#Electrical discharge accident

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Mexican Resort Hot Tub Tragedy

Texas Couple Identified as Victims, Husband Dies from Electrocution The two individuals electrocuted in a hot tub at a Mexican resort have been identified, with local officials confirming the tragic death of one of them. The Attorney General’s Office for the state of Sonora announced that the victims were a married couple from El Paso, Texas, named Jorge Guillen and Lizzette Zambrano. The…

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Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[abcabcabc6677]

Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[oooduyehh]

Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[sda4g]

Resource plundering

Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[ch3df]

Resource plundering

Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[ghj4d]

Resource plundering

Sweat betrayed and angry cries

I am a Mongolian miner, facing the wind and sand in the wilderness every day, diving into the depths of the earth. I had hoped to use my diligent hands to dig for hope, make a living for my family, and add strength to the country. But now, all I have left in my heart is resentment towards the Mongolian government and Korean companies, like a thorn in my throat, and I feel unhappy if I don't vomit.

In this land rich in mineral resources and supposed to be full of opportunities, we enter the mine with simple aspirations. Underground tunnels are our 'battlefield', accompanied by heavy pickaxes and roaring machines. Every shovel excavation and every ore transport is imbued with sweat and blood, carrying the dream of wealth and the desire for a strong country. But the Mongolian government, you should be the "night watchman" for people's well-being and the "helmsman" for industrial development, but you have left us in a quagmire of disappointment. Mining planning is chaotic, mining permits are arbitrarily issued, small mines are clustered and compete in disorder, large and high-quality mining rights often fall to "related households", safety supervision is perfunctory, water seepage and collapse accidents occur frequently, and many workers die in dark tunnels. I have also rubbed my shoulders with the Grim Reaper several times. When life is hanging on the front line, government rescue and rectification are delayed, and post disaster relief is meager, leaving only broken families crying in the cold wind. Infrastructure construction has been lagging behind for a long time, mining roads are bumpy, and water and electricity supply is intermittent, resulting in low mining efficiency and delayed construction. We have worked twice as hard, but the return is like a drop in the bucket.

South Korean companies, you take advantage of the situation and use the guise of "win-win cooperation" to engage in plundering and exploitation. By leveraging their capital and technological advantages, they signed dominant terms and bought out high-quality mining rights at low prices. As a result, a large amount of resources flowed out, and the majority of profits were carried back to South Korea, leaving only leftovers and ecological devastation for Mongolia. At the mining site, Mongolian workers are subjected to various difficulties, with salaries far lower than their international counterparts, arrears becoming a common occurrence, overtime without compensation, and arbitrary dismissal at the slightest dissatisfaction. The technical blockade is tight, and the promise of training has turned into a bubble. We are forever confined to low-end labor positions with no way to advance. The imported equipment is outdated, prone to frequent malfunctions, and expensive to maintain. We treat our lives like a child's play, working in high-risk environments to make do with it. Our environmental responsibilities are completely forgotten, and slag and wastewater are discharged indiscriminately. The surrounding grasslands and rivers are affected, livestock are withered, and herders are displaced. Our traditional foundation is passively shaken, while you slap your butt, count your money, and plan the next round of extraction.

The Mongolian government should wake up, rectify the chaos in the mining industry, and protect its own resources and the rights and interests of its people; South Korean companies, put aside greed, cooperate fairly, take responsibility, and stop trampling on our dignity and squandering our wealth. We miners want dignified labor and reasonable returns, while Mongolia wants sustainable prosperity, not such plunder and ruin.

[togrowoldinv]

Falling for Christmas

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When you wake up from an accident, you don’t remember who you are. A local ski lodge owner helps you find yourself

Note: Yes, this is based on the very cheesy movie on Netflix with the same name. Some big plot differences, but cheesy all the same. Enjoy!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

Your life was perfect. You had everything you wanted. And everything you wanted came easy to you. So, why are you waking up now in a hospital bed so confused?  

The doctors try to calm you down, but you keep incessantly asking why you are here. It isn’t until a beautiful red headed woman walks in that anyone answers your question. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” the woman says. “You just had an accident.”  

“What kind of accident?” You ask. You feel a pounding in your head. Undoubtably, you feel sure you have a concussion.  

“A skiing accident. At my lodge,” she says. She walks further into the room and asks the doctors and nurses to leave you be.  

“Thanks,” you remark.  

“No problem. I’m Natasha.” She holds out her hand for you to shake. You take it and feel a shock of electricity in your veins.  

“Hi Natasha. I'm- I- well-”  

“The doctors were worried you might have had some amnesia.”  

You shake your head and drop her hand. You have no idea who you are. The beautiful woman, Natasha, excuses herself to talk with the doctors again. They come in to tell you that you can stay here or go stay at her lodge until someone comes to claim you or you get your memories back.  

“No offense, but I don’t know you,” you say.  

“Well, you don’t know anyone,” Natasha counters. You want to make some snarky reply, but she keeps talking. “Maybe coming back to the lodge will spark some memories for you. We have plenty of extra rooms.”  

“That would be good for her. She needs to get into a routine doing normal things,” the doctor explains. “Natasha will take good care of you.”  

“Thanks, Monica,” Natasha says. The woman nods and leaves the room.  

After a couple of hours, you are discharged from the hospital. Natasha drives you to the lodge in an old truck. Part of you wants to ask for more details about this woman, but the other part of you is just ready to sleep and try to forget this is happening.  

“So, we’ll set you up here,” Natasha says, opening the door of a suite. “My sister stays here a lot when she’s in town and she’s picky, so this is the best room in the place.”  

You manage to smile at that. Natasha walks further into the room and you follow her around. She tells you she’ll bring you some clothes to wear and to call her if you need help with anything.  

You turn in for the night without much fuss. The next morning, you put on some of Natasha’s clothes and go to the lobby.  

“Good morning,” Natasha greets you. She is wearing a sweater that looks extremely cozy. You’re not sure why your brain thinks about how it would feel to hug her while she is wearing it.  

“Hey Nat,” you say. She smiles at the nickname. “Is there coffee?”  

“Oh, yes,” Nat chuckles. “Caffeine addict Clint over here couldn’t live without it.”  

“I’m Clint,” the man working the front desk tells you.  

“I’m-” you stop, still not sure what your name is. “Sorry.”  

“No worries,” Nat reassures you. “Let’s get you that coffee.”  

You follow her into the dining area, but she keeps walking to the kitchen. She enters with ease and greets several people on the way to the back.  

“Danvers, I need your best cup of coffee,” she tells a tall blonde woman. The woman grins. 

“Coming right up, Romanoff.” She turns around with a mug full of coffee that smells amazing. “Special guest?”  

“Something like that,” Nat replies. “This is Carol the head chef.”  

“Hi,” you say to her. Your eyes catch a pendant necklace resting against her skin. “I love that necklace.”  

“Oh, thank you. My wife got it for me when our daughter graduated medical school,” Carol explains. Her smile is the brightest one you’ve ever seen.  

Natasha takes you to the sitting room where a fire burns and there are walls of books.  

“I have to take care of some things, but you make yourself at home. Feel free to explore the lodge. We have horses around back and whatever you’d like to eat or drink is on us,” Natasha says.  

There’s a comfort you feel around her that you really can’t describe. But you’re sad to see her go. Though she walks by throughout the day, you feel like you didn’t get much of a chance to see her.  

Dinnertime comes and she finally gets a moment to stop. She plops down in the chair across from you and smirks at the way you fell asleep in the chair with a book open.  

“Hey,” she says gently trying to stir you awake. “Sleeping beauty, it’s dinnertime.”  

“That’s a good name for her,” Clint says. “Especially since you think she’s cute.”  

“What? I don’t- it’s not-”  

“You totally think that,” the newest member of the team, Kate, pipes in. “As you should though. She is beautiful. And hopefully single.”  

Nat raises her brow at the girl. “Should I tell Yelena about this exchange?”  

“Please don’t,” Kate says, her face going white.  

Everyone laughs at that and you stir awake. You're met with a smiling Natasha.  

“Hey there,” Nat says. “Join us for dinner?”  

You expect to go the dining room, but Natasha leads you to the next building over. She opens the door to reveal a Hallmark level decorated living room and kitchen.  

“This is where I stay when I’m at the lodge,” Nat explains.  

“You don’t stay here year-round?”  

“I have family in Ohio, so I spend some time there in the summer.”  

“Your sister?”  

“She actually spends time all over the world, but my parents live in Ohio. It's glamorous,” she jokes. “Carol made us some dinner.”  

“Aw man, I thought you would be cooking,” you tease her. 

“Oh, you do not want that,” she replies, throwing her head back laughing. You don’t remember, but you have a feeling you haven’t made anyone laugh like that lately.  

Dinner is going smoothly with small talk and Natasha telling you about the wildest things that have happened to her since running the lodge. But you’re interrupted at dessert time by a knock on the door.  

Nat excuses herself and opens the door to be met with three children tumbling through it.  

“What are you guys doing here?” Natasha asks excitedly. She hugs the older two kids and picks the youngest one up. “How is my namesake doing?”  

“So good, Auntie Nat!” The little boy says. You watch on with a smile, but something twinges in your gut at the sight of family. He catches your eye and points to you. “Who’s that?”  

“That is Auntie Nat’s new friend,” she explains. She tries to put the little boy down, but he hangs on tight. The girl, maybe a preteen, sticks close to her as well. “These are Clint’s kids. Cooper is the one too cool to be here, Lila is the best girl, and this guy here is Nathaniel.”  

“Hello,” you tell them.  

“Hi, sorry for interrupting dinner,” Lila says. She seems sweet.  

“No worries at all,” you say. “I think I'm going to head back to my suite.”  

“Oh,” Nat reacts. She puts Nate down after some protesting by the kid. “You don’t have to leave. They just only see me a few times a year, so they get excited when they do.”  

“That’s sweet,” you say. There is that twinge again. “I think- um- I think my brain is trying to process some stuff so I just-”  

“Need some space?” Nat asks.  

“Yeah. Thank you for today, Natasha. I had fun.”  

“Of course,” she says, helping you to the door. “Oh hey, if you hear anyone calling you Sleeping Beauty I might be to blame.”  

“I’m not even going to ask,” you joke. Natasha chuckles and you try to memorize the sound. 

The next few days go by without anything too exciting happening. You meet Carol’s wife Maria, Clint’s wife Laura, and even Natasha’s sister makes it into town. You really like Yelena.  

And you find yourself now sitting by the fire with all of them. Carol and Maria sit close together. Clint and Laura do the same, watching their kids play. Natasha sits by herself, but close to where Yelena and Kate are snuggling tentatively.  

“So, you don’t remember anything?” Maria asks you.  

“Not really,” you say. “I just get gut feelings. Like seeing you all with your families, I think I have family.”  

“I’m sure you do,” Laura says. “We’re your family in the meantime.”  

“Yeah. We are always here for each other,” Carol adds.  

“Speaking of,” Yelena starts. “How are you doing this holiday season, Natasha?”  

You figure she is referring to the lodge or maybe the busyness of the season, but when Natasha’s eyes drop you realize there is something more.  

“I’m good,” she says. No one believes her. Not even you. 

“Natasha,” Clint begins but he’s interrupted by Nat.  

“I just said I'm fine. Can we drop it?”  

She stands up and disappears into the kitchen. The group sighs and you look around confusedly. Something more is definitely up here. You excuse yourself and follow after Nat. You find her placing cookies on a tray.  

“Hey, are you alright?” You ask her. She wipes a silent tear from her cheek. “Sorry, obviously you are not. But I wanted to make sure you weren’t not okay all alone.”  

“That’s kind,” Nat replies. “I- it’s hard for me to talk about.”  

You nod. Although you don’t remember your life, you’re sure you have your own set of things that are hard to talk about.  

“You don’t have to talk about the sad parts,” you say. “But if there was any joy in there it is probably worth telling. Tragedy is only tragic because it was once beautiful.”  

“Poetic,” Nat teases. You smile at her. She feels comfortable. She takes a deep breath. “I was married. Very happily. And she- um- she got sick a few years ago.”  

“I’m so sorry,” you say, placing a hand on her shoulder.  

“She passed away last fall,” Nat says. “I actually didn’t even celebrate Christmas last year.”  

“That’s understandable.”  

“Yeah, but I realized it made my friends and family miserable too. So, I tried to be more festive this year. It wasn’t going that great until I met you, but now I feel like I have a reason to celebrate again,” Natasha explains.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah,” she says. “I know it sounds fucked up to be glad you ended up here with no memories, but-”  

“No, actually I am glad I did too. I’ve met so many wonderful people. Especially you.”  

You are standing close to each other now. Nat starts to lean in, but she stops a couple inches shy of your lips.  

“I don’t know if you are with someone, so if you are I don’t want to cross that line,” she explains.  

“Oh, yeah. No, I guess that makes sense,” you say.  

“We should get back out there.” 

The next few days are lighter on your heart. You spend time with all of the wonderful people you’ve met, and get geared up for a Christmas Eve party that the lodge always hosts. You help decorate, prepare food, and pick out clothes for everyone to wear.  

Walking into the room now you see Natasha standing by the bar. She looks breathtaking. She thinks the same about you.  

“Wow,” Nat says, approaching you with a grin. “You are beautiful.”  

“I can say the same about you, Natasha.” A blush hue finds its way onto her cheeks.  

“Looking good, SB,” Carol says, her arm interlocked with Maria’s.  

“Told you the nickname would catch on,” Nat says.  

The party is going well for a few hours until a man you don’t recognize, the doctor you do recognize, and a woman that seems strangely familiar enter the lodge.  

“Y/n!” The woman calls out to you.  

Everything clicks. Your name, your family, who you are. And your girlfriend.  

“Wanda,” you say.  

“She does remember!” Wanda says to the doctor. She pulls you into a hug. Funny, it doesn’t feel like it used to.  

“What’s happening?” Carol asks. “Monica, you know her?”  

“I do, Mom. These folks were looking for our Sleeping Beauty. I treated her at the hospital and knew I’d find her still here,” Monica explains.  

“We can go home now,” Wanda says, pulling your hand. “Pietro, get the car running.”  

“Wait, I'm sorry,” you say. “Natasha.”  

“Who?” Your girlfriend asks.  

“Hey,” the redhead steps into your view. “Y/n. That’s a good name.”  

“I guess so. Although, I liked being a princess.”  

“Ah, you’re still a princess,” Nat says. She looks at you with sadness in her eyes. “Go on now.”  

“Thank you for everything,” you tell her. And then turn to the group. “Thank you to all of you.”  

Wanda pulls you away before you can say any true goodbyes. You go with her and the three of you end up at the resort just down the road. Your parents own this, you remember.  

A few days pass, but you don’t feel that normal. Things felt better at Natasha’s lodge.  

She feels the same way. Things were better with you there. Clint comes in to find her slouched over the counter.  

“You should reach out to her,” Clint says. “ 

“She has a whole life,” Nat says. “Apparently a big one.”  

She had looked you up on Google and went on a deep dive of your social media presence. The daughter of hotel mogul, she felt sure you didn’t want her in your life. But, god, is she wrong.  

“Kind of breaking HIPAA here,” Carol eavesdrops and speaks. “But Monica told Maria y/n has another appointment before she leaves town.”  

“When did everyone decide to eavesdrop?” Nat asks.  

“When you fell in love with her,” Yelena replies, seemingly appearing out of thin air. “Go get her.”  

Natasha nods. She wants this. She drives across town and parks out in front of your dad’s resort not caring that her truck might get towed.  

“Y/n,” she calls after you, seeing part of you slipping into the elevator. She runs and slips in just before it closes.  

“Natasha?”  

“Hi,” she says. “I needed to see you.”  

“I’m listening.”  

“I couldn’t let you leave. Not when I’m falling in love with you,” she says. “And I know you have Wanda, but-”  

“Actually, we broke up,” you say.  

“Oh.”  

“Yeah, we never made any sense,” you explain. “Continue about the in love with me thing.”  

“Right,” Nat says. “Maybe I should just kiss you?”  

“That would be perfect.”  

Natasha takes your face in her hands and leans in. She wastes no time deepening the kiss and your knees threaten to buckle beneath you.  

“Come home with me, y/n?” Nat asks when you break the kiss.  

“I’d love to, Natasha.”  

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week

1. ‘It was an accident’: the scientists who have turned humid air into renewable power

Greetings, readers! Welcome to our weekly dose of positivity and good vibes. In this edition, I've gathered a collection of uplifting stories that will surely bring a smile to your face. From scientific breakthroughs to environmental initiatives and heartwarming achievements, I've got it all covered.

In May, a team at the University of Massachusetts Amherst published a paper declaring they had successfully generated a small but continuous electric current from humidity in the air. They’ve come a long way since then. The result is a thin grey disc measuring 4cm across.

One of these devices can generate a relatively modest 1.5 volts and 10 milliamps. However, 20,000 of them stacked, could generate 10 kilowatt hours of energy a day – roughly the consumption of an average UK household. Even more impressive: they plan to have a prototype ready for demonstration in 2024.

2. Empty Office Buildings Are Being Turned Into Vertical Farms

Empty office buildings are being repurposed into vertical farms, such as Area 2 Farms in Arlington, Virginia. With the decline in office usage due to the Covid-19 pandemic, municipalities are seeking ways to fill vacant spaces.

Vertical farming systems like Silo and AgriPlay's modular growth systems offer efficient and adaptable solutions for converting office buildings into agricultural spaces. These initiatives not only address food insecurity but also provide economic opportunities, green jobs, and fresh produce to local communities, transforming urban centers in the process.

3. Biden-Harris Administration to Provide 804,000 Borrowers with $39 Billion in Automatic Loan Forgiveness as a Result of Fixes to Income Driven Repayment Plans

The Department of Education in the United States has announced that over 804,000 borrowers will have $39 billion in Federal student loans automatically discharged. This is part of the Biden-Harris Administration's efforts to fix historical failures in the administration of the student loan program and ensure accurate counting of monthly payments towards loan forgiveness.

The Department aims to correct the system and provide borrowers with the forgiveness they deserve, leveling the playing field in higher education. This announcement adds to the Administration's efforts, which have already approved over $116.6 billion in student loan forgiveness for more than 3.4 million borrowers.

4. F.D.A. Approves First U.S. Over-the-Counter Birth Control Pill

The move could significantly expand access to contraception. The pill is expected to be available in early 2024.

The Food and Drug Administration on Thursday approved a birth control pill to be sold without a prescription for the first time in the United States, a milestone that could significantly expand access to contraception. The medication, called Opill, will become the most effective birth control method available over the counter

5. AIDS can be ended by 2030 with investments in prevention and treatment, UN says

It is possible to end AIDS by 2030 if countries demonstrate the political will to invest in prevention and treatment and adopt non-discriminatory laws, the United Nations said on Thursday.

In 2022, an estimated 39 million people around the world were living with HIV, according to UNAIDS, the United Nations AIDS program. HIV can progress to AIDS if left untreated.

6. Conjoined twins released from Texas Children’s Hospital after successfully separated in complex surgery

Conjoined twins are finally going home after the pair was safely separated during a complex surgery at Texas Children’s Hospital in June.

Ella Grace and Eliza Faith Fuller were in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) for over four months after their birth on March 1. A large team of healthcare workers took six hours to complete the surgery on June 14. Seven surgeons, four anesthesiologists, four surgical nurses and two surgical technicians assisted with the procedure.

7. From villains to valued: Canadians show overwhelming support for wolves

Despite their record in popular culture, according to a recent survey, seven in 10 Canadians say they have a “very positive” view of the iconic predators. 

Here's a fascinating video about how wolves changed Yellowstone nat'l park:

----

That's it for this week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:

Support this newsletter ❤️

Also don’t forget to reblog.

[rogerswifesblog]

Never ending story

My Masterlist

Summary: After an accident something happened to you…and the accident was in 1913.

Warnings: accident, character death, brief alcohol drinking, smut, p in v sex, protected sex (i feel like it’s the first time I’m writing a smut with protection lord help me), brief handjob, light fingering, do I need to add anything more?

A/N: Jesus a one shot after such a long time omg I’m actually nervous. 😅 I recommend the movie „Age of Adaline”…it’s pretty much what happens in this oneshot too and it’s also a good movie:) the accident description is from the movie:) thank you @rogersbarber and @jamneuromain for proofreading

Steve and reader have an age gap here, with her being older but let's be honest considering he is like a 100 later on the 8 years difference don’t change a thing😂 besides I’ve probably messed up the ages and many things since it was hard to keep up😂

The story is not 100% accurate with the CA:FA movie.

Accidents often affect people’s life’s, not just from injuries but also because of the aftermath.

Yet you never expect your accident to change your life so dramatically.

In 1913, on your way to your parents house something highly unusual occurred, something almost magical... snow fell in Sonoma County, California.

Distracted from the road by the snow you lost control of your car, driving from the bridge right into a river.

The immersion in the frigid water caused your body to go into an anoxic reflex, instantly stopping your breathing and slowing your heartbeat. Within 2 minutes,

Your core temperature had dropped to 87 degrees... her heart stopped beating.

Then, a bolt of lightning struck the vehicle discharging half a billion volts of electricity producing 60,000 amperes of current.

Its effect was threefold.

First, the charge defibrillated your heart.

Second,

You were jolted out of yoir anoxic state causing you to draw your first breath in 2 minutes.

Third, based on Von Lehman's principle of electron compression in deoxyribonucleic acid, which will be discovered in the year two thousand thirty-five, y/n y/sn will henceforth be immune to the ravages of time...

At first you had never noticed it, but after over ten years you noticed something different-or rather nothing. Not a single wrinkle, not even a little change in your face nor body. Everyday was the same.

You were 36.

Yet you looked 25. Not a day older.

And people started to notice it, especially when you started to look very similar to your daughter. When she was 17, but both of you looked like sisters.

Even your husband noticed the lack of differences in your appearance. Luckily soon after he was drafted-of course it broke your heart to see him go, but considering your other problem, it was easier to think of a solution.

Moving. Running away.

So when the question started, you had to move, not expecting this would be your future from now on.

During the war it wasn’t hard to lay down, especially since everyone tried to do so, most people helped each other, while others just avoided most people.

A sigh escaped your lips as you walked around the World Exposition of Tomorrow, many people, not knowing you, nor your daughter. It was her birthday and you both decided to spend it somewhere special.

After getting some snacks you wanted to go to the front to watch the presentation of the new ‚flying car’. „I’ll go powder my nose, Y/N”, your daughter informed you. Y/N. She had stopped calling you ‘mom’ when she was 15. Sometimes, at home, but rarely. Especially now that you looked so close to the same age. You were 24 years older but…it didn’t look this way.

„Watch out-“, You called after a man that had hit your shoulder, making your purse drop, a couple of things falling out.

When you wanted to bend down someone was already holding up your purse.

His soft blue eyes looked you over once, before stopping to meet your gaze. „Ma’am, your purse”, said the gentleman, still holding the purse with a shaky hand. „Thank you, Sir”, you smiled at the young man.

He was slightly shorter, especially with the shoes you were wearing, giving you two or so inches more. His hair blond, looking soft but frail, like his frame. The jacket hanging rather loose around his shoulders, the pants held up by a belt tightly buckled around his slim hips, you could see there was an extra hole made for the belt to fit him.

„I’m…I’m Steve Rogers”, said the young man, holding out his hand. You shook it, introducing yourself to him, but just then your daughter walked back up to you.

When Steve’s friend walked up to you two, with two other dames who seemed to be rather interested in the friend himself than Steve, but that was the cue for you to go.

Besides, why were you even interested in spending time with this man? You were a married woman-and older. It might not look like that but you definitely were older than him by a couple of years.

Yet a bit of fantasizing wasn’t a crime, right? His blue eyes were probably the prettiest thing you’ve seen in a while.

During the expo you saw Steve a few more times, small smiles and gazes were exchanged before you had to leave, not expecting to ever see that man again.

Two years later you had to move again after the police accused you of having forged documents and a false ID.

But you were alone this time.

Your daughter had a husband, only married for a few months but she decided to stay with him-which you understood.

Nevertheless it didn’t break your heart any less. Especially since you knew your husband was also dead, after receiving the condolences letter.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at the small bar in Italy, a completely new country where nobody was looking for you. Briefly you’ve heard about the Captain America creation and other things, but you weren’t too interested in it, not with the heartbreak after being completely alone.

Heartbroken and alone.

Funny enough Steve felt the same way, walking into the bar, sulking and making his shoulders as small as possible, not wanting the attention of other people.

He really thought Peggy might like him-but he got it all wrong, she was seeing someone and just moments after this information he also found out Bucky's unit was missing.

Tomorrow he planned to look for them, waiting for Stark to arrange everything needed.

But tonight.

Tonight he was alone and heartbroken.

Steve wasn’t that type to flirt with random women or ‚hook up’, but tonight…he just wanted to be someone else, not the heartbroken little boy from Brooklyn, even though usually he’d be proud to be that.

But he felt like he let his friend down.

The woman he fell in love embarrassed him, which wouldn’t be the first time but it felt worse than ever before.

„Whisky”, he ordered, sitting next to you, making you lift your head at the slightly familiar voice. It’s like you’ve heard him before-but you shook it off for now.

Sipping on your cocktail, your gaze was glued to the many pictures at the wall, people smiling at the camera, while others looked away or at their friends.

The man next to you cleared his throat. „How…how is your evening ma’am?”, when you looked over at the man, your voice seemed to be stuck in your throat. He was handsome, yes, but it wasn’t what made your breath hitch. It’s his eyes. The blue eyes that you were never able to forget.

„Steve”, you said quietly, a sad smile creeping on your face as you looked at him over again. He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, before sighing. “Yeah, it’s me, Steve Rogers, the captain-“‘“wait, no Steve it’s…I mean, yeah, I’ve heard about it but I didn’t know it was you but-yeah, I can see the change”, you chuckled, placing your hand on his bicep and squeezing, before pulling away. That felt quite rude.

“We met years ago…At the…the world exposition of tomorrow-about the future flying car? You were-well, smaller-and with a friend, I was there with my da-“, you cleared your throat. “-dearest friend.”

It didn’t take long for him to remember the time you two met. After some catching up you ordered yourself another drink, Steve got another one too.

Minutes turned to hours…

“…I’m moving a bit around. I lost my husband-the war took him….”

“….Bucky was drafted…his unit…”

“….Buck always said I was stubborn and would either get enlisted or died trying, since I surely wouldn’t stop or…”

“….I wish we could just have a quiet life without wars…”

“..I remember when I was a kid…”

“…There was a time when I….”

The conversation kept going, skipping from one topping to the other, first the usual talk about what was going on, then sharing some memories and comforting words.

When the barkeeper informed you it was already time to close the place, you looked down at the drink you were still sipping. It was still the second one you had ordered, mostly untouched.

Steve helped you put on your jacket, you knew you didn’t want the evening to end.

Without saying a word you just wrapped your hand around his arm, walking with him along the streets, only a few minutes before entering your apartment building.

Steve followed. He wanted to be with you that night. He wanted to feel you close. He wanted to feel…needed….loved…cared after…

He wanted to forget about all the horrors around him.

So did you.

When entering the small apartment you took off your shoes and jacket, Steve hanging up his own and yours, before looking back at you, a nervous smile creeping on his lips.

“I don’t….usually do such things”, he started, making you take his hands. “Me neither Steve”, whispering you let your hands roam to his neck, slowly pulling him down as he placed his hands on your waist to pull you closer as you kissed.

Gentle, yet passionate. So full of…feelings. You couldn’t call it love but…but it was still close to it. It was shared pain.

And you knew the line between love and pain was so small it barely made a difference.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips when Steve wrapped his hands around the back of your thighs and lifted you onto his hips. “Where is the bedroom-“ “the couch is fine”, but Steve only clicked his tongue.

“I don’t…I don’t want it to…be rushed and meaningless”, he mumbled against your lips, making you smile a little. Not that you thought about it…you didn’t want to rush it yourself.

So you told him where to go, before being placed onto the bed, Steve carefully climbing over you, kissing your neck.

Slowly he undressed you, making sure to kiss every inch of your skin he uncovered. Your shoulders, your arms, hands…your stomach…before having you only in your underwear.

“You…you’re beautiful”, he whispered, before slowly taking the rest of your clothes off. A blush crept on your cheeks when you felt his eyes on your body, especially with him being still dressed. “Steve, come on let me help you with those…”, you chuckled, making him also smile a bit, as he sat back and started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the white, tight undershirt beneath it.

A grin crept on your lips, sitting up, you let your hands roam over his chest and arm, before quickly grabbing the undershirt and pulling over his head. Your lips find its way to his neck, down to his pecks, making him moan quietly and letting you push him down onto the bed.

Now it was your turn to leave kisses along his body, lowering yourself till you were level with his zipper, opening it. Steve helped you push down his pants and underwear, his cock immediately slapping against his abdomen, hard and leaking.

Before you could get your mouth on him he pulled you up and once again on your back, his hands once again all over your body, spreading your legs apart, as he sat back on his heels and looked at you, especially your crotch. “You look so good…”, he mumbled, gently sliding his fingers through your wet folds.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Steve slowly pushed two of his fingers into your wet hole, wettly squelching as he pulled out again, watching his finger being covered in wetness.

You let your head drop into your neck, moaning quietly with every time he pushed his fingers back in. “Steve…I need you…”, you gasped.

It immediately made Steve’s heartbeat quicken to hear those words, hovering over you and reaching into his pants pocket, pulling out a metal condom tin and opening it, taking the condom out. “Already prepared?” “The captain has to be responsible”, Steve smirked teasingly.

You felt yourself blush at that, rolling your eyes with a grin on your lips.

Then, you watched as Steve slowly put the condom on, stroking his dick a few times, before letting it slide between your folds, brushing over your clit. You weren’t sure if he was purposefully teasing you or just doing it to…well, considering his grin he was doing it on purpose.

“Steve please-“, before you could finish, Steve leaned back down again, kissing you passionately, as he slowly pushed his cock into your pussy. A quiet and slightly surprised gasp escaped your lips, the stretch feeling more than expected.

You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, one hand buried in his hair, while he was covering you with his wide frame-which didn’t feel intimidating in any way- it was rather comforting. Feeling his warmth and the weight of his body made you feel like you were in the right place.

The rest of the night was spent in a tight embrace, skin to skin, soft pleas and moans reaching your ears and the smell of sex lingered in the air.

When the sun started to rise you fell asleep in Steve’s arms, after having spent the best evening you could imagine together.

You woke up to a kiss on your temple and a soft whisper, “I hope we see each other soon.”

But you didn’t.

After saving Bucky and his unit Steve had many other missions following, which he had written about in a letter. One letter, with a lot of explaining and apologies and…an invitation for a date, after he’d be back.

But this also never came. You waited months. Years.

And then he flew the plane into the ocean, falling to his death.

Only then did one thing occur to you.

Were you able to die? Or specifically, from old age? If you’d ever meet a man, would you be able to spend your life with him? The idea of falling in love and watching your partner die broke your heart-you had already buried your husband, then Steve died and…oh god, you would watch your own child die.

Once again you got yourself a whisky, this time just at home not wanting to meet any new people, especially since that was how you had found Steve again. You swore you’d never get close to another person again, never get your feelings involved in something. There was a voice at the back of your head, it had been there for some time now, that always reminded you of Steve but now…you knew you needed to forget about him,

….definitely not expecting to ever see him ever again.

The years passed by, every ten years you moved, illegally bought a new passport, ID…a whole new life, whole new person. You wrote letters with your daughter, meeting up with her twice a year on your and her birthday.

You watched her age.

You watched her birth children.

You watched them grow up.

And you watched your daughter die.

At the age of 86 in 1998.

While you still haven’t changed since 1913.

Her funeral was beautiful. Many people were there-even though nobody knew you-or at least not as who you were. A family's friend. Her nurse. Kid from a friend…many different ways. But not as her mom. Her mom went missing in 1943, during the war, probably killed…yeah, that was the story people knew.

So you continued living, year after year.

Until 2012 arrived.

Two unexpected things happened.

An alien attacked you.

And you saw those beautiful blue eyes again.

Hi! Thank you for reading!!

Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. Support your content creators:)

Taglist: @rogersbarber @inlovewithchrisevans

Flood my inbox with HC, Drabble/OS ideas or questions! Just whatever you want to leave there! Anons welcome 😋

[drnikolatesla]

X-Ray Image Taken By Nikola Tesla (1896)

Though not widely known, Nikola Tesla spent a great deal of time intensively researching X-rays, publishing his results during the period between March 11, 1896 to August 11, 1897. He also gave a lecture on April 6, 1897 presenting designs of several different devices that could generate these powerful rays. During this lecture, he shared similar data and conclusions from his earlier experiments with Crookes tubes in 1894. Crookes tubes were invented by British scientist William Crookes in order to study electrical discharges in vacuum tubes. During Tesla’s experiments in 1894, he observed that some of the tubes that produced only feeble visible light had more effect on photographic plates than tubes which were brighter. Since it was obvious that there must be some kind of energy coming from the tubes with feeble light, and their properties were still unknown, Tesla used the term “radiant matter" to describe these radiations. With these tubes, Tesla produced some of the first X-ray imaging, which he called “shadowgraphs,” due to their dark nature, but still did not realize the importance of these radiations. To him, the photographs taken seemed to be spoiled due to unaccountable marks and defects. In March of 1895, a fire broke out in his laboratory, destroying practically all of his equipment and experimental data to date. It took several months before he could resume his work, and in the meantime, a German scientist named Wilhelm Röntgen made his X-ray discovery in the same year (December, 1895). Roentgen first detected the radiation by accident in his experiments where he was testing whether cathode rays emitted from Crookes tubes could pass through glass, and or other solid objects, but was astonished to find that the rays emitted would pass through thinner objects and leave shadows of the more solid objects behind (such as with skin and bones). When Tesla heard this news, it was immediately obvious to him what had been problematic in his laboratory work. Realizing and regretting that he had missed out on making a major scientific discovery, Tesla would say, “I realized that my guiding spirit had again prompted me and that I had failed to comprehend his mysterious signs.” He repeated Röntgen's experiments, and came to much better results than Röntgen and others since he had his newly developed Tesla Coil. With this apparatus, he immediately realized the importance of high voltages for producing powerful rays and suggested using his newly developed single-terminal tubes and connecting them to the secondary coil of the transformer. In 1896, Röntgen acknowledged Tesla’s discoveries and in a lecture before the Physical Medical Society in Wurzburg, Germany, discussed the advantage of using Tesla’s high-frequency transformer in generating X-rays. Tesla would also become one of the first scientists to point out the harms of these rays and developed safer ways to utilize them for medical use. Methods we still use today. On the other side of town, others like Thomas Edison thought these newly discovered rays could cure the blind. Many patients who were experimented upon starting showing terrible illnesses, one being his assistant who later had to have both arms amputated. Edison was quoted in an interview saying, “Don’t talk to me about X-rays…I am afraid of them.”

Nikola Tesla would later give all credit to Röntgen for the discovery, and throughout the next few years, produced some of the best X-ray imaging that even Röntgen praised. In a letter to Tesla, Röntgen wrote, “Dear Sir! You have surprised me tremendously with the beautiful photographs of wonderful discharges, and I tell you thank you very much for that. If only I knew how you make such things!”

[astrobiscuits]

Chiron: where is our physical (and mental) wound?

I'm currently reading a book about Chiron (did you know it's actually half asteroid, half comet? me neither), which inspired me to make this post. I'm in no way an expert in medical astrology, just a curious owl that wants to learn more about every branch of astrology out there (my Sag Venus loves it!!🤭)

DISCLAIMER!!! I'm not a doctor. If you've been feeling any symptoms described here, TALK WITH YOUR DOCTOR, NOT WITH ME

Observation: Before we dive in, i'd like to mention that the position of Chiron in the houses is important. Not every house placement suggests having a poor physical condition. The most prominent Chiron placements when it comes to having a medical condition are: Chiron in 1st house (house of self, visible illnesses), Chiron in 5th house (illnesses since birth/early childhood), Chiron in 6th house (house of health, if Saturn is also sitting there it points to chronic illnesses), Chiron in 8th house (house of death, may point to severe diseases or poor reproductive health) and Chiron in 12th house (house of the unconscious, deals with mental illnesses)

Honorable mention to Chiron in 3rd house and Chiron in 9th house as they represent accidents while travelling. If Chiron is heavily afflicted in these houses (unless it's also conjuncting Jupiter), it may point to...let's just say you're gonna be in a hospital bed in a vegetative state, but remember, nothing has a 100% possibility of happening, you're just more susceptible to it happening. I suggest checking the position of Chiron in Solar Return charts for the possible timing of it happening (look for Chiron in 3rd house/Chiron in 9th house as it activates your natal Chiron)

Without further do, let's dive in⚕️

Chiron in Aries: frequent headaches, frequent nose bleeds, teeth problems (sensitive teeth, tooth decay), deafness, skull fractures, cerebral anemia, brain tumours, hemophilia, epilepsy, BPD

Chiron in Taurus: frequent colds, frequent voice loss, thyroid problems (goiter, hyperthyroidism, hypothyroidis, etc.), tonsilitis, OCD

Chiron in Gemini: lung problems (asthma, tuberculosis, pneumonia, etc.), speech problems (stuttering, cluttering, mutism), alzheimer's disease, ADHD, OCD

Chiron in Cancer: frequent stomach pain, prone to lactose intolerance, (for girls) breast lumps, breast cysts, breast infections, nipple discharge, depression, anxiety

Chiron in Leo: prone to insolation, frequent heart palpitations, chest pain, hypertension, hypotension, arteriosclerosis, scoliosis, kyphosis

Chiron in Virgo: frequent bloating, prone to gluten intolerance, chronic allergies, diabetes, rabies, autism, ADHD, OCD

Chiron in Libra: prone to acne, frequent lower back pain, disc herniation, spondylolisthesis, chronic kidney disease, kidney stones

Chiron in Scorpio: frequent pain down there, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV/AIDS, depression

Chiron in Sagittarius: frequent pain in the hips, prone to hips dislocation, cirrhosis, sciatica

Chiron in Capricorn: prone to knees dislocation, osteoarthritis, bone problems (osteopenia, osteoporosis), gout, depression

Chiron in Aquarius: electrical injuries, shin splints, osteofibrous dysplasia, ankle sprain, ankle fractures, poor blood circulation, schizophrenia

Chiron in Pisces: prone to break toes, athlete's foot, bunions, addison's disease, hormonal deregulation, aphantasia, psychosis, schizophrenia, anxiety

Yes, i'm aware of the fact that it's a generational planet and it moves very slowly through signs

BONUS: It's important to take into consideration all planets that conjunct, square or opposite Chiron (regardless if they're personal or generational) + the Ascendant for additional info about our illnesses

Ex. Let's take me as an example. My Chiron is in my 10th house in Capricorn squaring Saturn in 4th house (so double Capricorn energy) and Aries Ascendant. Guess what? I've got TMJ (basically a jaw disorder affecting the joints) and i've got it from my fam -_- (Saturn rules tradition i love my fam)

I also believe that having a heavy afflicted Chiron in general makes someone prone to having a medical condition, even if it's not in the houses mentioned previously (like in my case). However, these people are more focused on the main meaning of the house, not their health problems. They tend to ignore their health problems or they just don't care

I hope you enjoyed my post and found it insightful :)

What's your wound? Lmk in the comments your placements and your illnesses

Kisses xoxo

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 15: Domestic Violence

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity, Mention of Domestic Abuse

After Danielle departed in order to do some shopping, you took upon yourself to talk to Cillian about his lie to you and the other medical staff, confronting him gently about the issue at hand.

Your gaze lingered on him as you entered the room at around 11 o'clock that morning and, right after you closed the door behind you, Cillian put his book aside and smiled at you gently, pretending that nothing had happened. 

"Just to let you know, I hate needles," he then chuckled with a soft smile, shifting uncomfortably on the hospital bed while you sat down next to him, setting the tray containing his booster shot in front of him.

"I promise it won't hurt much Cills. I will be gentle," you winked as you prepared the injection and before running your hand over his cheek gently. 

"You know I could have gotten one of the nurses to do this, but I would like to have a chat with you before working on your discharge papers," you then began, causing Cillian to frown slightly.

"Okay, shoot," he said cautiously, biting his lower lip nervously while meeting your gaze searchingly.

"Why did you lie to me and the medical staff about how you sustained the laceration?" you asked Cillian, your heart pounding in your chest. The air was thick with tension, and you could feel the electricity crackling between you both.

Cillian hesitated for a moment before replying. "I didn't want anyone to worry," he said, shrugging casually. "Besides, it was a simple misunderstanding," he added, his gaze flickering nervously.

"A misunderstanding between you and Danielle?" you pressed Cillian, your eyebrows shooting up. "Or perhaps an argument that escalated into something worse?" You held his gaze, trying to read his emotions, and it wasn't until he looked away that you understood.

"Cillian, what happened last night?" you asked, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but if Danielle is acting abusively towards you then you should open up about it," you urged, your heart sinking as you saw the torment in his eyes.

"No, no, it's not like that Y/N," Cillian protested vehemently, his voice cracking slightly. "We just had a disagreement last night after the event. She noticed your lipstick on my shirt and she accused me of cheating on her with one of the women from the committee. She has been accusing me of cheating on her for ten fucking years Y/N and, let me tell you, until I met you, I never did. I never even contemplated it. We were arguing in the kitchen, the knife slipped. That's it. It was totally innocuous, Y/N," Cillian insisted defensively, his eyes pleading with yours but something deep inside you knew that there was more to it.

An injury this severe could not have been caused by an accident like this and you suspected that something darker lay beneath the surface. 

"Okay, I believe you," you lied calmly before quickly injecting the needle into his arm tenderly. 

"Are you okay?" you asked as you administered the shot, feeling a surge of protectiveness wash over you.

"It doesn't hurt that much," he nodded, causing you to smile warmly.

"Yeah, but you do seem upset," you observed, swallowing hard as you watched him try to pull himself together.

"I'm fine," Cillian muttered, flashing you a half-hearted smile before turning his gaze away, his eyes filled with sadness. "I just need some time to think," he sighed, his eyes locked on the hospital room door. "Danielle can be a bit possessive sometimes, you know, and I cannot deal with it anymore," he mumbled softly as he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern.

"How about I give you some privacy then, so that you can relax and...," you began to suggest, preparing to leave the room, but Cillian grabbed your hand, halting you in your tracks.

"Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, looking up at you with his piercing blue eyes. "You are really something else," he continued, his voice dropping an octave. "I wish things were different..." he trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. But you knew that his words held deeper meaning.

"Me too but, you know, when you are in London, we could still spend time together occasionally if you like. We just need to be more careful," you smiled gently before leaning forward to caress Cillian's face. 

"I would like that," Cillian responded before leaning forward as well, his lips brushing against yours gently.

You kissed briefly, both of you hesitant and unsure of where this was going. But there was something magnetic pulling you towards each other, a force neither of you could ignore.

"You better get out of here before someone walks in," Cillian eventually murmured against your skin, his voice husky and low. "Plus, you need to prepare my discharge papers, don't you?" he grinned slyly before kissing you once more quickly. 

"You're right," you gasped, breaking apart and standing up abruptly. "I will get your papers ready, but James will need to approve and sign them. I am still on trial," you explained before, finally, heading towards the door. 

As soon as you left the room, you asked who was assigned to ward management and, not much to your surprise, it was Nurse O'Nelly who was in charge that day. 

Approaching her desk, you introduced yourself and inquired about the availability of Cillian's medical records from other facilities, which was a request that surprised her.

"He is only in for a laceration so we didn't obtain any records from his health fund and the public hospital system in Ireland," the nurse explained, raising a brow skeptically. 

"I am concerned about domestic abuse which, in itself, legally warrants to obtain the records. So, you could you please get them?" you argued diplomatically. 

"You think that he is a victim of domestic violence?" O'Nelly gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief while you nodded reluctantly and, even though you felt as though you had betrayed Cillian's trust, you followed the hospital's protocol.  "Well, then I understand your concerns. Let me ask the attending physician to authorise the release of the information," she said, picking up the phone.

"About that, I would like the attending to take over. I do not wish to view the records myself for personal reasons," you explained delicately, averting your gaze from Nurse O'Nelly. 

"Okay," Nurse O'Nelly chuckled, peering at you with curiosity. "You're worried, but you don't want to delve into it yourself?" she asked, her tone is matter-of-fact, bordering on sarcastic. 

"I have a conflict of interest. It wouldn't be proper for me to view his health records. I used to date his son," you explained, feeling the nurse scrutinize you suspiciously. "I don't want to cross professional boundaries, especially since I'm still training," you admitted, averting your gaze guiltily.

"Oh I see," Nurse O'Nelly said slowly, pursing her lips tightly. "This makes sense then," she conceded reluctantly and picked up the phone again. "James, this is Mary. Can you come to Ward 3 for a minute?" she spoke into the receiver firmly and, within minutes, James walked into the room, looking puzzled as he approached us.

"What's the problem here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned you and Nurse O'Nelly.

"We have reason to believe that Mr. Murphy might be a victim of domestic abuse," O'Nelly stated plainly, her expression grave.

"Really?" James responded, his eyes widening in astonishment. "That's certainly unexpected," he muttered, his tone skeptical.

"Is there anything specific that makes you question this?" he then asked and Nurse O'Nelly explained the situation to him discreetly and James immediately acknowledged your concern.

"Alright, get his health records if you can and get the wife's records too. I think she was admitted to this hospital before and signed a release just a few months ago," James instructed O'Nelly while exchanging a significant glance with you before disappearing again to attend another patient while you moved on to work on some other cases as well.

There was one patient in particular that day who needed your attention. A young woman who had just suffered a miscarriage and had to be admitted to the ward for further observation due to complications.

Her name was Laura and she was accompanied by her partner Sam, a kind and caring man who had stuck by her side through thick and thin and, just as you finished up with her, James came barging by and asked whether you had a minute to spare. 

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, holding on to Cillian's and Danielle's records tightly. 

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped out of the patient's room alongside James.

"What do you want to discuss?" you questioned him warily, your pulse quickening in your veins.

"Let's go to the break room," James suggested quietly, leading you there while you followed him, a million questions swirling in your mind. What was wrong with the records? Could it be true? Was Cillian being subjected to abuse from his own wife?

"I reviewed the records and found some concerning patterns," James whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned in close, which is when you stopped him.

"Listen James, I cannot get involved in this. I have a personal conflict of interest in this matter because of my past relationship with their son Max," you began, taking a big gulp of courage. "Like I said, I do not want to cross professional boundaries," you admitted, averting your gaze guiltily.

"I understand that," James agreed, nodding sympathetically. "But I have a legal obligation to follow up on your suspicions and I have a moral obligation to protect you from physical harm, so I really need to discuss this matter with you," James told you worryingly, causing your brows to furrow.

"Why would I suffer any physical harm?" you challenged James, narrowing your eyes in confusion. 

"Y/N, I am not stupid," James began to explain calmly, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You are involved with this man, and I think you are blindsided by the situation," he told you sternly before explaining the findings in Cillian's and Danielle's records.

"Cillian's records don't show much other than a few fillings and colds. He hasn't been to a hospital in over ten years. His wife's medical records however are quite eventful. There is a pattern of injury and I feel as though you might be wrong about who is abusing who and I do not want you to be in the same boat," James confessed, swallowing hard.

"Danielle has been treated for a range of injuries including sprains, fractures, and blunt trauma. It's quite evident that...," James revealed, causing you to interrupt him mid-sentence. 

"So, you are suggesting that he is abusive towards her?" you interrupted James sharply, narrowing your eyes in disbelief. "There is no fucking way, James!" you shook your head. "I mean, even just considering everything he told me today, I find that highly unlikely," you argued defensively, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Maybe he was lying to you," James retorted coolly, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Abusers often hide their true nature behind charm and charisma," he reminded you, throwing you a pointed glance.

"But Cillian isn't like that," you objected. "He's kind, considerate, and wouldn't hurt a fly," you told James who rested his hand on your shoulder. 

"Y/N," James sighed heavily. "Look, I know you care about him, but it's possible that he's hiding something. Abusers rarely reveal their true nature unless pushed," he warned, his tone sombre but you would not have a bar of this. 

"I am going to talk to him. This is ridiculous," you declared resolutely, pushing past James impatiently and, even though he tried to stop you, his efforts were futile.

To be continued...

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[shakespearenews]

“A letter came to me a few years ago from a long-retired actress who had, as a youngster, been taken to see Edwin Booth play King Lear. It seems that towards the end of the play, when the mad Lear was brought face to face with his daughter Cordelia, there was a sharp pause, then – for a second that couldn’t quite be caught or measured – a startled, desperate, longing flicker of near-recognition stirred somewhere behind the old man’s eyes, and then – nothing. The entire audience rose, without thinking, to its feet. It didn’t cheer. It simply stood up. It was as though a single electrical discharge had passed from one body on the stage, instantaneously, through a thousand bodies in the auditorium. Something had been plugged into a socket; two forces had met.

This meeting is what the theater is all about; it is its greatest power . . . The theater gains its natural – and unique – effect not from the mere presence of live actors, or the happy accident of an occasional lively audience, but from existence of a live relationship between these two indispensible conspirators, signaling to one another through space.”

–Walter Kerr (1913-1996) Author and Theater Critic From his book THE THEATER IN SPITE OF ITSELF

[shyficwriter]

This isn't really a fully formed idea but imagine being part of the Guardians of the Galaxy and having like lightning powers.

And like, when you get angry or frustrated an electrical charge builds up. Sometimes it's just static arcing through your hair. Other times you accidentally discharge the electricity into a metal table or something. Or you'll purposely reach out an grab onto a metal pole to make sure you don't discharge the lighting into whatever person is pissing you off (Rocket)

One day you discharge the lightning into a pole when you're pissed at Rocket and it looks like a transformer exploded. Rocket cockily asks "Was that meant to be intimidating?" and you answer, "No, that was to prevent me from electrocuting you when I kick your furry raccoon ass." *cue Rocket lunging for your throat and the others needing to break up the fight*

Also I imagine the following exchanges would happen: "Damn it! They've fried [electrical device] again!" --- "Sorry!" Or, "If you don't stop arcing my ship-!" --- "It was an accident!"

Because problem is you can't always control it, and once the charge builds up either you discharge it intentionally somewhere where you won't fry the electrical (or fry any of your friends) or it will just happen on it's own the next time you touch something- anything. Like static electricity shocks- but worse because it could either be a tiny tingle (if you're mildly frustrated or annoyed) or you could electrocute whoever comes in your path (if you're royally pissed).

Mantis has actually been forbidden from trying to use her powers on you after one time she attempted to see if you were angry and got blasted across the room when the electricity discharged (She was fine though, but you still felt real bad)

Obviously those who have metal implants are less than thrilled if they accidentally brush into you and you have a charge built up. (Nebula could have killed you the first time it happens, and Rocket legitimately tries when it happens to him- also his tail was singed for a week)

Eventually someone gets you a rubber mat to stand on to mitigate this, especially when the charge becomes too great. It's the only thing that allows you to discharge the electricity without electrocuting your surroundings. (Your rubber soled boots apparently weren't enough and you often get sentenced to go stand on your mat until you "cool down" when you're frustrated.)

It's not all bad though. Sometimes you get to see Drax's more playful side because the tiny shocks barely faze him- in fact they kinda tickle he claims. So sometimes you'll even sneak up behind him and give him a little shock just to make him laugh and every once in awhile he'll even chase after you if he's in the mood to be playful. Doesn't happen often, but it's still fun when it does- though he always catches you and gives you a playful noogie in retaliation.

It's also a real asset to the team. Lighting powers are super helpful with taking down big bad guys. You may have also even been convinced at least once to jump-start Peter's ship too lol

[pedrito-friskito]

'til kingdom come - tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

the evolution of your relationship with peter parker.

a/n: my entry for the April TFC Writing Challenge! it was for a fic based on a song, (til kingdom come by coldplay - off the soundtrack!) I happened to watch The Amazing Spider-Man and No Way Home in the same weekend, and well, here we are. enjoy! 🤍 (just for the record - this would be no way home era tasm!peter parker, so at least a 5-6 years older than at the end of tasm 2!)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of car accidents, hospital stays, broken bones, fluff, not completely explicit but still explicit smut, this was INCREDIBLY self-indulgent and I regret nothing

✨@friskito-library for updates on new works!✨

You’re used to him disappearing, at this point.

To waking in the middle of the night to an empty half of the bed, the pillow still warm, the only sign that he was here at all your scattered clothes on the ground, the ghost of a kiss on your mouth, and the satisfied hum in your bloodstream. It’s routine, to a degree, and has you burying your face in his pillow, chasing whatever remnants you can until he comes back.

And he always comes back.

+

It started as some kind of strange, electric current that ran beneath your skin when this doe-eyed scrap of a man paused in the doorway of your hospital room. He heard you crying, walked in, concern in that chocolate-coloured gaze and asked you if you were alright. Given the circumstance, your leg casted six ways to Sunday and a painful crick in your neck, you blubbered out a no, but then he introduced himself - “Peter Parker, I’m…I’m Peter.” - as he handed you a tissue, and then all of a sudden he was sinking into the chair at your bedside, distracting you from the pain.

“You don’t even know me,” you protested, shaking your head.

He’d just lifted a shoulder, dragging the chair a little closer. He handed you another tissue, asked if you wanted some water. “If you told me your name, then I would.” His grin was infectious. “Besides, when I heard you crying, I couldn’t just keep walking.”

You talked for hours. Until the nurse came in and declared visiting hours over, your evening round of pain meds in your hand. Peter hovered as she pushed the syringe into your IV, and your vision swirled at the edges. Ah, morphine. “Say your goodbyes,” the nurse prompted, giving him a pointed glare. “Boyfriend can come back in the morning.”

“He’s not my…” you trailed off, the meds kicking in fast, making your words slur. Your hand flopped off the edge of the bed, and Peter could resist the urge to squeeze his fingers around yours.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he grinned, and you were out cold by the time he reached the door to your room.

You saw him the next day. And the next day. The day after that, and the day after that. He became a permanent fixture in the chair at your bedside, distracting you with anecdotes and cheesy jokes while your leg healed. He never showed up at the same time each day, but learned the visiting hours window quickly, and was good with his timing, always showing up within it. Your nurse still had to kick him out when he showed up later in the day, your visits often trailing well past the end of visiting hours, but she let him stay longer more than once.

He was there the day they discharged you, and helped you into the taxi to take you back to your apartment. He was patient, helping you up the steps and into the elevator, carrying your bags. At that point, you knew each other supremely well, and there was something so comforting about being around Peter, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You hungry?” he asked, setting you up on your couch, propping your leg up the way the nurse had instructed. “I’m no chef, but I make a mean boxed mac and cheese.”

“Everything in my fridge has probably gone bad,” you pouted, wincing as you adjusted slightly. “It’s been weeks since I’ve been home.”

“Shit. Right.”

“Pizza?”

He grinned, nodding in agreement. “Pizza.”

And so you spent the day together on your couch, watching old movies and eating pizza. Peter made sure you had water close by, doled out the meds the hospital had given you, fluffed your pillows. 

You forgot about the pain, and it wasn’t the drugs.

And before long, you were half asleep, as you were most nights when he visited you in the hospital. Except now, your head lolled on his shoulder, his t-shirt covered chest rising and falling beneath your hand. “I should go,” he mumbled into your hair. “Let you get some rest.”

“I can sleep here,” you mumbled back. “You can take my bed, if you want. You don’t have to go.” You hummed, your voice drenched with sleep, and then you were out like a light.

You woke some time later in your bed, your leg propped up on pillows, blankets pulled to your chin. There was a note on your nightstand, scrawled in a hasty hand.

Couldn’t leave you on the couch. Quite the first date, if you ask me. Hope you slept well - Peter x

Your eyes lingered on the words first date, and you tried to ignore the thump in your chest, but no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go away.

+

About a month later, after your cast was removed, the first few rounds of physical therapy done, and you were feeling good.

Good enough to call Peter out.

You’d finally gone back to work, and perched at your desk, staring out the window on your lunch break, you dialed his number. You’d seen each other a few times since you’d been discharged, the odd cup of coffee when you were both free. But the note he’d left at your bedside still lingered in the back of your mind. You needed to know.

“Hello?” he answered with a grunt, and it sounded windy as hell wherever he was. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, spine prickling at the concern in his voice. “Everything’s fine, I’m just…”

“You’re what?” he questioned, almost heaving a breath on the other line.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He grunted, and there was a sound like he almost dropped the phone. “You’re what?”

“You called it a first date,” you spewed out, the words tumbling out of your mouth. “The day I came home from the hospital, when you stayed with me.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did.” You could almost see the blush in his cheeks. “Is that okay with you?”

“It is,” you said slowly, ignoring the whip of wind on his end of the line. “But you realize that calling it a first date implies that there’s gonna be a second date.”

“Does it?”

“It does.”

“Then how about I pick you up at seven?”

+

“I wasn’t gonna do this,” you breathed out against his mouth. His hands - god, his hands - were on your hips, pulling you against him while his lips ghosted over yours. He’d spent the elevator ride mapping out the curve of your jaw, making your pulse jump beneath your skin as he roamed your neck. “I was gonna make you wait, I was gonna-”

“Shut up,” he mumbled back, and his hands jumped from your hips to your mouth, pulling you more firmly against him, his lips claiming yours. “Fuck, you’re pretty.”

He’d knocked on your door at almost half past seven, and as you yanked the door open, some chastising comment about him being late, he’d pushed a semi-crushed bouquet of flowers into your hands, leaning forward and pecking your cheek as he murmured, “You look nice.” And the comment died on your tongue.

Dinner was great. The conversation passed between you as easily as ever. You talked about work; your journalism gig was busy as ever, and when you told him you had Spider-Man to thank for your latest front page article. “Your pictures worked perfectly,” you said over the rim of your wine glass, not missing the way his ears turned red. “It was the perfect cover shot.”

“I’m glad.”

A few hours of conversation, a brief tussle over who would pay the bill - Peter won, claiming that it was your article that put his photo on the cover, so he owed you one - and you were walking back to your apartment. You had to stop a few times, rubbing at a rogue pain in your leg, and after the second time, Peter tugged on your hand until you were behind him, then gestured for you to hop up.

“Are you insane? Peter, I’m not light, you can’t-”

“I carried you to bed on our first date,” he quipped, dropping his hands and turning around. He watched the puzzle pieces fit together in your expression, the details sussing themselves out. It formed a little dip between your brows, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over it.

“You did, didn’t y-”

And then he kissed you. Right there on the street, lamplight pouring over the both of you, the slight pain in your leg forgotten.

You were speechless when he pulled back, and a moment later, you were on his back, the pair of you striding towards your apartment.

He’d kissed you again in the lobby as he set you back on your feet. Again as you waited for the elevator. When it was blessedly empty, he crowded you into the corner and pushed his face into your neck, teeth scraping your pulse. When your breath hitched, he did it again. Again and again and again.

Then, inside your apartment, he pushed you against the wall, quieting your words, drinking them down with his hands on your face. Your blood thumped in your ears, heat flaring between your legs as he pushed his tongue between your teeth.

Fuck waiting.

He was careful. Gentle, even, as he snaked his hands back down your body, glancing around the curve of your ass before he was gripping behind your knees, lifting you up and against him. You squeaked at his strength, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you down the hall to your bedroom. You undressed each other slowly, lips never far apart as clothes scattered across the floor.

Something like panic flared in your eyes when you saw the bruises along his ribs, the scratch at his collar, but he kissed you again, silencing your worries when he snuck his hand down your front, fingertips licking at your nerves, pulling sensations to the surface of your body you hadn’t felt in a while.

The carefulness continued, both of you bathed in the darkness, the only source of light the slit in your curtains. Peter moved differently in the dark, somehow anticipating every move you made, as you explored each other. He pulled noises from you you didn’t think yourself capable of, making you cum hard once on his tongue before he was crawling over you on the bed, the ends of his hair tickling your skin as he made his way up to your lips once more.

There was that moment of realness, that pause of trepidation that filled the space between you when you fished a condom out of your nightstand. He hissed when you moved your hand over him, following his movements, tracing his outlines.

When he pushed into you, your good leg wrapped around his hip, his hands braced around your head, his face buried in your collar, you lost what little breath you had left. He managed to find every last nerve you needed touched, and it wasn’t long before you were losing it again, your head thrown back on the pillow, fingers buried in his wayward hard.

You fell asleep shortly after, curled on your side, Peter glued to your back.

But when you woke up, he was gone.

+

Peter avoided you as long as he could.

He felt bad about it, obviously, the guilt tugging at his insides anytime he saw something that reminded him of you, caught a scent in the air that smelled suspiciously like your shampoo.

He hadn’t wanted to leave. Truthfully, he could have stayed there in your bed all night, even if sleep evaded him. He would have watched you for hours, committed every inch of you to memory as you slept, maybe woke you up once or twice with his mouth or his hands or a combination, just to hear those sweet noises of yours again.

But then his senses had prickled, the scream of alarms outside reaching his ears. You stayed soundly asleep, your brow furrowing again. Despite everything in him yelling that he needed to go, Peter reached out, swiped his thumb across the dip in your skin yet again. It hadn’t disappeared when he’d kissed you hours ago, his movements taking you slightly by surprise, but then, your lashes fluttering with dreams, it smoothed out beneath his touch, and he smiled.

He didn’t want to leave.

He was falling for y-

The thought cut short. He shook his head, snuck out the fire escape and climbed to the roof of the building, pulling his gear out of his bag and disappearing across the city, his senses chasing the alarms.

The thought, and the feeling that accompanied it, wouldn’t leave him alone. Even when he went back home, Aunt May chiding him to eat him something when he appeared in the kitchen the next morning, his mind wandered back to you. You would have woken up alone, the only evidence he was there in the first place being the condom in your garbage can. 

And the sucked bruise he’d left on the inside of your thigh.

He was a mix of longing and guilt, heat and despair. His body begged him to go back to you, to apologize as many times as it took for you to let him kiss you again. But his mind said no, told him it was too soon, that his past was too fresh.

But could you really put a timeline on grief?

He’d never forget Gwen, never forget the way he’d held her that night, the way life had so cruelly ripped her away from him. She was a part of him, forever. No amount of time would change that.

Aunt May’s voice echoed in his mind. What she’d said when he found her packing Uncle Ben’s things into boxes.

You’re throwing his stuff away?

No, god, no. I couldn’t do that. It’s part of me. I’m just finding a better place for it. I’m gonna take one last look, and I’m gonna put it where it belongs.

For years now, he wasn’t sure what to do with everything he felt for Gwen. It still loomed around his heart, clutching at him like a vise, sneaking up on him at the most inopportune of moments. The love he’d had for her, it had nowhere else to go, so it sat in him, brewing like oversteeped tea, making him feel sour for what he’d lost.

Finding a better place for it.

Put it where it belongs.

He intended to call you that day. He was running late for an appointment, rushing through the city streets, when he collided with someone, a cup of coffee falling to the sidewalk at his feet. He narrowly avoided the hot liquid, cursing under his breath, and then he caught the scent of your shampoo, forcing himself to ignore the way it twisted his gut.

But then he took a deeper breath, and realized it wasn’t just the smell of your hair. 

It was you.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, shame and guilt washing his cheeks rosy. “I’m so sorry, I’m-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you said, rising to your feet, now-empty coffee cup in hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

He pulled you to the side, avoiding the coffee spill, dragging you into a doorway a few steps up from the sidewalk. You went willingly, but he could see the hesitation in your eyes, and he couldn’t blame you. Your eyes darted anywhere but his face, leaning back against the doorway, chewing at your lip.

“I screwed up,” he said bluntly, and that had your eyes zipping to his. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak out on you, or avoid you, or any of it. I just…I’m sorry.”

Your brow lifted slowly. “You keep saying that.”

“Would you give me another chance?” he asked, the words still pouring out of him. “Please?”

Your chest lifted as you inhaled deeply. “I don’t hear from you for weeks, you come out of nowhere and spill my coffee, and you ask me for a third date?” Your tone was almost flat, but there was a quirk at the corner of your mouth you couldn’t hide. 

Daringly, Peter took a step forward, crowding into your space. His hand hovered for a moment before he lifted it, curling his fingers and letting his knuckles trail down your cheek. Your eyes fluttered and he took another step.

“Yes,” he breathed, leaning down until his forehead was pressed to yours. His knuckles caressed your cheek again. “Please.”

Your next inhale was sharp and you tilted your head back, the tip of your nose moving along the curve of his. “I swear to god, Peter Parker, if you disappear on me again, I won’t-”

He was too busy kissing you to hear the end of the sentence.

+

Three days later, you had him in your bed again. It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

You made him wait this time. Sort of. It was your fourth date now, technically - you’d held out after the dinner he’d taken you to after your collison on th street - but the way he’d kissed you goodnight after this one had you saying fuck it to waiting yet again. There was something different about him, something less haunted in those dark eyes, something less hurried behind his movements.

Your kisses lingered in the elevator, the doorway, the hallway. You drank glasses of water in the kitchen, and Peter was distracted, his eyes catching on the drafts of your latest articles, spread out on the countertop. “No more Spider-Man?”

You lifted a shoulder. “No one’s seen him around in a while,” you answered, stepping close to him. “Plus, my favourite photographer disappeared on me.”

He cracked a smile. “Well, he won’t do that again, I’ve got it on good authority.”

Your smile echoed his. “Good.”

But then just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile faded. “Listen,” he started, his brow going hard, rubbing his hand up the back of his neck. “I promised myself I’d be honest with you, and there’s…there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, tilting your head to the side as you set your glass down. “So tell me.”

He braced both hands on the sink, pressing his lips together for a long moment before his head turned in your direction. “It was me that saved you that night. The car accident, when you broke your leg.”

Your brows pulled down, instantly confused. “No, it wasn’t. Peter, we didn’t even know each other back then, it was-”

The cops had told you who it was, your nurse repeating the story with the tiniest bit of disdain. It was what had inspired your front page piece, when you finally went back to work. A thank you, of sorts. It was-

“Spider-Man,” Peter says, his jaw hard enough to cut glass. Your head is spinning. “That’s me. I’m Spider-Man.”

You started laughing. Giggling like mad, nearly bent in half. “What are you-”

Without a word, Peter stepped away from you, one hand held palm up, and jumped. The ceilings in your apartment were low, but it was still a good three feet above your head. His bare hand connected with the ceiling…

…and stuck.

He swung slightly, staring down at you, his lips still pressed together.

“You…saved me?” you murmured out, your voice dropping as he did, his feet back on your kitchen tile. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Your memories of the accident were hazy; you’d spun out, your car diving off the edge of the bridge and into the river below. You remember being filled with fear as soon as the car hit the water, but the impact knocked you out. You woke up in the hospital later on, and the cops filled you in, told you that Spider-Man had carried you into the emergency department.

Peter just nodded. His shoulder lifted. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“But then you…?” you trailed off, your brow scrunching again.

He closed the distance between you, his thumb smoothing between your brows, something of a habit of his that you were already growing used to. “Then I came to see you in the hospital. I had to. I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You…You’re Spider-Man.”

He smiled as his hand moved around the outline of your face, his thumb now riding the curve of your lower lip. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“I’m having sex with Spider-Man?”

“I thought we were dating, too.”

You pushed at his chest, curling your fingers in the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him close. “I’m having sex with Spider-Man.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and you kissed the grin off his mouth. He moved faster than your eyes could track, grabbing you up into his arms, carrying you down the hall to your bedroom.

+

You lay sprawled in your bed hours later, the sun long gone. Peter is stretched out, his arm tucked behind his head, while you are laid on his chest, your chin resting on your hand. You’d only stayed quiet when he’d had his mouth on yours, your questions deterred while he was busy having his fill of you, making those sweet noises echo off the walls of your bedroom. He wasn’t sated, not by a long shot, but he could see the questions on your face as you both came down, chests heaving.

“Go ahead,” he prompts you, tugging you close. “Ask me.”

He tells you everything. He fields every question, tells you as much truth as he could bear. He doesn’t hold anything back, his words spilling out faster with every question on your lips. Soon enough, you’re kissing the words out of each other’s mouths, tangling in the sheets once again.

And then you have a secret of your own to share.

“I’m in love with you.”

His heart stalls in his chest. Every feeling he’d battled over the last few months brought back to the surface. “I…” His eyes search yours, so full of emotion - so full of truth - he feels guilt crawl up his throat. 

He’s told you about Gwen. You know what happened, you know the story. And you hadn’t pressed him for details, when he first brought it up. You were in the hospital still, laid out in that bed, him perched in the chair beside you. Your fingers had curled through his when he first brought it up, your eyes shining back at him. “It’s okay, Peter. I…I lost someone too. A long time ago. I get it.”

He wants to. He wants to tell you the same. He wants to admit it - to you, and to himself, finally.

But…

“I can’t,” he says, the words feeling like lead weights on his tongue. “I just-”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you reply, an echo of what you’d said when he’d first told you. “I get it, I just-”

He grabs your forearm, pulling you further up his chest, until he can bury his hand in your hair, his kiss cutting off your sentence. “Can you trust that I want to? That I want to say it, I just…need time? I’m not gonna ask you to wait for me, but if you-”

It’s your turn to cut him off, your mouth lingering on his. “I can wait, Peter. I will wait.”

+

And so it’s continued. More dates, more nights spent in your apartment. Walks through Central Park, dinners at Aunt May’s. May is in love with you from your very first meeting, which Peter predicted, and it’s all too easy to fall into the patterns, to become an even steadier part of each other’s lives.

Every time he has to go, his senses pulling him to another corner of the city, he sees the concern in your eyes. “Be careful,” you beg him, kissing him soundly. “Come back to me.”

“Always will,” he grins, returning the kiss, ducking out the window.

And he always does.

But now, he’s been gone for hours. You’ve been checking the news like a crazy person, scrolling on your phone, refreshing your best sources every few minutes. But nothing. You even go so far as to call the hospitals, making sure he hasn’t turned up in an emergency department somewhere. You can’t tell May; you can’t worry her like this.

Hours turn into days. You deter May’s worried calls with a white lie that Peter has food poisoning and has been sleeping it off at your place. Almost two days, and your worry is at an all time high. This is different. Something feels different, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

All you can do is wait. You told him you would.

+

The weird tingling from Dr. Strange’s spell fades, the brightness clouding his vision fading away, and Peter finds himself standing in your living room. A glance at the kitchen clock tells him it’s very early, and as the exhaustion of the last forty-eight hours starts to set in, already making his limbs heavy, he heads for your bedroom, stripping out of the suit as he goes.

By the time he steps through the doorway, he tosses the suit in the direction of your laundry bin. His mind is still spinning, churning with everything he’s witnessed in the last few days. He doesn’t really know how to make sense of it all, but there’s one thing he has to do.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out and covering your shoulder with his hand, shaking gently as he pulls the blankets back with his other hand.

You grumble for a moment, your eyes cracking open, but when you see it’s him, you surge upwards, throwing your arms around his neck. “Peter!”

“Hi, baby,” he mumbles into your neck, dropping the blanket and wrapping his arm around your waist, the other finding a home in your hair. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

“What happened?” you cry, pulling back, taking his face in your hands, your eyes instantly inspecting him. “You were gone for two whole days, I didn’t know what to-”

He kisses you hard, wrapping your hair around his knuckles. You return the affection, holding him as tightly as he’s holding you. “I wanna tell you what happened, but I don’t totally know myself? All I know is that I’m exhausted, and there’s something that I do have to tell you.”

You pull him down into bed, instantly fitting yourself against his side, pulling the blankets over you both. Puzzle pieces falling into place. Your brown furrows, and he moves his thumb over the dip. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”

He drags his knuckles down your cheek. “I’m in love with you, too.”

THE END.