#this was probably during his breakup with stephen :((( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nysocboy · 2 days

Text

Gemstones Episode 3.7: The Handsome Man, misdirections, queerbaiting, and me yelling at the screen a lot

In Episode 3.6, we saw the aftermath of the Judy/BJ and Kelvin/Keefe breakups, with failed reconciliation attempts, a fist fight, and both Kelvin and Judy quitting their jobs at the church. In this episode, things get even worse.

Title: "Burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe." Exodus 21:25. Fans argued like mad about trying to connect the burn/wound/stripe to the personalities or kidnapping strategies of the Gemstone siblings, but it's a misdirection. The previous verse has the more familiar "eye for eye, tooth for tooth." It just means that the punishment should fit the crime.

Burn for burn and all that: During the evening of the day of the Aimee-Leigh Hologram debacle, the BJ-Stephen penis fight, and probably the Kelvin-Keefe rocking chair fight, Judy goes to a drug store to buy pain medication for BJ. On her way home, goons from Peter's militia crunch her car with the Redeemer and grab her.

Misdirection alert: the trailer makes it look like she is the one crunching.

Chuck Montgomery tries to trick Jesse, and when that doesn't work, the goons shoot him with a tranquilizer dart.

Kelvin bangs on the door at Woodpecker's Carpentry, yelling: "Are there any woodworkers in there? I'm looking for Keefe Chambers!" Now that he's no longer worried about his job at the church, he's free to reconcile with Keefe. But it's long after hours; the building is dark and deserted. Why would anyone be inside? Besides, Keefe told Kelvin where he was working; wouldn't he give him his new home address, too?

Six militia men wearing scary masks surround Kelvin. The trailer makes him look paralyzed with fear, but actually he is quite brave, trying to intimidate them and then defend himself. They punch and hit him, and squirt a toxic liquid into his eyes -- which stings but has no long term effects. Why does Kelvin need six guys to take him down? Why does he get a more brutal kidnapping? I don't know.

Screaming like a woman: The three siblings are put in what everyone calls a chicken silo, although chickens are housed in coops. They are tied to chairs, with pillowcases over their heads. What for? You don't need to be imprisoned and tied up both.

Kelvin yells for help. Uncle Peter enters and asks if he is "screaming like a woman," maybe a dig at his gayness, but more likely because he considers any emotion "like a woman." He explains that the militia is holding them for ransom.

The handsome man: When Keefe arrives for work the next morning, he sees Kelvin's car with the doors still open, checks the ground for signs of a struggle, and asks his coworkers, "Have you seen The Handsome Man?" This makes no sense, as Kelvin only visited once, for a few minutes, and most of the carpenters weren't paying attention.

Cut to Amber and BJ noticing that their partners didn't come home last night. Next, Eli, at the office even though he's retired and should be fishing, receives a scary video of Kelvin crying and Judy and Jesse screaming in rage. The gay one has a "sensitive" reaction. Peter gives the ransom demand.

Cut to BJ, Amber, Gideon, and Eli discussing the kidnapping with Sheriff Brenda. They were kidnapped in town, so it should be the Rogers Police.

Notice that Keefe is not there. Why didn't Eli call him? Because his number has changed, because they have broken up, or because he is just a friend, not a partner?

The Freemans arrive. Tiffany has made dolls of the siblings --very quickly -- "for you to hug and kiss until they come home safe." She gives the Kelvin doll to Eli. Same question:Why doesn't she save it for Keefe? Because they have broken up, or because they were never partners to begin with?

Geography problem: How did they get to Eli's house so fast? Don't they live in Florida?

The trailer made it seem like the militia sent the dolls, adding a hint of the paranormal that turned out to be a misdirection. Still, they look like Gullah Island voodoo dolls: "You can hug and kiss them until your loved ones come home safe. And if they ever stray, you can make their privates fall off."

More queerbaiting after the break

It's Kelvin's casual acquaintance: BJ, Amber, and Gideon walk out into the garden. Keefe finally arrives. Why does it take him longer to get to the compound than the Freemans? There's no evidence that he called the family to see if they knew what happened before driving over.

Upon seeing the partners and Gideon, Keefe walks through some hedges to reach them, while they bicker about his name. "Look, it's Kelvin's friend, Chief.... I always heard it as Quiche." You don't know the name of your brother-in-law's partner, when they've been together for more than two years? And what's with the "friend"? Do they mean a post-breakup friend, or friend as a euphemism for "lover," or are we being told that the guys are actually straight buddies?

Apprised that Kelvin was kidnapped, Keefe offers to help, but Gideon rebuffs him: "The police are handling it." Ok -- "this is a family crisis. I'll go."

Amber nods. Yep, you're a stranger. Not family. Get lost. This infuriated me even on a second viewing. Friggin asshole, Keefe was admitted to the family in Season 2. But, assuming that McBride isn't queer baiting, maybe Amber is referring to the breakup -- Keefe is an ex-lover, no longer family. Or maybe she thinks that gay relationships don't count.

Wait -- BJ calls out: "You're Kelvin's friend. We're family. We're in this together." Amber glares at him, as if to say "He's a casual acquaintance, dude," but she doesn't resist as Keefe says "Together," kneels, and does a weird offering thing to the three of them. Ok, maybe BJ is using "friend" as a closeted term for "lover."

Time for Church: Meanwhile, at the compound, Peter calls the siblings to church.

Timeline problem: This is a weekday -- Keefe had to go to work. Has time elapsed, or does the militia have church every day?

Peter threatens the siblings with a snake, then forces them to lead the service. They can't do it without a well-lit stage, a sound system, a band, sermon notes, hymnals, and so on -- plus they're terrified. Peter judges that they are incompetent -- in spite of their wealth, he is a superior preacher. Has this all been a "whose dick is bigger" contest with Eli?

Back at the office, Jesse's crew has set up a phone-tracking system. Shouldn't the police be doing that? When Peter calls about his ransom demand, Eli tries to keep him on the line by refusing to pay? He hangs up.

The militia guys suggest killing one of the siblings, to let Eli know that they mean business. Timeline problem: If this is the day after the kidnapping, why are they getting so frustrated so soon?

Peter thinks that this is a good idea, and goes to inform them. "I'm going to kill one of you after service today." Timeline problem: Is the church service still going on, or is this the next day? Or the next Sunday? The siblings don't look nearly as disheveled as they would be after a week in the chicken silo.

Kelvin's Butthole: Everyone goes home and puts on their Sunday clothes for a prayer circle. Timeline problem: Why go home and change to pray? Or is this a week later?

Keefe is wearing a BDSM outfit: a carpenter's smock and pants with breakway tabs and a slave collar. This photo, which appeared on IMDB a few days before the episode, is a major misdirection. The Kelvin doll looks like a genital whip, and we can't tell that Amber is sitting next to him. It looks like Keefe is involved in a BDSM scene with an unidentified woman,

At least Eli gave him the Kelvin doll, suggesting that he knows that Keefe is his partner, not a platonic pal.

Your One F*king Guy: In the chicken silo, the siblings discuss their potential murder. If Jesse goes, he wants Judy and Kelvin to take care of his kids. They refuse: "it's a big ask." But Gideon and Pontius are over 18, and Amber will still be around to take care of Abraham. This makes no sense.

Left: a muscleman to make the upcoming queerbaiting palatable.

Kelvin complains that no one will miss him if he goes. Not necessarily, Jesse points out: "Your one fucking guy with the dead eyes and the perm. He'll miss you." Judy agrees. Why doesn't Jesse know Keefe's name? Why does he use a description, as if trying to specify one out of Kelvin's dozens of friends? And most importantly, why "friend,'" Queerbait McBride?

No, Kelvin says, "Not after the type of friend I've been to him. Should've had his back, but now I may never have the chance." I got really angry at these lines the first time, thinking that it was the Big Reveal: "Kelvin and Keefe are buddies. They've never been boyfriends. Fooled you!"

But after watching Episodes 3.8 and 3.9. we know that McBride was not queerbaiting. What could Kelvin possibly mean? Is he just being closeted? Or maybe he means that they've broken up, so technically they are post-breakup friends, not lovers.

Are we almost done here? During the prayer circle, Cousin Karl, unwilling to let his cousins be murdered, calls May-May and tells her where they are being held.

Why doesn't she yell out "I know where they are!" Instead she goes out to her car and drives away. Gideon, waiting in Eli's car, follows. Why is he waiting? Eli is at home. He might not need a driver again until tomorrow. And why doesn't he call the family and say "I'm following May-May to the compound. I'll give you the directions, and you can tell the police."

Cousin Karl, May-May, and Gideon then rescue the siblings. The end. Boo!

The full review is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

#the righteous gemstones #kelvin gemstone #keefe chambers #queerbaiting #misdirection #episode analysis

2 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales-archives · 2 years

Text

Sonny Carisi: Memory of a Love

Word Count: 1542

TW: Heavy angst; talk of chronic illness (endometriosis); infertility.

Sonny should have known you’d be at his sister’s wedding. You had grown up with the younger two Carisi siblings, and you had been best friends with Bella long before you and Sonny started dating in middle school. It was a million years ago, those golden childhood afternoons with you, playing Dungeons and Dragons in his basement, or swapping battered Stephen King paperbacks to scare each other.

A million years ago.

Less time between now and when the two of you had broken up, though that was a kind way to say it. The Sonny of now was far kinder, far more empathetic than the Sonny of back then.

The two of you had been inseparable, so no one was surprised when you started dating. No one was surprised when you both went to St. John’s together for your undergrads. You ended up at NYU for your graduate while Sonny entered the Police Academy, but you stayed together through that too.

You were so inseparable that Sonny couldn’t imagine a life without you. He wanted it all: marriage and a house full of kids. Noisy family dinners and chaperoned school dances and orthodontist appointments and every bit of mundane life that parenthood offered. He proposed and you accepted before he even got the whole question out of his mouth.

And then….

You had always struggled with what his mother obliquely called “women’s troubles,” but Sonny (who prided himself as being a more modern sort of man) knew a bit more of the details. You were always in awful pain during your period, cramping so hard you were often doubled up in bed, weeping. Your own mother – a far more staunch Catholic – had always chalked it up to God’s will and suggested you offer up the pain to God.

Once you moved out of her house, however, you decided to check in with a specialist instead.

And then another, and a third, until you got a diagnosis: endometriosis.

Sonny could live to be a hundred and never forget the despair on your face when you sat him down to tell him the news.

He could live to be a thousand, and he’d never forgive himself for his reaction.

“I probably won’t ever be able to get pregnant,” you told him, haltingly. You gazed at him, your eyes brimming with tears as you explained how the best treatment options seemed to be a hysterectomy, either partial or complete. But Sonny only ever focused on the first part, and he saw his entire imagined future falling away.

“We can’t have a family?” he broke in, and you had recoiled at his tone, at the question itself.

“W-we can be a family,” you replied shakily. “You and me.” The look on his face must have been answer enough, because you added, almost to yourself, “you’re all the family I need, Sonny.”

But you weren’t enough for him. He told you as much. He wanted kids. He wanted to play catch with his sons; he wanted to play with dolls with his daughters. That future was slipping out of his fingers, pulling out of sight, and Sonny made the biggest mistake of his life.

He broke off the engagement. He let you go.

That was five years ago, and he hadn’t seen you or spoken to you since a lone post-breakup morning, when you gave him back the engagement ring without a single word before turning and fleeing.

-----

Of course you were at Bella’s wedding. Your failed relationship with Sonny notwithstanding, you and Bella were still good friends. Bella never mentioned you to Sonny, and he bet his sister never brought him up around you. It was better this way, letting Bella serve as a sort of DMZ between the two of you.

But five years was a long time, and at the reception, Sonny saw you sitting alone as everyone around you danced.

You were more beautiful than ever. You sipped a glass of wine and tapped your foot to the beat of the song, and Sonny was helpless to resist your pull.

And god, you didn’t slap him or throw your drink in his face. He certainly deserved it, and more. He had been so callous back then, a young homicide detective already half-jaded by the world, how little people cared about each other. His time at SVU had recalibrated him. Reminded him what it meant to be human.

“Sonny Carisi,” you said with a small smile as he walked over to you. “Small world.” You gestured at an empty chair beside you. “Have a seat.”

What can a person even say to their first love after five years of silence? After breaking their heart like he did? He’d apologize but “sorry” sounded so flimsy. He’d tell you about the hours he spent on his knees, praying for you, praying for your happiness.

He’d tell you that he realized far too late that you were his family too, or could have been, if he hadn’t been so hurtful and blind to what was right in front of him.

Instead, the two of you just kept it light. He mentioned working with Special Victims. You told him a little about your work as a researcher with NYU. You both mentioned, nearly at the same time, how happy Bella and Tommy seemed.

There was a lull in the conversation, but your smile never faltered and your eyes looked at him so kindly, Sonny started to delve a little deeper.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “I’ve wanted to – “

But he was interrupted just then. A man walked over to the table, plunked down on the other side of you.

Pressed a kiss to your cheek that you tilted to him.

It took a moment for the man to even notice Sonny, it seemed, but then he thrust his hand at him, introduced himself. “I’m Grant,” he said, and that was when Sonny glanced down and noticed the thin band of gold on your finger, on the hand wrapped loosely around the stem of your wine glass.

The thin band of gold whose twin was circling Grant’s finger.

“This is Sonny,” you told your husband, and the man gave a knowing nod before reaching out to squeeze your other hand. A comforting gesture, Sonny thought.

“It’s good to meet you,” Grant said amicably. “I bet you have all the best stories about this one growing up.”

You elbowed your husband playfully, and he used the moment to wrap his arm around your shoulders. Possessive, but gently so.

“It’s all quiet on the western front,” Grant told you, but he turned to Sonny to explain, “kid’s molars are coming in, so she’s been a nightmare at bedtime, but the moment the sitter comes over, she’s an angel.” He shrugged as if to say, what can you do?

Sonny had prayed so much for your happiness that it must have worked. It was a curious blend of jealousy and melancholy, when he realized you were married, but this…

“You have a kid?” he blurted out, and you nodded at him.

“Grant’s sister was a surrogate for us,” you explained simply and there it was – the final twist of the knife in Sonny’s heart. He had dumped you the moment the road seemed rocky, yet here you were: married with a child. Everything he had wanted with you, but had been too stupid to fight for.

“That’s wonderful,” he managed to choke out, and he knew he couldn’t flee the table, so Grant unlocked his phone and showed picture after picture, sinking the blade into his chest a little further each time. It should have been Sonny’s life, but he’s not in any of those pictures: it’s you and your husband and your small daughter, in Central Park and at the Bronx Zoo and at some cabin, and a million pictures in your presumed apartment too.

Every bit of mundane life that parenthood – and marriage – offered.

Bella was the one who finally saved him. She swept over to the table, said her brother had to dance with her, and Sonny walked away from you a second time. He let Bella lead him into a stiff box step, but he couldn’t help the sting of tears when he glanced over his sister’s shoulder and saw how you leaned into your husband, how he brushed a kiss against your temple and murmured something that made you close your eyes and smile.

“You never told me she married,” Sonny told Bella. She only shrugged.

“They eloped, Son. No one knew for a long time.”

“You knew about her having a kid.”

“I knew it would only hurt you,” she countered. “Not that you don’t deserve it.”

There was nothing to be done, of course. Sonny could only let Bella lead him around the dance floor to the soft ballad. There were tears in his eyes as he considered the life he could have had. He could have been the one calling the baby-sitter to check in. He could have been the one with his arm around you, making you laugh softly at whatever he was saying.

Instead, he was here. An outsider looking in, with only the memory of a love.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

72 notes · View notes

anothergolddustwoman · 2 years

Text

Fearless (Taylor's Version) as One Chicago Ships

Howdy! Here it is lyrics or whole songs from Fearless (Taylor's Version) I think apply to One Chicago Ships. Just like for Red (Taylor's Version) I'm doing all cannon ships as they are easier for me to connect songs and lyrics to.

Note: Some sound like I'm just having a conversation with myself oops. It's also a lot of Burzek cause of the status of their relationship and the types of songs from this album. I'm sorry, I hate it too.

Fearless

Brettsey: “There’s a glow off the pavement, you walk me to the car And you know I wanna ask you to dance right there In the middle of the parking lot” You can’t tell me that Sylvie doesn't ask Matt to do this. She probably asked after they talked outside Molly’s in 10x5.

Burzek: Verse 2. I am picturing this as Adam thinking about Kim, but definitely can be switched around.

Hawkami: “You take my hand and drag me head first, Fearless” Violet was so nervous and then Evan just reassured her we got this amazing ship out of it.

Upstead: “You pull me in and I’m a little more brave. It's the first kiss, it’s flawless, really something.” reading this really reminded me of their first kiss

Love Story

Burzek: “We were both young when I first saw you I close my eyes and the flashback stars I’m standing there.” I started crying when I realized this was them. I thought you should know.

I could have related more couples to this song but once I connected that first verse to Burzek my brain stopped functioning and I couldn't connect the song to anyone else.

Hey Stephen

Brettsey: “Boy, you might have me believing I don’t always have to be alone” “Can’t help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain” Sylvie is a hopeless romantic and wants to kiss Matt in the rain all the time and you can't change my mind.

Stellaride: “Why are people always leaving? I think you and I should stay the same” Ope little angst there, but everyone has left Kelly. BUT no worries cause, STELLARIDE IS MARRIED and they are staying the same.

Upstead: “I’ve been holding back this feeling So I’ve got some things to say to you” May I point you to the end of 8x3 where Hailey says “It’s been a long a long time since I saw you as just my partner.”

Burzek: “The way you walk, way you talk, way you say my name It’s beautiful, wonderful, don't you ever change” I read this and just thought of Adam calling Kim darling and I just know down in my heart Kim doesn't want him to stop calling her that.

Hawkami: “Come feel this magic I’ve been feeling since I met you” I’ve already determined that Sparks Fly is their song and this line is the same.

White Horse

Burzek: Unfortunately many of these angsty lyrics could relate to them being broken up and sad, AND I HATE IT.

You Belong With Me

All of the ships as they all belong together. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

Breathe

Burzek: Hello another sad breakup song I am relating to them.

Brettsey: “I see your face in my mind as I drive away ‘Cause none of us thought it was gonna end that way” Now I’m not saying they are broken up, because I don't think that has happened. I refuse to believe it until it is explicitly said. I can see this as Matt starts his trip out to Oregon from either one of them.

The Way I Loved You

Ok so hear me out. The verse where she talks about how wonderful the guy is I feel could go towards any of them.

Also the line “You’re so in love that you act insane” could go for any of them.

Examples: Casey jumping out of the truck for Brett. Stella staying back in multiple fires for Kelly and Kelly doing the same for Stella. Adam fighting with Kev while Kim is missing (still hate that they literally got in a fist fight during that and then just best buddies next episode and seemingly didn't talk about it). Literally everything with North and Voight in season 9 for Upstead. Evan doing everything he can think of to save Violet’s job.

The Best Day

Burzek and Makayla: They are this whole big round thing. I hear “But I know I had the best day with you today” and think of all of them together and the video of Adam dancing in the tutu.

Jump Then Fall

BRETTSEY: I made a post one time when I was listening to the song and just knew it was them, especially in the beginning when they were happy.

Untouchable

I think of this song as just being so enamored with someone and could see this with any of them.

The Other Side Of The Door

Burzek: I can't do this anymore. This is me begging the writers to have them work their shit out and just get back together. Just honestly put us Buzek shippers out of our misery.

Today Was A Fairytale

It's just a good ole fashioned love song. What more can I say? It applies to all of them being happy and in love.

You All Over Me

I think you all know where I’m going with this, but this time I’m giving you a lyric.

Burzek: “But no amount of freedom gets you clean I’ve still got you all over me” They will always be connected no matter what, especially now with Makayla.

Hawkami: Verse 2 the “And your ‘Don’t you wish you had me?’ grin Well I did, so I smiled And I melted like a child” This is basically what happened at the Gala change my mind.

We Were Happy

Burzek: Unfortunately as the writers are cowards and won't give them back to us.

Brettsey: I know they aren't explicitly broken up, but I know they aren't happy as they want to be/could be.

That’s When

Brettsey: The way it starts out reminds me of the conversation about Matt moving to Oregon and Sylvie had to think about what she wanted to do. Then they just worked it out and everything is ok for now.

Bye Bye Baby

Refusing to say who I relate this song to, but I think you all know at this point.

Brettsey: Hear me out. Not in a broken up sense just a LDR sense.

#Taylor Swift songs as One Chicago Ships #brettsey #burzek #hawkami #stellaride #upstead #matt casey #sylvie brett #kim burgess #adam ruzek #evan hawkins #violet mikami #stella kidd #kelly severide #hailey upton #jay halstead #chicago fire #chicago pd

35 notes · View notes

witchoflegends · 2 years

Note

send me questions about the muse meme. How old was Christine when she met Stephen?

send me questions you have about my character!

I like to think that they met during their medical residencies. I've always pictured the two of them being around the same age with Stephen probably starting his residency before Christine. Whether that be due to age or just Stephen's pure intellect and surpassing everyone else (or both), is up for discussion.

I believe they met during that time because of how well the two of them work together in the operating room, and how much Christine immediately goes to Stephen for a second opinion in the first movie. It's because they finished up medical school and started their medical/surgical careers together. They were also able to become close friends before even thinking about dating. It's why they remained friends even after the breakup.

So yeah. I think they've known each other for quite some time. Which, if you're wanting a specific age, I'd say mid to late twenties.

#mystifiicd #headcanon: dr christine palmer #headcanon: doctor strange

3 notes · View notes

stxphxn-strange · 3 years

Text

i found the one, he changed my life (what now?) [i’d love it if we made it, pt. 3]

a/n: holy SHIT i am so happy about the way this turned out, this continues the story of college AU!tony dealing with his ex and the pressure he puts on himself to be honest with his friends. (title from “what now” by rihanna) TW: discussion of abusive relationships, mention of surgery, unhealthy/stalking behaviors, and i think that’s it but pls lmk if there’s anything else i should tag

summary: “He’s obsessed with you [...] I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky elaborated, leaving Anthony at a loss for words.

“It’s a nice day, seasonal allergies aside,” Anthony remarked.

“I would put flowers in your hair and be all cute and shit but I’m trying not to make you sneeze,” Stephen replied. “That would be unfortunate.”

Anthony laughed lightly and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. “You can still pet my head though, that would be nice.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at subtlety?” Stephen asked, beginning to play with Anthony’s hair.

“I think you did this morning,” Anthony replied. “Because you’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” Stephen teased, batting his eyelashes.

“It’s one of many reasons,” Anthony said, a soft smile on his face. “It is really nice out though.”

“Listen I know I’m always on time, but can we make an exception today?” Christine sat across from the couple, her auburn hair made extra bright by the sunlight as she pulled it out of her face. “Sorry I’m late.”

“The way that you’re literally not sorry at all makes that apology for me,” Stephen said. “Don’t worry about it though, we’ve just been hanging out. Where’s Hope?”

“Inside, for some reason,” Christine replied with a shrug.

“Probably because it’s allergy season,” Anthony commented, rolling his eyes as he sneezed again.

“He complains, despite begging me to sit outside with him,” Stephen added.

“That doesn’t sound like me, but go off I guess,” Anthony replied, picking up his phone. “Hey Rhodey, what’s up?”

“Are you running errands by chance?” Rhodey asked.

“Nope, I’m sitting outside with Steph and Christine,” Anthony said. “Why, do you need something?”

“I was just going to ask if I could send you a short list of things I wanted. Not a big deal but I’m out of cereal,” Rhodey replied.

“Text it to me anyway, I don’t think I’m going out but if I do I’ll get whatever you want,” Anthony said with a shrug.

“You’re the best Tones. By the way are you feeling better?” Rhodey asked.

“A little bit. It’s nice just sitting outside,” Anthony replied. “I dunno. I’m not thinking about it.”

“Fair enough. Enjoy the fresh air, don’t worry about the cereal though! See you later.”

“Bye Rhodey, everyone say bye!”

Christine and Stephen shouted their goodbyes as Anthony ended the call.

“You good?” Christine asked kindly.

“Yeah, sorta.” Anthony shrugged again. “I just didn’t sleep a lot last night, so that wasn’t fun. I’ve been stressed out about… things. Turns out it actually is weird to have one of your friends dating your ex.”

Christine hummed. “Tea. I thought there was something bothering you, like more than just the awkwardness. I can read you well enough by now. So what’s wrong?”

“Honestly I don’t want to tell you this exact minute because I feel like the only person who should hear this privately is Bucky. I’ll have to see how I feel after I talk with him, and if I’m okay then I’ll probably tell everyone in the group all at once. I just don’t want to repeat the same story over and over again, that’s going to wear me down,” Anthony replied. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh my god dude that’s fine! No stress,” Christine rushed to assure him. “You just seem sad and I want to help but I also don’t want you to make yourself feel worse, that’s not fair to you.”

Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks Christine.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Christine said.

Anthony sneezed again, not seeing the need to reply beyond that. There was just nothing else to say.

“Let’s go inside,” Stephen suggested. “It’s getting kinda gross out anyway.”

“Oh sorry, that’s because I’m out here. I’ll leave.” Anthony jokingly moved to stand up, laughing raucously when Stephen pulled him into a hug before he even stood.

“Nooo, you’re good! You stay,” Stephen replied. “The sun is out because you’re here.”

Anthony blushed and buried his head against Stephen’s collarbone. “Oh hush.”

Christine stood up. “I may as well go inside while you two idiots keep flirting, now my allergies are acting up.”

“You’re not allergic to pollen,” Stephen remarked, standing up and offering Anthony his hand.

“I’m not allergic to most things, but I’m allergic to your bullshit,” Christine quipped. “I feel like I tell you that at least once a week.”

Anthony laughed and stood up, smiling as he wrapped his arms around Stephen’s waist.

“In all seriousness, you’re cute together,” Christine continued.

“Oh we know,” Anthony said. “How was your day Christine?”

The trio headed inside as Christine thought about how to answer.

“Honestly I don’t think anything even happened today.” she finally said. “Hope and I had breakfast together and I quite literally ran into Carol in the library. It was nice to catch up with her though because I feel like I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Now that I think about it, I also feel like I haven’t seen Carol in a long time,” Stephen said.

“We didn’t talk for too long since we were in the library, but she seems good,” Christine replied. “I think she and Val are still unpacking so they’ve been focused on that, y’know?”

“Makes sense. Props to them for moving in the middle of the year, that’s too much for me. That’s why I’m making everyone wait until the summer,” Anthony said.

“You’re not making anyone wait, you’re just making sense,” Stephen corrected him. “Moving is stressful enough, I don’t want to deal with it during exam season and neither does anyone else.”

“Can I plan your housewarming party?” Christine asked, opening the apartment door.

“Who said anything about a housewarming party?” Anthony replied.

“Wong said I could throw one once you’re all moved in,” Christine explained. “We don’t have a contract in writing yet, but that’s because—”

“Because I never said you could throw us a party!” Wong shouted from the living room. He was sitting in his usual armchair by the window, half paying attention to whatever show Bucky and an all too familiar blond were watching. “Also Bucky is here again, and he brought a friend.”

“Boyfriend,” Bucky chimed in. “We’re going to dinner soon, I just left my jacket here the other day and then I decided I’d introduce Steve to you guys. So yeah, this is my boyfriend Steve. Steve, this is Christine, Stephen, and I think you know Tony. I heard there’s a history there or something.”

Bucky was trying his best to prematurely make the best of an awkward situation, but Steve was the only one who found any humor in what he said.

The offending blond laughed and nodded, his expression unreadable in a way that made Anthony freeze. He was looking with condescension at their entwined hands, like he didn’t approve of Stephen and Anthony finally being together. With an arrogant sniff, he got off his high horse long enough to respond. “I know him and Stephen, actually. You both look good.”

“Thanks,” Stephen replied, his teeth bared in a forced, blatantly hostile grin.

Anthony rubbed at his eyes, tearing up from the situation and his allergies. “Yeah good to see you too, if you’ll excuse me I need to take some allergy medication.” He couldn’t run and hide in the bathroom fast enough, and he knew everyone in the room could see him trembling.

Stephen let his genuine emotion break through his façade for a moment, frowning as he watched Anthony retreat. His steely look of disapproval returned a minute later as he sat down in the kitchen, eavesdropping on the group’s conversation.

“Mind if I get some water? I didn’t get to hydrate as much today,” Steve asked.

Stephen, pretending to be busy, glared at his phone like he was reading a poorly worded email. He paid little attention to the blond as he bumbled around the kitchen, following Wong’s directions on where to find cups and the Brita and other shit.

“So you’ve finally come back to the city, hm? Tony used to tell me about how you both grew up here and how New York never left you,” Steve asked Stephen. He was making an extremely poor attempt to sound friendly, but all he did was make the med student extremely uncomfortable.

Stephen gave a forced laugh. “Yeah, they couldn’t keep me away.”

“Seems like you couldn’t keep yourself away from Tony either, not with the amount of times he cheated on me with you,” Steve remarked.

“Listen, we both know that’s not true and I barely want to give you the time of day. You know damn well he never cheated on you and I don’t have to justify myself to you. After all, you were the cheater. If you think I’m just going to roll over in my own apartment and let you run your mouth like that, especially knowing how badly you treated my Anthony, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Stephen snapped. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Clearly anyone who thinks I’m aggressive and controlling hasn’t met you,” Steve said, closing the fridge and leaving Stephen fuming in the kitchen.

After 15 minutes of ignoring some small talk, Stephen had had enough. Anthony was still hiding somewhere and Stephen was just over Steve being in his apartment. He was trying not to be too angry, because Bucky didn’t know about how Steve and Anthony’s breakup or relationship went. Stephen couldn’t, and didn’t, blame him.

But Steve was a coward and a jerk, and Stephen wouldn’t touch him with an 11 foot pole. Stephen wouldn’t even get close to him to shove him headfirst out the door, actually.

“I’m gonna be in my room studying if you guys need anything, enjoy your dinner Bucky!” He said, waving at his friends in the living room and pointedly ignoring Steve.

“Thanks man! If you want to hang out later, maybe on a double date or something—”

“Oh I’d love that!” Steve chimed in, unprovoked and uninvited.

“Depends on what Ant’s doing, I know I’m pretty busy tonight but if he wants to go out then we’ll let you know,” Stephen said firmly. He heard the bathroom door open behind him and Anthony’s light footsteps in the hall.

“I think I’ll just run to the bathroom before we leave, if that’s alright?” Steve asked.

“Are you asking me?” Stephen replied, ignoring him and heading in the direction of his bedroom. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

Anthony was standing nervously outside Stephen’s room, staring at the floor. He looked horrified and meek, pressing his back against the wall and hoping he’d disappear out of Steve’s gaze.

But of course he wasn’t that lucky. Sometimes it felt like he’d never truly get away from the way Steve used to look at him and was apparently still looking at him.

Anthony looked up as Stephen gently tapped his shoulder. “Hey… you alright?”

He forced himself to nod, tears still pooling in his eyes from either anxiety or allergies. Maybe both. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just—”

“Oh there you are Tony! Bucky and I are leaving, so I thought I’d say goodbye,” Steve said, lingering in the doorway to the bathroom. “Maybe we could go for a double date later? If you’re allowed to, that is. I always said Strange was a controlling downgrade, didn’t I?”

“Good thing I never listened when you said that, because I’m much happier now,” Anthony muttered.

“Aww, don’t be a bad sport! It’ll be just like the glory days.” Steve appeared to be ignoring his current relationship to flirt with Anthony, stepping out of the doorway and leaning closer (read: too close for comfort) to him.

“I don’t know about that,” Anthony said, his voice taut. “I wouldn’t want to be around you for much longer. Seeing you is already making me think about our… could you call it a relationship?”

“You’re so funny Tony, just as funny as I remember.” Steve sounded like a content house cat as he quite literally purred at Tony. “I miss that humor. I just miss you.”

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

++++

“Not to state the obvious, but I hate that guy,” Stephen muttered, storming into the kitchen a few hours later.

“Is Ant okay?” Wong hadn’t moved from his seat in the living room, except for the fact that he was laying across the armchair sideways and there were three more mystery novels next to him.

“He’s sleeping. Even before all of that shit went down,” Stephen began, gesturing to the air in front of him, “We were outside for long enough that even if he won’t admit it, his allergies are bothering him.”

“How long were you outside for before I came to sit with you guys?” Christine asked.

“Maybe 90 minutes? Long enough to be considered too long,” Stephen replied. “It doesn’t matter. Did you guys eat yet?”

“No, we were waiting on you and Pepper. She said she’d be back by 7,” Christine said.

“What do you want? I’m open to suggestions,” Stephen asked. “I kinda want to make pasta but I know I’m not good enough at it so it wouldn’t make Anthony happy.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stephen. It absolutely would, and you know that,” Christine scolded him. “Do whatever you feel like! And I think pasta sounds nice.”

Stephen nodded. “Fair enough. I’m making ravioli and none of you can stop me. We deserve it.”

“Oh no Stephen don’t do that, don’t make something that you like to cook and that we all like to eat,” Wong teased. “Christine, he’s too powerful, we have to stop him.”

Stephen humorously rolled his eyes. “Anthony is the one who gave me a good recipe, so technically we all have him to thank for enabling me. Except not right now. Let him sleep.”

++++

“Oh by the way, I told Bucky that I’d get coffee with him later and we’re going to talk about whatever the hell happened this weekend,” Anthony said. “Do you want me to bring you back anything while I’m out?”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” Stephen drew a heart on the back of Anthony’s hand with his thumb, something he noticed himself doing a lot.

Anthony always rewarded him for the gesture with the smallest, shyest smile that Stephen thought was the most adorable thing ever. “Text me if you change your mind, yeah?”

“Okay, I will.” Stephen smiled back at him, lovingly brushing Anthony’s hair out of his face. “Also if I send you a list will you help me decide on a movie for tonight?”

“Not sure you’re asking the right person, but sure,” Anthony replied.

“That’s subjective. I think I’m asking the right person,” Stephen said. “You’ve never steered me wrong before.”

“I hope I never do.” Anthony pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Stephen’s lips. “But knowing you, you’ll definitely change your mind about wanting a tea or something.”

“If I do, I’ll tell you,” Stephen replied, smiling into the kiss. “Promise. Have a good day, and good luck later.”

“I think I’m going to need it,” Anthony said with a little nervous laugh.

“Would a kiss help your luck?” Stephen couldn’t keep a neutral face. “I never imagined myself saying that. Or getting to kiss you.”

“Stop it, don’t make me blush this early in the day,” Anthony replied. “In all seriousness, I love you. And your kisses are magical, who’s to say they aren’t lucky?”

++++

Anthony couldn’t say whether or not he felt lucky later that day, because the only thing he felt was nervous. Bucky looked just as nervous and sheepish as Anthony did, and his internal monologue had already switched to guilt. They exchanged small talk and pleasantries while they waited for their coffee, their mutual discomfort becoming more and more tangible by the minute.

Most people joked that Anthony talked to hear the sound of his own voice, but today he was so nervous he couldn’t hear himself think. He didn’t know what to say or even where to start. Thankfully, Bucky blurted out a question before Anthony thought about how to start the conversation.

“How long were you two together?”

“Two and a half years, give or take. And I didn’t cheat on him with Stephen.”

“I didn’t think so. I wasn’t even going to ask about that.” Bucky smiled, trying to somehow calm Anthony down with his expression. “Who broke it off?”

“Me. Sometimes I feel like I did it a lot later than I should have, honestly.” Anthony shrugged. “I wasn’t ever happy in that relationship. I wanted to be, and I did everything I could to make it work even at my own expense, but eventually I had to end it. I’m happier now, but sometimes I still… I shouldn’t say any of this to you, not if you’re happy.”

“You know what bothers me, though?”

Anthony wasn’t expecting that. “What’s up?”

“I don’t think he’s over you. And that doesn’t bother me in a jealous sense, I’m not like that, but I feel almost used. Especially after this weekend,” Bucky said.

“What do you mean?” That worried Anthony for a lot of reasons, and he couldn’t decide which one was the most important.

“Tony, he's obsessed with you. The entire time we were driving Sunday night he wouldn’t stop talking about you, to the point where it was weird. I started to feel like he used me to see you,” Bucky replied. “One time I showed him a group picture, this was like six months ago, from that time we went out ice skating and ever since then he’s been pestering me about you. I don’t even think it has anything to do with me, if that makes sense.”

“I’m not following,” Anthony admitted. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky said. “Now as I said it’s not jealousy, I just think it’s a bit disturbing that he’s so hung up on you.”

Anthony nodded slowly. “Yeah, I don’t like that. He didn’t want me to dump him but I had to, there’s no two ways about it. What happened Sunday?”

“We had a disagreement. I told him I felt used and he wasn’t happy about that, but he didn’t deny it either,” Bucky replied. “I was hoping he’d drop the whole thing but I don’t think he’s going to. I don’t think he’s going to ever get over you, honestly.”

“Damn. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that.” Anthony nervously ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to pull at it. “Um… yeah I don’t really know what to think or what to say.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky admitted. “I really want to try things out with him and see how they continue, but I also don’t think he’s going to change. Now that he’s actually seen you, I feel like it’s only going to be more awkward.”

“Oh about that, I’m sorry I didn’t want to go out the other day,” Anthony said. “I was going to try and make myself power through it, but… just being around him for however long you guys were in the apartment was way too much. I got really anxious and just hid in Stephen’s room. And then, on an unrelated note, I ended up sleeping for 14 hours or something.”

“I’m sorry if I was forceful. I didn’t know how to subtly ask if he was making you uncomfortable in the moment, but I could see it,” Bucky replied. “I don’t blame you.”

Anthony shrugged. “Dude I’m at a loss, generally speaking. I don’t know what to say about everything you just told me, but honestly I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Are you going to see Stephen? I’m meeting Christine, so if you want I’ll walk with you,” Bucky offered.

Anthony nodded. “Sure.”

“I really am sorry, Tony. For everything this weekend, and if something I said upset you after your wisdom tooth surgery,” Bucky said.

“It’s not your fault. I’ve been stressing about how to tell everyone about that relationship for too long and the way I felt when I woke up just reminded me of something I still don’t really want to talk about,” Anthony replied. “There’s a lot I’m holding back, even from you, but I’m just not ready to go into all of that yet.”

“I won’t be upset if you tell me,” Bucky tried to comfort him.

“It’s less about that and more the fact that I don’t want to even think about it. I don’t want to think about him,” Anthony said. “I don’t want to hear his voice, or see him, or even hear about him, if I’m being honest. And I feel bad, because I know you love him, but—”

“But you’re my friend, and I care about you. Plus you’re way too polite to be direct when something or someone upsets you and I think that does more harm than good. You just end up keeping everything to yourself, and you don’t have to,” Bucky interrupted. “You don’t have to be a closed book all the time.”

Anthony smiled at that. “Stephen’s said that to me before. I don’t know why, but I like that phrasing. I’m not one to open up in general, even though I trust everyone in our friend group, but this feels like it’s too much to get into the open right now. Someday I’ll be ready, but not today. It doesn’t help that this weekend was honestly too soon.”

“That’s fair man,” Bucky replied. “I don’t have to tell you that Stephen loves the shit out of you, and you deserve that.”

“I could go on and on about Steph probably endlessly,” Anthony said, hiding his face as he blushed.

“Everyone knows that, even people who have never met either of you know that!” Bucky teased. “But honestly, are you okay?”

Anthony shrugged. “Yes and no. I just need time.”

“I understand. And I am really, really sorry about this weekend,” Bucky replied. “Forgive me?”

Anthony shook his head. “Do I need to? It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not, but still… I’m sorry. I hope that means something, at least.”

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @taruyison @chocopiggy @majesticnerdynerd @spooky-n-spunky @merlynthedisasterchild @kitkatfat15 @maya-custodios-dionach @katninjagirl97

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #my ironstrange college au #protective stephen strange #james rhodey rhodes #wong #protective Bucky #james bucky barnes #christine palmer #implied christine/hope #implied valcarol #not steve rogers friendly #implied anti stony #implied anti stucky #ok off to dream about part 4

47 notes · View notes

kxhlzn · 4 years

Text

[ 🌱 ] a masterlist for all my works to make things easier to find. it will be broken up by media. enjoy!!

♡ note: all works are female reader! i will write for gender-neutral should i receive a request as such, but i won't write for male reader. my apologies! also! please please PLEASE follow my we heart it— it has collections for all my fics, but with original characters because i base my reader inserts off of oc stories i'm writing.

��︎ we heart it: kxssiewrites ☁︎

➣ fandoms i write for :

harry potter

star wars

detroit: become human

vampire diaries

outer banks

stephen king's it

anne with an 'e'

reign

thirteen reasons why

merlin

the 100

criminal minds

marvel

shameless

the witcher

✧ 𝘓𝘌𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘋 ✧

[ 🍄 fluff | 🌿angst | 🌷drabble | 🦋 series ]

❁ note: actively, i do not write smut— but i may do so in the future.

✘𝘋𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘐𝘛: 𝘉𝘌𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕 ✘

♡ connor x reader.

— I Walk The Line [🌿🦋🍄]

An Android called Connor approaches you and Hank Anderson about a murder, and you find yourself fascinated by his nature; You vow to prove that Androids are just as human as you are, even if it means breaking your own heart in the process.

☁︎ chapter - one.

✘𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘗𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎: 𝘐𝘛✘

♡ stanley uris/beverly marsh x reader.

— The Birdwatcher & His Lover [🦋🌿🍄]

It's the year 1989 that you realize you're in love with your childhood friend, Beverly Marsh— And it's that same year you realize she doesn't feel the same way. It takes a highschool reunion in your twenties to discover you were someone else's Beverly.

☁︎ chapter one (rewritten vers).

☁︎ chapter one (original vers).

☁︎ chapter two (original vers).

☁︎ chapter three (original vers).

✘𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘙 𝘞𝘈𝘙𝘚✘

♡ poe dameron/armitage hux x reader.

— In A Crown [🦋🌿🍄]

A child heir to the throne of Hosnian, you are tucked away on Tatooine following an attempt on your life; Eight years later, a snarky pilot aids you in an escape from former slavers, and enlists you in the Resistance— Unaware that your presence endangers the entire rebellion.

☁︎ story teaser.

♡ kylo ren x reader.

— Black [🌿🌷]

Kylo Ren fights the attraction between the two of you because he recognizes a rebellion in your heart; One he can't control, nor admit.

☁︎ link.

✘𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘙𝘠 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘌𝘙✘

♡ remus lupin x (hufflepuff)reader.

— Butterfingers [🍄🦋🌿]

All the Marauders would say that you are a truly honest person; However, they don't expect you to announce you're in love with one of them as if you're discussing the weather.

☁︎ in writing stage.

♡ fred weasley x (hufflepuff)reader.

— Trouble, Probably [🍄🦋]

Being partners in crime with the Weasley twins has been nothing short of ideal — Until a prank goes awry and you discover your menacing heritage as a Lestrange. Despite the news, it also unravels the history of your adoptive parents, and how their adolescent romance mirrors your friendship with Fred Weasley.

note: In relation to "Butterfingers", so I reccomend reading through that before this so you have the whole experience.

☁︎ in writing stage.

♡ sirius black x (ravenclaw)reader.

— Birdbrain [🍄🦋🌿]

As eccentric as Xenophilius Lovegood, you find sanctum in a tight-knit group of troublemakers after your owl, Frog, dies during a thunderstorm. The next day, a toad is found at your bedside with a note declaring your giftgiver was no other than Sirius Black; And your toad's name is Peabody.

☁︎ in writing stage.

✘𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕𝘚 𝘞𝘏𝘠✘

♡ zach dempsey/jeff atkins x reader.

— The Art Of Forgiveness [🌿🍄]

A year after the tragic death of your boyfriend, Jeff Atkins, your school counselor assigns each person who was close with him a "grieving partner"; In your case, you get Zach Dempsey, who is determined to show you all the ways life is worth living.

☁︎ in writing stage.

✘𝘊𝘙𝘐𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘈𝘓 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘚✘

♡ spencer reid x reader.

— Retrouvailles [🍄🦋]

You're the BAU's favorite snowflake, as says Derek Morgan— Your caring, sensitive nature being the inspiration for such a role. Even with his teasing, you're more than happy to be a mediator for everyone as well as the optimist; Especially when Reid is involved.

☁︎ in writing stage.

✘𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙✘

❝ [ OUTER BANKS ] ❞

♡ jj maybanks x reader.

— Too Young To Burn [🍄🌿]

After your (final) breakup with JJ, the two of you argue like cats and dogs, with tensions rising; The rest of the Pogues are caught in the middle more often than not, and matters worsen when you all discover a boat after a storm.

☁︎ in writing stage.

❝ [ REIGN ] ❞

♡ sebastian de poitiers x reader.

— Paralian [🍄]

Having been declared "Queen of the Caribbean" upon your sixth birthday, you were born into a pirate's life of high seas and deception. Your crew, the Night Monkeys, were infamous for their influence and power among fellow buccaneers, and they had much control over the waters across the world. However, when there is news of disruption for the crew, they send you to France to make nice with the French Court in order to win their favor, and in addition, back their territories.

☁︎ in writing stage.

❝ [ ANNE WITH AN 'E' ] ❞

♡ gilbert blythe x reader.

— March Comes In Like A Lion [🍄🌿🦋]

It's easy being the messenger between the boys and girls of the Avonlea school and Gilbert Blythe's naive best friend until Anne Shirley arrives; She marches in clad with a fiery red mane and a toothy grin. You've always felt you had a place among your classmates as the dreamer and storyteller, but suddenly you're not sure where you belongs anymore.

☁︎ in writing stage.

Please do not plagiarize any of my work or repost it, and I don't allow translations of any kind. Enjoy! Requests are always open.

Thank you! 💓

221 notes · View notes

oscopelabs · 3 years

Text

It’s Arrested Development: How ‘High Fidelity’ Has Endured Beyond Its Cultural Sell-By Date by Vikram Murthi

It’s easy to forget now that at the beginning of 2020, before the pandemic had taken hold of our consciousness, for a brief moment, High Fidelity was back. Not only did Nick Hornby’s debut novel and Stephen Frears’ film adaptation celebrate major milestones this year — 25th and 20th anniversaries, respectively — but a TV adaptation premiered on Hulu in February. In light of all of these arbitrary signposts, multiple thinkpieces and remembrances litigated Hornby’s original text on familiar, predictable grounds. Is the novel/film’s protagonist Rob actually an asshole? (Sure.) Does Hornby uphold his character’s callous attitudes towards women? (Not really.) Hasn’t the story’s gatekeeping, anti-poptimist approach to artistic taste culturally run its course? (Probably.) Why do we need to revisit this story about this person right now? (Fair question!)

Despite reasonable objections on grounds of relevancy, enough good will for the core narrative—record store owner seeks out a series of exes to determine a pattern of behavior following a devastating breakup—apparently exists to help produce a gender-flipped streaming show featuring updated musical references and starring a decidedly not-middle-aged Zoë Kravitz. I only made it through six of ten episodes in its first (and only) season, but I was surprised by how closely the show hewed to High Fidelity’s film adaptation, to the point of re-staging numerous scenes down to character blocking and swiping large swaths of dialogue wholesale. (Similarly, the film adaptation hewed quite close to the novel, with most of the dialogue ripped straight from Hornby.) Admittedly, the series features a more diverse cast than the film, centering different experiences and broadly acknowledging some criticisms of the source material regarding its ostensibly exclusionary worldview. Nevertheless, it seemed like a self-defeating move for the show to line itself so definitively with a text that many consider hopelessly problematic, especially considering the potential to repurpose its premise as a springboard for more contemporary ideas.

High Fidelity’s endurance as both a piece of IP and a flashpoint for media discourse is mildly baffling for obvious reasons. For one thing, its cultural milieu is actually dated. Even correcting for vinyl’s recent financial resurgence, the idea of snooty record store clerks passing judgment on customer preferences has more or less gone the way of the dodo. With the Internet came the democratization of access, ensuring that the cultivation of personal taste is no longer laborious or expensive, or could even be considered particularly impressive (if it ever could have been). Secondly, as one might imagine, some of Hornby’s insights into heterosexual relationships and the differences between men and women, even presented through the flawed, self-deprecating interiority of High Fidelity’s main character, are indeed reductive. Frears’ film actually strips away the vast majority of Hornby’s weaker commentary, but the novel does include such cringeworthy bits like, “What’s the deal with foreplay?” that are best left alone.

Accounting for all of that, though, it’s remarkable how many misreadings of Hornby’s text have been accepted as conventional wisdom. It’s taken as a given by many that the novel and film earnestly preach the notion that what you like is more important than what you are like when, in fact, the narrative arc is constructed around reaching the opposite conclusion. (The last lines of the novel and film are, literally, “…I start to compile in my head a compilation tape for her, something that's full of stuff she's heard of, and full of stuff she'd play. Tonight, for the first time ever, I can sort of see how it's done.”) That’s relatively minor compared to the constant refrain that Rob’s narcissism goes uncriticized, even though the story’s thematic and emotional potency derives from what the audience perceives that Rob cannot. To put it bluntly, High Fidelity’s central irony revolves around a man who listens to music for a living being unable to hear the women in his life.

While Hornby’s prose immerses the reader in Rob’s interior monologue, providing ample room for the character to spout internal justifications of his behavior, the novel hardly obscures or conceals this conclusion. Moreover, the film makes it unavoidably explicit in numerous scenes. Rob (John Cusack) triumphantly pantomimes Rocky Balboa’s boxing routine soundtracked to Queen’s “We Are The Champions” after his ex-girlfriend Laura (Iben Hjejle) confirms she hasn’t yet slept with her new boyfriend Ray (Tim Robbins), but doesn’t hear the part where she says she prefers to sleep next to him. When Laura informs Rob that she did eventually sleep with Ray, Rob completely falls apart. In an earlier, more pointed scene, Rob goes out with his ex-girlfriend from high school (Joelle Carter) to ask why she chose to have sex with an obnoxious classmate instead of him. She venomously informs him that he actually broke up with her because she was too prudish, an abrupt, cruel bit of business we actually witness at the film’s beginning. It was in her moment of heartbroken vulnerability that she agreed to quickly sleep with someone else (“It wasn’t rape because I technically said, ‘Okay,’ but it wasn’t far off,” she sneers), which ultimately put her off sex until after college. Rob doesn’t hear this explanation or the damning portrait of his teenaged self. Instead, he’s delighted to learn that he wasn’t actually dumped.

These are evidently low character moments, one’s that are comedic in their depiction of blinkeredness but whose emotional takeaways are crystal clear, and one’s that have been written about before. My personal pick from the film, though, comes late when Rob attends Laura’s father’s funeral. He sits in the back and, in typical fashion, turns to the camera to deliver a list of songs to play at his funeral, concluding with his professed wish that “some beautiful, tearful woman would insist on ‘You’re The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me’ by Gladys Knight.” It’s a really galling, egotistical moment that still makes me wince despite having seen the movie umpteen times. Yet, it’s immediately followed by the casket being lowered to the ground as Laura’s sobs ring out in the church. In a movie defined by John Cusack’s vocal timbre, it’s one of the few times when he completely shuts up. From two-thirds down the center aisle, Frears’ camera pushes into Cusack’s face until tears in his eyes are visible, but what you really see is an appropriately guilt-ridden, ashamed expression.

However, none of this evidence carries any weight if your objection to High Fidelity is that Rob suffers no material consequences for his behavior. While Rob is frequently called out for his actions, he is never actively punished. He doesn’t, say, receive a restraining order for continually calling Laura after they’ve broken up or end up alone mending a permanent broken heart because of his past relationships. By the end, Rob and Laura get back together and Rob even starts an independent record label on the side. It’s a stretch to characterize Hornby’s High Fidelity as a redemption tale, but it is a sideways rehabilitation narrative with a happy ending that arises at least partly out of mutual exhaustion.

Those two elements—Rob’s asshole recovery and the exhausted happy ending—rarely seem to factor into High Fidelity discourse. Granted, there’s credence to the idea that, socially and culturally, people have less patience for the personality types depicted in High Fidelity, and thus are less inclined to extend them forgiveness, let alone anything resembling retribution. I suppose that’s a valid reaction, one against which I have no interest in arguing, but it’s somewhat ironic that High Fidelity has endured for reasons that have nothing to do with its conclusions regarding inflexible personal principles and the folly of escapism. Both the book and film are specifically about someone who slowly comes to terms with accepting reality rather than live in a world mediated by pop cultural fantasies whose unrealistic expectations have only caused personal suffering. It’s not unfair to characterize this as a fairly obvious epiphany, but considering we currently live in a world dominated by virtual echo chambers with an entertainment culture committed to validating arrested adolescence, it retroactively counts as “mature” and holds more weight than it otherwise should.

Near the end of High Fidelity, the book, after Rob and Laura have gotten back together in the aftermath of Laura’s father’s death, Hornby includes a chapter featuring five conversations between the couple unpacking the state of their relationship. During the third conversation, Rob and Laura fight about how she doesn’t care about music as strongly as he does, catalyzed by Rob’s objection to Laura liking both Solomon Burke and Art Garfunkel, which, in his mind, is a contradiction in terms. Laura finally admits that not only does she not really care about the difference between them, but that most people outside of his immediate circle of two don’t care about the difference, and that this mentality is indicative of a larger problem. It’s part of what keeps him stuck in his head and reluctant to commit to anything. “I’m just trying to wake you up,” she says. “I'm just trying to show you that you've lived half your life, but for all you've got to show for it you might as well be nineteen, and I'm not talking about money or property or furniture.”

I fell for High Fidelity (first the movie, then the book) as a younger man for the reasons I assume most sensitive-cum-oblivious, culturally preoccupied straight guys do: it accurately pinpoints a pattern of music consumption and organizationally anal-retentive behavior with which I’m intimately familiar. I spent the vast majority of my early years listening to and cataloguing albums, and when I arrived at college, I quickly fell in with a small group of like-minded music obsessives. We had very serious, very prolonged discussions filled with impossibly strong opinions about our favorite artists and records. Few new releases came and went without them being scrutinized by us, the unappreciated scholars of all that is righteous. List-making wasn’t in vogue, but there wasn’t a song that passed us by that we didn’t judge or size up. I was exposed to more music during this relatively short period of time than I likely will ever absorb again. Some of these times were the most engaging and fun of my life, and I still enjoy discussing and sharing music with close friends, but I’m not such a true believer to fully feel comfortable with this behavior. It’s not entirely healthy on its own and definitely alienating to others, and there comes a point when you hear yourself the way a stranger might, or maybe even catch a glimpse of someone’s eyes when you’re midst rant about some stupid album, and realize, “That’s all there is of me. There isn’t anything else.”

This is what Rob proclaims to Laura in the conversation when she tells him she was more interested in music during their courtship than she is now. It’s a patently self-pitying statement on his part that doesn’t go unchallenged by her in the moment or bear fruit in the rest of the novel. Yet, it’s this type of uncomfortably relatable sentiment that goes under-discussed. If High Fidelity will continue to have a life well after its cultural moment has passed, then it’s worth addressing what it offers on its own terms. Near the end of the book, Laura introduces Rob to another couple with whom he gets along quite well. When the evening comes to an end, she tells him to take a look at their record collection, and it’s predictably filled with artists he doesn’t care for, e.g. Billy Joel, Simply Red, Meat Loaf. “'Everybody's faith needs testing from time to time,” Laura tells him later when they’re alone. Amidst Rob’s self-loathing and sullen pettiness, Hornby argues that one should contribute in some way rather than only consume and that, at some point, it’s time to put away childish ideas in order to get the most out of life. It’s an entirely untrendy argument, one that goes against the nostalgic spirit of superhero films and reboot culture, but it doesn’t lack merit. Accepting that some values aren’t conducive to a full life, especially when it’s shared with someone else, doesn’t have to mean abandoning interests or becoming an entirely different person. It just means that letting go isn’t an admission of defeat.

It’s why I’ve always found the proposal scene in the film to be quite moving, albeit maybe not specifically romantic. It plays out similarly in both the book and the film, but the film has the added benefit of Cusack and Hjejle’s performances to amplify the vulnerability and shared understanding. Laura meets Rob for a drink in the afternoon where he sheepishly asks if she would like to get married. Laura bursts out laughing and says that he isn’t the safest bet considering he was making mixtapes for some reporter a few days prior. When asked what brought this on, Rob notes that he’s sick of thinking about love and settling down and marriage and wants to think about something else. (“I changed my mind. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I do. I will,” she sarcastically replies.) He goes on to say that he’s tired of fantasizing about other women because the fantasies have nothing to do with them and everything to do with himself and that it doesn’t exist never mind delivering on its promise. “I’m tired of it,” he says, “and I’m tired of everything else for that matter, but I don’t ever seem to get tired of you.”

This sort of anti-Jerry Maguire line would be callous if Laura didn’t basically say the same thing to him when they got back together. (“I’m too tired not to be with you.”) It’s possible to read this as an act of mutual settling, but I always thought Hornby’s point was personal growth and accepting one’s situation were intertwined. The key moment in High Fidelity, the film, comes when Laura finds Rob’s list of top five dream jobs. (In the book, Laura makes Rob compile the list.) At the bottom of the list, after such standard choices like music journalist and record producer, lies architect, a job that Rob isn’t entirely sure about anyway. (“I did put it at number five!” he insists.) Laura asks Rob the obvious question: wouldn’t you rather own your own record store than hypothetically be an architect, a job you’re not particularly enthused with anyway?

It’s Laura who convinces Rob that living the fifth-best version of your life can actually be pretty satisfying and doesn’t have to be treated like a cruel fate worse than death. Similarly, Rob and Laura both make the active decision to try to work things out instead of starting over with someone else. Laura’s apathy may have reunited them, and Rob’s apathy might have kept him from running, but it’s their shared history that keeps them together. More than the music and the romance, High Fidelity follows the necessary decisions and compromises one has to maneuver in order to grow instead of regress. “I've been letting the weather and my stomach muscles and a great chord change in a Pretenders single make up my mind for me, and I want to do it for myself,” Rob says near the end of Hornby’s novel. High Fidelity’s emotional potency lies in taking that sentiment seriously.

40 notes · View notes

dear-wormwoods · 4 years

Note

Someone truly in the reddie tag saying Myra was not abusive and that she wasn’t like Sonia. Even saying Bev and Eddie don’t have similar arcs bc their abusive situations were entirely different and that people just reach to bend arguments in order to prove reddie. Biggest bs I have read in a while ahdhd

I’m assuming you are new to my blog, because uhh, I’m sorry to burst your bubble anon, but I am also someone who doesn’t consider Myra abusive. Idk what post you’re talking about specifically but I’d sure like to know what ‘proving reddie’ has to do with it, lol. But anyway, I have said before that I consider Eddie’s marriage to be toxic, but not abusive. These two people should not be married. And not just because Eddie is gay and doesn’t love her. Beyond that, they are definitely bad for each other. The entire marriage is a conduit for misery and deception. It’s a codependent circus of projection and enabling. It’s unhealthy as hell! But it isn’t abusive. And here’s why I think that:

Stephen King wasn’t trying to make a point that Sonia and Myra are exactly the same. He was, however, making a point that when people enter into adulthood and adult relationships while carrying a bunch of baggage from trauma they never properly dealt with, the cycle will continue in one way or another (this is why Eddie and Bev are ‘parallel’ characters, not the surface-level abuse interpretation). Eddie suffered from emotional abuse for most of his life; Sonia was very calculating and intentional about it and made sure that she always held sway in Eddie’s life to suit her own needs. The result is that Eddie is a very inexperienced and sheltered adult who believes in all of the lies his mother told him. He tried to move out three times and failed each time. Sonia controlled him until the day she died. It’s all Eddie knows. So in his mid-thirties, alone in the world for the first time, he doesn’t know how to take care of himself and, more importantly, believes he can’t learn. Because of his history of abuse and control, Eddie can’t fathom taking the reins in his own life and instead seeks out someone who will take care of him the way he’s become accustomed to.

So, Eddie meets Myra and latches onto her because she’s inexperienced and malleable, like him. She physically reminds him of his mother, so it’s easy for him to project onto her all of the abuse Sonia inflicted on him. And because that life was all he knew, it was also what made him feel comfortable, so he nudged Myra into the role he wanted her to fill - a replacement mom. He did this subconsciously at first, but he was able to recognize it before they got married… and then he decided to go through with it anyway.

Eddie brought a lot of baggage into that relationship, baggage that Myra was most likely completely unaware of. Obviously he’s a repressed gay man, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Eddie doesn’t love Myra, but it’s not just because he’s gay, it’s also because he has created a maternal figure in her and, since he (rightfully) resents his mother, he also resents Myra. She conforms to that caretaker role and enables everything he’s learned from a life with Sonia, and he in turn enables her bad habits too. Enabling is toxic behavior, but it isn’t inherently abusive.

But then, when he leaves to go back to Derry, it all comes to a head. She freaks out because as far as she knows, he’s very sick, and he’s leaving her without an explanation, this man who she is married to and financially dependent on. She has no idea how to communicate, so she resorts to panicky, emotionally manipulative attempts to get him to talk to her and stay. On the flipside, Eddie has no idea how to communicate with her either, so he withholds information, deflects, and snaps at her in moments of frustration. They both have irrational thoughts about hurting each other and they both do and say things that make the situation worse. They are both VERY bad at communication. Because they’re both grown adults with almost no relationship experience outside of each other and are therefore emotionally stunted.

That whole chapter reads, to me, like “bad breakups 101″ - one person can’t articulate how they feel so they’re deflecting and coming off as cold, and the other person is so over the top emotional that they end up making no sense and coming off as hysterical. And it’s no wonder! If you make it to your late 30′s without ever having much of a social circle or relationship experience, you’re not going to know how to act in a situation like this. And this applies to both of them. If what Eddie says about her is true, this is probably the first time Myra has ever been left by a partner, and it’s happening suddenly and with no explanation. So, she’s hysterical and resorts to manipulation - not out of habit, but out of desperation (Eddie makes the distinction that this isn’t typical behavior for her!!). For Eddie’s part, this is the first major decision he’s made in probably his whole life, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself, so he just… decides not to. And because he does not love Myra, he is completely emotionally detached from her. Their individual reactions to the situation just make it worse for them both - Eddie shutting down makes Myra more hysterical, and her hysterics cause him to shut down more.

People like to cite a couple of damning quotes about Myra as proof that she’s exactly like Sonia, but making that argument requires you to actively ignore the damning quotes about Eddie. There are also quite a few quotes that highlight the differences between her and Sonia, things Eddie himself acknowledges, as well as quotes about the guilt he feels for knowingly projecting his own baggage onto this woman. (Note: see the posts linked at the end of this for a breakdown of all those quotes) The text makes it clear that this was never a happy marriage. Neither of them are better for being in each other’s lives. They don’t help each other become healthier people. Rather, they both actively enable each other’s toxic habits. The marriage is, in a lot of ways, a form of self-harm for Eddie, and he knows it - upon Sonia’s death, he exited the cage his mother built for him and then built a new cage for himself and threw the key at Myra’s feet. For her part, I believe Myra began as an unwitting enabler but ultimately realized that she gained a “purpose” from the relationship (being a caretaker, being “needed”) and subsequently turned a blind eye to all the ways it wasn’t actually a healthy marriage.

This is such a long post already but I want to make it very clear that Eddie’s cycle of abuse continuing does not actually require Myra herself to be abusive - rather, it is Eddie’s projection onto her that exacerbates the toxic environment. It’s the ghost of Sonia that haunts him in that chapter and throughout the rest of the novel. Myra is not a villain in Eddie’s life - he hardly even thinks about her after he leaves. This is one of the main points that make Eddie and Bev’s parallel arcs different - Bev very clearly has a secondary villain in her life, Tom, and she gets the closure of him dying in the end. But Eddie doesn’t need closure about his marriage, because Myra is just an extension of what Sonia did to him.

The one time he does think of her unprompted is during his walking tour, and it’s such a great example of what his marriage actually means for him: when faced with the leper offering him a blowjob and other IT manifestations, he wishes he was home with Myra. He doesn’t think of her badly - he’s not afraid of her in any way. But she represents his comfort zone. IT is forcing him to confront things like his repressed sexuality, and he decidedly does not want to do that. That’s the only moment he “misses” Myra. But he doesn’t actually miss Myra. He misses the way her enabling allowed him to escape from having to face himself. And that’s really what it comes down to - Eddie’s marriage is toxic because it’s an escape, a way for him to avoid having to grow as a person and face the hard realities of who he is and what his mother has done to him. Myra isn’t evil, she’s not a calculating abuser like Sonia was, but she is toxic because her very presence prevents Eddie from reaching his full potential and being happy.

Sonia’s abuse permeates Eddie’s entire life, even well after her death. Her actions dictate how he sees himself, as well as how he acts in relationships. Sonia is the reason Eddie’s marriage is the way it is. Hell, Sonia is the reason Eddie’s marriage exists in the first place. It is Sonia’s ghost that continues to manipulate him throughout the book and it is Sonia’s voice he needs to overcome in the end. If Myra were truly abusive, she would matter more in the overarching narrative of Eddie’s trip to Derry. But she doesn’t matter and because of that, she’s never really given a personality or motivations. She’s truly a blank canvas for Eddie to project his issues onto, and then he simultaneously berates himself for projecting and resents her for existing within his projections. Through all of this, everything always comes back to Sonia. Due to the vast disparity between their respective levels of influence, placing Myra on equal footing with Sonia is, in my opinion, a form of downplaying how bad Sonia truly was.

Finally, and it’s wild that this even needs to be said, people need to recognize that saying ‘Myra isn’t abusive’ is NOT the same thing as saying she did nothing wrong. Myra was an enabler and that’s not okay, whether she meant to be or not. She also had moments of manipulation, terrible communication skills and poor emotional regulation. She was a toxic presence in Eddie’s life. Saying she isn’t abusive doesn’t mean I’m excusing her actions. But it’s also important to recognize that the chapter in which she appears has a lot more nuance to it than some people realize, and it’s necessary to hold Eddie accountable for his part in making that night so difficult. On that note, holding Eddie accountable and recognizing his harmful moments is not the same as calling him abusive either (fsr that’s become some kind of urban legend, but literally no one ever said he was! ever!!). There does not always have to be an abuser and a victim - sometimes bad relationships are just… bad.

Eddie is obviously a lot more sympathetic than Myra because we know about his past and get his POV. We know that he’s a good person. We also know that Sonia is the root of all of his issues. But the fact is, he has some shitty moments in that chapter, just as Myra does! His past experiences are not an excuse for that, they’re just an explanation. And, because I know there are people out there who equate accountability with victim blaming, being able to recognize where Eddie went wrong and why he entered into this marriage to begin with is NOT the same as saying he deserved any of his misery. There’s a huge, huge difference between accountability and blame. Holding people, even fictional characters, accountable is a good thing. In the end, Eddie is a very damaged person - an inherently good person, to be sure, but sometimes damaged people who are inherently good can, and often do, create, foster, and contribute to unhealthy relationships. It can’t all be unquestioningly pinned on Myra.

Anyway, if after all of that you’re still confused as to why some people choose not to use the abuse label, here’s some additional reading:

An amazing breakdown of the entire chapter, using quotes, by @tossertozier

A more recent & shorter breakdown using quotes by @richietozierhateblog

#asks #love how of all the things in my inbox this is the one i choose to respond to #the one that will give me the most stress #the dreaded myra discourse #long post #stephen king's it #it novel #it meta #my meta #eddie kaspbrak #myra kaspbrak #eddie spaghet tea #meta

334 notes · View notes

occasionalfics · 4 years

Text

the arrangement (1/1)

main masterlist | thor masterlist | ko-fi

Summary: The past, present, and future collide when communication stops and your mind spins. But what happened? And what can you do to fix it?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Thor x Writer!Reader

A/N: I’ve basically only made posts on this blog to complain about how I can’t write anymore. This isn’t something I thought was gonna fix that, and I still don’t think it’ll make everything better (there are still at least 4 series I’ve started and never finished over the last year that might never see the light of day), but at least I got it out from start to finish. It’s only lightly edited because I genuinely just want to share it, so please enjoy it for what it is.

It’s also 100% wish fulfillment fantasy because I probably very much need to be cared for and dicked down.

Warnings: Mentions of sex (a lot of them), one scene that starts at the end of sex but isn’t super detailed or anything. Language. 18+ content ahead, read at your own risk.

Words: 7,536

You pretend to be asleep when he leaves in the morning. At first, when you started doing it weeks ago, you were just doing it to see what he was like when you weren’t looking. Just to confirm a few things that you didn’t want to have to go through his security camera feed to see because that would make you feel disgusting.

Every morning, he gets up at the same time (even weekends), showers and dresses, puts his pack together for the day, then sits on your side of the bed and bends to kiss you. It’s sweet. He asked if he could do it months ago, when this whole arrangement started, and you’d said yes thinking he wouldn’t stick with it.

But as far as you can tell, he has. Every. Morning. He makes sure to say goodbye to you, through kisses or words or both, every morning, even when you look and breathe like you’re asleep.

But two weeks ago, things at night have changed that don’t let you rest easy. It’s nothing drastic - nothing that makes you fear for your safety or anything - but...it’s enough.

He’s been coming home later each day. Minutes apart, like you won’t notice. He says less each night. Disengages from you earlier. You haven’t even had sex in a week.

A whole week!

That bothers you because sex is part of the arrangement. Now it s, anyway. You like it that way.

You were a struggling artist trying to pay bills and he was a wealthy Real Estate exec who’d happened upon a piece of yours in a literary journal that’d been mistakenly placed in his office one morning. Two pieces, actually; you’d written a poem and a short story for that edition, just to be able to go the extra mile and show what you were made of.

Thor’s always said he knew he needed to meet you the second he’d put the short story down. He’d contacted the literary magazine and its parent company and, finally, got through to someone with your phone number.

Yeah, it was really weird getting that phone call. Of course you were cautious to meet a man that’d tracked you down over a story, but he seemed genuinely interested in more of your work. It’d attracted you to him from the start, enough that you felt comfortable accepting his offer to meet in a very public cafe during one of their rush hours.

The rest was fate.

Dark henley, light jeans, pushed back dirty blond hair and the brightest blue eyes you’d ever seen. Holy shit you thought. That’s the single most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And he was there for you.

The instant his eyes met yours, he recognized you. There was no chance to turn around, no time to even give thought to leaving. The beautiful man waved, smile gleaming as he stood to greet you. You felt pulled in by the atmosphere of him, like if this were to go on for too long, you might actually start rotating around him.

If only you’d known.

The energy between the two of you was electric from the start. He was kind, funny even, and his questions were never too much. He wanted to know what you were working on, was sad when you told him you had a novel in the works but it was too slow going to expect anything soon because work and home were too much for you to juggle them all regularly.

“My day job is kind of a nightmare,” you told him, hoping to wipe some of the disappointment from his beautiful face. “Like, I’m sure it’s actually not that bad, but it leaves me feeling...empty. It’s bad enough that, sometimes, I can't write. But I can’t afford to just leave it, so...writing takes a back seat.”

You knew it was too much to say, and yet, it felt like the weight of a whole planet was lifted off you once it was all out. Until another weight settled - the weight of losing your passion to the everyday grind of life.

“I know this isn’t how writing works,” he said, “but I was wondering if I might be able to commission something. Anything. I don’t have anything in particular I want - just...more of what you do.”

That caused you to pause. You’d never taken a commission before. You’d never even known it was possible for a writer, outside of journalism, really.

“You want me...to write something...for you?” you asked him.

He nodded. “No stipulations. No word count minimums. Just...take twenty minutes every night and write me something. Here.” He pulled out his wallet and ignored your protests as you tried to dissuade him. He held out bills you didn’t even dare look at, and when you didn’t take them, he reached further and forced them into your hand, curling his fingers around yours.

You both stopped as electricity coursed through you. His eyes met yours, his face set in the same expression of shock as yours, but then his hand closed tighter around yours, and he managed to get you to keep the bills as he sat back.

“Twenty minutes a night. Just get something out. It doesn’t even have to be good yet, because I know it will be, eventually.” He winked. “In a week, we’ll meet back here and see what you’ve got. Deal?”

How could you deny him that? All he wanted was...your writing.

This morning, after he shuts and locks the front door of his penthouse apartment, you slowly rise. With Thor gone, the place is too quiet. Creepy, almost. And with how distant he’s been every night for the past two weeks, you doubly don’t like being alone.

You think about calling Wanda and having her come over, but you remember that she still has a day job. Natasha and Bucky and Steve and Sam all still have day jobs, too. You’re the only one lucky enough to have met Thor Odinson, to have him care for you like he does.

And god damn it, up until two weeks ago, you were so sure he cared so damn much for you, even beyond your arrangement. He’d moved you into his penthouse after you’d signed the contract your lawyers had drawn up together - just for an ultimate layer of safety for you both. He’d insisted you use his home office as your own because he never used it and preferred to keep his work and home lives separate anyway. He gave you a generous allowance, essentially still paying you for your writing, and got out of it only a handful of simple things you could give him.

First glances at everything you put to paper. Thor’s an excellent editor, even though it’s not his chosen profession. He’s honest and intellectual, funny and dedicated. He loves listening to you read what you’ve written that day - or did, up until two weeks ago - and you both cherish the time you spend going over additions and line edits, suggestions and the like. You think - or thought - it thrills Thor that he gets to be the first person - the only person in the world at the moment - to see your book.

Until two weeks ago, regular sex. Your lawyers were both anxious about adding that into a legally binding contract, so the two of you had agreed on a verbal basis that, yes, sex would be good. On the table, as it were. You’d both laid out your boundaries and talked about what you liked, and you’d thought you were compatible but...something’s changed. And you don’t like it.

Exclusivity. He promised he’d never keep you from your friends and family - and you’d promised the same - but romantically and sexually, the two of you were exclusive. It’s crossed your mind - and then been erased immediately by force - that...maybe he’s been distant because he hasn’t kept up this part of the bargain.

You wonder if this was enough. Or maybe too much? He’s...different now, and you’ve gone over what happened leading up to two weeks ago a million times in your head, but nothing stands out. Not anything that might make him lose interest without, you know, consulting you about it. You’d thought there’d been something in the contracts you’d signed about full disclosure when it came to discontent within the relationship, just so that issues could be dealt with or an amicable breakup could ensue without too much pain and misery in its wake.

Then...what? What’s changed his mind so recently that he barely even talks to you, let alone asks for your writing anymore?

The first day you’d lived with him - not including move-in day - was full of rest, disbelief at your situation, and a whole shitton of productive writing. You had an office! An office with a view of Central Fucking Park! Thor’s chair was unquestionably comfortable, and the surround-sound speakers he’d installed provided the perfect immersive sound to get you into your writing headspace.

Around lunchtime, it’d finally hit you that, entirely by circumstance, you were a full time writer. You were one of the lucky ones - like Harper Lee or Stephen King or someone else that didn’t have to work a soul-crushing job that sucked the life out of their eyeballs. You felt unstoppable. And you decided to order food in for lunch as a treat.

When Thor got home, you ran out of the office with a manila folder full of the chapterSSSS you’d written that day. More than one. To completion. Well, unedited, but still - thousands of words on paper in one day? You were too excited to keep it to yourself, even without him asking for you to share.

His smile reached his electric blue eyes. Thor put his bag on the kitchen counter, then swept you up and carted you off to the couch along the entry wall in the office. He kept you snugly in his lap while you read out your work to him - at first a little shy, even blushing at times - but growing in confidence as you went. He interjected with a few notes every few minutes, but mostly, he just listened.

When you reached the end of the final page, his lips gently touched the skin just below your ear. Tentative, you could tell, but cute. It lit your body up with goosebumps, had you putting your folder down to look at him. You breathed the same air for a beat before you asked, in a tinier voice than you’d expected, “What’d you think?”

His smile returned. “I love it,” he said. “I have some thoughts, but I see so much potential. I really believe in it, you know?”

“You do?” you asked.

He nodded. “Of course. You know I think you’re extremely talented. Gifted. I can’t wait for more.”

You let the folder slide off his lap and onto the seat next to him before kissing him. It hadn’t been part of the plan, but wouldn’t you know, it was amazing.

There was just something about someone so openly supporting your work, loving every step of the process with you that set your insides ablaze in the best way possible.

Thor broke the kiss just to say, “Apparently, I can.”

He hadn’t asked to read your new chapter the night before, but when you step into the office, you find the folder on the couch instead of the desk, where you’d left it yesterday. There’s a piece of paper, torn from inside a notebook, with a list of thoughts in Thor’s hand. Everything is fair and nonjudgmental, and of course it’s helpful for the next part you know you’re going to write.

Of course it is you think. The irony isn’t lost on you.

Still in your robe and panties - you’d hoped that would’ve been enough to seduce Thor last night and set things back to how they were before...well, yes, two weeks ago - you sit at the desk, open your computer (the one you’ve had since before this whole arrangement) and stare at the blinking cursor.

You want to write. You know what’s coming next for your main character. You have Thor’s list of suggestions - lists, really, as you have a file organizer full of sheets just like the one you found a moment ago on the corner of the desk - and your brain is ready to work, but something stops you.

Your stomach feels knotty. Your chest is heavy, and your eyes won’t focus. Writing is impossible like this, but you can’t fathom doing anything else.

You get out one word. Another. One more. A sentence.

You freeze again. That sentence sucks. It’s wrong, and it should never exist. Thor would hate it.

Would he? Even if he did, he’d never say it like that...right?

The uncertainty inside you rises, and with it, insecurity. If he can’t even listen to you read anymore, if he can’t tell you to your face what he thinks of what you’ve written...are you even good anymore? Is he avoiding you because, suddenly, he no longer believes in you?

That seems drastic, but you can’t think of anything to counter it.

You sigh because, before Thor, you never needed validation like this. You know it’s not that you must know if you’re still a good writer, but that you want his approval. You want, specifically, to make him happy with your work again.

Groaning, you know this book will never get finished if Thor doesn’t tell you what he’s thinking. Maybe you didn’t start this project because of him, but you’d written more and more because he’d asked (and paid) you to. You’d gotten through chapter after chapter because he’d encouraged and helped you.

Because he’d said he believed in you.

It was a slow, slow day. You turned off all the clocks and taped over the one on your computer with masking tape so you could focus on the page, but not knowing what the time was didn’t make the words come, and it didn’t make the day go any faster. If anything, it slowed everything down even more.

When Thor came home, he called out for you, but all you did was groan defeatedly in response. You heard him chuckle to himself, and then he was in the office with you, standing just behind the chair you were curled up in, both of you facing the mostly blank page.

“I barely wrote anything today,” you said, covering your eyes with the palm of your right hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong so don’t ask.”

“But there are words there. Read them,” he said, his command soft but true.

“I don’t wanna,” you mumbled indignantly. “They’re awful, Thor. I hate every single one of those words.”

“It’s only a few paragraphs you have to get through-”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me!” You lower your face to your knees, replacing your hand with the even less comfortable surface of your bent legs. And then you groaned like a baby, whining because nothing you did all day would ever amount to anything.

Thor shook his head and simultaneously turned your chair to face him while he kneeled so he had to look up at you.

“Hey,” he said softly, poking at your shin. “Y/N, look at me please.”

You couldn’t deny him, but you didn’t have to lift your head completely. Just enough for you to peek down at him suspiciously.

“You wrote something today. That’s more than most people on this planet can say they’ve achieved.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“I’m being serious. Do you have any idea how in awe of your ability I am? Honestly?” When you didn’t respond at all to that, he reached out and gently rubbed your leg. “Babe, you’re an author. You create worlds and people every single day. Every day for the last few weeks you’ve written thousands of words, and that’s… Fuck, that’s more than impressive. So you had one day where you got out-” He looked at the computer screen, seemed to count, then shrugged. “Four paragraphs? So what?”

“I’m a fraud,” you muttered.

“No, you’re not. You’ve done so much work in so little time, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before today. You’re a wildly effective and competent writer, and you’re going to finish this book. But you’re also going to have slow days. Even the slow days are days you still get work done, though.”

He let you sigh, but nothing else.

“Read them to me. And take tomorrow off. I will, too.”

That got your attention. You sat up a bit, still staring at him incredulously, only for a different reason now.

“Really?”

He nodded, then pushed himself up far enough to kiss you. “Really,” he promised under his breath.

No matter how you replay the last three weeks, the last month, the last two months, you can’t figure out what happened. What you did. What caused the change in Thor? Was it your writing, or just...you?

If it were you, thought, you can’t fathom why he still comes in to kiss you goodbye every morning. That hasn’t changed. It’s the only thing that’s stayed the same, in fact.

And it isn’t enough to calm you. It’s nice, routine, but it’s not…

You sigh.

It’s not late night conversations - pre- and post- sex - about art, both yours and otherwise. It’s not reassurances and validation and understanding. It’s just shallow but nice little act he can put on to try and make things seem normal. It’s the least amount of effort he can put into this whole arrangement, and it’s so fucking frustrating to know that.

You decide the computer is useless. Trying to write today is useless. You shut your laptop and push away from the desk, then get up off the chair and head back into the bedroom. You’re on autopilot when you go to the closet and pull down a suitcase, not even thinking twice before filling it up with haphazard piles of your clothes from the closet and dresser. The thing won’t even close, but you don’t care.

With what’s left of your stuff, you get dressed. You decide Central Park is too pretty to just look at today, so you dress warm and head out, automatically double checking that your keyring is in your purse before getting in the elevator.

The sky is clear, and the air is crisp. You head into the park, taking in the familiar sounds and sights. Couples stroll past you - some more intimate than others - and you feel your heart lurch into your throat.

It’s fine you tell yourself. It’s not like you and Thor ever gave each other labels. You were official on paper, sure, but you were never, like, his girlfriend.

Maybe you should’ve been keeping distance this whole time. Just a little. Just enough so that, when something like this happened, you wouldn’t be so torn up about it.

You head by Wollman Rink and stop. Memories flood your head, and you shut your eyes to keep from tearing up. You can’t help it, since you feel so much on the outside of everything right now.

When you compose yourself, you get closer to the rink. You watch as people - mostly children today - twirl and skate around the rink, and you yearn for something you fear you might not ever have again.

Apparently, Thor had been talking about you with his friends. Tony Stark in particular was excited to meet you, and who ever, in this entire world, got to put that on their resumè?

Stark put together this whole double-date. Well, Tony was the one taking credit, anyway. His finacè, a lovely, gorgeous redhead named Pepper, was the mastermind behind it all. Everyone knew it.

It was especially evident when your group made it to Wollman Rink and Stark put his skates on. Pepper twirled in tight circles around him, but the Billionaire Genius stood with his hands out, knees apart, and a slightly terrified look on his face as he tried to maneuver - not very well - around the ice.

You were a little wobbly at first, but Thor never took his hand from yours. Of course he was rather good at skating - besides writing, what wasn’t Thor good at? - so he mostly just guided you around the rink, keeping you close while also sometimes taking the lead and letting you drag behind him, just for fun.

After a while, he suddenly pulled you in close to him and took you by surprise, kissing you in the middle of the rink. You melted into him as much as you could in the brisk December night, and he caught every bit you gave. Your pink noses barely registered as touching, given how cold they both were, but you knew. It was always like that with Thor.

“Hey!” you both heard Tony yell. “Stop showing off, asshole!”

Pepper immediately chastised him, stating that the children now chortling around him were too young for such language.

A little while later, the group collectively agreed to call it a night on the skating and try to find some hot chocolate somewhere. The penthouse wasn’t far, so worst case scenario, everyone clambered up to your building and you’d make hot cocoas there.

Thor and Pepper offered to return the rented skates, and while you were slipping your boots back on, Tony took a second to get kind of real with you. If you hadn’t spent the whole night watching him and Thor bickering back and forth, you wouldn’t think twice about the serious look he was giving you.

“You really like him, right?” he asked.

You nodded without hesitation. “He’s… He’s so special.” You hadn’t meant to sound dreamy, but that didn’t stop your voice from taking on an airy quality. “I’ve never met anyone like him before.”

“Good, good,” Tony said, though clearly he had more on his mind. “It’s just- I know he likes you. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. He’s been talking about your writing for almost a year nonstop and, I mean-”

“Wait,” you cut in. “A year?”

You’d only met Thor three months ago.

“We didn’t know he was talking about you, at first. He’s just raving about some poems or something. We thought he’d, you know.” He pointed to the side of his head, then let his fingers flutter away as he rolled his eyes. “He just had to find you. But you don’t have a website or anything, not even to display your social media- I’ve got a few friends I could talk to about managing all of that for you, by the way, and-”

You cleared your throat as Thor and Pepper made their way back. They were far enough away still that, when Tony gauged their distance, he had enough time to turn back and quickly tell you, “He’s in it. For you. Be careful with him, okay?”

You didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but you nodded anyway. Of course you’d be careful with Thor. You had a contract and everything. You’d been careful all along.

Something told you that wasn’t what Tony meant, though.

When you made it back to the penthouse for the night, you got into your warmest pajamas and slid into bed. Thor’d forgone a shirt, but he so did most nights. He wrapped you in his arms, warming your still cold skin on contact, and asked, “So what’d you and Tony have to talk about earlier?”

Be careful with him, okay?

As the question rang in your head, you shook it. “He’s just looking out for you,” you mumbled, yawning through the last word. “He’s a good friend.”

“Sometimes,” Thor joked.

You managed to laugh, then snuggled in tighter. “I’m glad you have him. And me.” Your eyes shut and you stilled against Thor’s warm torso, breathing in his familiar, musky scent.

You swore you heard him mutter something else, but were too close to sleep to know exactly what it was.

A child runs past you, and the caretaker excuses herself as she hurries after the kid. You step back from the rink and head further into the park, keeping your arms in tight to fight off the chill. You find a hot chocolate vendor, glad to have something warm to wrap your fingers around for a while.

You stroll through the park hoping something might inspire a spark, but mostly just wanting to distract yourself. There’s an annoying poking thought in your head that, once you go back to the penthouse with your clothes all stuffed into a - completely open - suitcase, everything will unravel. Nothing will ever be the same. It scares you, makes you seek refuge elsewhere, pushes you deeper into the recesses of public spaces. You don’t register your phone pinging once in a while, or if you do, you choose to ignore it.

Eventually, the sun starts to go down, and you know you have to return home soon. Thor will be home soon, too. And even if it’s just to say goodbye…

You can’t finish that thought. It takes you a minute to process, but you realize that it’s not just because of the writing. Like, yes, his support and encouragement has meant everything to you, but it’s...so much more than that.

He believes in you. In everything you do. He’s kind and gentle and he genuinely seems to like you. He’s been generous and fun and wonderful for six months, and you’re not ready to go on without all of that.

Your feet stop moving because your mind is reeling as you think that you don’t want to go on without him...because you love him.

Your mind tries to fight off the emotion that bubbles in you, but your heart won’t let it. You have to feel this as you come to accept it. As you recognize that you don’t want to say goodbye, you can’t let him go because he’s the best part of your life. You love Thor Odinson, and maybe you’ve known it for a while. Or felt it or whatever. The feeling doesn’t read as “new” in your body, in any case. It registers as comfortable, like a huge, warm blanket wrapping you up and keeping you safe and cozy.

I love Thor.

Your mind, ever persistent, reminds you of the last two weeks. The distance. The silent notes, in place of the intimate reading sessions. The morning kisses that seem to have taken the place of steamy makeout sessions and hot, strenuous lovemaking. The gestures that now feel empty, filling you up with hot air instead of weighty reassurance.

God, how could you be so stupid? To think that someone like Thor would love you? Tony had said it all those months ago - Thor loved your writing. He probably just tolerated all the rest. Once he figured that out for himself, he withdrew, which is why he’s been leaving you high and dry and alone for two straight weeks.

Heartbroken and determined, you head back to the penthouse. The sun has set by the time you reach the building, but you ignore your shivering and numb fingers as you board the elevator.

Now you’re angry. Not angry enough to scream or make a scene, but angry enough to force that suitcase closed and leave. Angry enough not to leave a letter, and apparently petty enough to make Thor beg for an explanation. Maybe you just want to see if he will.

But the moment you reach the door and realize it’s already unlocked, everything fades away. Everything. You’re hollow.

You enter the apartment and pull off your coat, but don’t bother hanging it on the rack beside the door. Your plan is just to put it on again in a few minutes anyway.

Thor comes out of the bedroom looking confused and sad. His brow is knit so tightly you know he has to be in pain. He stares at you, and you see his shoulders shake, but you keep your distance.

“Y/N,” he calls, despair and loneliness creeping into his voice. The mixture does something inside of you, but you try not to notice.

And you fail. You fail because there’s only one other time he’s ever called your name like that.

He was off the whole night. You’d gone through your regular motions, excited as ever to read the next chapter to him to hear his thoughts, but as you came to the end of the printed section, he sighed and hummed, but didn’t say anything.

“Thor,” you said gently. “What’s up?”

“Hmm?” He caught your eye for just a moment before gazing across the living room and shaking his head. “Nothing. Just had a long day, I guess.”

He’s had long days before, though. You know from experience that, on long days, he comes home and asks if you want to go out for dinner, then immediately asks to go to bed upon returning home. He promises you can read as much or as little as you want the next day, and you both normally just...go to sleep.

This was different.

You shut your folder, put it on the coffee table in front of you, and turned so you straddled his thighs. You were wearing a dress that day, one with a wide, flowy skirt, so you had plenty of room to get comfortable. You cupped his jaw in both your hands and forced him to look at you, and without words, you communicated that you knew something more than just work was on his mind.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t lie to you.”

“Just tell me what’s wrong, babe.”

He searched your eyes for something. You figured he had to have found it, because he sighed and nodded. “I found out my brother was arrested today. It’s not his first time, either. Our father is insisting I let him learn his lesson in prison, but I can’t just let my brother rot.”

“Oh,” you said, then realized how bland and disinterested it sounded. “Oh, Thor,” you tried again, arms going all the way around his neck. You hugged him close, and he pulled you in even tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to tell you that it was alright, but clearly it wasn’t. His shaking shoulders told you that much, and his hitched breaths told you more.

You pushed on the back of his head until his forehead touched your shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” you whispered to him. “Get it all out, babe. I’m here. I’m with you.”

He didn’t cry. Didn’t sob. Apparently would not dare to get your dress all wet. You would’ve let him if he had, though.

When he calmed down, he kissed your shoulder once. Twice. Trailed his lips up to your neck and around your jaw, leaving a single kiss on your lips as he settled his forehead against yours. “Y/N,” he said, shaky and so unlike Thor you had to convince yourself you hadn’t imagined it. On another shaky breath, he let out a simple but meaningful, “Thank you.”

He looks at the bedroom doorway, sucks in a tight breath, and starts, “Were you…” He can’t finish until he’s looking at you again, though. “Were you going to leave?”

Your jaw tightens. And not even out of anger. You hate it when Thor’s like this because it’s not even like he’s being possessive or anything. He’s not trying to control you. He’s asking in this broken voice that snaps your resolve string by string until you’re nothing but frayed edges inside. And you hate it all because it means he’s just as broken as you are.

“I-” you start, but you can’t find the right words to follow it up. Yes feels wrong, and you’re not even sure it’s the truth anymore. Maybe...for just a moment… But how could you leave? How could you ever even think of walking away from all of this? All of him?

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks of silence and separation, two weeks of being in your own little world within the walls he provided and you don’t even know why.

Oh yeah. That’s how you could leave.

“Y/N,” he says again, this time more sure of the emotion in his chest and tone. “Were you packing a bag to leave me?”

You stand your ground, but try not to come off as angry even still. You’re not angry. You’re just...lonely. And alone. On your own team for the first time in six months. “Yes,” you answer.

His breathing gets heavier. You refuse to look away. He seems to calm himself a little bit, but doesn’t sound much better when he asks, “May I ask why?”

How dare he attempt to be polite right now? But, you remind yourself, it’s his nature. He’s always like this, no matter what. He can’t even be angry properly, and that makes everything even worse.

Torn between owing him an explanation and demanding one yourself, you say the only thing you can think to say that might give both of you answers.

“You stopped touching me. Stopped talking to me. You’ve barely looked at me the last two weeks, and I’m tired of being alone. I may as well go back to my shit job and crowded apartment.”

You’re just about to let the emotion, the rage and tears settle in when he pauses. Steps back a little. Just stares at you, like what you just said is preposterous. But then something in his expression clicks, a light flickering behind his eyes, and he seems to know he’s done everything you’ve accused him of.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve decided you’re not done, though.

“I thought I did something, Thor. I thought you were just too nice to tell me what it was, so you got quiet and distant in the hopes that I would just...leave.” As you say it, you know how ridiculous it sounds. It’s a thought process better suited to the inside of your brain. But you’re still going. “What else was I supposed to do? You weren’t asking for my new chapters, you were barely even looking at me. And I was just supposed to take the hint? Well, hint taken.”

His eyes fell to the floor in shame. You stepped lightly toward him, stopping with just enough room that your shoulder just barely grazed his arm.

“If I knew what I did, I would’ve fixed it, Thor. I would’ve tried. But I had no clues-”

“You didn’t do anything,” he whispers.

You can’t move then, except watch him sigh and shake his head.

“You’re not the cause of my misbehavior, Y/N. Not directly.”

Not for the first time, you wonder if he really does have another woman. But you know him, and you know him well enough to know he’d never break that promise of exclusivity. You’re not confident in much about your arrangement right now, but that is one thing you know for sure, without any doubts.

Which only leaves you to believe that maybe he wants to break the promise and just won’t out of a sense of duty or something. Like he’s just sticking with it because you won’t let him out of the deal.

None of it makes any sense, and you know it’ll make you sound like a crazy jealous demon if you say it out loud. So you don’t.

And that’s enough encouragement for Thor to look at you again, all of the world’s weight alive and heavy in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The sound is so familiar, you nearly lean into him for comfort.

He stilled inside of you, the both of you suddenly quiet and tense. This...wasn’t supposed to happen. You only met the man a week ago, and today was only the second time you’d seen him in person.

But after he’d read your work from the week before, you’d talked. About everything. You told him way too many embarrassing stories about your childhood and he told you all about the private schools he got expelled from because he’d been a hellion of a young boy. You could still see the spark of mischief in his eyes if you looked hard enough, and you found that, yeah, you really kind of liked it.

You’d asked him to come up to your apartment. It was empty at the moment, since all of your roommates had lives and jobs, too. You’d just wanted to keep talking, but maybe in a place where it didn’t matter how loudly you laughed at his stories or how boisterous he became in response to yours.

He was charming. Gorgeous. So nice. Too nice, really. He paid for refills of coffee, then followed your lead to your apartment.

Things had started in the kitchen, but then you’d gotten hungry, so he ordered in Thai. You’d brought him into the bedroom so you could watch a movie and eat without the forced space a couch might offer. He was warm and easy to feel comfortable around.

When the movie ended, you talked some more. About the movie, about what you were going to write next. Everything.

And then you leaned up on your knees and kissed him. One thing led to another, and then he was fucking you better than you’d been fucked in a long, long time. Maybe ever. He was generous in all things, it seemed.

It was only when you both came down from your highs that you, collectively, seemed to remember that he’d paid you to write for him. Sex seemed complicated and taboo in conjunction, and that thought made you feel hollow, despite only minutes ago feeling like you could lift the world on your back and carry it easily.

Minutes passed and you said nothing. He didn’t say anything, either.

But then he did. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, slow and genuine.

You felt your chest tighten at the thought that he regretted what you’d done together. It made no sense, given how you kind of regretted it, too, but you knew it wasn’t the feeling of it all that you regretted. The act, sure, under the circumstances.

But the success of the trial? Absolutely not.

You shook your head. “No, no, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Your silence indicates otherwise.”

“Well yours did, too.” You sighed and tried to explain what was going on in your head, and when he finally met your eyes, you knew the truth of the whole matter: You didn’t regret a thing. Not really.

“Like I said, don’t be sorry,” you told him, finally managing a small smile.

It was enough to encourage him to kiss you again, and your stomach erupted in a kaleidoscope of butterflies. If kissing him like this felt so right every time, you never wanted to do anything else.

This time, you have no reason to tell him not to be sorry. This isn’t a mistake, and your silence isn’t your own fault.

His electric blues are deep and dark, and they scream at you not to let go. “I’m sorry,” he says again, the last word breaking on the end of a breath. “Please...please don’t leave.”

Your brow furrows, more confused than anything else. “Why not?” you ask, trying your best not to sound mad because, truly, his plea intrigues you more than sparks anger. You were so sure, until that moment, that he’d simply been meaning to find a good way to ask you to leave.

But now… That’s not even a possibility.

He surprises you by bringing a hand out, begging for your touch. On instinct, mostly, you respond, your fingers sliding right into his palm like they were made to fit together perfectly.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You nod. There are no other answers. You trust Thor, and you know, somewhere inside, that he never really meant to play with your feelings. Whatever he’s trying to show you now will fix everything. You have to believe it, or else you’ll really, truly break.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

He relaxes enough that you notice, then pulls you along into the bedroom. He asks you to sit on the edge of the bed, then picks up a long envelope from his nightstand.

“I should’ve been more attentive here, but I was doing my best not to ruin a surprise,” Thor says, handing you the envelope. When all you do is stare up at him, he nods at the package in his hands, and waits patiently.

You take it. Open it. Inside is your contract. Every page. You stare up at him, brows furrowed deeper in confusion. “What?” you ask.

“I’ve been discussing this with both of our lawyers this week. And the week before that, I was trying to figure out what I wanted to say to the lawyers. But...this is big and I was nervous, and I knew I should’ve said something to you, but I-” He stops, clears his throat, and looks away from you. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slide the contract back into the envelope, then put it on the bed. “What surprise?” you ask.

“I was going to have the contract terminated.”

The same dread from earlier fills you, until you remember that he wouldn’t have pulled you in here to explain everything if all he was going to do was kick you out. He wouldn’t ask you to stay, in that case. You try to control your reaction, which ends up meaning that you don’t really react at all, except to ask him, “Why?”

“I want us to be real,” he says plainly, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It’s not too long before he’s lowering himself into a kneeling position in front of you, grasping for your hand again. “I don’t want there to be any obligations. If any legally binding contract is going to exist between us, I want it to be nothing short of a marriage license. The last two weeks have been excruciating, and I know that’s all my own doing, and I’m sorry I put you through that, but please believe me when I say that I love you, Y/N. I love you, and I was trying to do anything I could to end the artifice and make this real.”

“Make...us…” You trail off, mind running at a million light years. Too fast for you to process. Things don’t compute correctly, like when your fingers type faster than your brain can think of words, and all you end up saying is, “You...you love me?”

Thor nods. “I do. I love you so much, and all I wanted was a chance for us to make things work on our own terms, without expectations. Without mutual gains with monetary value.”

You start asking him silly questions, because they’re all you can think to bring up. “So you don’t hate my book? You’re not disgusted by me? You want more of me?”

He confirms with double negatives and a positive. “Of course I want more, Y/N. I’d have to be living under a rock not to.”

“Did you say you wanted to marry me?” you ask him, only just now starting to catch up.

He laughs, nods, and pushes himself up so you’re level. “Without a shadow of a doubt. We already live together. We’ve been together for half a year, and I love you. We don’t have to rush- whenever you’re comfortable, just say the word and-”

But there are no words. Only actions.

You can’t find it inside yourself to hold the last two weeks against him anymore. All that insecurity has washed away with a few simple affirmations - but God Damn are they effective.

You crash your lips against his, arms winding around him as tightly as you can make them go. He pulls you to him, fitting snugly between your knees as he deepens the kiss, rolling his tongue over your lips, asking for an invitation.

A little levity of the night settles back into your brain then, and you gently pull back instead of letting him ravish you. For now. You give him a serious look, but you can’t stop smiling through it.

“Don’t ever go quiet like that again, Thor. I was so scared and alone, I never want to feel that way again.”

He nods. Light from the hallway shines on his face, and you see tear streaks have stained his cheeks. Your thumbs come around and wipe them away, and he smiles so prettily at you that you almost cry, too.

“I promise. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I promise, I’ll always tell you what I’m up to.”

He kisses all over your face, repeating himself between points of contact, swearing to any God who’ll listen that this will work. That he loves you, that he’s sorry, and then-

“I love you too, you know,” you get out.

And the whole thing starts all over again.

#thor x reader #sugar daddy!thor x reader #sugar daddy!thor #thor odinson x reader #thor fic

96 notes · View notes

bountyofbeads · 4 years

Text

Will Brexit Bring the Troubles Back to Northern Ireland? https://nyti.ms/2rHSWA7

This is a fascinating look at the very real and immediate consequences of Brexit. While looking back at the violent sectarian history and what Brexit could awaken in the very near future. WELL WORTH THE TIME

"In Northern Ireland, Brexit is stirring up an especially volatile brew. Sectarian tensions have been roiling in one form or another since at least the 17th century, when King James I encouraged the migration of Protestant colonists from Scotland and England to the northern Irish province of Ulster, where they enjoyed special privileges. An act of the British Parliament in 1920, during the Irish War of Independence, led to Ireland’s partition, creating a Protestant-majority Northern Ireland. Catholic grievances over discrimination fueled animosities that helped precipitate the Troubles. By the time of the Good Friday Agreement, some 3,600 people had been killed and tens of thousands injured. The peace deal created a power-sharing system of government, but it did not bring reconciliation."

Will Brexit Bring the Troubles Back to Northern Ireland?

As the United Kingdom confronts the prospect of dissolution, old factions are bracing for the possibility of new violence.

By James Angelo's | Published Dec. 30, 2019 | New York Times | Posted January 2, 2020 |

Belfast, like Berlin and Sarajevo, draws many visitors not despite its history of murderous conflict but because of it. Guides there take tourists to “peace walls,” the tall barricades of corrugated metal and concrete erected during the sectarian conflict, known as the Troubles, that began in 1968 and ravaged Northern Ireland for three decades. The walls were built to divide Protestant and Catholic enclaves and to prevent people from killing one another as the spiraling cycle of attacks took hold. Today tourists from around the world visit the walls and take selfies. This type of tourism is more peculiar in Belfast than in some other cities shaped by a legacy of atrocity. You can visit the intact parts of the Berlin Wall, for instance, with the knowledge that the wall no longer serves its original purpose. In Belfast, however, the walls are still there to divide, their continued presence deemed necessary to prevent a resurgence of violence.

Tours of the peace walls are often given by ex-paramilitary combatants who were active during the Troubles. The bald, stout, tattooed driver who took me on one such tour last June said he was “connected” to a paramilitary called the Ulster Defense Association, or the U.D.A., which was responsible for the killing of hundreds. He described himself as “no angel” during the Troubles and asked that I use only his first name, Robert, so as not to attract attention from the authorities — those involved can still face criminal prosecution — or from old foes. “We’re all paranoid as hell here,” he told me shortly after I got into his van. “The war is not over. Far from it.”

Robert had a quick, friendly smile and a fast wit that made it a little hard to imagine his past paramilitary connection. But those were almost unimaginably violent times. In the rote manner of tour guides everywhere, Robert told me his father was a U.D.A. member who in 1975 was shot dead by the Irish Republican Army, or I.R.A., the most lethal of the paramilitary groups, at the bus depot where he worked. Robert himself had dodged three I.R.A. assassination attempts, he said, and the organization also “blew up” his brother-in-law and murdered seven of his friends. We pulled up to a section of the peace wall in an industrial part of West Belfast that divides the neighborhood around Falls Road, heavily Catholic, from that around Shankill Road, which is heavily Protestant. Robert pointed out the metal gate that opens during the day to allow traffic to pass and closes again at night. In 2013, the government of Northern Ireland announced a goal of removing the walls within 10 years, but Robert was against this. The situation, he said, was still too turbulent. “We’re not ready for it,” he said. “I’m sure you’re probably fed up with hearing about Brexit,” he said. “But people are worried about a bad deal, the wrong deal or no deal.” If things went badly, he added, “I think we’re going to need these walls more than ever.”

The 1998 peace deal, known as the Good Friday Agreement, subdued the violence in Northern Ireland, but it did not resolve the underlying sectarian conflict that propelled it. Northern Ireland is in the United Kingdom. “Unionists” or “loyalists” — who tend to identify as Protestant and as British — want it to remain that way. “Nationalists” or “republicans” — who tend to identify as Catholic and Irish — want a united Ireland. The peace between these factions was facilitated by a tangentially related circumstance: Both the United Kingdom and Ireland had by then joined the European Union. This arrangement ensured uninhibited trade across the border, helping to render it virtually invisible and placating many Irish nationalists with circumstances they deemed acceptable if not ideal.

At the time the peace agreement was signed, however, a different movement was growing across the Irish Sea in England: a skepticism of the European Union, bubbling up among voters on both ends of the political spectrum but embraced in particular by the conservative hard right. As populist, nationalist parties grew in strength across Europe and much of the globe, this skepticism culminated in the 2016 Brexit referendum. Few of the hard-line politicians who advocated Brexit seemed to consider the consequences their push to “take back control” would have on the delicate peace in Northern Ireland or, for that matter, on the cohesion of the United Kingdom itself. In the more than three years since the referendum, the matter of Northern Ireland has presented a unique and treacherous stumbling block to any agreement between the British government and the European Union on the terms of withdrawal. How would the United Kingdom “take back control” of its borders without hardening the Irish border, thereby endangering the Good Friday Agreement? However this question was answered, one side or the other in the sectarian divide was bound to be upset.

On Dec. 12, voters in the United Kingdom gave Prime Minister Boris Johnson and his Conservative Party a sweeping parliamentary majority based on his pledge to “get Brexit done.” His success, attributable in part to the electorate’s sheer exhaustion with the Brexit limbo, means the United Kingdom will almost certainly leave the European Union by Jan. 31. This occasion, however, will by no means bring closure to a United Kingdom that has become so deeply fractured — not only along party lines but also by geography — that many people predict the most salient and enduring consequence will be a kind of monumental self-immolation: the breakup of the United Kingdom itself.

As if to illustrate the volatility of the matter, Robert pulled up to a mural on the Protestant side of the wall. Murals are ubiquitous on both sides of the divide, sanctifying former combatants who are invariably considered coldblooded murderers on the opposite side. This one, repainted around the time of the Brexit referendum, depicted Stephen McKeag, a commander in the U.D.A. known as Top Gun, against a cloudy sky, as if floating in heaven. “If you believe the stories you hear, he was one of the ones who won most of the trophies, what they call a trophy for the amount of people he has supposed to have allegedly killed,” Robert told me. McKeag, indeed known as one of the U.D.A.’s most lethal assassins, died in 2000 of a drug overdose. “Remember With Pride,” the mural read. Several tourists snapped photos. Robert got out of the van and shook hands with another tour guide, a man who looked much like him, with a bald head and dark sunglasses. “Thirty years ago, we would have been trying to kill each other,” Robert said. The other guide, apparently a republican ex-combatant, nodded in agreement. They exchanged a few niceties. Robert got back in the van.

“We’re friendly, but we don’t fully trust each other,” Robert said, his tone quickly changing. He showed me a picture on his phone of the same man at a militant republican parade. He then showed me a video, taken the previous month, outside a wake for a former member of the Irish National Liberation Army, or I.N.L.A., a Marxist republican paramilitary group formed in 1974. The I.N.L.A. ostensibly decommissioned its weapons along with other paramilitary groups as part of the peace process. The video, however, showed six men in balaclavas. One of them carried an assault rifle. They lined up in formation, and the gunman fired several shots into the sky. The mourners applauded.

Robert pointed to the soaring twin steeples of a Catholic cathedral on the other side of the wall. The shots had been fired around there just a few weeks earlier, he said. “That’s why I say these guys have never gone away,” he added. “That’s why we don’t trust each other.” As long as people on this side of the wall felt threatened, he said, loyalist paramilitaries would remain. “You think we’re going to go away?”

While British euro-skepticism is far from new, its culmination in Brexit represents the most tangible manifestation yet of the re-emergence of the nationalist strains in Europe — and beyond — that the European Union was meant to temper. The British conservatives who advocated Brexit acted partly under pressure from the far-right U.K. Independence Party, which under its former leader Nigel Farage grew more popular in the years leading up to the referendum with a staunchly pro-Brexit, anti-immigration platform. Implicit in the “take back control” message employed by the “Brexiteers” were themes promoted by populist-right movements everywhere: a reassertion of national sovereignty coupled with the claim that only those who advocate this represent the true will of the people against a globalized elite. As far-right parties have risen across Europe, Brexit has provided them a concrete victory — and it’s possibly not the last, as such parties in countries like Italy, France and Hungary seek to corrode the European Union from within.

The more immediate consequence of Brexit, however, may be not the dissolution of the European Union but the dissolution of the United Kingdom. Brexit and Boris Johnson’s decisive election victory were propelled primarily by voters in England. The United Kingdom, however, is made up of three additional smaller countries — Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland — that contain nationalist movements of another sort. In Scotland and Northern Ireland in particular, left-wing nationalist parties perceive the source of unwanted foreign meddling to emanate from London rather than from Brussels. Majorities of people in Scotland and Northern Ireland, in fact, cast ballots in favor of remaining in the European Union, and many of these voters now see Brexit as a reason to split from the United Kingdom. This is particularly the case in Scotland, where the pro-independence Scottish National Party, or S.N.P., won a landslide victory in December. When Scotland held a referendum on independence from the United Kingdom in 2014, 55 percent of voters elected to remain. Now, in light of Brexit, the S.N.P. is calling for another referendum. Polls suggest the result would be much closer now. “Independence is coming,” Ian Blackford, the leader of the Scottish Nationalist Party in the British Parliament, said during a debate there in October. “We will take our place as a proud European nation.”

In Northern Ireland, Brexit is stirring up an especially volatile brew. Sectarian tensions have been roiling in one form or another since at least the 17th century, when King James I encouraged the migration of Protestant colonists from Scotland and England to the northern Irish province of Ulster, where they enjoyed special privileges. An act of the British Parliament in 1920, during the Irish War of Independence, led to Ireland’s partition, creating a Protestant-majority Northern Ireland. Catholic grievances over discrimination fueled animosities that helped precipitate the Troubles. By the time of the Good Friday Agreement, some 3,600 people had been killed and tens of thousands injured. The peace deal created a power-sharing system of government, but it did not bring reconciliation. Currently, the two largest parties elected to the Northern Ireland Assembly are Sinn Fein — once the I.R.A.’s political wing — and the socially conservative Democratic Unionist Party, or D.U.P., which advocates continued union with Britain. The partisan rift between them has been so great that the assembly has not fully convened for nearly three years. Many people in Northern Ireland, exhausted with the sectarian paradigm, have tried to move beyond it; this is evident from the recent growth of the cross-community Alliance Party.

Still, the sectarian rift remains palpable in much of daily life, influencing everything from which soccer team locals support to the everyday language they use. Many Irish nationalists, for example, refer to Northern Ireland as “the North of Ireland.” Schools in Northern Ireland remain mostly segregated along religious lines, and children often learn disparate versions of history. Attempts to administer justice for past atrocities seem only to deepen divisions. A former British paratrooper known to the public as Soldier F is now on trial on charges of murdering two people during the massacre known as Bloody Sunday in 1972, when British troops opened fire on unarmed Catholic demonstrators in Londonderry, killing 13 that day. For many Irish nationalists, the trial is painfully belated and woefully insufficient. Many loyalists, however, see it as a witch hunt, and it’s not uncommon to see flags celebrating Soldier F’s parachute regiment fluttering in loyalist strongholds.

Sectarian tensions are most evident in the so-called interface areas, urban working-class neighborhoods where Catholic and Protestant communities live in proximity but often barely interact. In addition to the physical walls of separation — of which there are some 100 in Belfast alone — territory in such neighborhoods is demarcated by paramilitary flags hung by front doors or sometimes by painted curbs, either in the colors of the Union Jack or the Irish tricolor. Residents in these areas often avoid patronizing shops located on what is deemed enemy turf, even if they have to walk farther to buy what they want. These communities live “cheek by jowl, but in separate worlds,” John Brewer, a sociologist at Queen’s University Belfast, told me. Publicly funded cross-community programs for youths in these areas aim to bridge the rift. But poverty and unemployment in interface areas tend to be high, leaving many young men hopeless and vulnerable to radicalization. Rioting and violent clashes in these areas are not uncommon.

Attitudes on Brexit, too, largely fall along sectarian lines. A majority of Protestants in Northern Ireland — 60 percent — voted to leave the European Union, according to one survey, and the D.U.P., long skeptical of the European Union, backed Brexit. A majority of Catholics — 85 percent — voted to stay, a position also backed by Sinn Fein, in great part because many people feared that Brexit would result in a hardening of the Irish border. The fate of that border presented the main obstacle in negotiations between successive British conservative governments and the European Union on a withdrawal agreement. The European Union, mindful that a hard border would undermine the Good Friday Agreement and quite possibly lead to violence, wanted a deal that avoided customs checks at the border. In October, Boris Johnson found a partial solution by agreeing to a new customs border in the Irish Sea, between Britain and Northern Ireland; this means checks on goods traveling within the United Kingdom instead of on the Irish border. But hard-line unionists have been outraged by the deal, with some calling it the “betrayal act.” English conservatives, they believe, have abandoned Northern Ireland and endangered its place in the United Kingdom. At the same time, many Irish nationalists, though relieved that the immediate prospect of a hard Irish border has faded, have nevertheless been so angered by the uncertainty of the last years that they see continued membership in the United Kingdom as less tenable than ever.

Passions around Brexit are heated across the United Kingdom, but nowhere are the stakes potentially higher than in Northern Ireland. A 2015 report on paramilitaries drafted in part by MI5, the United Kingdom’s domestic intelligence agency, said that all the main paramilitary groups that operated during the Troubles remain intact; moreover, not all their weapons were decommissioned. The report’s authors considered it very unlikely that these paramilitaries would return to political violence, but the fact that they continue to hold on to weapons just in case seemed to underscore the fragility of the peace. At the same time, some so-called dissident republican groups have continued, since the Good Friday Agreement, to launch violent attacks in the name of achieving a united Ireland. The police judge the terrorist threat from these groups, including one calling itself the New I.R.A., to be “severe.” Dissident republicans have tried to use anger over Brexit as a rallying cry to win new recruits. Amid the confusion and bitterness sparked by Brexit, one thing seems clear: Northern Ireland’s delicate, hard-won equilibrium has been upset, and the consequences are potentially grave.

The headquarters of Saoradh, a small, self-declared political party whose name means “liberation” in Irish, is on a narrow street in Londonderry, Northern Ireland’s second-largest city, close to the Irish border. A mural on the facade of the building pretty well encapsulates the group’s outlook: It shows a masked paramilitary soldier wielding a rocket-propelled-grenade launcher under the slogan “Unfinished Revolution.” Northern Irish police officers say Saoradh is inextricably linked to the New I.R.A.

Inside the headquarters one afternoon in July, a thin and meticulously coiffed 27-year-old named Paddy Gallagher introduced himself to me as the party’s national press officer. While Saoradh calls itself a party, it does not engage in electoral politics, because this, as Gallagher put it, would mean becoming part of the “British infrastructure.” The party consists of “disaffected republicans,” he said, who “don’t believe the signing of the Good Friday Agreement was a good thing.” I asked him if the peace the agreement made possible wasn’t a good thing. He objected to the premise that such a peace exists. “The ongoing struggle for Irish unification and freedom hasn’t ended,” he said; people remain “willing and capable of carrying out acts of resistance.” He then provided an example: A few weeks earlier, a bomb was placed under a police officer’s car in Belfast. This was true. The officer spotted the bomb before getting in his car at a golf club, and it was safely defused; the New I.R.A. claimed responsibility. “I would assume that it was intended to kill that member of the British crown forces,” Gallagher told me.

On other occasions, the New I.R.A., which was formed in 2012, has killed intended targets. It claimed responsibility for attacks that killed two prison officers: a man named David Black, who was shot dead in 2012 in his car on the way to work, and Adrian Ismay, who died in 2016 after a bomb exploded under his van. The New I.R.A. killing that sparked the most attention and outrage came one night last April, during a republican riot in a Londonderry neighborhood called Creggan; when a masked rioter fired shots in the direction of an armored police vehicle, a bullet struck and killed Lyra McKee, a 29-year-old journalist who had arrived on the scene to report on the riot. A few days later, the New I.R.A. released a statement to a local newspaper saying that its volunteers were engaging “British crown forces” when McKee was “tragically killed,” depicting her death as collateral damage. Police officers later raided Saoradh’s headquarters as part of their investigation into the shooting, though no one has yet been charged with McKee’s murder. When I visited Creggan, I found signs posted on street lamps warning people not to cooperate with the police. “Informers will be shot,” read one of them, signed by the “I.R.A.”

Gallagher denied that Saoradh supports or has had links to the New I.R.A. — or any other armed groups — though he did not disavow their violent methods. “The Irish people can use any and all means necessary to achieve Irish freedom, whether it’s armed struggle or not,” he said. “The party believes that is up to the Irish people.” Gallagher spoke as if observing events his party played no active part in. The effect was menacing, particularly when he talked about the possibility that Brexit would result in a hard Irish border. “If there is a hard border in Ireland, and it is a manned or fixed installation, I can only assume it would be attacked,” he said, just as such installations were in the past.

Sinn Fein — the party that represents mainstream republicanism and whose leaders participated in the negotiations that led to the Good Friday Agreement — has offered a stark political response to the anger Brexit has fomented. Enshrined in the Good Friday Agreement is the “principle of consent,” which means that the people of Northern Ireland have a right to decide to which nation they want to belong. The demographics of Northern Ireland have been steadily shifting, and within the decade, a majority of its people will be Catholic, making the prospect of a united Ireland seem almost inevitable. This population shift is evident in election results that increasingly favor nationalists; in the United Kingdom parliamentary election in December, voters in Northern Ireland elected more nationalist representatives than unionist representatives for the first time in the country’s hundred-year history. Now Brexit has provided an opportunity for Sinn Fein to argue that the time to make that choice is near.

In July, I met Michelle O’Neill, Sinn Fein’s vice president, in her cavernous office in Northern Ireland’s palatial Parliament building. Brexit, she told me, had changed the paradigm in Northern Ireland, necessitating a referendum on Irish unity. Northern Ireland, she said, should not be dragged out of the European Union against its will. She seemed eager to assure not only her base but also the moderate unionists who voted to remain in the European Union and who might swing such a referendum. “I want to see a united Ireland,” O’Neill said. “But it has to be an inclusive Ireland. It has to be one where those who have an Irish identity and those who have a British identity feel part and parcel, feel that they have their place, and it’s valued and cherished.”

This seemed a shrewd political approach. But Northern Ireland’s history often reads like a case study in how the most extreme elements in the society can wreak undue havoc. Northern Irish police officers have warned that the threat from violent dissident republican groups remains severe even without the prospect of a hard Irish border. On the other side of the divide, many are outraged in the belief that the prospect of militant republican violence drove Boris Johnson and the European Union to keep the Irish border open at the expense of Northern Ireland’s place in the United Kingdom.

After Johnson’s deal was announced, a few hundred loyalists, including reputed paramilitary members, met in East Belfast to discuss how they should respond to their perceived betrayal. Following the meeting, Jamie Bryson, a self-described “loyalist activist,” told local reporters that the Brexit deal would be met with mass resistance. “One of the main reasons we were told there can be no border on the island of Ireland is because dissident republicans may attack it, but yet there’s been no consideration given to the loyalist community on how people may react to a border down the Irish Sea,” Bryson told a reporter from The Belfast Telegraph. “I don’t think anyone in loyalism wants to see violence. But obviously there’s a lot of anger at the minute.”

On a June evening in East Belfast, a group of men belonging to a Protestant fraternal organization called the Orange Order gathered at their meeting place in a red-brick Victorian hall for a special occasion: the unveiling of a new parade banner. The Orange Order is a staunchly unionist organization founded in 1795 and is named after William of Orange, the Protestant king who in the late 17th century took the throne after King James II, a Catholic, was deposed in the Glorious Revolution. Every year in Northern Ireland, Orangemen — who number around 30,000 — conduct thousands of parades, and they’ve been staging them for centuries. The biggest day of parading falls on July 12, a Protestant celebration that marks William’s decisive victory over James at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, and on the eve of the holiday, unionists light large bonfires. These parades were historically seen as a display of Protestant supremacy, and they frequently led to sectarian clashes. Today they usually go off peacefully, though often under a heavy police presence. Orangemen say the parades are an innocent expression of their culture. Many nationalists still view them as intimidating.

This particular lodge, called the Young Men’s Christian Total Abstinence Loyal Orange Lodge 747, consisted, contrary to its name, largely of older gentlemen who wore suits and ties along with the orange sashes worn by Orangemen. The abstinence in this case was real — the men drank juice out of wineglasses — and the event began with the singing of a hymn. Then the parade banner, which had been covered with a white sheet, was unveiled, revealing a depiction of William of Orange atop a white horse at the Battle of the Boyne. The men applauded the banner, put on their bowler hats and filed out into the street, where a neatly uniformed marching band awaited. The drummers snapped and pounded, the flutists piped and the men marched their new banner past the brick rowhouses and storefronts of East Belfast, a working-class stronghold blighted in parts by poverty. The Orangemen strutted past homes decorated with flags of loyalist paramilitaries and murals showing armed paramilitary men in balaclavas. It made for a somewhat jarring juxtaposition, seeing men of such apparent decorum pass such harsh images. The Orangemen ended their march with a rendition of “God Save the Queen.”

Back inside the hall, as they dined on plates of roast beef and potatoes, a Presbyterian minister named Mervyn Gibson, the grand secretary of the Grand Orange Lodge of Ireland, approached the lectern. “Today some are trying to bribe us out of the United Kingdom by claiming to offer us a better lifestyle in the Republic of Ireland,” he said. Gibson seemed to be referring to arguments that the Northern Ireland economy would flourish within a united Ireland. “Our loyalty and identity are not about economics,” Gibson went on, “not something to be bartered or traded.” Those now threatening a referendum on Irish unity, he added, were the same people who “tried to bomb and murder us out of the United Kingdom. They failed then, and they’ll fail again,” he said, and then concluded: “We’re born British, we’ll remain British, we’ll die British.” The men of the lodge responded: “Hear! Hear!”

The key question, it seemed, was how far these men would go to remain British. On another occasion, Gibson told me he would accept a democratic vote for Irish unity it if it came to that. Others, however, are more strident. Many loyalists feel a sense of decline as Catholics have gained more rights and upward mobility; young loyalist men in interface areas who used to be guaranteed factory jobs by virtue of their identity now face high unemployment and a sense that their standing in society has eroded. Such grievances seem to only reinforce people’s sense of identity. Loyalist paramilitaries feed off this to gain recruits, though according to the police, these groups are more often involved in organized crime than in politics. Still, in East Belfast, I observed how one paramilitary — the U.V.F. — had the capacity to stir up sectarian passions.

Last summer, in advance of the July 12 celebrations, members of Belfast’s republican-led City Council voted to remove a pyre made of wooden pallets in East Belfast — set up for the coming bonfire night — saying it was illegally on city property, namely the parking lot of a recreation center. Local loyalists responded angrily and vowed not to allow the city to remove the pyre, resulting in a standoff that, for days, became the main news story in town. At a demonstration one evening that drew hundreds of people to the site of the pyre, I met a number of masked young men who told me they were protecting the pyre from being dismantled. Jamie Bryson, the loyalist activist, spoke to the crowd. “Standing exposed tonight is the actual agenda of Belfast City Council,” he said. “And it is the total demolition of every aspect of Protestant unionist and loyalist culture,” he went on. “We will not have it!” This inspired a fervent round of applause. “No surrender!” shouted a woman next to me who wore a shirt that said “Me Wrong?” on it. “This is British land, and it will stay British land,” she then told me.

Police officers said the standoff was whipped up by the U.V.F. In a letter to the City Council, the police warned that any attempt to remove the pyre would “cause a severe, violent confrontation, orchestrated by the U.V.F.” and that the “use of firearms during such disorder cannot be ruled out.” Ultimately, the police did not move in. This was, Bryson later wrote in an online newsletter, a “momentous and hugely symbolic victory within the context of the larger cultural war.”

On the bonfire night, I went to another pyre on a barren plot next to a peace wall in West Belfast, where my tour guide, Robert, had taken me. As the sky slowly darkened, a D.J. played pulsing techno. Drunken teenagers milled around. A small, impromptu marching band of revelers formed. They sang a U.V.F. tune at the top of their lungs: “On my gravestone, carve a simple message: ‘Here lies a soldier of the U.V.F.’ ” I spoke to one woman among them who told me that this was all in good fun, just an expression of loyalist culture. But you couldn’t help noticing that the pyre that was about to be lit had been bedecked with flags of the Republic of Ireland.

______

James Angelos is a contributing writer for the magazine based in Berlin. He last wrote about anti-Semitism in Germany. Ivor Prickett is an Irish photographer. He was a finalist for the 2018 Pulitzer Prize in breaking-news photography for his coverage of battles in Mosul and Raqqa.

36 notes · View notes

terramythos · 4 years

Text

TerraMythos' 2020 Reading Challenge - Book 1 of 26

Title: The Devil and the Deep: Horror Stories of the Sea (2018)

Author: Various (edited by Ellen Datlow)

Genre/Tags: Short Story Anthology, Horror (Various), Female Protagonist(s), LGBT Protagonist(s).

Rating: 7/10 (note: this is an average of all the stories)

Date Began: 1/1/2020

Date Finished: 1/6/2020

I don’t usually read short story collections. But since I kicked off 2020 with a trip outside the US, I wanted something that could easily be picked up and read in short bursts. So I dove into a short story anthology @mistressofmuses gave me for Christmas. Since I was staying on the coast, this seemed like an appropriate choice.

This anthology is a collection of 15 original horror stories by different authors, each somehow associated with the sea. Like any anthology, they were pretty hit or miss, but there were some I really enjoyed. Honorable mentions (scoring 8/10 or higher):

Fodder’s Jig by Lee Thomas (9/10)

The Whalers Song by Ray Cluley (9/10)

A Ship of the South Wind by Bradley Denton (8/10)

Broken Record by Stephen Graham Jones (8/10)

A Moment Before Breaking by A. C. Wise (9/10)

Sister, Dearest Sister, Let Me Show To You The Sea by Seanan McGuire (10/10)

He Sings of Salt and Wormwood by Brian Hodge (10/10)

For a brief summary of all the stories and impression of each, see below the cut. These are in the order they appear and contain minor/implied spoilers.

1. Deadwater by Simon Bestwick - 4/10

Summary: A man living in a coastal tourist town is found dead by the shore. When her cop boyfriend rules it a suicide, the man's best friend Emily investigates the death on her own.

Thoughts: This one was very predictable. I'd figured out the "twist" and exactly how it would end by the half way point. It wasn’t super exciting and the writing just wasn't engaging for me. I did appreciate the occasional thematic callback and the whole thing about broken people needing to stick together, but there wasn’t enough of that in the actual story to sell me on it.

2. Fodder’s Jig by Lee Thomas - 9/10

Summary: Two men in their 60s fall in love with each other and try to form a life together. However, amid one’s rough divorce, a bizarre disease emerges that causes people to dance wildly and speak in tongues after exposure to the ocean. When one of the two men begins to exhibit symptoms of the disease, everything changes. Thoughts: Well done, creepy cosmic horror, and the ending was phenomenal. I loved that it was about two old gay dudes trying to find happiness late in life, struggling with manipulative family issues, and how all of it seamlessly blended with the horror. The prose was great too, and the zinger when you fully understand the title is... an experience. I thought it was interesting that the flashback scenes were in present tense and the current scenes were in past tense, but it sort of makes sense with the themes of the story.

3. The Curious Allure of the Sea by Christopher Golden - 7/10

Summary: A woman's father is lost at sea. To honor his memory, she tattoos herself with a strange symbol found in his abandoned boat. However, afterward, sea creatures and people alike find themselves drawn to her. Thoughts: It was moderately creepy. The part where Jenny burns off the tattoo (spoilers) was viscerally horrifying. Beyond that, it didn't stick out a whole lot. Sort of like a “wouldn’t that be fucked up?” Twilight Zone episode.

4. The Tryal Attract by Terry Dowling - 5/10

Summary: After a conversation with his neighbor, a man agrees to spend several nights in the neighbor's house to commune with a talking human skull which he has recurring dreams about.

Thoughts: The prose was good enough, but the actual horror element was sort of like one of those creepypastas that’s just unintentionally funny. It felt very Scooby Doo and I don’t think that was the intent.

5. The Whalers Song by Ray Cluley - 9/10

Summary: When a Norwegian whaling ship sinks after a catch, the small crew manages to escape. On shore, however, the eerie artifacts they find of old whaling ships are more than they bargained for.

Thoughts: Way way way eerie, and the prose was great; very stilted yet beautiful. There was an underlying theme of the past and present, which Cluley explores in multiple ways. It has a slow start but it pays off. One of the more haunting ones in the collection.

6. A Ship of the South Wind by Bradley Denton - 8/10

Summary: Three years after the Civil War, two Native Americans -- a boy named Charley and his uncle JoJim -- are accosted by a group of travelers in the plains of Kansas. They find that help comes from an unexpected source-- an eccentric, quasi-supernatural figure named Captain Thomas, whom JoJim met decades ago.

Thoughts: Honestly, setting a sea-themed horror story entirely in Kansas was a power move, but I think it worked. Did a great job building and maintaining tension. I loved the small details, like keeping the villains as "Red-beard" and "Black-beard" even after we learn their real names to keep things nautical. It's kind of like if No Country for Old Men crossed over with a pretty good episode of Goosebumps with some pseudo steampunk elements.

7. What My Mother Left Me by Alyssa Wong - 6/10

Summary: Following the death of her mother and breakup with her abusive boyfriend, Emma and her new girlfriend visit her mom's old beach house to collect her things. However, things get weird when they discover partially decomposed, yet still living fish along the shore.

Thoughts: I’m torn on this one. The writing was really good, but it felt like the story couldn’t decide between being a straight-up slasher flick or a deep, heartfelt exploration of family and surviving domestic abuse. I really felt like it needed to be longer, as both elements felt underdeveloped.

8. Broken Record by Stephen Graham Jones - 8/10

Summary: A man is trapped on a deserted island.

Thoughts: I do not want to spoil the "twist" of this one but it's good and a fun scenario to imagine. Toed the line between humor and horror well.

9. Saudade by Steve Rasnic Tem - 5/10

Summary: A man agrees to go on a senior singles cruise at the behest of his daughters, but feels awkward and out of place. He is drawn to a bizarre woman who occasionally appears and causes something strange and unsettling to happen.

Thoughts: The writing is good, but Tem spends the bulk of the story focusing on protagonist Lee wandering a cruise ship and being sad about it. I loved the ending and its callback to an earlier, seemingly unrelated scene, but beyond that I feel there’s way more you can do with the inherent horror of a cruise ship.

10. A Moment Before Breaking by A. C. Wise - 9/10

Summary: While a little girl and her mother are immigrating to the United States, the ship they are on suddenly sinks. The girl is captured by cultists who perform a strange ritual, binding her to a creature called the prince of the sea.

Thoughts: I really dug this one-- it's just so weird. I loved how the narrative treated the shared body between Ana and the prince, and that we get to see Ana in various stages of her life. The prose was gorgeous. Definitely one of my favorites in the collection.

11. Sister, Dearest Sister, Let Me Show To You The Sea by Seanan McGuire - 10/10

Summary: When her little sister drowns her in the tide pools by their Washington home, a teenage girl makes a deal with an eel-like entity of the sea to get her revenge. Thoughts: "Holy fucking shit" was pretty much all I could say when I finished this one. Visceral body horror at its finest, and I'm always a sucker for revenge. The prose was beautiful and horrid in the best way. I'm a big fan of the author already but this exceeded my expectations.

12. The Deep Sea Swell by John Langan - 3/10

Summary: A couple is traveling by ship. One of the two, Susan, recalls a few supernatural stories their mutual friend Giorgio told them before she has her own supernatural encounter.

Thoughts: I found myself begging the author to press the enter key on his keyboard a few times. Beyond that, this was the first story that actually challenged my suspension of disbelief with what happens and how it relates to the main character. I didn't find the horror element very scary at all. There were some cool visuals but that's about all I got out of it.

13. He Sings of Salt and Wormwood by Brian Hodge - 10/10

Summary: During a deep sea diving exercise, a competitive surfer comes across an old, sunken yacht. He is horrified by the strange worm-like creatures devouring the wood. However, when he returns home to his wife, they begin to find strange, humanoid carvings every day on the Oregon coast. Thoughts: GOD was this good. Superb voice and writing, very creepy, and everything comes together so well in the ending. I felt an emotional connection to the love and longing between Danny and Gail, which is always hard to accomplish in a short story. Just a stellar read.

14. Shit Happens by Michael Marshall Smith - 3/10

Summary: A higher-up from a tech conglomerate attends a company conference aboard a converted boat-hotel, but things go south when guests start to experience acute gastrointestinal distress. Thoughts: This gets like 3 points for making me genuinely laugh a few times and -7 points for everything else.

15. Haunt by Siobhan Carroll - 6/10

Summary: In 1799, a cargo ship is troubled by a ghost ship on their trail. When the passengers and crew are stranded in the middle of the ocean, the dark pasts of the crew slowly come to light. Thoughts: The writing was good, the author clearly knows her shit, and I can admire what she is going for. However, the whole thing was just a bit too brutal and graphic for me, especially knowing that some of the things described were based on real events. I guess that was probably the point based on her author’s note, but I can’t recommend this as an entertaining read.

#taylor reads #2020 reading challenge #7/10

11 notes · View notes

partiallystcrs · 4 years

Text

hi here’s an unnecessarily long & detailed timeline for surayra during season 3 of primeval - part 1 .

events prior / during season 3 episode 1

surayra joins the ARC approximately two weeks before the arrival of captain hilary becker. it’s with the death of stephen hart that lester realizes they may need some sort of person to monitor the team’s mental health since they’re shit at doing it themselves. ALL SESSIONS ARE MANDATORY. in the time between the new arrivals, there’s a creature incursion , connor nearly dies ( this is nothing new, but it strikes a nerve since stephen ). abby is the first to knock on surayra’s door willingly.

it’s important to note : at this time , surayra has only seen blurry cctv footage of creature incursions. has rationalized that it’s simply a government conspiracy , & she’s here to monitor the effects on the team .

james lester has a session immediately upon returning from a meeting with christine johnson ; sar’s office is made soundproof afterwards . captain becker arrives , has his first session almost immediately upon returning to the arc. he’s late & does not stay the entire hour mandated ; sar notes in his file that he’s probably going a little bit mental . doctor sarah page arrives , seeks out the office of the woman tasked at keeping the team sane ; she stays for an hour & forty - five minutes , they become fast friends. sar notes that she’s the first civilian added to the team in ages , poor thing is also going mental .

upon returning home for the evening , she’s found that her fiance of three years has left with all his belongings. though she’s had a classified government job for years , the new position has taken a serious toll on the relationship , as she cannot even hint at what it is. she returns to work the next day without even a trace of emotion. she has a job to do.

events following episode 2 - events of episode 3

after the cleaner infiltrates the arc , it’s required of nick cutter to have a sit down with sar . he enters the room for fifteen minutes , & leaves without so much as sitting down. connor is also given a required session to discuss being arrested & if it will impact how he works from then on . a session that should have been completed in an hour ; they are finished in three , & surayra instead decides to sleep on the couch she has in her office. the next night she’s out at a pub & meets a cop who has just quit his job. with sar coming off a fresh breakup , they decide to spend the night together. they continue to see each other off & on , he starts getting curious about this classified government job that keeps her up at night with files at her kitchen table .

while the team is hunting diictodons down hospital wings , sar is forced to start looking into getting a guide dog . she’s going through the files on her desk when she is forcibly removed from the building by a man wielding a gun. upon being led outside , she immediately begins to comfort those who have been traumatized by the events , keeping her own trauma in check . the arc is blown up , cutter is murdered . surayra keeps busy within the next few weeks in a spare office with an open door policy. it takes her little time to get the team back to their sense of normal , & helps them properly grieve cutter’s death.

it’s also during this time that lester forces her & captain becker to work together when coming up with the security teams , & what men go where. it’s a new experience & a small test of faith in each other’s viewings of the men ; it works out brilliantly .

when she gets her office back , she immediately sets to work at creating it a safe space. she is allowed to bring in two 75 gal fish tanks , & sets one up as a saltwater tank & the other as a freshwater tank . it sets her office apart from the rest of the work being done in the arc , & she’s told by more than a few that it’s refreshing. she marks those down as good days, & also begins storing snacks in the top drawer of her office desk.

events prior to & during episode 5

with the insistence of a close friend , & ultimately a forged signature , surayra is gifted with a year old belgian malinois ; he serves as both her guide dog & an emotional support dog. despite her deep love for dogs , there is an obvious dislike on sar’s part for the dog. she accepts him anyway , but names him سگ ( farsi word for dog ; pronounced SAGH ).

two days after the last time she’s spent the night with the ex-cop , he’s broken into the ARC. without her knowing , he’s gone through her papers while she slept & put the two & two together about her job & the people he’s helped at the airport. it’s embarrassing , she gets a proper yelling from lester about it , & glares from the captain . she decides it best to take dog for a walk through the arc , to get him used to her work . she is back in her office by the time the team goes out & is having a session with one of the researchers when connor returns with a sample of the fungus.

she is on her way to find another one of her appointments when she gets a good look at what the fungal sample as become. it’s during this moment that she realizes the team hasn’t gone crazy , & spends the rest of the day going through her files on each team member & reevaluating. even when the arc is evacuated , she is sat curbside with dog watching over her while she continues to go through her files .

she has to give jenny lewis one last session before she leaves , & offers to keep in touch . they never do , & sar closes her file, leaving a glowing review of her mental health. simply needs space . following that , she has a session with danny quinn , having to see if he’s fit to be a part of the team. he gives her a wink , she gives him a pointed look , he is cleared for duty without a word spoken during their ‘ session ’.

she spends the night in her office again , having gone over each file of becker’s men twice over , having been unimpressed by their lack of action while the mushroom was in the arc. immediately the next day , they are found in his office making new teams & tactical decisions.

#there's no Actual Timeline for this show so ? i am doing My Best & going through it episode by episode & the in - betweens .#surayra bukhari : hc // GONNA BE A GOOD GOOD LIFE . THAT'S WHAT MY THERAPIST SAYS .#i skipped four bc nothing Eventful happened in her life during this time .

1 note · View note

antipthy-blog · 5 years

Text

❝ you punched me in the face , you made me walk through shitty water , brought me to a FUCKING CRACKHOUSE ( ! ) . . . and now , i’m gonna have to kill this fucking clown . ❞

one. ⤻ statistics.

full name: richard james tozier.

nicknames, aliases:

goes by richie most of the time.

rich.

trashmouth.

bucky beaver.

a slew of childhood nicknames bestowed by bowers ‘n the crew.

age: twenty - three.

date of birth: march 7th.

place of birth: derry, maine.

current place of residence: truman island.

occupation: stand - up comedian, screenwriter, occasional bartender.

nationality: ‘bout as american as you can get.

sexual & romantic identity: he’s gay ! totally gay !

gender identity: cisgender male, he/him.

hogwarts house: gryffindor.

source material:

stephen king’s it.

it: chapters one & two ( 2017, 2019, dir. andy musichetti. )

two. ⤻ biography.

too long, can’t be fucked to read: richie has a normal childhood until he n his pals ( he’s kind of in love with them n never gets over it ) get attacked by a clown, suffer the repercussions, and then he ends up in truman and he’s fucking pissed abt it. has all his memories, wishes he didn’t.

sometimes, when i write my intros, i get stumped over their childhood bc it was a childhood ???????? nothing significant happened ?????????????? --- - wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, shit ain’t quite the case here.

richard james tozier, known affectionaly as richie or trashmouth, is the only son of wentworth and maggie tozier, and for the most part they’re a relatively unassuming family. wentworth is a dentist whose attitude towards his own son’s dental care is simultaneously strict and lax, and maggie makes a life out of spoiling the fuckshit out of her boys but she loves it. there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the little family they’ve built ; established in their routines, in their practices, the toziers are nothing to write home about.

richie’s a handful, admittedly. diagnosed with adhd when he turns four, he’s hyperactive, loud, histrionic, a sarcastic little smartass before he knows what any of those things are. he keeps himself entertained with comic books, drinking in their bright colours and their intricate storylines and develops an infinite love for their careworn pages and their impossible tales. they keep him grounded, strange as it is --- - when all goes to shit, as it inevitably will, he’ll thumb through an old copy of uncanny x-men and the world doesn’t seem so heavy anymore. when he gets his first pair of glasses, thick - rimmed plastic frames and lenses more like coke bottles than actual lenses, he spends two hours spiraling deep into the familiar world of his comics. when he gets tripped up the first time, when he gets called fuckface or four - eyes or worse, he swallows back the lump in his throat and legs it home for his comics. when he’s reading, he’s not so hyperactive --- - he still frantically jiggles one leg, but he’s quiet, introspective --- - the silence is rare but comforting.

his sense of humour is sharp as anything, practised daily on his poor mother and father. he’s developed a slew of Voices, little impressions that differ only in tone and intention, but wentworth and maggie encourage him to keep working, keep building on them. his wit gets him into trouble at school, and numerous teachers have written in reports that richie’s got a bit of a reputation for being a class clown. ( humour is a desperate attempt to grab out, to latch onto a friend because really, he’s so fucking lonely it hurts and he just wants someone to laugh at him and entertain his endless bullshit and be there. )

shouldn’t have wished so hard for friends, because they come along in the form of the losers’ club. richie moreso stumbles across them than anything --- - knew bill denbrough because they lived on the same block, found him fuckin’ round in the barrens with some other kids and hey, it’s like they’d been best friends forever. there’s bill, big bill, stuttering bill, de facto leader and richie’s unspoken idol. there’s stan, preternaturally neat and it’s like he came out of the womb like that, already a coherent amalgamation of smiles in his voice and rolled eyes. there’s mike, with his killawatt smile and good intentions and comforting voice that sets ease into richie’s perpetually rattled bones. ben, whose creativity and quiet reassurance is something richie pines after desperately. beverly, the only girl, cigarette-scented voice of rhyme and reason and rationality. then there’s eddie, and richie swallows up anything he can say about eddie before the words come out.

it’s painful, realising you’re in love with your best friend. it starts early, a quick glance here and there that lingers, a breath that catches in your throat when you see him smile. you try and push the feelings down, swallow them whole before they can infect every part of you but darling, it’s never that easy. by the time summer arrives, you are in far too deep. you never really recover from your pre - adolescent tango with love, and it develops into an adolescent waltz with it, and --- - you get the picture.

summer brings --- - well, it’s been years now and richie’s still lost for words that fit what that summer really was. it starts with a few kids going missing, ending up dead and then it’s george denbrough, little georgie, one arm chewed off and yellow slicker tainted sticky red and then the whole world seems to fall apart. bill’s a madman on a mission, and richie follows --- - follows when it means getting taunted by a demon clown alien thing, when it means fucking fighting said demon alien clown thing, snapping eddie’s broken arm back into some kind of place whilst bated breaths are held back in case it hears. they beat it, and richie’s still not sure how but he knows that for six months after, he can’t look at a clown without digging bitten fingernails into calloused flesh of a palm. a year later, he still jumps at too - loud noises. two years later, he starts seeing a therapist because his parents have noticed he can’t sleep in the dark anymore.

high school, college applications, they all become a blur. the losers spend most nights together, endless double features, piling into cars, growing up and together and apart until the first one of them leaves, and it feels like taking a fucking bullet. slowly, they all scatter to the wind, memories firm but never forgotten and richie’s planning california, hot summers and comedy shows but he ends up in some shithole called truman and honestly, he’s not even sure how.

he’s not his happiest in truman, let’s waste no time in establishing that. he wanted to be away from derry, sure, that’s no lie but fuck, man, he didn’t mean here ! everyone seems perpetually too - happy, too bright, too naïve to the ways of the world and fuckin’ child - chompin’ clowns, and --- - he’s determined to get out of here, but he doesn’t quite know how yet.

three. ⤻ wanted connections.

a string of unfortunate exes / all you send are full stops. before he comes out, before he finally stops pretending to be something he’s not, richie dates a few girls and honestly, every single relationship ends in disaster because he charms them, gets them falling only to end it when he realises he can’t keep kissing them and wanting to brush his teeth afterwards. he’s got an unfortunate string of ex - girlfriends who would probably rather see him dead, and he’s semi - okay with that.

an attempt at a real relationship / you’re looking like you really like him. richie tries to date for real when he finally admits that he’s not as straight as previously believed, and it works for a while --- - it’s comfortable, familiar, keeps him warm when he needs to be but it falls apart quickly. the other can’t deal with the way he thrashes during a bad dream, borderline screams names into his pillow --- - bill mike help help help oh my god ben bill stan mike billmikestanbenbillbillmikestanstanstan help me oh fuck eddieeddieeddieeddieeddieeddie --- - the breakup is amicable, and richie can’t bring himself to hate them.

honestly im not going 2 subject yall to another 300+ words of my torturous writing if u want a kewl plot msg me and ive probably got one or i can whip up something bespoke !

#truman:intro #not 2 be dramatic but i've written essays shorter than this #━━ ˊ * ╰ 𝑟𝑒: 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 . ╱ ooc .

7 notes · View notes

salty-ironstrange-shipper · 5 years

Text

From the Top: Prologue

Summary: Personally, I think the MCU would be much better as a love story between Stephen Strange and Tony Stark. Don't you? Starting from Iron Man, and going all the way to Endgame, with all the appropriate stops in between. Let's take it from the top. (warning for mild sexual content)

“This thing on?”

. . .

“Hey, Miss Potts. If you or Rhodey find this recording, don’t feel bad about this. Part of the journey is the end.”

. . .

“Just for the record, being adrift in space with zero promise of Rescue is more fun than it sounds. Food and water ran out . . . four days ago . . . oxygen’ll run out tomorrow morning, and that’ll be it.”

. . .

“Stephen, if you’re . . . there somewhere . . . when I drift off, I’ll be with you again. I can’t wait.”

— 2008-2010 —

They first met at a party.

This one was organized by the hospital to raise money. It was also Stephen's first upper-class party like that, and he had been more nervous that he would like to admit. He was alone unless you counted the other, more experienced doctors who were also there and who immediately fucked off and did something else as soon as they got there, leaving him alone at the bar. Stephen resisted a sigh and took a drink.

Across the room, Tony was growing increasingly bored listening to doctors fight to get his funding. He planned to give it regardless, but he usually enjoyed it when people fought for his attention. Tonight though, he was looking for something . . . different.

He looked past the doctors around the room, marking off options in his head. Boring, boring, bad in bed, cries during sex . . . huh. His eyes landed on a man standing at the bar. That’s new. Dark hair, unblemished skin, tall and slender without being skinny, young, but not too young. Looked like he was trying to hide how uncomfortable he was. Not exactly a challenge, but Tony wasn't looking for one.

“Yeah, okay, bye.” He left the doctors behind, eyes trained on his newest target. The man didn’t seem to notice him at first. Tony took the time to look him up and down before asking, “Bored?”

To his credit, the man barely seemed surprised to see him. Or maybe he just didn’t recognize Tony. Bit insulting, it’s my party, but fine.

He nodded. “A bit.”

“My bad.” He held out his hand for the doctor to shake. “Tony Stark.” There we go. There was recognition in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t react apart from that, merely shaking Tony’s hand.

“Stephen Strange.”

Tony smiled and opened his mouth.

“Whatever it is, don’t.”

Tony chuckled, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “You’ve probably heard just about every ‘strange pun’ under the sun, huh?”

“Twice. It got old around the time I started to speak.”

“Sounds like you could use something new.” Tony turned towards him, angling his head so that his attention was fully on the other man.

Stephen seemed to realize immediately what he meant. He took his time looking over Tony before a smirk slid over his face. “Projecting, much? What, are you tired of the same one-night-stands?”

Tony smiled. “Knew you’d heard of me.” He took a long draw of his drink. “So what do you think? Want to be my something new for the night?”

“If you think you can keep up with me.”

“Cocky. I like that in a man.”

“Really? The version I heard is that you like it in you.”

Tony arched a brow. “Planning to join that list?”

Stephen ‘hmmed’, sliding a hand over Tony’s free one. “Mister Stark . . . you’re going to beg me to join it.

Tony snorted, looking Stephen over his glass of champagne. “I've never begged for anything in my life.”

Stephen smirked. “Then I will be honored to be the first.”

Tony laughed, louder than he meant to. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you.”

“Well”, Stephen muttered to himself, walking up to his apartment, “I can add that to my list of achievements. First person to ever make Tony Stark beg in bed.” It was the best night he’d had in a while, but now he was exhausted from staying awake so long and getting up early, not to mention the party. At least I don’t have anything to do today, he thought, falling into bed. So naturally he was forced to wake up four hours later to go to the hospital.

“I’m going to murder Nick,” Stephen said when he got a chance to talk to Christine. Christ, residency was even worse than med school.

“It’s not his fault he’s sick,” Christine said half-heartedly.

“Yes it is.”

Christine rolled her eyes and walked off, probably having better things to do than put up with his bitching. Stephen downed a cup of coffee as quickly as he could, having little time before he had to go back to work. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered before reminding himself that the rewards were worth the effort.

Stephen was about to get back to work when his phone chimed. He looked down, wondering who was texting him when pretty much everyone he cared to talk to was at the hospital.

I'm not hungry. Let's get dinner. — You know who I am

Stephen stared at the phone. How the hell did he get my phone number?

. . .

Okay, that was a stupid question. The man was a genius who owned a tech company, it probably took him two seconds.

He considered ignoring it, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to. If nothing else, Tony Stark was new and interesting, two things his life was decidedly lacking lately.

Eyes on the clock, he texted, Can’t right now. Work. Then, Will you still be up at 3?

It’s like you know me.

Stephen didn’t realize he was smiling until someone snapped at him to get back to work.

It was not a walk in the park to date Tony Stark.

The first few weeks were like a dream. When they actually sat down to have a conversation, Tony was surprised by how intelligent Stephen was and how much he genuinely enjoyed speaking to him. It wasn’t long before he was thinking up every excuse he could to stay in New York, even relocating business meetings that would have been in California only to blow them off in favor of showing Stephen off and lavishing him with gifts. But they were two months into their relationship, and he didn’t know how he thought it could last.

Honestly, it was kind of a stupid fight. They were having sex at Stephen’s apartment — he had repeatedly turned down Tony’s offers to buy him a better one — when Tony, curled around Stephen’s back as he fucked into him, said, “God, you’re such a slut, so desperate for my cock, such a fucking whore—”

Stephen turned, pushing Tony away with hands and feet. “Get off— get off of me!”

Confused, Tony did as he was told, staring at Stephen as he got out of bed and started to get dressed. “What’s wrong?”

Stephen paused, his pants haphazardly hanging around his waist, Tony’s shirt only half on him. “Are you fucking serious? What, do you think I don’t get called that enough already by your ‘friends’?”

Tony did know. He could hardly go three days without someone making a smartass comment about his boyfriend who was ten years younger than him and had little status or resources of his own. Normally he could shrug it off, but tensions were high between them as Stephen had grown more unsettled with Tony’s job and company.

Not that Tony was willing to admit that Stephen might have a point. “Well personally, I thought gold-digging slut suited you better.” He winced when he saw the angry, hate-filled look on Stephen’s face, immediately regretting what he said. “I didn’t mean that—”

“Get out,” Stephen said in a low, cold tone. “Get out. I don’t want you in my apartment.”

“Stephen—”

“No, if all I am is your hooker than I’m sure you can find a cheaper one who’s willing to put up with you. It is New York, afterall.” He started throwing Tony’s clothes at him, realizing halfway through that he was wearing his shirt. He took it off and threw that too. “Get. OUT!”

Soon Tony was standing outside the apartment with his shirt and shoes in hand and wondering how he fucked up so badly.

“Come here often?”

Stephen started at the familiar voice, rolling his eyes when he saw Tony. “Not anymore. The company is terrible.”

“I deserved that.” It had been three weeks since their disastrous breakup, and Tony was no longer too proud to admit that he missed the doctor. And he thought that enough time had passed that Stephen wasn’t as angry as he’d been when he changed the locks on his apartment and blocked his number.

“And much more.” Maybe not.

“I know. And I want to make it up to you.”

Stephen scoffed. “What, the prostitutes in Malibu aren’t up to your high standards?”

“I apologized for that.”

“No, you didn’t actually.”

Tony thought back. “Oh. Well, I meant to. To be fair, you didn’t really give me a chance.”

“And why should I now?” Stephen demanded, looking him in the eye for the first time since he got here.”

“Because the suite I'm staying in has a private hot tub.”

Stephen paused. “That does sound fun.”

Tony smiled, knowing he’d already won. If Stephen were really as upset as he seemed, nothing would have swayed him. But if Stephen wanted him to grovel a bit, then he could do that.

“Plus,” Tony said, reaching into his pocket, “I got you something.” He set the box on the counter, standing back to let Stephen choose whether or not to take it.

Luckily, resisting temptation had never been one of Stephen’s strengths. After a brief moment of curiosity, he took the box, his eyes widening a fraction when he saw the label on the top. He looked up at Tony. “Are you serious?”

“Open it and find out,” Tony said with a sly smile.

Still looking at him, Stephen obeyed, delicately lifting the watch out. “Jesus, Tony.” The watch was perfectly designed, made of shining platinum and steel, with a white face and black leather band.

“You said you wanted it,” Tony said.

Stephen frowned. “When?”

“Don’t know,” Tony lied, distinctly remembering when Stephen had brought it up when they were lying in bed together. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Stephen’s mouth. “You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?”

“Is it working?”

Stephen couldn’t help a small smile. “It’s incredibly ostentatious. And, I’m sure, ridiculously expensive.”

“Oh good, you like it.”

For the first time in weeks, Tony heard Stephen laugh.

They lasted two months.

So they continued, apart for a few weeks, together longer, much to the annoyance of everyone who knew them. Christine, especially, grew tired of Stephen’s periods of whining, mooning, and bitching. But it was worst in November of 2008. That year, Stephen’s birthday just so happened to intersect with his relationship with Tony. And Tony, being the show-off he was, wanted to plan something big.

Christine still doesn’t know how she got roped into helping him.

“Now, for Stephen’s sake, and hoping we can keep this out of the tabloids—” a problem she never thought she’d have— “let’s try to keep it low-key and classy.”

“I agree completely,” Tony said. “How many strippers do you think we need?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

The party ended up taking place on an island in the Caribbean. There were two hundred people, of whom Stephen knew around ten, plus about two dozen strippers, and a champagne tower that someone knocked over, and then someone else cut their tongue open on the broken glass when they tried licking up the champagne from the floor. Stephen and Tony missed this because they were having sex on a completely different part of the island. Christine never went to another one of Tony’s parties.

When the next year rolled around, Tony and Stephen were decidedly not together. Work was stressing him out, and the idea of taking a break for his birthday was laughable. He only got home at four am. When Stephen fell into bed, he was annoyed to realize that he couldn’t fall asleep. His apartment was too . . . quiet. Quiet and empty. He just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Sighing, he sat up and grabbed his phone. 5:21. He groaned, running ideas through his head for something to take his mind off of how fucking depressing this was before he remembered hearing about Tony being in the city for a conference.

The last thing he’d wanted when he woke up that morning was to see Tony. It was just a reminder of how things had changed since the year before, of how they were never going to work because they could barely stand to be around each other for more than a month.

But I miss him.

He waited a few minutes before calling him. “Hey. I . . . heard you were in New York.”

Thirty minutes later, Stephen was screaming Tony's name into a pillow and had completely forgotten about why he was upset.

At least until afterwards when Tony kissed his cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday.”

Christine sat listening to Stephen complain about Tony, who was of course in New York again, clearly expecting Stephen to fall into his bed later, and Stephen was saying that that would definitely not happen for the third time that year. Once he paused for breath, Christine said, “You know Stephen, every time Tony turns up in New York again — which he does ten times as much as he did before he met you — you insist that nothing's going to happen and you'll just ignore him. Then you say it was just a one-night stand and it didn't mean anything. Two days later, you're singing his praises, talking about how thoughtful he can be and how things really weren't that bad before and there was no reason this time couldn't be better, and can we just skip to that part already? Because honestly, that is when you're at your least unbearable during this whole thing.”

Stephen flushed. “That's not—”

“It has been exactly like this every time for three. Years. Three years! Just fuck him and get it over with.”

Stephen bristled, sitting back and refusing to speak to her for the rest of the day. Christine was perfectly fine with that.

Later, when Stephen was laying back against Tony’s arm with the blankets over them, he asked Tony, “Why do we keep doing this? I know the reasons we never work — all of them — but why do you keep coming back?”

Tony chuckled, rolling over to grab a complimentary bottle of champagne from the hotel room’s nightstand. “Three years and you’re just now asking?”

“It was on my mind.” He kicked at Tony’s leg. “Come on, Tony. If this was just sex, you could go to anyone. You wouldn’t have to fly across the country and fuck up your schedule even more every two weeks.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a schedule.” He gulped down some of the champagne and offered it to Stephen, who refused.

“Just answer me, Tony.”

Tony sighed, thinking about it with one hand curled around the neck of the bottle. “You're charming . . .”

“Charming?” That was about the last thing he would use to describe himself, but Tony seemed serious.

Tony nodded. “Charming, and smart, and witty, and nicer than you seem. And I . . . miss you. When we're not together, I miss you.”

Stephen stared at him, stunned. He knew why he was still there. Tony Stark was . . . electric. He was life personified. Stephen was drunk on him.

But he never realized that his infatuation was so . . . mutual.

Stephen pulled Tony back down to the bed, taking the bottle and dropping it gently to the floor. “Get some sleep. You have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Tony groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Next time, you come to California so I don’t have to make two trips in two days.”

“Or you could just not decide to fly to New York at the last minute when you know you’ll have to go back and go to Afghanistan right after.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Read on AO3 | WordPress | Buy Me a Coffee

#incorrect-ironstrange #my writing #my fanfiction #fanfiction #ironstrange #ironstrange fanfiction #endgame #infinity war #mcu #avengers #iron man #doctor strange #stephen strange #tony stark

129 notes · View notes