? Why wouldn’t he at least choose someone he knows closely, rather than someone he initially doesn’t get along with (as stated in the plot description) and likely doesn’t trust? In my mind, the movie could only justify that choice with some sort of “message from the universe” making itself known to Po and telling him to choose Chen as his successor, but if that’s the road the writers end up going down, then I’d have to reiterate: why?

Backtracking for a second. We have never had any reason to believe that “another” Dragon Warrior existing is even a possibility, forget the concept of them co-existing with the current and original Dragon Warrior. Didn’t the initial significance and nuance of the title come from the fact that there is only one person who can be the Dragon Warrior, because the concept of the “Dragon Warrior” isn’t so much a title as it is Po himself? The universe (Oogway) must choose the Dragon Warrior because they are a singular being of legend. It is one person, and that person is Po. Wasn’t the point of the first film that the title ultimately doesn’t really matter because there is no “secret ingredient,” so to speak? The title doesn’t actually give Po anything. “It’s just you,” Po says, and that was the resolution.

Let’s set all of that aside for a moment, because I have a follow-up question: why in the world would Po be finding a replacement so soon? Yes, the alleged plot states that he’s been given a promotion and therefore wants someone else to fill in for him as the Dragon Warrior, but that doesn’t make sense to me. Why would Po’s new status (as something along the lines of the “Spiritual Leader/Master” of the Valley of Peace) hold him back from being the Dragon Warrior? If there’s something else behind him wanting to leave the role behind, I’m listening, but right now it feels very unbelievable. Why is he doing this so early in his life? He’s been the Dragon Warrior for four or five years at most, why is he throwing in the towel so soon? He’s young and has so much ahead of him, especially after all that he’s done. He’s built prestige and respect over the years and he’s so proud of his role as the Dragon Warrior. I’m confused!

One could make the argument that Po wants to settle down, which I’ve seen a few times on different social sites as a suggestion. However, he has shown no interest in such things in the past. He’s always excited to travel and see new things, so to see such a sudden change in attitude and priorities would likely have to be the result of a drastic occurrence. Po is not giving up his title as the Dragon Warrior, at least not with the way things are now. I’m not necessarily adverse to bold decisions being made in sequels, but this is probably too sharp of a turn for me to be okay with it.

Is it even possible for Po to no longer hold the title? If we reference what I stated earlier, about the title being not so much a title but rather just Po himself, could we even consider that Po can just spontaneously decide to not be the Dragon Warrior anymore? He was chosen by the universe; can he UNO reverse card the universe?

So many paragraphs, and I haven’t even gotten around to discussing the villain or the Furious Five. Let’s see how long I can write before my passion-induced rant starts to fizzle out!

In regards to the villain, I’m conflicted.

On the bright side, I’ve been rooting for a female villain for as long as I’ve been in the fanbase. A female villain could add something really new and fresh to the series, giving fans a new perspective and experience altogether. The only canonical female villains in the KFP universe as of right now are the Wu Sisters, who are some of my personal favorite villains to ever come out of the franchise.

Additionally, rumors suggest that the chameleon can shape-shift. The idea of a shapeshifting villain (who potentially possesses dark magic, or something similar) is admittedly really cool. In an unreleased (unfinished) discussion post, I go into detail regarding the advantages of a manipulative villain. If the chameleon is as manipulative as her shape-shifting powers suggest, she could actually be pretty interesting to watch. Of course, being me, I’d prefer emotional manipulation over anything else, but that’s still a possibility!

In the plot description, it’s stated that the chameleon has the ability to “summon” villains from Po’s past. While it’s been assumed that this is in reference to full on resurrection, there’s still some wiggle room for speculative variation. There are disagreements and conflicting information on whether or not the chameleon can actually revive Po’s former adversaries, as some claim that she has the ability to resurrect the dead (perhaps via dark magic), while others state that she simply takes on their form to mess with Po.

Let’s assume that the chameleon is legitimately able to bring back villains that Po has done away with in previous movies. Isn’t that an incredibly easy way to make it seem like Po is going to experience difficulty in defeating this movie’s opposing force? While I’ll admit that coming up with someone/something that will make Po falter and struggle was never going to be an easy task, especially at this stage, I can’t help but feel as though there’s a bit lacking in the creative department. It’s also a bit insulting, to be honest, because if this new villain has to rely on the reputations and powers of previous villains to put up a fight, then is this a villain worth paying any real mind to? Does she pose any kind of true threat?

Personally, I hope that the whole resurrection theory is false. I don’t think it would be in the best interest of anyone if the past villains were to come back in any way that’s not a flashback (even then, I’m not sure I’d see the point). In all honesty, I thought that the whole point of the villains was that they died and stayed dead. They were defeated by Po once and for all as a testament to the idea of establishing Po's character growth and journey as a person through the bad things he’s able to overcome. It’d be highly contradictory to the messages of the other films if these villains were to suddenly come back.

For a while, there were theories floating around that suggested that Kung Fu Panda 4′s villain would have some significance to Tigress. The thought process behind this follows a “villain formula” of sorts; each movie villain so far has been connected to a main character through that respective character’s past. Tai Lung was Shifu’s failed prodigy; a fallen angel archetype. Shen killed Po’s mother and led a genocide on his people in a feeble and desperate attempt to save himself from his own fate. Kai was Oogway’s former fellow warlord and brother-in-arms, seeking revenge for the betrayal he felt had been enacted upon him.

I am a full-fledged supporter of the next villain having a connection to Tigress. Unfortunately, though, it doesn’t seem likely given the information we currently have. This chameleon, from what we know at this point in time, has absolutely no connection to Po or anyone in the main cast. I’d even go as far as to say that there’s more of a reason to believe the chameleon will have a connection to Chen; mainly because I think that if Chen needs to be integrated into the main cast, that’s the way the writers are going to go. The problem with this, however, is that it doesn’t make that much sense given how significant of a character Tigress has become in the franchise.

Take everything I say with a grain of salt, though, because in truth, we really don’t know that much about our new villain. This chameleon could very well have a connection to Tigress! We won’t know until the time is right, I suppose.

I’ll use Tigress as a segue to talk about the Furious Five, because unlike in the third film and god-forsaken TV shows, they’re actually relevant here! Personally, I think that the Furious Five still have a bit to offer as characters, for found family feels and to act as nostalgic plot devices if for nothing else. I love the five, and while I can understand if the upcoming film's story doesn't call for their involvement as frequently as in KFP 1 and 2, I would still very much appreciate their presence throughout the movie instead of being totally cast aside like in the third movie.

That said, though, I have a different opinion regarding Tigress. She has always stood out as the most significant member of the Furious Five (to both the audience and Po) and has been very impactful to Po and his journey; she was especially important in Kung Fu Panda 2, during which she was shown coming out of her shell and showing something akin to affection towards Po. Their interactions were later described by Guillermo del Toro (who I believe worked on the movie as a creative consultant) as possessing “the hint of a romance.” Whether or not the fourth movie will decide to capitalize on this idea is fully up in the air. It’s been stated by former directors that the theme of romance in KFP would only ever be applied in a comical fashion, but those directors may no longer be involved at all. I’m a Po and Tigress enjoyer, but I’d much rather KFP 4 be a good, solid movie than it being weak and trying to hold itself up with a shallow romantic subplot with Po and Tigress. I would also hate (with the fury of a thousand suns) to see Tigress’s character reduced to that of a love interest; she’s strong, capable, independent, and totally awesome. If she has a larger role in the fourth movie, I’d watch her being a cold-hearted badass a thousand times over before I sit through two hours of her being overtly out-of-character for the sake of a “classic romance” with Po. A relationship between them could work, and I’ll be supportive of it if it’s done well, but it doesn’t and shouldn’t have to happen for the movie to be emotional and impactful and mean something.

I have an unfortunate yet strong suspicion that the Furious Five will be tossed to the curb in this movie, and I really hope I’m wrong, because they’re fun characters that help encapsulate the original feel of the franchise. They’re a key part of what gave Po his beginnings in the world of martial arts, and they’re also the people he desperately wanted to be like throughout his childhood (and young adult years). They’re his best friends, and while I want Po to have adventures of his own, I don’t want his origins to be forgotten in favor of new characters. I want the nostalgia, alright? Is that wrong? No, and if it were, I wouldn’t want to be right. Speaking of long-time characters, what about Shifu? I can’t help but wonder what he’ll be up to during this whole debacle. Meditating, perhaps? I hope nobody in the writers’ room decides it’s Shifu’s time to go, which has been a growing concern of mine since learning of Po’s ambiguous “promotion.”

The movie’s director, Mike Mitchell, has been involved with KFP before, but not to the extent of previous directors. While I know little information about him, I want to give him the benefit of the doubt and I’ll maintain that sentiment until the movie releases. A potential (confirmed?) co-director is Stephanie Stine, the director of Raya and the Last Dragon.

Final thoughts, summarized:

The plot is kinda off and contradicts both Po’s character arc and the other movies

A female chameleon is the villain, which is maybe the only aspect of the movie I can get behind

The Furious Five and Shifu may be completely ignored (again)

The whole “passing of the torch” storyline does not work given Po’s situation

Chen’s character doesn’t make sense

I’m not familiar with the director(s)

If you took the time to read this post, kudos to you. I hope I was able to help you arrange your thoughts regarding this news, because I’m still a bit scatter-brained myself (which is a feeling that I think we can all relate to at the moment). I’ll likely add more to this post over time, whether it be via re-blogs or simple edits. I think of something new to add to this post every few minutes, which I’ve been doing for a few hours now...

Let’s end on a positive note, because I know I was a bit of a downer here:

The title looks pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie. I like the scale texture!

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jakowskis · 7 months

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💖💙💜 owen harper bisexuality masterpost 💖💙💜

i've had this in my drafts for a minute but i figured i'd finish it up and post it today for bisexual visibility day :D

it hasn't cropped up recently, but i've seen a lot of people who've questioned owen's bisexuality over the years and i thought i'd compile all the 'evidence' (although it completely baffles me that we got a show with five canonical bisexual characters and people want to write two of them off as straight / "heterflexible" ?? there shouldn't have to be 'proof' of owen being bi, RTD said torchwood is about five bisexuals fighting aliens in cardiff which means they're all bi, full stop. also, bisexuals should never have to 'prove' they're bi, and in regards to fictional characters, i'm sick of people nit-picking who 'deserves' to be counted as rep and refusing to 'claim' certain characters if they're morally grey or if the fandom simply doesn't Like them as much-)

but i digress.

so without further ado, here's everything i've found that supports owen's status as a bicon :-)

explicit canon instances

➤➤ obviously, we have to start with his gay kiss in the first episode of the show. there's a lot to be said about that kiss, i'm not gonna get into all that here, but i've seen a lot of people say it's not proof of owen being attracted to men, and i wholeheartedly disagree. you can literally catch him smiling very happily after the kiss (and one of owen's few genuine smiles of the series, too). i don't think a straight man (or even a "heteroflexible" man) would beam at another guy who's just informed him that he wants to fuck him. a fair amount of people have also said they interpreted owen calling the taxi as him intending to get away from the couple, but i don't understand how they're getting that impression, because that smile makes it seem very much apparent to me that running away is the last thing he wants to do.

it's also, notably, the first time we see bisexuality IN the bisexual show, which i don't think should be discounted. like, we see owen do something gay before jack does, for fuck's sake. is it a good first impression of how torchwood portrays bisexuality? no. is setting owen up as a more sex-driven, opportunistic bisexual nicely contrasted against ianto & tosh's more romance-oriented brand of demisexual bi/pansexuality? in my opinion, yes. i love that the torchwood bisexuals all practice their bisexuality in different ways. that's very special to me. 'cause it's realistic! real bisexuals all experience bisexuality differently! obviously it'd be a different story if he was the only bi rep, because lord knows we've seen enough of that already, but torchwood makes an effort to show us five different brands of bisexuality, and five different bi stories that largely only exist in the subtext, that aren't the focus of the show, and it's fantastic. it's all i could ever want out of bi rep, honestly, even if it is a bit dated now.

➤➤ the other explicit moment in the show: asking tosh and ianto for an end-of-the-world threesome in sleeper (s2ep2). i've actually never seen owen bi-deniers (fhdskjf it's a conspiracy) even mention this scene. owen literally asks ianto if they can have sex with each other to his face, and he's dead serious when he asks it. that's... i mean you can't mistake that as anything else. like fhdsjkf??

➤➤ next we jump to some of the, i suppose, extended universe content. whether the books are canon or not is debated, but the novel 'another life' features owen playing an online simulation game, and it makes a point to depict owen flirting with someone with a male avatar + wondering to himself if the guy would be down for cyber-sex. [someone posted part of that scene here. for context, owen's also got a VR headset on during that bit.]

➤➤ another instance is on the website, which some also don't regard as canon, but, i mean, i don't know who worked on the things we see on that site, but obviously they got their information from somewhere. they probably consulted with the writers on the show, or at the very least got notes on what things to touch on. anyway, there's a portion of the site where you can find a 'background check' on owen, and it's just a collection of messages from some ex-lovers of his. one of them is a man.

again, some people disregard the canon validity of the website, but the way i see it, the information on this site was released while the show was airing for fans to look at and to gain further insight on the characters. one of the things they felt a need to tell us about owen, important enough to be featured in his background (wayyy before the katie plot was developed), was that he wasn't just interested in women. personally, i regard that as canon. you can find this here. and even if you wanna say fragments jossed this background, it doesn't joss his, like... identity.

next we have things said by russell t. davies himself + by burn gorman (owen's actor)

➤➤ again, RTD (who's torchwood's creator, but i'm assuming everyone reading this knows that) explicitly described torchwood as "a bunch of bisexuals living under cardiff and fighting aliens". that's not ambiguous. [i don't have a direct source for this quote, it was apparently said on the dvd extras.]

burn's comments on owen's sexuality include...

➤➤ (when asked who owen fancies) "Owen's pretty cocky, he'll try it on with whoever comes along." [x] and yes, this is vague, but vagueness is often interpreted as proof of bisexuality. (for example, in the pacific rim dvd features, newt's bio stating he was interested in "whoever will take him" was widely interpreted by the fandom as him being bi.)

➤➤ (in regards to owen's "let's all have sex" line) "I don't think he [...] thinks about the implications, or whether it's with a man or a woman." [x]

(ok i have to admit, although i absolutely adore burn, i'm not super fond of the way his 2006-08 self would talk about how torchwood handled sexuality*. however! he kind of hit the nail on the head in saying that, even if it's in the context of owen wanting end-of-the-world sex, because my take on how owen sees his own sexuality has always essentially boiled down to thinking he'd be like, "well, why wouldn't men also be an option?" (well, with sexual attraction anyway; i think owen's relationship with romantic attraction is far more complex.) i think he resembles jack in that way; anyone's a prospective sexual partner, if they're attractive and interesting and he decides he wants them, and he's also impulsive as hell, so he doesn't think too hard about gender in the moment if he decides he's into someone. there's not really any hang-ups.)

➤➤ and ofc...

(out of context this could look like he's just jokingly calling owen an alien-fucker, although owen makes his thoughts on alien-fucking pretty clear in countrycide lol, but it was said in the context of owen/andy as a ship [x].)

*if you're wondering what i'm referring to, it's a comment here [x] about how the torchwood team's bisexuality is a result of being in a pressure cooker environment and having a 'wartime mentality', and they just kind of 'take what they can get'. the implication that bisexuality is out of desperation/accessibility rather than attraction is pretty damn icky, BUT i love him lots and he generally seems to be pretty woke these days (+ otherwise has always seemed to grasp why torchwood's rep was so unique and groundbreaking and important) so i'll go ahead and hope that was just, y'know, simple 'being a straight guy in 2008' ignorance. fifteen years is a long time and i have faith his opinions have evolved by now, esp considering he used the word 'pansexual' at a 2016 con [x]. (actually, ok, you caught me, that last bit wasn't super relevant and i didn't need to bring it up, but i just wanted to gush about him doing it because how often do you hear that word out of celebs, especially older and presumably straight ones. and in 2016, too. kinda slay of him, ngl)

aaand finally, some random, non-explicit little things that i think support him being a bisexy king (several of these are goofy and half-serious)

➤➤ in episode 2, they make a point to cut to owen smiling after jack's line about "you people and your quaint little labels". one might argue he's smiling at gwen & carys on the screen, but cutting to him immediately after jack says it very much implies he's reacting to jack's words, and i think it's particularly poignant after, again, we saw him kiss a man the episode prior. (which, another thing - owen's literal introduction features him kissing a man, like that's gotta count for something. if the literal third thing i ever see a male character do ever is kiss a guy, that means something.)

➤➤ and of course, in the same episode, we get "period military is not the dress code of a straight man" .... owen's the only one of them with working gaydar. also what a fruity thing to say

➤➤ speaking of fruity things to say, in s2e10 when they're all watching the old film, owen goes "look at the state of them 💅" and he says it SO cunty for no reason it always kills me fhsdkjfd

➤➤ combat.

➤➤ no, really.

➤➤ bonus: in the combat commentary, it's mentioned that when RTD saw the above scene between mark & owen, he said it was "the gayest thing he'd ever seen".

➤➤ in the three monkeys, a big finish audio featuring owen & andy, owen flirts with andy repeatedly. even if he just does it to be annoying, it's still pretty damn gay. also the pet names... (he calls him sweetheart, sunshine, and tiger. it's half-mocking, sure, especially because it's owen, but there's also a domesticity to it.)

➤➤ and then there's the hope's "you're alive again and you want crisps?!" "be glad that's all i'm asking for" (owen was like 'i will not use this as an excuse to try to sleep w andy i will not use this as an excuse to try to sleep w andy i will not use th') these are the only two audios i've heard with this duo, i'm sure there's more examples in the other two. i know gooseberry literally has owen sabotaging andy's relationship with his gf and that is... woohoohoo.... i'll update this once i get through those.

➤➤ …. this is my personal opinion but i lowkey think he kinda wants john hart a bit when they all first meet him in kkbb hdskjfds. gwen & tosh both seem very charmed by him and they're meant to, it's supposed to be like 'oh, look at jack's ex waltzing in and charming the pants off everyone (ha), and only ianto and jack see through him' - owen isn't given a flirty line of dialogue or even a close-up shot of him eyeing john like the girls get, but if you watch him closely he certainly looks… intrigued by him. i think owen's more of a bi disaster than he lets on.

➤➤ in episode 10, diane notes that owen has "beauty products" in his bathroom. obviously this shouldn't be indicative of sexuality, but how many Straight Men in 2006 were moisturizing lmao. hell, how many do nowadays 😭

➤➤ gwen & owen's dynamic settles into a lovely little friendship in s2 and owen lowkey gives gbf vibes <3 them making fun of the movie in s2e10 together + the cheek-kissing at the end of s2e9… bi besties!!

➤➤ the peace sign he throws up in meat when he meets rhys fdsjk i don't even believe in some of the silly internet jokes abt bi culture but c'mon

➤➤ have you seen his taste in women. diane is soo butch and gwen's a total tomboy in s1. that's bi culture babey!!!! i too like girls when they're boys

➤➤ i already talked about it but the aforementioned scene where he asks tosh and ianto for a threesome... he asks them, like, immediately after they team up and bully him for not comprehending that there's "no phones. phones all broken. anyone there? no, 'cause the phones aren't working." that was suuuch a disaster bi owen moment for me. i too would get a little revved up if tosh and ianto both bullied me at once <3

aaand finally... the biggest Evidence of all....

➤➤ he's a leather jacket bisexual. need i say more

and that's all! thanks for reading!

[credit for the dividers used in this. didn't tumblr used to have built-in dividers? i miss that.]

#mine #torchwood #torchwood posting #owen harper #tell me why im nervous to post this fhdskfds #my anxiety is like someone's gonna get mad at me for this somehow #shhhhh #beating it with a broom #look at my post boy

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yellowocaballero · 1 year

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milagro!!! i LOVE GL!milagro stuff. is guy still the first GL she meets? i am v curious what his story (and john’s) ends up looking like in this au in general, but my first exposure to him was in jaime’s bb run so i’m hoping that pseudo mentorship still exists here somehow

IS!! THAT!! A GIANT!! GREEN!! FIST!!

Green Lantern Milagro is the most god-tier take and we need to return to it. My "Kyle rebuilds the GLC to be woke and Milagro is the most feral Lantern" idea is actually super old - I think it's in the Reverse Robins Universe, in some unpublished stories - but it's still good. Let the furries make the judicial system. Do it. Let them free.

Let's say:

Guy Gardner was the second Green Lantern on Earth. Everything that Hal was, Guy is not. He's a hothead, meathead, go-getting action hero wannabe who has to be the biggest, the best, and the strongest. He's abrasive, selfish, mean, and short-sighted.

Guy Gardner is exactly like Hal Jordan: an All-American hero, angry and rude in a way that his colleague John Stewart could never get away with. He's part of the NRA and thinks Trump has some points. Too wimpy to make a good President, though. Give him a President who can last five minutes in the ring with Guy Gardner!

Despite his differences with the more professional and cool-headed Hal, he was shocked and horrified at Coast City's destruction. Where other heroes expressed sympathies and turned away in discomfort with his overwhelming pain, Guy stayed with him. He doesn't like to spread it around, but he's a registered school councilor - doubled with his middle school gym teacher thing - and he stayed at Hal's side through his grief as long as Hal let him.

When Hal disappeared, Guy was the one who knew in his heart that he had killed himself. He had been expecting it.

He had not been expecting his ring to break.

Guy loses it all. His power, his respect. He can't go back to who he used to be. He's not a gym teacher or school counselor anymore. He's Guy Gardner. You can't ask Guy Gardner to be a civvie.

The only thing he keeps is his Justice League International membership. He wanted to quit, but his friends (family, but none of them would admit it) needed him to stay. They had already lost the second Blue Beetle so recently, and they can't lose anybody else. Booster Gold's grieving his husband too. In that way, in some way, Guy's still needed. Guy has to be needed. But Guy has to be a hero too, and he feels like he's dying slowly by degrees in powerlessness.

Then Booster calls the JLI, drunk as a skunk and deep in a panic, saying that there's this kid in El Paso running around with Dan Garret's scarab in his SPINE, how did this even HAPPEN, how did he get it WORKING, where the hell is TED - Ted's dead, he's still dead, what the FUCK do we do, he's a baby he's gonna DIE TOO, everyone's gonna DIE -

A gym teacher and licensed counselor knocks on he door of a house in El Paso.

Booster was right. Jaime Reyes is a snot-nosed kid who's getting his ass kicked up and down to Sunday in every fight, and either he's gonna get himself killed or he's gonna blow up the city. Nobody else but the JLI ever gave a shit about Ted, and nobody's gonna give a shit about this kid with an orphaned legacy. He needs a personal trainer and mentor and he needs one right now. Jaime Reyes needs a hero, even a washed up old asshole like Guy Gardner.

And his little sister throws a heck of a punch. Oh, Guy is keeping Milagro. She's learning boxing!

An asshole, shallow kid enters the scene. A new ring appears. The last Green Lantern disappears to find the truth. Guy leads his own life. It's not like his old one, but it's good. That kid Jaime's become a good hero, and his little sister is the coolest kid on the planet. A Trumper on the street says something shitty to Jaime and Milagro about illegals and Guy lands on him the signature Guy Gardner punch. Trump's an asshole idiot, anyway. Next time, Milagro lands the signature punch. She has learned well.

A young man returns. A truth is told. A fucked up orange ring is on Guy's finger. And now he'll have to learn how to be a hero all over again.

The orange ring isn't powered by bravery and willpower. It's powered by greed. It's a greedy, cruel ring. It's mean. But Guy's pretty greedy too. And Guy's a mean son of a bitch.

Guy Gardner is the first Orange Lantern. And he's everything Hal Jordan is not: a man with a voracious need to protect and help. A man with an endless appetite for love, and to give love. A school counselor, and a mentor to some pretty nifty kids. Guy can never get enough of being a hero. He'll never stop. And he'll always help.

Because he's Guy fucking Gardner!

#this is my “the JLI are Jaime's awful useless drunk superhero family” agenda #my writing #guy gardner #jaime reyes #milagro reyes #green lantern #this features a lot of comic characters but i can't explain them all #just trust me fam

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rarespawnwrites · 4 months

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Hey, WIP Wednesday is a thing, right?

Maybe I can make it my thing? Let's find out.

Red Hood Steph, anyone?

Age 20

One moment, Stephanie Brown slept, sprawled out like a starfish in her underwear on a hotel boxspring mattress. The next, the bed vanished from beneath her and she thumped gracelessly to the floor with a startled yelp.

Her eyes opened to find themselves looking once more through her helmet’s display, and she didn’t need to look to know she was once again in full Red Hood get-up. She could hear the wind and the uncomfortably close pattering of raindrops. She sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling of the now empty, decrepit room, then tilted her head to see the wall to the outside missing. Old scorch marks and a wrecked exterior revealed the location to have been victim to explosive force at some point.

The air was damp. It was raining. It was always raining in Gotham.

Stephanie lay where she’d fallen, unmoving on the dirty floor of what was now an abandoned hotel. “Good morning to you too, universe,” she drawled.

She should get up, figure out the lay of the land of this new Gotham. Hide from whatever version of the bats existed here before the energy spike from the dimension shift lured them over. With her luck, they’d be vampires again. She’d just finished decapitating her evil vampire self.

‘...Five more minutes,’ she decided, and closed her eyes.

Exhaustion pulled her back into a fitful doze and she drifted. The sensation of being exposed kept her jerking back to awareness every few minutes, but her hyper-vigilance frequently kept her in this cycle, so she’d take what she could get.

The uncomfortable half-sleep seemed to drag on for an eternity, and yet it still wasn’t long enough before it was interrupted.

Adrenaline spiked and her eyes shot open just before thuds to her left signaled the impact of feet onto the nearby floor. Two figures stood at the wrecked entrance of the room, the low light giving her minimal details without turning her night vision on. Not worth the glow that would give away her state of consciousness. Both newcomers were capes, though only the shorter one was actually wearing a cape. Stephanie’s armor hid her sudden tension, so she kept her breathing deep and slow.

‘If I stay reeeal still, maybe they won’t see me,’ she thought wryly.

“Is that—” there was a choked-off noise from the taller figure. “Why does he have...?!” The sputtering voice was only vaguely familiar. His outline was too slim to be Damian, but too tall and well-built to be the rich kid. The timbre of his voice was an adult’s, anyway. Not Duke’s, though. One of the extended family?

Oh, wait. If she was picking up on the subtext of this guy’s freak-out correctly, they’d expected the Red Hood to be a guy. That meant gender swap or a sidekick remix.

“Might be an imitator,” another voice suggested, “but no one’s had eyes on Red Hood all night.” That voice she recognized. Teenaged. Wiz kid vibe. Sharp enunciation.

‘Ugh,’ she thought. ‘The rich kid.’ No matter how mixed up or messed up the universe, there he was: the Bat’s third Shadow. She could only see him in her periphery, but it looked like he was fiddling with something in his hands. Probably getting readings off the residual energy in the area.

“Magic transformation?” he theorized. “Time-traveling successor?” His fidgeting paused as he eyed her still form. “Hey, is she dead?”

The other one stepped closer and dropped to a knee, giving her a clearer view of him. Shaggy dark hair; movie star cheekbones; domino; minimal armor on a striped bodysuit. ‘Nightnight or something. Night Knight?’ She hadn’t really interacted with him in the one version of Gotham she’d seen him in. She wasn’t sure he even existed in her home dimension.

“No,” he called out. “She’s breathing. Just unconscious. And my money’s on ‘brainwashed into thinking she’s the real one.’” His hand went to his utility belt.

Bats were predictable. Even a bat Stephanie was only vaguely aware existed. That’s why she was ready when Nightguy came at her with a syringe filled with what she presumed was a sedative so she could be moved to a secure location.

The lenses on her helmet blinked on, startling him while the hand closest to him snapped up and gripped the side of his hand. In the same movement, she twisted to pull herself up and into his space before shoving his neck with her other forearm, using his resistance to get her feet under her. With a slide and a shift, she got a good angle to push his head down and hopped over him, giving him a good kick as she passed to give herself momentum.

“Nice to meet you too, pretty-boy,” she called over her shoulder as she fled. Her voice came out monotone and tinny through the modulation of her helmet, but she liked to think it added personality.

After the last couple months of world-hopping, Stephanie had learned to infer what relationship the bats had with their local Red Hood based on their reception toward a new one showing up. This group had thought there was a possibility she was a magically transformed version of their original. Immediately trying to ensure she stayed unconscious while they moved her… well, that was a pretty blatant hint this world’s Red Hood wasn’t in on like… family dinners or game nights. Whatever the good little boys and girls did when they didn’t have the kind of “troubled history” that put them on the outs with Bruce.

Nah, he was like her. Guilty until proven innocent.

She tried not to take this Nightguy’s approach personally, even if she definitely took it extremely personally.

‘Wow, Bruce raises ONE murderous assassin child, and suddenly every kid with a shady background is a potential villain.’ To be fair, both Damian and Stephanie were, in fact, categorized as villains. And these days, Stephanie could also be categorized as a murderous assassin.It was possible Bruce had a point. But Stephanie was pretty sure it never paid to be fair to a billionaire, much less Bruce Wayne.

Fuck that guy.

#batfam fic #wip wednesday #living bomb steph fic #reverse robins

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tekras-iszovh · 1 year

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// hey guys new writing or whatever. enjoy this mess. i took 30 minutes to do this. if there are writing errors / it feels like a ramble, you're right there are. i'm not fixing it. this is gonna be sooo disjointed because it's more about saying it and less about it being good

CLUSTERFUCK. - 1609 words. The tables turn when it comes to doomed selves. Esoteric and incomprehensible abilities come into the fray.

You weren't ever sure why your fourth self was the one you decided was so special that you were to stick with it and develop it, among hundreds of others. Maybe it's because it was the first time you truly left the trollian form behind, many sweeps ago, from your perspective, or maybe it's because it's the first time you had that kind of control. Is self-control a big deal to you, or do you simply like being able to take more risks with it? Being limited to one body, you always thought, was a recipe for ultimate destruction. Capacity for disaster.

Either way, is there symbolism to four? Is it still your fourth body if you've replaced every part of it tens of times over? Ship of Theseus, meet Body of Tekras. Internally, you keep denominators. It's probably TK-04-33a or something by now. No, it definitely is, but you don't include those later numbers in your externally-showing tech. It takes from the look of 'having your shit together' that you oh so desire. You never believed in open betas. Or tester builds. At least, you never integrate something into your wider network of selves until you're sure it works. How many split-off selves, doomed selves, have you created just to use a body you know doesn't work? Isn't finished? You've lost count.

At least you know they aren't… They aren't dead. They're erased, there's a difference. You would never let a self die, no. It's too open-ended. Dead trolls, even if they're literal purposeless clones, they show up in places. You remember dreaming among them, once. Bubbles, or something, right? It's hazy, it's been so long. Even then, you promised yourself you'd stay vigilant. You saw what happened when you let yourself - your dead selves - split up and grow powerful. There's a lot of Doom to sap from when the self is from a doomed timeline. It makes them so, so powerful, and the only way to stop them is to prevent them in the first place.

Time travel is nasty stuff, really. You never could work your head around it, but it's usefulness is understated, massively. Stopped a lot of shit.

Yes, stopped. Not moved, not transferred to an irrelevant timeline - stopped. As you wished. You can't let yourself go like that.

The next time you visit the dreambubbles, you scan, and you're glad to find that not a copy exists. You send a few bots out to do extra double-checks, triple-checks - nothing. Good.

You get back in your ship, your extra bodies get back in their transport pod, you move on. From the outside, your ship is a haze of green, and your body is a dark, hazy mess. Some kind of villain, no doubt? Maybe. Scanning for something… it's intimidating.

You never felt it, but you'd figure that maybe using Doom abilities to scan and obliterate alternate selves' canonicity would get a little intimidating… but you've no reason to use it on others. No, no way. Of course not. It's not your business, you know? You LIKE other people, which is much more than can be said about the guys you prevent.

You pass by some terrors, creatures of the void in the area between the furthest ring, dreambubbles, a wide array of incipispheres from games from various universes, and then pass through a barrier between universes itself. Space goes all hazy. With a jolt of force, you send yourself into hypervelocity, firing yourself back into reality, your own.

After a few minutes, you get the thing slowed down and approach a planet - a city - a tall building - a landing zone. A surprisingly quick process, and you're already getting out - the most tedious part of the whole process is the airlock, which takes five minutes of doing nothing.

You get out, take a brisk walk up some metallic stairs, enter a door, say hello to the people in the office building you pass through, and enter an empty head-office room. You throw yourself onto the desk, laying flat, documents and paper-weights and a very advanced-looking trollian computer flying off the desk. A crack is visible in the table.

You'll get that replaced in an hour or so. It's not the first time. In fact, every day you seem to destroy something a little more when you get here.

Every day you make this journey. Something compels you. Is it the power? The urge to progress? Is this what that act of self-sacrifice, self-destruction many sweeps back gets you - the immense power to destroy? You don't know why you keel to it.

But you continue to.

You grip the table, and it burns under your hand with a hiss, and a fizzle, then cracks as you firm your grip. It doesn't turn to ash, but seems to slowly degrade - shrink, crumble, melt? As if things are happening in a vastly sped up fast-forward of time. A life cycle. The smoke burns a deep green, and you smirk to yourself a little. Ha. You're lucky you never put fire alarms in this place, you could do this all day. Maybe you will.

You grip your hand, to try the same thing. It doesn't destroy yourself, but the smoke generates. You hold yourself firm. It doesn't do anything, but the haze grows.

It's funny how fast a room can fill up with fumes, and all it does is cloud your vision of the moons of this planet moving outside. The table has crumbled by now, the walls are deeply stained and cracked, the door is off it's hinges, the windows deeply dusty and stained, cracked but never seeming to break - the air in the room is nothing more than a deep green swirl, and your eyes barely light a foot, hell, a couple inches ahead of you, and you take some breaths.

It's a nasty scent. Receptors disabled. It doesn't smell of much, but it incites just a little something. Stand up, pace around. You glow a little. The smoke swirls around you, as if it was magnetic. Ferrofluid? Almost.

You head outside, and it follows you. Up to your ship, in the open air, and it stays attached, though seems to leave a trail of deeply aged material around it, as if leaving everything it touches to it's ultimate fate. Walls rendered mossy, or crumbled, as if they were fated some day to be perpetually in that state. Ceilings fell behind you, ground crumbled after you walked on it. The metal walkway collapsed thousands of meters into the clouds below, after your smoky footsteps touch them… but, when it touches you, it does nothing. Contact, but the ship stays intact, as if nothing, too. The colors inside the ship change in rapid succession, the naming of it seems to shift among lettering only vaguely recognisable. The computer system of the ship remains unchanged, as you intended.

You take another deep breath, and feel a burn down your fake esophagus, through your fake GI tract, in your robotic joints, and through every seam you built into this thing. Crackle. Your body's surface shimmers in place, as if everything is new, and then old. New once more. Different, and the same. Constant change. You feel yourself almost get pulled apart, and you feel yourself feel more whole than you have in sweeps. You get down on a knee, then onto all fours, then you lay flat. After an hour of hissing, sizzling, you lay wide-spread on the ground, almost exhausted - if a robot can be - looking altogether the same as you did before, and the smoke that once stuck to you seeming to have expended itself. Burnt itself out, but on what? You struggle to understand. It was… advancing fate… to it's end.

You guess, maybe it never found one? For yourself. It explored all it could. Possibilities you don't even know of yet - and passed so quickly that you can't even identify.

Your diagnostics are going crazy. All kinds of warnings. You'd think you were dying out here.

But you aren't, and it all seems to resolve. Every error checks out - every damage warning mysteriously reverted… or, well. Fixed itself, as fate intended.

Then you look to your left, and a small green hiss is emerging from your shoulder, and the seams of the craft around you, and then your chest. You furrow your brows, and then they stop.

You see a white flash, and the next thing you know, you wake up in your room at your compound.

TK-04 CHASSIS - TK-04-35c: awake.tk +recoveryprotocol

The first thing you see is a video recording of your body exploding, as well as the ship, and the building next to it crumbling. Recorded by… your ship, and then outside cameras from other buildings... and one other. You can't tell where it came from...

You check through other footage - no foul play - but… you don't remember doing this to yourself. But there is a figure in the background of a few of these shots, something deep and hazy. Glowing green. Seams in places… Same horns? It looks like… it almost looks like you - but you know that you're the only one of yourself you allow to persist. Wait. Is that where the camera came from? Did he plant this footage?

Fuck, fuck, you know. You figured you'd be your own biggest enemy. You're not the hunter anymore.

Is this how it feels to be on the wrong side of the coin? Tick, tock.

Of course the fucker would give you a taste of the ultimate power of fate before he killed you. That's EXACTLY something you'd do. Of course you would.

#action post #plot post #// i take questions about things that are not understandable. it helps flesh it out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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keepsmagnetoaway · 27 days

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X-Men 66 (March 1970)

Roy Thomas/Sal Buscema

Well, this is it: the end of the original X-Men run. After this, the title kept publishing, but it was just reprints of already existing issues for almost five years, until it was revived. See the end of this post for my general reflections on this series and for details on what I'll be reading next, but in the meantime let's see how this all ends up.

Is it with a heartfelt farewell to the team, tying it all up nicely? It absolutely is not. The writers clearly had not learned that the book was about to be cancelled, so in this issue they attempt to wake the revived Professor X from the latest of his many comas, and also incidentaly fight the Hulk, in Vegas.

Hulk is great, we love Hulk, and also he talks properly - that is, not properly - in this issue.

I also really like the art in this issue. It's Sal Buscema, in the only X-Men issue he ever drew, because, again, this title was in chaos and on the verge of cancellation, but it has a nice pop art feel to it, combining some of the wilder effects of Adams with a brighter, cleaner feel which I quite enjoy.

But obviously with hindsight it's a bit hard to care about all this. Here we go, this is the very last panel: my guess is they learned, last minute, about the cancellation, which is why there's a sort of "that's al folks" rather than a tease for the next issue, but clearly the issue as whole was plotted and drawn without this knowledge. What would it have been like to read this in 1970, assuming cheerfully that they'd all be back next month? It's kind of impossible to say.

So...there we go. The standard opinion on the original run of X-Men is that it was very much a B-tier product of Marvel's great 60s golden age: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby were throwing off ideas and characters left and right, X-Men included, but they never gave the mutants the same attention and love that went into, say, Spiderman or the Fantastic Four, and they were also never quite fully integrated into the wider Marvel universe the way the Avengers were.

As a result of this, the title very clearly drifted, changing personnel frequently and seldom managing to launch long-term storylines or to shake things up: efforts to do that tended to fizzle out. Sometimes, of course, the constant chopping and changing led to brief golden moments like Jim Steranko or Neal Adams being assigned to the art, but more often it was a problem for the title.

I think that's prevailing view is basically accurate, although it's remarkable just how much the style and feel of the book changes in this run alone: by the end, even without people like Adams, we're a long, long way from the clunky early 60s stuff.

What struck me more, though, when reading these was how little they seem to be about the X-Men: both in that the villains, or single-issue side characters, often end up driving the plot and having the more interesting personalities, and in that the whole "hated and feared mutants" thing crops up only very seldom, and never consistently. The idea of X-Men as a character- and team-driven story about outcasts from society really isn't here: that comes out of the team's 70s reinvention, which I look forward to getting to.

But not yet! Because once again my trusty reading guide is instructing me to pause in the strictly chronological-publishing order to instead read a number of later stories that have been set in the period between the end of the original team's run and the 70s revival. These look like a really interesting mix: there's some more First Class (sigh) and another First Class-esque series going back to fill in the gaps, but alongside them there's a smattering of early 70s comics from other series in which the X-Men popped up as guest stars to remind everyone that they weren't dead yet, and then there's some prequel series that lay the (retroactive) groundwork for some of the major 70s characters like Wolverine and Emma Frost. All told these should keep me busy for a couple of months, and then it'll be into the classic 70s run. See you next time...

#x men comics #an xmen a day #xmen #uncanny xmen #this is a very long post #hulk

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sarah-dipitous · 4 months

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 348

Unity

Y’all (Mary (hi)), guess who has two thumbs and is forgoing the like four day break I had allowed myself because after last week, I can no longer fathom ever doing two episodes in one day. So. I AM still taking Christmas off, but every day other than that, I will be watching ONE episode (with the exception of NYE of course when I will watch over three hours of tv which will take me a stupid amount of time to talk about)

“Unity”

Plot Description: Chuck returns to Earth and debates with Amara about whether the world is worth preserving. As Jack faces a big test, Sam and Dean do not see eye to eye

Castiel BETTER BE IN THIS EPISODE. I will LOSE MY SHIT if the next time I see him is in THE episode, THE NOVEMBER 5, 2020 episode that out trended the United States presidential election

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I suppose no one died. All other universes were already killed off, and Chuck just returned to this one

Oh good. Castiel IS here. I hope this isn’t it for him for this episode

How many times has there only been one way to do something on this show and then they found another at the eleventh hour??

Dean. Dean, you know I love you, but for someone who’s hated living in another person’s story for so long, blindly following the orders in the death book Billie has on Chuck feels a lot like the same. It doesn’t MATTER how you feel, you say?? Boy…

You are one of his three dads, Dean. What, he’s not family because he came here later?? Come on…oooof, he heard you say he’s not family like Sam and Cas are (you’d think after however many months, my phone would have learned not to automatically capitalize the a in Cas)

Ugh, ew, Chuck is so fucking insufferable. He really only cares about himself.

Oh Amara. Oh sweet Amara (never thought I’d say that but here we are). You gave your brother so many outs, you brought him to a place where you could hold him captive til (I presume) Dean and Jack get there and then you’ll be betrayed for all your efforts. You deserve better

You know what would have been better than the entire British Men of Letters plot? Those twins where at least one was a witch, and one died and the other used necromancy to bring her back? What if something had happened with them after that??

Dean, you’ve met Eve. You think she’d still be hanging around Adam all these years if he’s like this?

EXCUSE ME WHAT?? Fine (not fine but we’ll go with fine), Jack passed your little test but that doesn’t mean you have to RIP OUT ONE OF ADAM’S RIBS IN FRONT OF THEM

Ugh…I hate that all Dean can say is thank you and you didn’t need to hear [Dean tell Sam that Jack’s not family] instead of ANY nice platitudes

Y’all are just gonna…FIND they Key of Death in all the shit in the bunker?? Do you even know how to use it. I understood a few of those words in Latin

It’s not a good sign to immediately see a—several dead reapers when visiting Death’s Library

Oh shit. The Empty is here.

You know, Castiel not being able to be on earth aside, Billie taking over as the new god is not the worst thing I ever heard

Chuck’s death book is so long comparative to everyone else’s

I’m so mad that Amara has to die if Chuck dies

Omg wtf. Like I know he’s omniscient and all but he orchestrated this whole Jack becomes a bomb to kill god and Amara?? To pit Sam and Dean against each other one final time, get the ending he wants

Oh it’s NOT just humans on earth, angels in heaven, demons in hell…people from other universes go back to places that no longer exist, Eileen just dies again…and what do you think would happen to the boys who should have been dead many many times over?

Just because you create new universes together in balance does not mean she’s gonna forget everything you’ve put her through, Chuck

I…hate that he just like…absorbed Amara

I can’t watch Jack die AGAIN. I feel like he’s just always doing that……..and Dean says he’s not family. That’s the most Winchester thing you can do

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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heartsleevemag · 1 year

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Friday Five

by Vi McDonald

Welcome to this week’s installment of Heartsleeve Magazine’s Friday Five playlist! From up-tempo tracks that’ll make you feel like you’re in an eighties movie, to some of the crunchiest, coolest new rock tunes, here are five songs that kept our blood pumping this week.

1. "Bad At Letting Go" – Leland, MUNA

Danceable and in denial, Leland's "Bad At Letting Go" is replayable in the way that only a MUNA collab can be. Depicting a romance where things have gone wrong but Leland doesn't want anyone to know, it's about burying your emotions but having them bubble up to the surface anyway. MUNA's influence shines especially brightly, from the production to the vocals to the theme of honest avoidance, as they croon in the second verse, "The tears that are slipping right off of my skin, I don't want 'em to sink in."

2. “Welcome to the DCC” — Nothing But Thieves

With a sound that would be perfectly at home in a neon cyberpunk dream, Nothing But Thieves' new eighties-inspired dance track introduces a new world. "Welcome to the DCC" tells of a utopian heaven called Dead Club City where "If you believe it, it can happen." Even though it'll get you moving, the track has a thrumming tension underneath that hints the DCC might be too good to be true. The video suggests this too, with characters getting sucked into the DCC universe through advertisements and entering a world where there's nothing but endless partying and neon lights. "It's almost time for us to open the doors to you," NBT shared as a caption for the music video. What else will Dead Club City have in store?

youtube

3. "Just A Girl" - From The Original Series "Yellowjackets" – Florence + The Machine

Florence Welch once said, "You said that rock and roll is dead. But is that just because it has not been resurrected in your image?" And when Florence decides to resurrect a classic like No Doubt's 1995 hit "Just A Girl," in her image, it infuses the track with an ethereal, foreboding energy. Fitting for the psychological horror-drama show Yellowjackets, this track is a spooky, cinematic rock masterpiece. Tense cymbal crashes and uneasy strings crash open into chaotic harmonies over the song's four-minute runtime – this track singlehandedly convinced me to binge Yellowjackets in its entirety before the new season premieres.

4. "SCARING ME" – Cleopatrick

You got me – this one's not a new discovery. More of a rediscovery, "SCARING ME" is the third track on Cleopatrick's 2022 EP, DOOM. After becoming particularly enthralled with (and seriously overplaying) the two opening tracks, "ZUCK," and "OK," I decided to revisit the EP. "SCARING ME" winds down from the heavier sound of the first two tracks, but continues the theme of examining how relationships are affected by modern society, and how the things that we do affect those relationships. The instrumentation is probably the coolest part – after the song went viral, the band shared how it was made on Tiktok, using layered textures and vocals as an instrument. Cleopatrick is "gonna do a coupl shows" – their words, not mine – in the UK this summer. Check 'em out here.

5. "CHOKER" – ROMES

The very definition of a modern rock track with grunge and 90s influences, "CHOKER" showcases the heavier side of Romes' music. "If you've ever felt emotionally strangled, trapped inside your own mind, or felt like there's no way out, just know that someone else is fighting through it too. You're not alone," the band shared on Instagram following the song's release. And it feels that way, lyrics like "I wanna feel what it feels like to exist," holding a raw desperation that feels cathartic and expressive, like this was something the band had to get out in order to keep going.

Listen to the Friday Five playlist and check out last week's additions on our Spotify, and don't forget to follow us so you don't miss the next one!

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jeannahas · 2 years

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A Day in the Life:

Well, what can I say? It’s another night where, at 1:27 in the morning, I, a 25 year old man, find myself unable to sleep. I’ve written in my stories, I’ve painted miniatures, I’ve contemplated the cruel nature of the universe and have also stared at my sleeping wife for a few minutes. What shall I try next?

I suppose that this will do - a random post, a random comment, thrown out into the endless void of the stream of human consciousness that is the internet.

My brother met a man once who had augmented himself with a cochlear implant that was directly wired to the emotional state of the internet. Imagine that- having weird additional sensory input at all times. He had programmed the thing to look for certain words, keying broad emotions to different tones, which gave him a real-time gauge of the overall emotional state of the web. I do wonder from time to time how that is going for him these days, if that battery is still running, or how exactly that kind of system works, but mainly I wonder what sort of sounds would he hear right now? Is there a tone for apathy and empty boredom? Is there a tone for sitting there at 2:00 AM wanting desperately for something to listen to, a podcast, a video, a movie, something, but not actively wanting anything? Rolling your eyes at the suggestions the algorithm puts before you yet again?

We live in what is most certainly a strange time - a crossroads, it feels like, where humanity could go any number of ways. which path are we on? will we succumb to the creeping Nihilism? Will we return to the moon, in a bid to expand into the cold and distant stars? Will we destroy ourselves? Will we starve ourselves out? Will we be destroyed by something else? I remember back when Nihilism seemed utterly anathema to me. I ran across the concept reading the Manga for Nausicaa - fascinating read, great story, amazing art, I would reccoment the five volume series to absolutely everyone, just for the philosophy alone - as I found the philosophy of nihilism to be counterproductive. If nothing matters, why do we do anything?

And yet, I find myself pondering the same questions. As we slowly poison our own world that brings our continued existence as a species into question, I ask myself, do we truly matter? Errant life on this swiftly spinning ball of rock that hurtles through the universe?

That, now, is the question that society is presenting itself. Do things matter? Do we matter as people?

I grew up in a small town of 500 people, in a valley that held roughly 1000 people between the three small towns that rested there. I remember back when my hometown took up a single square mile, nestled between dead and dusty hills littered with gypsum and junipers, sagebrush dotting the landscape, making any run an adventure as you tried to avoid twisting your ankle. Each stone, canyon, rock, and riverbed seemed to hold so much sheer potential, so many stories. I remember caressing the stones, and wishing that they could speak, imagining the kinds of movies I would film there If I could, telling stories endlessly to friends, to families, to my siblings. Finding hideouts, hearing stories of the German dugouts, the folklore, the lessons that the Navajo taught us to make sure that we didn’t Anger things best left un-angered. When night was a time dedicated to Coyote and his children, when the stars sang, and the Elk would seemingly appear from no-where? What happened to the magic of standing before a wall of pristine petroglyphs, and staring in awe, feeling the sheer weigh of power held in those drawings? feeling that If I could understand them I could command the very beasts that they represent, that they would dance off of the wall to sing songs long forgotten. It was a time and place for me where the Autumn crispness carried with it the chill bite of winter along the desert stones, and laughter filled the spaces between leaving and arriving- what happened to me since then?

When did I stop? why did I stop? When did the world start to lose its wonder for me? I still don’t know, but it feels like I lost something important, feels like I am left as a hollow husk now. Like I am left only with echoes of joy that existed in youth - echoes of hope and possibility for al life not yet lived. staring at the same pages, trying desperately to remember the stories we were told around the fire during campouts, stories told by old cowboys with wavering voices that shook us to our bones and filled us with wonder.

I remember the first time I saw Las Vegas. It was the largest city I had ever seen to date, and the sheer SCALE absolutely fried my mind. The sheer weight and mass of humanity pressed in on my mind, and I realized - each one of us is relatively meaningless. Consider: We hear the statistics for murders committed in the US daily - we don’t know their names. we never bother to learn their stories. We meet countless hundreds of people every day, every week, of our lives, so different from the place where I grew up, where you knew everyone in the county to some extent- at least by sight - and you knew their connections to each other, their stories. Now I meet people from entirely different countries, I meet people with entirely different beleifs. If the entire world were destroyed except for Vegas (obviously bad and likely to doom the species) there is enough genetic diversity within that population sample that provided the inhabitants didn’t tear each other apart, the resultant branch of humanity would be likewise stable and free of inbreeding, free to spread out.

Not going to happen, of course. A city built in the desert surviving thanks only to the great national and international infrastructure we have established will not be the city to survive the collapse of the United States, but still. The sheer MASS of people here, made me realize just how small I really was. Almost 8 billion people. One planet. 19 million living in some cities - that’s almost five times the population of the nation of Uruguay, las I checked ( Which was a while ago) and 4-5 times the population of Utah, where I grew up. Most of us, at the bottom of the heap, in countries that are now floundering under the weight of their new oligarchs.

I ask myself sometimes if we actually do matter- if our actions are worth taking. particularly in moments like this - in the dead of night, eyes burning, body aching, yet still unable to sleep - do we matter?

We certainly matter to the people we interact with. We change lives in many small ways. So far, that has kept me going - people encouraged by my work, by what I do, and so far- it has been enough.

The battle continues, the constant effort not to fall by the wayside, to claw ahead in a world of millions trying to do the same.

It will be an interesting decade.

#thoughts #blog #sleepless #nihlism #hope #despair #contemplation #quiet contemplation

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lisanamazu · 2 years

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Ahead of a year, as my father's life ended

Sounds like a reason to sympathize, right? Infamously, drowned in alcohol and loneliness, the life of the Commander died out, who set the world record for a solitary stay underground, a writer, an organizer of concerts and festivals. When the news of his death was leaked to the Internet, they even made a publication about it on a couple of news portals - this is taking into account how little attention is paid to the underground party. In a sense, this is the essence of it. "Singer of the Catacombs".

An erudite, active, interesting interlocutor with a drop dead (without sarcasm) sense of humor.

An excellent worker. A disgusting father.

He renounced his son because of the accidentally thrown phrase "something is not very similar to you", he brought his eldest daughter to the grave and ruined the life of his youngest. To me. Have you seen Encanto? Remember the piece in which Mirabell fell on the abuela? "Really, none of us can please you"? Well, here it is. The Commander was only able to praise his child when he wanted to praise himself. All my achievements, if noticed, were reduced either to his personal work with the male penis (these are his words, yes, he liked to say: "Well, everything that we do with our hands ..."), or to the fact that it is bullshit, candy wrappers and onyame. Contempt, ridicule, humiliation, insults - when I lived with him, it came to assault - but he always complained to all his guests and friends about what a good and diligent father he was and what a stupid and clumsy daughter he had.

He never apologized. In his little world, he was the pinnacle and standard, and I always did everything wrong and wrong. His behavior was unpredictable: not only was he an optional asshole who could put a dick on important agreements with his own daughter simply because "the mood is not right", but also his return home was always Russian roulette. Moreover, it did not fly much less often than it did. It doesn't matter how much you've done, you'll get beat up for that petty bullshit that costs half a minute of your time and you'll forget about it.

Sometimes he was in a good mood. And then it was the best father in the world. But this good mood for three years of living in one apartment is remembered a little more than twice.

And the wildest thing is that he was not shy about lying. Once he broke his leg when I was in my hometown, and not with him, in Moscow, and to my mother’s offer to buy me a ticket so that I would return, he replied: “I don’t need this bastard here.”

Do you know why I'm "bastard"? But because from the moment of my departure until the moment of his return to the apartment, here's a joke, dust managed to settle on the shelves.

And what did this sufferer and misunderstood by the universe tell his friends in the fall? That I REFUSED to come to him and LEFT him alone with a broken leg.

All my childhood memories associated with my father are also associated with his many friends, whom he allowed me to drag, grab, touch. Even if I was screaming and begging to be let go. They were having fun, he was having fun. I was a plaything. When I was a student, he rarely tried to sell my appearance to anyone. The only person in that house who protected me was his wife Olic. Which also constantly flew.

The commander lived a life that would allow him to be surrounded by comrades and friends who admired and respected him. But he chose drunk from a nearby five-story building, booze and resentment for the whole world. He told all the neighbors that I had died. He buried me alive.

And a year ago, I was standing next to his coffin and I had one thought in my head: I want to see that he is dead. Make sure it doesn't exist. That he died.

I don't want to keep the memory of him. I do not want to deal with museums of his findings and busts in his honor. Yes, it's great to know that the Commander was a great man in certain circles. And something inherited from him, I still keep and will keep. But let not overgrown paths be trodden by others. And themselves. Not at my expense and without my help.

And you know what's ironic? I would rather remember him periodically from afar than go to his grave. And he, speaking of visiting the grave of my older sister, uttered similar words: "I don't understand and don't like these walks. If you remember, it doesn't matter where."

Being proud of him, respecting him is one thing. To get to the bottom of his daughter, whose life he ruined, who, because of him, every fucking time, going down the subway, thought about stepping under an arriving train, with the fact that she has to do something so that YOU can fulfill your need for flashbacks about To appease the commander is another.

Let those who admire him cajole themselves.

I still have nightmares about this man.

(Translaited by Google)

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thefanbasewhore · 3 years

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Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #fatws bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve x bucky #steve x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #stucky

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tonystarktogo · 2 years

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A fact of life: There is no evidence to suggest that a proper alliance between Tony, Natasha and Pepper couldn’t save the world. Eventually. There may be some collateral damage.

[consider this an AU of my time travel crack fic]

Natasha is pissed.

No, wait.

Natasha was pissed when some nobody alien with illusions of grandeur dusted half her planet’s population because he could. She was pissed when Clint went all Black Arrow on her and — worse — ditched her to go on a killspree with whatever worthless scum caught his eye next. Natasha was pissed when she realized that Tony had made her his daughter’s godmother and never so much as said a fucking word to her about said daughter’s existence because ‘aren’t you a super spy? Oh my, Rushman, I think you’re losing your touch’, the vindictive asshole.

[She has no illusions. The only reason Natasha’s name is on that paper is because Tony Stark and Pepper Potts take each other’s pettiness to new heights when properly motivated. That they’ve waited five years to reveal that they’ve pulled this stunt on her says it all. And proves just how much surviving half the end of the world hadn’t softened either of them.]

Now?

After enduring five too many attempts of Clint trying to sacrifice himself in her place — like he doesn’t have a family waiting for him when this is over, doesn’t have Laura and the kids, like she’s gonna let him use her as an excuse so he won’t have to face them, like he has the fucking right to make that choice for her — before she killed herself to give her team a god damn chance to fix their greatest failure?

No, Natasha isn’t pissed. She’s so far beyond pissed, they’re not even existing in the same timeline anymore.

Literally.

How is this her life—

Because the universe just can’t resist fucking with her. Obviously.

Sacrificing herself so Clint can get his hands on a glowy space orb with the power to obliterate all life everywhere? Fucked up for sure, but that’s been her life since Earth’s first (public) alien invasion all these years ago.

Natasha can roll with it.

Not a nice way to die perhaps but... There’s worse ways to go. She would know. She’s got no regrets. Not regarding that choice at least.

So no, it’s not the dying part that has Natasha mentally spewing exempletives for seventeen minutes by this point — she’s switched languages a couple of times because her creativity does have its limits — and she’s still going strong.

It’s the part where she opens her eyes.

And stares down at an official SHIELD mission briefing.While standing in the middle of a vaguely familiar conference room in the helicarrier Clint crashed during Loki’s invasion. [Which is what they call the Avengers’ first mission because Natasha has the misfortune of having lived a life in which neither the term ‘New York City Invasion’ nor ‘Chitauri Invasion’ are specific enough to avoid confusion.] With four dead agents at her back, only one of whom she’s sure isn’t HYDRA.

Gods fucking damn it. She thought she was done with this shit.

Aaand that’s all she wrote. Because I couldn’t decide how far back Natasha would’ve gone — I’m going back and forth between right before her mission to infiltrate SI or right before Loki’s invasion like the first AU. Thoughts?

#ReRe writes #Natasha Romanoff #Avengers Team #MCU #Not Canon Compliant #Time Travel #Crack #Natasha's been given a second chance #she does not appreciate it #fic #well the start of one at least

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jayteacups · 2 years

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Florist/plant dad Levi headcanons

Pairing: Levi x GN!Reader

Rating: General

Genre & warnings: Fluff, SFW, no warnings <3 just tooth-rotting fluff <33

Word count: 0.8k

Notes: inspired by this post! i can’t stop thinking about this omg. hope you love florist!levi as much as i do!!

Levi as a florist and plant dad (I am actually swooning) - we all know he’s all grouchy and would much rather avoid social interaction because most people drive him up a wall, but there’s something captivating and earnestly gentle about him when he’s tending to his flowers

Hands gently carding through the flowers, the downwards quirk of his lips when he notices they’re looking a little wilted, he is the absolute epitome of beauty

Has a very strict schedule of when to water his flowers or house plants, doesn’t dare miss it by even a second. He takes his responsibilities as a plant dad very seriously

Fusses over his house plants, picks up the dead leaves or petals almost immediately after they have fallen because god forbid there will be leaf litter in his house, it’s like he has a sixth sense for when a petal or leaf falls istg

In this universe, Hange’s a botanist or plant researcher, and they definitely talk Levi’s ear off about the plants he owns from a scientist’s perspective, whether it be plant physiology or the evolutionary relationships between two particular species of flower (as a biology student I can most certainly get behind this)

And when they talk about plants it’s the only time Levi doesn’t tell them to pipe down because deep down he is just as interested in a scientist’s perspective on plants

He prefers a very simplistic, monochromatic house decor I feel but the house plants he owns spice it up a bit and give it a cute homey touch <3

If you ask for a flower arrangement at his little flower shop, he’d make them look absolutely breathtaking

Not in a gaudy or in an over-the-top way, but there is a simplistic beauty to the arrangements that feels very personal

The flower shop itself is very cosy and warm, you enter it and feel instantly calmed and sheltered from the overwhelming bustling nature of the outside world

Amongst the beautiful colours and petals, you find a moment to yourself, to clear your mind, to breathe (unless you have hay fever like me; in which case you’re fighting for your life and sneezing every five seconds but let’s just pretend hay fever doesn’t exist for the sake of this headcanon ok?)

Imagine tucking one of his flowers behind his ear and telling him he looks pretty and him looking unimpressed at your antics (when actually he’s really freaking out on the inside)

You waver, face falling, before you move to take it out

He intercepts your wrist with his own hands, gruffly tells you it’s fine, and perhaps if you move a little closer you can see the faintest of pink washing over his pale cheeks because nobody’s called him pretty before

And he goes the rest of the day with that flower tucked behind his ear (and perhaps every customer swoons internally upon the sight but he is none the wiser)

You like to tease him that he’s so beautiful he already blends in very well with his flowers but with the flower tucked behind his ear he’s practically impossible to see (he spends the next week thinking of nothing but that compliment)

On the weekends, Levi takes you out on picnic dates in the meadow, points out a few of his favourite wildflowers

You try to make him a flower crown with said favourite wildflowers but it kind of falls apart because flower crowns are hard

And he just shakes his head, impossibly endeared, and shows you how to do it properly

He puts it on your head, fingers grazing over your temples as he withdraws his hands

And he just takes a moment to admire the sight of you, surrounded by pretty wildflowers, with the flower crown on your head making you look nothing short of regal, and he just needs a minute to recover because the picture just makes the air woosh out of his lungs :((

He also watches you very carefully, takes a note of what flowers in that meadow or in his shop that you seem particularly drawn to

And one day he makes a stunning bouquet with those flowers, and it is this bouquet that he presents to you with shaky hands, the small box in his pocket waiting patiently to be presented.

It is an identical bouquet to this one that you hold as you walk down the aisle to him <33

Bonus: cottagecore married life with Levi - living out a peaceful life in a cosy little place, his green thumb growing vegetables in the allotment, him showing you how to tend to the flowers in the garden, and you fall in love with him all over again watching him weave together a flower crown for you with both his and your favourite flowers <333

Masterlist

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #levi headcanons #aot headcanons #headcanons #jayteacups writes #florist levi #swoon #ok I think I’ve written it out of my system I need to study now lolz

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

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Bad Dreams - Bucky Barnes x Avenger (f)reader

Summary: You and Bucky are adjusting to civilian life after the Blip, some nights he needs you more then he realizes.

Warning: bit o angst, soft Bucky, fluff

Masterlist

It had been a long fucking five years alone, sure you had Nat and Steve around at the Avengers Facility. But no matter how much time you spent with them doing whatever to keep your mind busy, at the end of the day, you were undoubtedly alone. You liked it that way at one point in your complicated life as an Avenger, but after the blip, you absolutely despised it.

No one had expected what would have happened to be so terrible and tragic, or it to even go the way that it did. You had never even heard of Thanos or what the fuck kind of weirdass monsters could exist from other parts of the galaxy until they showed up knocking. How rude huh.

Life was peaceful before hand, well for the most part; you were an Avenger, someone who was part of the team. A conjurer of flame and ash, a Phoenix held within that was not afraid to use your power, and you used it well.

Then as per usual, shit went down and low and behold you met the one and only James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s old friend with the metal arm and troubling history. Not to mention a face to die for, or at least one that would cause a bit of a chaotic scuffle between your two friends. They clearly had other priorities apart from yours at the time which was keep Steve out of jail, don’t burn anyone, and refrain from flirting with his 90 something year old friend. You tried your best in most of those areas. Most of them.

Nonetheless, you fell hard and fast for the blue eyed man, and him the same for you, his feisty little firecracker with a heart as big and bright as a dragons. So when he went to Wakanda to lie low and get some much needed help. You followed.

With a heartfelt goodbye and a lasting kiss, he went under for a couple long weeks until Shuri and her expert team of scientists were able to fix what those bastards at Hydra had done to him.

For a short yet blessedly peaceful amount of time did you and your dark haired lover live safely within the Wakandan borders. In a small and beautiful little village by a lake, a hut all your own to shelter you from the heat and rain that poured hard onto the earth, and most wonderfully of all you had Bucky.

Life was simple for the first time in a long time, you spent the days helping out the locals and teaching the children how to properly swing a stick in defense, you know completely normal leisure activities. Spending the evenings making a big fire to tell stories under and cook the best food in Wakanda.

And the nights? You spent those wrapped up in Bucky’s arm, although most times you would be the big spoon which he loved more then anything in the whole world. Telling you it’s not just because you’re naturally warm, but that he’s been admittedly a bit touch starved from the years alone and lost. And for that you would always hold him closer.

Then that fateful day came crashing into your lives like a waterfall against rock, your friends had shown up claiming some being called Thanos was coming to take a stone out of Vision’s head. Yeah that was a new one.

The battle wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either, you were able to save many lives by scorching the beasts that pursed onward. Letting whips of flame slash hard against the enemy with great skill and force from your bending. Then the world seemed to still, and the wind swayed the trees oddly.

Then HE came, the Titan from another world, he threw down all in his path without an ounce of mercy or remorse. You and Wanda were so close, so damn close to stopping him, but then he threw you back with the whole force of the gauntlet and a moment later Vision was dead.

Your head was bleeding and a fresh scar had marked your jaw in a bloody red slash from the impact. Though your mind didn’t have time to register nor care as Thanos abruptly disappeared into oblivion, leaving a confused Thor in his wake. Much like the rest of the Avengers.

Then to your horror, one by one, your friends began to turn to ash and dust. Gone. You raced for Bucky nearby, praying to who’d ever listen to spare him or you for that matter. You just needed ten more seconds and then you could have held him one last time, touched his precious skin, ran your fingers through his long dark locks.

Looked into his ocean blue eyes, but no, the universe laughed as you gasped in panic, then it snickered as you screamed. Cheering you on as you sobbed in a cyclone of your own fire until the ground was scorched to shriveled dry earth. And no more tears could fall, your throat raw and heart broken in two.

Your world was gone, a memory forever kept locked inside your heart and soul. He was gone, he was your world, Bucky made your life better and you his.

For the coming months you were a mess, an angry and frustrated wreck of a person. Functioning by sheer will power and Natasha to keep you afloat in your new dreary little world of nothingness. You envied Steve for his ability to keep most of his shit together, and where almost enraged by Tony who had everything still intact. Pepper and a child on the way, how cruel the universe appeared.

You would wake up in the middle of the night sweating, your heart racing a mile a minute and usually part of the wall behind you would be burnt and blackened. You never set fire to anything thank god, but fuck, your heart hurt so much.

You wanted to scream most days, but as one year rolled into two and then three, the dull dreary ache in your body subdued to a tiny flicker of sadness. It became almost nonexistent during the day as you went about Avenger business, only to burn hot and angry at night.

You wanted to move on and forget, but you couldn’t, he was too important. They all didn’t deserve to go like that, none of them. And so another year passed, then it was year five since the blip, more months passed on. Until out of nowhere something or perhaps someone miraculous lit the way into a new sense of hope.

Resulting in the return of everyone who had been lost before, including your Bucky. And from that moment after the battle, when at long last you had finally found him, you knew life would never be the same.

——

Rain pours relentlessly from outside your apartment window, a rhythmic pitter patter near your bedside that aids in keeping you asleep and unbothered for the time being. No sooner do you reach the climax of your dream that consists of you being chased by a giant monarch butterfly with no weapon but a sandbox plastic shovel, do you wake. Strange dream.

All your senses flooding back into you as you feel for your lover in the darkness, your eyes still closed as you do so. Your hand slides across the crinkled bedsheets to no avail, the spot next to you is undeniably empty and rather cold.

oh, Bucky.

Cracking one eye open you glance at the alarm clock where it reads 1:10am in big red letters, illuminating the nightstand that it sits on. You take in a deep breath and roll onto your back to stare up at the ceiling, this has become a reoccurring event with Bucky in the following months since his return.

In Wakanda things were different, it was like a nice prolonged vacation away from all your problems and responsibilities of the world. Now, you two have an apartment somewhere in New York City all your own. Bucky goes to therapy and does his best to integrate back into his new role as a civilian while you work as an Avenger part time. The other half used for being a supporting loving girlfriend to Bucky and a hacker on the side for extra cash in the bank.

You get it though, he’s adjusting the best he’s able to manage right now, and even when he swears the nightmares are gone for good. You know him too well to believe that shit, you can see it in his eyes, he may have been a master assassin at one point. Now he’s with a skilled and almost equally as weathered Avenger who’s seen her share of people really going through it.

It’s not like you were doing any better, you’d wake up screaming in the dead of night from another nightmare involving losing Bucky again. That only lasted for a month or so, but still, it sucked and hurt every damn time. So you get it, nightmares can be a bitch.

Blinking the bleariness out of your eyes, you yawn into the darkness and take a moment to listen to the sound of the rain. It’s peaceful and calm, and though you’d like nothing more then to roll over and fall back into the dark comfortable void of sleep. You long to see Bucky again, even if you saw him not even two hours ago.

Pulling the blanket off of your body, you slowly sit up and face the blurry window that overlooks the glowing city, well more so the park close by. Pushing some hair out of your face, you stand and take a brief moment to stretch before letting your right hand emit a beautiful blue flame.

It proptly lights up the dark room into a shadowed yet still visible one, with a lazy proud smile, you move for the opened bedroom door. Your flame lights the way down the hall until you wander past the tiny kitchen and stop in your living room to the sound of heavy breathing coming from the far end.

You give a lopsided smirk to no one in particular as you pad over to the man who’s sweaty and shirtless on the wooden apartment floor in nothing but his boxers and a single blanket that’s not covering much. Well he sure looks like a hot mess, your hot mess that is.

He gives you an apologetic glance before staring tiredly back at the nearby wall. You extinguish your flame and gently nudge his leg with your sock, “How’s the floor?” You ask with a tinge of humor to lighten the mood.

He lets out a breathy laugh before looking back up at you, “Solid.” Quips Bucky in reference to the hard floor and perhaps his take on the makeshift bed, always one for a bit of humor huh.

Chuckling you crouch down to better meet his shadowed gaze, “I guess so,” You mutter with a shrug, “....afraid I might burn you in my sleep?”

Shaking his head, he gifts you the flash of a smile, “No. Not this time Y/N.”

You smile back before sitting down next to him, you look down at his hand before reaching out to take it without any resistance, “I know it’s the nightmares Bucky.” You whisper softly, your eyes sincere and true, “You don’t have to hold it all in okay, I don’t.....I don’t want you to do that.”

Letting out a reluctant sigh, Bucky frowns, “I know Y/N....I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I just love you too much to see you hurting. I’ve missed you for what feels like a hundred goddamn years and I don’t want you to slip away from me..” You add with a sad smile, “Never again.”

Squeezing your hand gently, Bucky nods, “You’re not going to lose me okay. I promise you that much alright. I love you Y/N.” And he means every word.

“That’s good then. Can you at least tell me something to ease your mind from what’s bothering you?” You ask with a hopeful smile, “Please. Remember what the therapist talked about with speaking your thoughts and feelings....it’s like emptying a treasure chest or some shit.”

“Right.” Laughs Bucky, “Can’t say you’re going to find any gold in here.”

“Shut up I don’t care.” You muse with a shrug, “I’m here to listen.”

“As the lady wishes.” Retorts Bucky with a half-assed bow that caused you to break out into a small smile at his cheekiness.

“Wait.” You pause.

“What?”

“Can we sit on the couch for this I wanna lay next to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky fakes his annoyance as you patiently await his answer, “Fine.” He confirms, quickly standing up and taking you with him, “But you gotta lay on me I’m kinda cold now.”

Bucky falls onto the large comfortable couch with a dramatic huff as he pulls you onto his shirtless body, “Weren’t you just all sweaty?” You wonder with a raised brow as he quickly wraps his arms around your waist.

“Yep.”

“Gross.”

Bucky chuckles, “Well you’re making me talk about my feelings.”

“That’s because you won’t talk about them with your actual therapist.” You sass back.

“I hate it when you’re right.” Mutters Bucky into your cheek as you snicker at his adorably dramatic self.

“I think your brain short circuited and misplaced the word hate for absolutely love and adore.”

“Maybe.” Adds Bucky as he steals a sweet kiss, “I’m still working through things you know.”

“Okay smartass. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

His chest rises as he takes a deep heavy sigh, he stares out the nearby window that keeps the rainy city from being bothersome. You can’t completely see his face due to the darkened room, but you’re close enough to see the way his face turns into a frown.

Suddenly you think maybe you shouldn’t have bugged him to speak about his nightmares. Until he purses his lips together and glances those big beautiful blue eyes down at you, the flash of a smile revealing itself in a split second.

To give him a bit more confidence and perhaps to calm his nerves, do you reach a hand up to gently caress his stubbled cheek, “Was it the Starks again?” You whisper softly in question, knowing how much it still haunts him. Among all the others.

Closing his eyes, he leans into your touch, “Not this time.” Mutters Bucky before taking that hand in his as he rests his head against the couches puffy arm. “Someone else.....Someone who got in the way. Wrong place wrong time.”

“oh.” Slips from your mouth quietly, you’re not sure what else to say, but you’re still hoping he’ll speak a little more about it. “Do they have anything to do with your list?”

It’s a shot in the dark, but you’re well aware of Bucky’s goal to make amends with his past and the people tied with it, maybe someone might be linked to it by chance.

Bucky takes another weighted breath, you can just sense how terrible he feels about this person. “Bucky take your time, it’s okay I’m right here.”

Looking for a positive sign you watch as he closes his eyes once again before moving his head a little bit so that it rests against yours, “I know....it’s just, difficult.”

“Always is.”

“Yeah.”

Kissing your forehead, his flesh arm wraps around your waist as he makes himself more comfortable before continuing, “I was in some government building at night.....tasked with eliminating some special high end target. I finished the mission in under a minute, but uh....there was a civilian who saw everything.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” Mumbles Bucky against your skin as he takes a moment to gather himself, soon he shifts underneath you once more before letting out a soft breath, “I shot him.”

A bang of sadness washes over you in that brief second and then a sparking anger for what Hydra had forced him to do. You keep silent and wait for Bucky to continue on with his story.

“That guy I killed. He um....he uh, he didn’t deserve that....but I had to.” Bucky’s voice is shaky as he puts his words together, “And you know what’s the worst about this?”

“I’d like not to imagine it but I know you should tell me.”

“You remember Yori?”

“Of course, he takes us to that great sushi place sometimes.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he hugs you tighter against his bare chest for some kind of comfort, his voice nothing but a regretful whisper, “I killed his son.”

Your eyes soften as he reveals who this mystery civilian was, “Damn.”

“Out of all the people in this world and I meet the man who’s son I murdered for Hydra.”

“That’s almost a sick joke.”

“I know. God I’m so fucked up.”

“No.” You protest softly while he hides his face in your neck, “I know you’ve heard this a thousand times but that wasn’t you. It wasn’t the real James Buchanan Barnes alright, you didn’t have a choice. Those fuckers took that away from you.”

“I know Y/N, but I still did it.”

“Bucky look at me.” You ask kindly, to your genuine surprise he lifts his head from your neck to look into your determined gaze, “You’re not the only one here who was manipulated and had their freedom taken from them by Hydra. I’ve done terrible things too, but you know what? We were never truly ourselves then, they molded us into their weapons and now.....they can never touch us again. You understand me?”

Tears whell up in Bucky’s shimmering eyes at your truthfully honest words, he had temporarily forgotten that you were once an unwilling participant in Hydra’s mind stone experimentations many years ago.

“I understand....” Mutters Bucky as he swallows hard, “what would I be without you?”

Giving him a small tearful smile, you gently wipe away a stray tear from his cheek, “A little bit more alone I’d say.”

“You’re a hundred times braver then me you know that? I couldn’t image five years without you and these fucking nightmares.” Admits Bucky as he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck, “I’d go insane.”

Appreciating this close proximity and his heartfelt confession, you smile into the darkness, “I think I did. Thing is about shitty situations like that....life moves on and finds a way. I have you now, I thought I would lose you forever.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too.”

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