#and moving out from my parents has given me the freedom to figure shit out apart from the situation that's been fucking me up all my life

[neverendingford]

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[icanseethefuture333]

THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR...

A tarot reading on:

ENHYPEN

Enhypen as idols:

Their debut as idols honestly feels chaotic. I don't know what happened, but the members of the group were not prepared mentally it seems for the lifestyle that was to come as idols. There could of been conflict with schedules, technical issues, or delay in communication. Enhypen's debut was a hot topic as well or a lot of people were just talking about it. I have a feeling some members of the group were rebellious when they were younger. Their company could of had unrealistic expectations from when they were teenagers. I am being reminded of those monkeys who perform in the circus and are trained to be a pet. "Animal cruelty"? Enhypen were trained in a very unethical way. It's like their company made them do things that were not suitable for minors (Child labor? Lack of parental figures present? Missing school? Something of that nature). "It's like dancing for peanuts.", were they not being paid fairly in the beginning of their career? Yikes. Although, I see that since Enhypen are now young adults, they are finding a way to achieve success. There is a lot of emotional healing and abundance present. They are experiencing some sort of wish fulfillment. (Clarified by Adjustment) I feel like Enhypen are learning to balance their idol life with their personal lives, perhaps in the past they weren't allowed to have much freedom but now they can explore their options and be more independent. I keep seeing birds in these cards so Enhypen read their fans messages a lot and appreciate the encouraging words they get, they know that engenes got their back.

What does the music industry think of Enhypen?:

My phone crashed as I was writing this and I thought "break the industry" with this Tower card. The music industry adores them. They want to make them happy and give them all the endorsements they can possibly get. Their cards are on the table and they want to see what big move they will do next. Enhypen are only going to grow more and become even more accomplished.

What do other idols think of Enhypen?:

I heard "they got their ducks in a row". So that could mean as a group other idols believe they are playing it smart and making moves that will overall benefit them in the end. Enhypen are not afraid to take a chance or provide themselves with new endeavors. I thought of the scene from White Chicks when Marcus said "*out of breath* I don't know? I like a challenge." After getting in a fight with one of the biggest dudes there. So idols could see Enhypen as a group that can take a "beating", meaning they stay strong in moments of adversity. They're quite patient and have a lot of emotional intelligence, protective of each other as well.

Enhypen's dynamic as a group:

This group has a strong ass backbone. This is very impressive given the fact they're all so young. They can't be pushed around easily by people's words. "You can't move me, I'm stone." They just have a solid foundation and Enhypen all seem to be grounded individuals. They are compassionate, wise, charismatic, brave, and secure with themselves. Overall, I'd say they have a very strong bond as a group. Good luck to anyone who would want to sabotage them because they're not going anywhere and if shit were to ever go down at their company, they're leaving as a group.

[indistarlight]

"It's when a dog doesn't eat. That's when you know something's really wrong."

This line from Sam in My Bloody Valentine has always come back to me throughout the show and as we see Dean's copping mechanisms. (I'm only halfway through s13 so while I know what comes after, I won't be touching anything beyond that point.) It's meant to be a remark on the worrying nature of Dean not being his usual foodie self and contrast with everybody else getting affected by Famine.

But I think it also says a lot for what Sam looks out for when he believes Dean isn't okay. And it also shows how much he misses because of this thought process.

I think the beginning of s13 contrasted with most other occasions when Dean was struggling in recent seasons (post-purgatory and MoC) is probably the best example. s13 has Dean very very clearly emotionally destroyed; he's lost quite a few people in one-go, he's lost any modicum of faith he had even in the goodwill of Chuck, he's being forced to play nice with a confusing entity who may or may not have brainwashed Cas into death and could destroy the world. And Sam sees that and is attempting to "fix" it. So: Dean not acting like his usual (in this case the baseline is faithful-to-their-line-of-duty-being-a-good-thing) sets off all the alarm bells for Sam.

But. Why? Arguably, Dean is reacting pretty damn realistically. Those eps all together in the timeline are like two weeks tops. He's still functioning, trying to help people, amenable to Jack as time goes on. I'm not saying Dean was right, but he was sympathetic. Most of the confrontations in this period are because Sam is trying to persuade Dean into normal, into Sam's perspective on things, into denial rather than depression. The episode with the psychiatrist is very interesting and lowkey fucked in this regard, because Sam creates a false narrative that Dean has to play a part in, but also get interrogated about very, very real wounds. The tables get turned however, and Dean confronts Sam on not being able to cope, or even accept their losses.

I think this shows how much Sam needs Dean to be alright so that Sam has the freedom to not be alright. If Dean is the dog that doesn't eat, Sam is the dog that'll eat himself sick (ironic given their respective appetites). Dean reacts hard and heavy and pushes himself through it, Sam doesn't react until it blows up internally or externally. Let's not forget it was always Sam as the angry brother, when push came to shove! He's still deeply angry, like in American Nightmare where Sam is decidedly Not Reacting about Mary leaving until he says this to the other complicated mother character:

"God doesn't care what kind of life you live. Trust me. And God didn't kill your daughter. You did." This is guilt. This is anger. These are the thoughts that Sam tries very hard not to think about.

For Sam, it's about control, pop psychology his way through life, doing things the Right way. And eventually that blows up in his face, but damn if he won't keep suppressing. He doesn't know how to deal but he can sure help Dean deal the right way.

What's extra wild about this is that he then is almost obliviously blind to Dean when Dean is acting Normal. Good examples are the early seasons, where Dean's laughing just to keep Sam happy during s3 or when Sam relaxes at the sight of Dean having come home after a wild night (I love love love the meta that Dean set it up to get Sam off his back, good shit yall). I think this is very fun when put next to the near erasure of Dean's trauma concerning hell, purgatory, or even the MoC really. The Cage and Sam's actions during s5's end are brought up a decent amount (not enough tbh, but that's a whole different issue) but because Dean doesn't seem to outwardly dealing with those ramifications, they can all just move on.

This isn't (much) hate against Sam by the way. Dean, for better or worse (mostly worse, for them both), was Sam's truly reliable parental figure. You want the person you rely on to be okay, so that you can continue on relying on them. There's a reason why it's Sam who'll go all the way to human sacrifice to bring Dean back, unlike Dean who'll stop after lying and self-sacrifice. Dean moved on for a year after Sam's death, no matter how much it hurt him. We all have seen s4, no need for me to repeat those points. But regardless of the reasons, there is a very set status quo that Sam relies on, and it can end up being suffocating for Dean.

[cleaning-chronicles]

So. I made this blog a while back. I have no idea if I can figure out when that was...but hi, my name is D and I'm a hoarder. Not the way that probably you think of hoarding, if you have seen a hoarding TV show on daytime TV? I do have some food (mostly snacks) in my space, as well as some drinks and things, but I do try really hard to take trash out in a timely-ish fashion. Old newspapers and things like that are closer to my truth, but they're not really...it. The only newspapers I have kept are things like my accomplishments in my hometown or old Sunday comics from almost a decade ago. I won't get into why. But anyway, they're precious to me.

What else is here? Things like D&D dice, crafting supplies, pins and buttons. Technology bits and bobs, writing utensils. An insane amount of printed paper, just whatever stories or images have resonated with me. Stuff I've made. Art. Mugs that hold items, not tea. Costume pieces...anyway, I feel like a lot of that isn't really what you'd think of when you hear the word "hoarder". Or maybe you would. I don't know you.

Anyway, like the title says: I fell down a horrific depression hole about 10 years ago. Actually, the depression started a while before that; but combine suicidal depression with someone whose greatest fear is letting down their parents by not going to college, and you get someone who moves away for most of the year, moves back over the summer, and then moves away again, all without doing much packing or unpacking. It got to be too much. When I graduated (with honors!) and moved back in with my parents - I was single and making a pittance at some call center job - the depression swallowed me. In truth, I don't have much memory of those years. It's all shrouded in fog and one of my greatest fears is that I'll never get those days back, that they will always be hidden from me.

It would make sense, given how much trauma ensued, but it sill makes me sad. Do you have any idea what it's like to match up the timelines of your life and be surprised that thing 1 and thing B happened on the same day? It's horrifying.

Anyway. I have graduated multiple times and I can hold a job for about 3 years at a time before I get restless. I'm currently unemployed, but...I'm coming up on a large milestone birthday. And all I want is to be able to invite my friends into my space. I was going to write "without feeling like total shit and a failure" but honestly? I can't even invite people over. That's how intense the shame is. That's where I have been, mentally, for almost a decade. Extreme isolation unless I go out seeking someone else's company. And somewhere in all the books and glass pens and hinged boxes and fake flowers...somewhere in here there is joy. Somewhere in my life there is freedom. I'm going to find it if I can. I'm going to find it if it kills me.

Perhaps that's too strong a word, since I mentioned the suicidal depression. While I've been repeatedly traumatized, my heart repeatedly broken in this decade, I promise that I don't currently have any plans to end my life. I think that's why the sudden urge to clean. I'm getting better, and I want my space to reflect that. Honestly I can't imagine how any of my family has come in here and not carted me away to a mental hospital; for all that I'm saying it's not your typical hoarder space, shit is BAD in here. There are springs poking up through my bed, I haven't been able to reach the window in years. My closet hasn't had a function other than "try and store as much as possible in here" for most of this time.

But it's going to get better. That's what the blog is for.

For anyone curios: I may post pictures. Maybe. Honestly I'm a little afraid to do that. What if someone I know sees it? But I might post a few pics, just so people understand. I think part of doing this is to shout into the void, but...also, honestly, if I could say that maybe I helped someone...it would make my heart a lot lighter.

Thank you if you have read so far. I do sincerely appreciate it.

D

[daenerysoftarth]

"If you only listen to marginalized people who completely agree with and validate your preconceived beliefs about their community and never ever challenge you about anything you say, do, or believe, then you are not actually an ally."

Do NOT reblog that fucking post and in the same breath get mad that Jews have a movement for their own self-determination and right to return to the Levant that predates the modern govt you're mad at. Do not reblog that fucking post and then refuse to listen to Jews defining their own community's terms, and say weird ass shit about Israelis, or say they should have "learned from the Holocaust" (are you gonna watch to make sure Palestinians learn from Gaza too or are horrible acts of cruelty only meant to be lessons when they're happening to Jews?) Do not reblog that fucking post and then refuse to address the antisemitism inherent to protesting for Palestine in front of Holocaust memorials, showings of Fiddler on the Roof, and Jewish community centers. Do not reblog that post and then refuse to look into the antisemitism you're surrounded with or rid your movement of it. Do not reblog that fucking post, you performative loser.

Oh and support for Hamas, Hezbollah, Houthis, etc. directly gets innocent Palestinian, Lebanese, Yemeni and others killed. They are not good for the people they govern and if you think they're at all representative of those people then you're horrifically racist against Arabs. Remember last year when we all hated the Iranian govt for what they did to Zhina Amini? Are you really going to cheer for that govt's ideology when it's in a different spot and opposed to the (((Zionist))) one? Are you seriously going to demand we endorse or ignore what Hezbollah did to those Druze children, or what Hamas has done to both Israeli and Palestinian people? That's repugnant. You're disgusting.

Most people in the Levant, Israeli and Palestinian alike, want peace. That peace is not going to be possible if you keep cheering on Hamas or getting mad at Jews for not celebrating the brutal murder of their community members.

You are not an ally to Jews or Palestinians and this world would be safer for both groups if you and your vile bullshit weren't in it.

remember when those american soldiers tortured men at abu ghraib and the whole world moved on. i remember seeing that at an art exhibit when i was a kid. this was around the same time that my mom, a state employee, was trapped in an abusive relationship bc her government job didnt pay enough to support me on her own. simultaneously, she worked at the poorest school in our state, in a historically black neighborhood. underfunded, crumbling ceilings, my mom found a bat in her classroom once, stuff like that. ya know how it goes. i remember attending a lot of her mandatory teacher meetings--because she couldnt afford child care--where they would brainstorm ways to best support students who were homeless or living in group homes or with abusive parents. i remember one time the figure came up as an estimated 11,000 kids in our district alone were homeless.

budget cuts to education continue. budget cuts to transportation and social security and housing and healthcare continue. each and every time i see this happening to my communities, my friends, my mentors, my family.... and the justification given was always. "but our troops." protecting our freedom and what not. its okay if we invest more in guns than in school meal programs because of the ominous threat... out there. yes, things are bad here, but imagine how much worse they can be!! so hand over one more penny if you'd please

so imagine my confusion when i get a little bit older and i realize that, well actually it's not about peace at all. considering we're the ones that keep starting shit. how it's not about freedom or democracy--otherwise why did we do that in chile?--but just about cold hard cash. and material resources. and how that those who sell their souls and bodies take those pennies we had stored away for their own little versions of paradise. for thee but not for me

and culturally GOD to mention 9/11 was tantamount to bringing up necrophilia as far as killing the vibe went. god forbid you didn't perform a spontaneous pledge on the spot if september thee 11th was mentioned. but that homeless man on the corner is nothing more than an inconvenience.

the even more shocking thing is that ALL of that is a fraction of the pain and suffering and utter grief that palestinians endure at this hour in our world. there is a quote somewhere, which i cant recall rn, that basically said you know apartheid when you see it. you feel apartheid when you see it. i remember feeling that as a child driving from where we lived with my grandparents in white suburbia to the school my mom worked at, on the wrong side of the tracks (never a city where that saying has been more literal than louisville). i remember that feeling in 2014 when i saw a video of israeli citizens sitting on a cliffside in their recliners and cheering as they watched gaza get bombed during the 2014 israel gaza war. i remember that same feeling when seeing those pictures of us military soldiers torturing men in abu ghraib, with smiles on their faces.

no one has the right to apartheid. no one has the right to the spoils of empire. no one has the right to drain our communities of resources for their own selfish fucking ends. the same beast that robs my neighbors of peace and plenty is the same that terrorizes their homelands. fuck the us military. free palestine.

[ahmumbles]

Check-in from Nam

Hey, it’s me. Or you. We both know who this is.

It’s been a while... it’s been a long, long while since I’ve spoken to you like this. I used to write so much in Barcelona, especially in the beginning years, and now it’s been several years since then, since I’ve gotten lost in life’s tornado and haven’t been able to keep up with myself. Sometimes enjoying and just being, sometimes so swept away with to-do lists and organizing and endless bullet points in my notes app- organizing, decluttering, rearranging, figuring out, settling down, getting back up, moving, wondering, thinking, sighing, zoning out

Today it is April 11, 2023. 

I am currently in Hanoi, Vietnam. It’s been about 8 months since I’ve moved here. 

26 was a year of Atlanta (and working at my parent’s place and struggling with old, way-too-familiar family pains, hating working, seeing old faces, being home) with a gap in Europe (revisiting my second home of Barcelona, housesitting with Tom in stunning Lake Como, celebrating Claire’s birthday in Bosnia, staying at Laurine’s in London and Steph visiting, a wild Berlin adventure with the boys).

27 was moving with hopes, curiosity, culture shock, learning, absorbing, and loneliness. So much, so much loneliness. Feeling like 22 again when I first moved to Barcelona. Without the escape of a beach, without the freedom of breezy night walks, without sun-kissed smiling beautiful people everywhere, without looking up at the architecture in awe, without the bustling youth and energy. Hanoi has been quite the experience. I’ve undoubtedly learned so many new things- how to ride a motorbike, living by myself for the first time, teaching at a public school, Vietnamese culture, breaking out for the first time in my life, the effects of pollution, realizing that the glitz n glamour of a developing country is not what I had imagined. In many ways, it has drained me. But in other ways, it has solidified for me what I want, like, tolerate, and anticipate. The people I want to be around. The environments I feel comfortable in. Boundaries. Self-awareness. It has taught me a lot in those fields. I feel... older. I really do. I feel (and look) like I’m in my late 20s. Like all those years of reckless behavior and confused thoughts, although still not completely gone, have definitely subsided as I’ve gotten to understand myself better.

My energy has calmed down a lot. I no longer, truly no longer, have the energy to put up with many new faces. New personalities and same conversations about useless shit I don’t give a fuck about. And although I am leaving, I’m glad that I’ve given this place a try. I now realize that I should visit a city before packing up all my shit and moving there (ha). I also realize that at this moment in my life, in my final 20s, I don’t want to struggle anymore. I do eventually want to settle, and so during these final years, I want to cherish my life in places that inspire me, motivate me, and keep me evolving in the most positive way. I don’t have the time nor the patience to ‘just go along with it a bit more’ or ‘see where it goes’. I feel a lot more confident in decision-making, something that I so lacked in my earlier years. I’m glad I can say this about myself, because I don’t think I could’ve just a few years back.

Although I am realizing there are some things I do genuinely enjoy: skating on a smooth wide ground, making ceramics n all the endless ideas of trinkets for home decor, tattooing a sick design I really love, a fucking good book I can’t put down, a movie that slams your heart, actually good clean coffee, going to the cinema alone with butter popcorn, traveling to a new city (alone or with someone I love), seeing landscapes that make me feel so small and insignificant,

I haven’t had the.., no I’ve had the time, just not the motivation to really pursue these loves of mine this (almost) past year (or more). I think because I’ve decided that this place isn’t for me, I’ve kind of just given up on doing anything about it until I leave. Sometimes I wonder if Haerin is right, if I just keep running away from things, or, on the flip-side, I just chase what I want and won’t put up with something I no longer care for.

Some things on my mind though, that’s actually what prompted me to start this post, are the following:

- I am, and have always been, so good at being alone. Being alone, doing nothing. Lockdown in 2020 obviously came with its difficulties, but it was also one of the only times in my entire life that I was able to be still. And I love being still. Just like in Lake Como. I need these moments of just being still, not thinking, not watching anything, not even sleeping, just moments to be blank and I feel those moments recharge me more than any activity ever could.

- I am also still my own torturer. I love hating myself. I love criticizing myself. And I still love overthinking things. To be fair, I have numbed out a lot, maybe since I moved to Hanoi, but I still get these waves of emptiness and sadness, with such intensity, but it doesn’t even bother me anymore. I’ve realized that that side of me is just part of me, and I’m working on not getting rid it, but of accepting it and learning how to work with it. I think that breakdown on shrooms when I had Covid in Atlanta after Cancun in August 2022 was what I needed for a very long time. I cried more than I had in many years combined. Rivers of sadness, mostly stemming from my family, mostly about my brother, just pouring out of me, shriveling me up. I needed that. It broke me.

- I’m learning about love. Aran was my first boyfriend, my first everything, the one who spoiled me silly and made me feel butterflies and a perfect introduction to relationships as I started my 20s. Ferran was my bridge between being a young girl to a maturing woman and my best friend, made me laugh more than anyone, especially in the beginning, but also showed me what I don’t want in any future relationships, especially towards the end. Tom was the unexpected curveball that’s taught me the messiness of ‘relationships’, non-labeling labels, a comfort space that I pried open and snuggled myself into, the calm, level-headed situationship that I started to feel myself maturing in and making me question what it is I want in love and who I want to love and how I can love someone the best I can. A rooted yet emotional person that’s taught me about communication which has been one of my biggest downfalls throughout my entire life.

- I don’t know where I am at life at the moment. I’m 27, 28 in a few months, and although I’ve been enjoying that each year in my 20s have counted for something and that age is just a number, especially nowadays, for some reason 30 still scares the absolute shit out of me. It looks old. It sounds old. It feels heavy. I’m not ready to approach it. I feel a giant weight that I need to start providing for my parents soon, finally, after all their years of slaving away. I want to help my mom, so much, it feels like my heart is physically breaking when I think about her aging and still working and her body breaking down and me being across the country. Their house got broken into recently and they took all her bags, cash, gold, and most importantly- the hand-me-down jewelry she’s been saving to give to me since I was young. Always reminding me that she’ll give me this necklace and this pair of earrings in a few years. Just a bit more. And some bastards took all of that away from a woman that never splurged on herself. That never cared for herself the way she’s always deserved to be cared for, since her birth.

- I don’t know how I’m going to provide for my parents. I don’t know how I’m going to buy a house, buy furniture, buy kitchen appliances, buy a car or bike, grow my savings, start a retirement fund, or any of that adult shit when I don’t even know if I want to be a teacher anymore. I’ve been so drained with teaching, especially after a long-break of working at my parent’s place in between, and the middle schoolers in Hanoi have been a nightmare for me. Enough to make me start to hate teaching. To feel like it’s useless. I don’t feel respected, I don’t feel inspired, I don’t feel patient, loving, empathetic, accepting, or any of those magical emotions that I felt before and thought I’d always feel when it came to teaching. This might be the first time in my life since I was young that I’ve really started to question my career choice. And it’s not good for someone like me who has always prided herself in being rock-solid in this aspect of my life.

- I’m definitely coming to deeper terms with what friendship means to me. My Atlanta girls are still and probably, hopefully, will always be my roots. Haerin, Stephanie, Chanell, Julie. Even Jaehee and Christine and Joanna. My Barcelona friends have definitely floated away a bit- Jess, Claire, Leo, Dan, Laurine, Liam, but they still hold a special place in my heart and I know we will always cherish each other whenever we do reunite. But I’m realizing that these friends I have, they’re enough. I don’t really want anymore. I don’t want to go through the hassle of making new friends in each new city I move to, but I know that I have to, because I am still human. And as stubborn and detached as I can be, I know that sometimes loneliness aches me to the core and I lose sight of joy, laughter, acceptance, and a feeling of warmth.

- I hope Japan works out, and I don’t expect that my life will drastically change where I’m all of a sudden happy and full of spirit. But I hope that I am inspired in a bigger city, that even if I am alone, at least I am in the #1 country that sees beauty in being alone, and I know that I will evolve even more there. In its own inevitable way.

These are a few things that’s been on my mind, in the most condensed way possible. Skipping so many single moments that have weighed heavy on me up to this point. But I guess that’s life. Every day, every moment, may feel so big, but time never stops, and eventually it’s been a week, then two, then a few months, and when you look back, some of those moments are just flashbacks in your mind, and you forget. You block it out. Your other moments over power those moments.

Well Ange, I want you to know that the Ange right now, in this moment, is feeling lonely. Feeling sad about Tom. Feeling disheartened with teaching. Feeling sorry for myself. But also in its own way, enjoying this time alone. She’s feeling confused. She’s continuing with her weekly lists, finishing them one by one, making new ones, never-ending hamster ball of her brain... feeling like having control of the little things in her life will make her feel like life is okay. And I’m not so sure it is.

[mydogisveryadorbs]

bad day | jj maybank x reader

summary: jj has a bad day and he just wants to be with you

warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of abuse, sad jj, fluffy ending (ofc)

masterlist :)

(gif credit to the owner)

3.5k+ words

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To the outside world, JJ Maybank has a perfect life. He has the best group of friends, he parties all the time, he has all the freedom in the world, and most importantly, he has you.

To the outside world, it is practically impossible for JJ Maybank to have a bad day. How can you have a bad day when you have a perfect life?

The only person in the world that knew that bad days are actually a common occurrence in JJ’s life, was you.

When the two of you had first started dating over a year ago, you too had believed that JJ’s life was perfect. His outgoing personality and carefree nature were what initially attracted him to you and he fought hard to maintain that persona. It wasn't until three months into your relationship that you realized that the blonde boy had it so much harder than you could've possibly imagined.

Truth be told, JJ didn't open up to you on purpose. In fact, if he had it his way, you would have never had to see him break down the way that he did.

You didn't know what to do when you first found your boyfriend laying on the bathroom floor in the Chateau, body shaking with sobs. At first, you thought he had been in another rough quarrel with Rafe and his friends. But when he looked up at you, tear stains on his cheeks and the saddest eyes you had ever seen, you knew this wasn't just some run-in with a couple of kooks.

It didn't take long for you to get over your original state of shock and comfort the boy. Your younger sister had bad anxiety and experienced panic attacks often, and still, you found yourself on the less prepared side when it came to soothing the blonde you adored so much. It was hard for you to understand that the tough, wild, teenager that you had fallen in love with was simply a cover for the fragile boy inside.

You can still vividly remember sitting on the bathroom floor for hours with JJ. Despite your unfamiliarity with your boyfriend’s suffering, there was not one second that you had even remotely questioned your love for him. If anything, seeing him in such a vulnerable state made your appreciation for him grow.

JJ himself, on the other hand, did not know how to accept the comfort you had given him. He was so used to being alone every time he was feeling down. So used to hiding all of his emotions from the people around him. 

The two of you went through many difficult nights of him pushing you away and trying to block you out. But just as fast as he was building up his wall, you were tearing it down.

JJ doesn't know the exact moment when he allowed himself to succumb to your solace. Still to this day, it's hard for him to believe that someone as beautiful and compassionate as you can possibly love someone like him.

The more he let you in, the harder it was to be without you and now, whenever he had a run-in with his father or was unsure of himself, his first impulse was to call you.

You never hesitated to comfort the boy, knowing that he would do the same for you. And as much as you tried to stay strong for JJ, sometimes everything got to be a little bit too much. 

JJ will never forget the day you were holding him after a fight with his father and you couldn't hold it in anymore. You let out heart-wrenching sobs into his hair. The sound alone brought tears to his own eyes and the two of you held each other all night, whispering sweet nothing to one another.

JJ is having a bad day.

He should have known when he woke up this morning and you weren't in his arms. He glanced over, immediately recognizing your small handwriting on a blue sticky note which was stuck to your pillow. The note explained that your parents had asked you to come home, but that you would come back to the chateau to be with him that night.

have a great day and don't miss me too much lovie!

His heart fluttered at your sweet words. How did he get so god damn lucky? Popping open his phone case, JJ folds your note and sticks it inside, just in case he needs to read it again later.

Despite the loving feeling he got in his chest while reading your note, his day quickly went downhill.

When JJ opened the cabinets above the sink to make himself a bowl of cereal, they were empty. He brushed it off and went to work with an empty stomach.

At the hotel, a group of kids bumped into him while he was clearing a table and he dropped a wine glass on the floor, shattering it. His boss chewed him out for 30 minutes before putting him on dish duty for the rest of his shift.

After work, JJ went to the local market and used his tip money from the day to buy a sandwich and a small bouquet of your favorite flowers for you. He knew you would make a big fuss about him spending his money on you, but he loved to see the cute look of surprise on your face whenever he got you something like this. It made whatever he had gotten for you worth every penny.

On his way back to the Chateau, JJ was stopped by none other than Rafe, Topper, and Kelse on their bikes. He tried his best to ignore them, knowing that you hated when he got into fights, but as soon as Rafe mentioned a snide comment about your ass, JJ immediately threw the first punch. He didn't realize until after the fact that one of them had stomped on the flowers he bought for you.

As much as he hated it, the blonde boy knew he needed to go home to get a fresh pair of clothes. He could always ask you to get a pair from the drawer of his clothes you had in your room, but that would require telling you what had happened and he didn't want to be a bother while you were with your family.

He knew he was screwed when he arrived at his “house” and saw his father's truck parked in the dirt outside. JJ hoped that he would be able to slip by without being noticed, but his horrible luck from the day continued.

His father was in the stage of his drinking where he was drunk enough to be angry with his son, but not drunk enough for JJ to outrun him.

JJ’s cheek throbbed on his walk back to the Chateau and he was sure that he was sporting a fresh black eye. His ribs were sore as hell and the only thing that kept him moving was the thought of seeing you.

When he arrived at John B’s house he instantly took note of your missing car. He prayed that you had simply walked and that he would see you laying on the couch when he entered.

There was someone sitting on the couch, but it was not the person JJ was looking for.

“Dude,” John B said when he noticed JJ’s figure standing in the doorway. “What happened to your face?”

“Where's (Y/N),” the blonde asked, ignoring John’s question.

“She called and said she wasn't sure if she would make it,” Kie said, drawing JJ’s attention to where she was standing. “Her friend Carlee’s boyfriend cheated on her, so she went to comfort her. She said she tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail,” the curly-haired girl explained.

Glancing down at his phone, JJ noticed it was dead. His shoulders slumped. All he wanted was to see his girl after a shit day, was that too much to ask? He knew first hand your dedication to your loved ones, and he knew it wasn't fair of him to want all of your comfort and love for himself, but he couldn't help it.

You were too nice, he decided. But that's why he loved you so much, wasn't it?

“So what happened to your face,” John B asked again, taking a sip of his beer.

JJ glowered at his best friend. “What do you care,” he snapped. He knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on John B, but you were his coping method and he didn't know what to do without that.

John B raised his hands in defense, standing up to grab another beer. “Jeez, dude,” he said, “Just asking.”

“Well maybe you should mind your own goddamn business,” JJ yelled.

The brunette boy halted his actions and turned to face JJ. “What the fuck, man?” he asked, voice rising. “You really want to do this.”

“Yeah, I do.” He definitely didn't. “You know,” JJ snapped, “Maybe if you spent time with your actual friends instead of your fucking kook girlfriend, you would know what was going on in my life.”

John B scoffed “That's rich coming from the guy who spends every waking moment trying to impress a girl who's way out of his league,” he yells.

JJ knows he's right. You were too good for him. But you chose him anyway. Why?

“Fuck you,” JJ sneers, shoving past his best friend and walking out the back doors. He needed space.

You were getting ready to leave your friend's house when Kiara called you. 

Carlee was a sweet girl, and her douche of a boyfriend definitely didn't deserve her so you told her exactly that. But this wasn't the first time something like that had happened between them and based on previous occurrences, you figured Carlee would go a week before she decided to get back together with him.

It was times like these where you really thanked your lucky stars that you had found a boy like JJ. The two of you had your moments like any healthy couple, but you knew in your heart that he would never do anything to purposely hurt you.

You smiled when you saw Kie’s contact. “Hey girl,” you answer in a country accent, giggling at the end.

“(Y/N),” she said and your smile dropped, immediately understanding that there was something wrong. “You need to come to the Chateau right now.”

Your feet skid to a stop and you feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. “What happened? Is JJ okay?” you ask her in a rushed tone.

Kie’s voice is shaky when she speaks. “He came over today with a black eye and a bruised cheek and when John B asked about it JJ kind of freaked out,” she explains. “They are screaming at each other right now. (Y/N), you gotta come quick,” you could hear yelling in the background.

“I'm on my way,” you assure her, hanging up. You run to your car, heart twisting in worry. It wasn't like your boyfriend to act like this so you knew something had to have happened.

You drove to the Chateau faster than you ever have before, getting there in under five minutes. The second your car pulled up to the house. You were flying out of your car and running inside the screen door.

“He's outback,” John B says upon seeing you enter.

Your eyes snap to him and they soften at the sight of his distraught face. “You alright, JB?” you ask.

He nods slowly. “I've never seen him like that, (Y/N),” John B tells you, his voice laced with worry. “You gotta help him.”

You nod your head, walking outside to find your boyfriend. You don't have to go far, spotting his hunched over the figure on the porch steps.

Slowly, you make your way towards the boy, and despite the fact that it's the middle of summer he is shivering violently.

You place a hand on his shoulder and he immediately flinches away from your touch. Your heart breaks at his reaction. “JJ, love, it's me,” you tell him softly, crouching down next to his body.

Hearing your voice, JJ lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are red-rimmed and filled with tears and the skin around the right one is hidden by blue and purple. Your eyes scan his face and you take note of the bruise on his cheekbone and his split lip. Your hands itch to remove his shirt, knowing that there are more hidden underneath.

The sound of JJ’s choked sob brings your eyes instantly back to his. 

“Oh, J,” you say sorrowfully, opening your arms for him. “C’mere.”

The blonde boy instantly falls into your embrace and you cradle his body tightly. He sobs into your shoulder and you feel a wet patch grow in your shirt. “I needed you, I need you,” he cries into your shoulder.

Softly shushing him, you run your fingers through his hair. “I'm here, J, I'm here,” you tell him, your heart aching for the boy in your arms. You don't know exactly how long you sit there, his hands clutching the back of your shirt tightly.

Slowly, his sobs die down before he is only sniffling every few seconds.

You pull back slightly, tenderly cupping his face in your hands. “Can we go inside?” you ask, gently brushing back the blonde curl that had fallen over his forehead.

JJ nods slightly and you stand up on the porch, helping him do the same. You bite your lip when you notice his subtle limp on the way inside. You notice how quiet the Chateau is and silently thank John B and Kiara for giving JJ the space he needs.

 Leading him into the bathroom, you help JJ sit on the counter and you quickly grab the first aid kit from the cabinet below the sink.

Opening it, you grab a cotton swab and an alcohol wipe to clean his lip and cheek, wordlessly realizing how many times you've had to do this.

“Why are you here,” the blonde boy asks abruptly. If you weren't paying attention you would have missed his small voice.

“What'd you mean, J?” you ask, continuing your work.

JJ sighs. “Why are you here?” he asks again, slightly louder, but still quieter than you are used too.

“Well, I was leaving Carlee’s house and Kie called me and told me that you-” JJ cuts you off, pulling away from your grasp slightly.

“No, (Y/N),” his tone is harsh but you can hear the brokenness laced behind it. “Why are you here? With me instead of with your friends? Or better yet another guy that can buy you nice things and doesn't have emotional trauma? A guy who's not broken?” he says the word with such hatred that it shakes you to your core.

“JJ,” you gasp, hurt flashing across your features. How could he think that? JJ instantly wants to take it back, but he wants even more to know your answer. “You are not broken, you hear me?” you say, honesty clear in your voice. “Your flaws are what make you, you. I don't need fancy gifts or expensive jewelry to make me love you! I love every single thing about you, JJ Maybank. From your head to your toes. I love you just the way that you are and there is nothing you can do to take that away from me. Ever.” Your voice is strong and serious. You leave no room for argument as you continue to patch up his face.

JJ doesn't speak again letting the words sink in, scared that he will break down for the second time that night. His eyes fall to the floor and he lets you tend to his cuts.

When you are satisfied with your work on his face, you tap the boy's arm lightly and his eyes snap to yours. “Lift your shirt so I can see,” you ask him, not making eye contact. When he doesn't move, your eyes lock with his. “Please, J,” you beg, in a quiet voice, “I need to see.”

The blonde knows he will never be able to say no to you, especially when you ask him that way, so he gingerly lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side and wincing when he moves the wrong way.

JJ expects you to pity him. To tell him you're sorry the way everyone does. But you simply stare at his injuries, eyes welling with tears. And this, JJ decides, makes him feel infinitely worse.

Your hand reaches out to trace the large, purple-black bruises. JJ shivers at the touch of your soft hands on his skin.

He grabs your hand suddenly, pulling it up to his lips. “I'm sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I'm sorry I dragged you into this.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, using the hand not in JJ’s to run through his hair. “None of that, okay? I'm here because I want to be. And I will always be. No matter how many times you try to push me away.”

You feel hot tears on your hand and you quickly slide between his legs, pulling him back into your chest, careful of the bruises on his ribs.

“I love you,” JJ cries into the crook of your neck. “I love you more than anything else in this fucked up world.”

“Shh,” you say softly. “I know, lovie, I know. I love you too. Endlessly.”

JJ pulls back at your words, just enough so that he can look into your eyes.

You used to think your favorite color was purple. When you were ten you painted your entire room purple and even bought purple bedding. But the moment you looked into JJ’s cerulean eyes, it instantly became your new favorite color.

JJ looks from your eyes to your lips before leaning forward to kiss you.

The kiss was soft and passionate explaining every emotion the two of you were feeling. No matter how many times the two of you kissed, your heart raced like it was the very first time. 

Pulling away for air, JJ rests his forehead on yours. 

“What happened today, J?” you ask in a quiet voice. 

JJ bites his lip, leaning back slightly. His first instinct is to tell you that nothing happened and that he's okay, but JJ knows you wouldn't believe him for a second. So he recalls his day, telling you every detail. Just knowing that you know, makes JJ’s heart feel a little less heavy. “A-and I bought you these flowers from the florist on main, y-y'know the ones you love, and I couldn't even bring them to you,” he says sadly.

You caress his cheek. “Love, I don't care about the flowers, all that matters is that you're okay,” you assure him, honesty evident in his voice. “And as for your father, you are staying here or at my house from now on and the next time I see that son of a bi-”

JJ cuts you off, grabbing your hands. The last thing he ever wants is his father hurting you. “(Y/N), no,” he says, the vulnerability in his voice evident. “You need to promise me that you won't confront him. I don't want you getting hurt.”

You sigh, knowing how important this is to the blonde boy. “Only if you promise not to go back there unless I'm with you,” you compromise with him.

He nods, kissing your forehead gently. “Can we please go to bed,” JJ asks and you can hear the sleepiness in his voice. Nodding, you help JJ off the counter and the two of you walk to the spare room in the chateau. The two of you climb into the bed. You are still in your clothes from the day, but that is the last thing on your mind.

JJ moves his arms to wrap around your middle but you gently push his shoulder back. “Turn around, J,” you tell him quietly. You know that JJ secretly loves to be the little spoon and you secretly love to be the big spoon. He would never openly ask you to spoon him, but you can read his body language like a book.

He rolls to his other side and you wrap an arm around his bare middle, careful not to hit any of his bruises. You nuzzle your nose into the back of his tanned shoulder, breathing in his scent deeply.

“I love you (Y/N)” your boyfriend whispers, his hand reaching to hold your hand that is tracing his chest. “Thank you for being here.”

You press a soft kiss to his shoulder blade. “Always, JJ,” you tell him earnestly. “I love you more than anything.”

The blonde boy falls asleep in your embrace, feeling truly safe for the first time that day.

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

masterlist :)

[madamewriterofwrongs]

Soft Eddie thought: the first time he mentions Buck in passing as 'my husband' and then all of a sudden it hits him for the first time that, holy shit, he has a *husband*! And either tears up a little or can't stop smiling.

Hey Nonny, I hope you see this, I know it’s been awhile. 

Subconsciously Drawn Together

911/Buddie

Eddie would never call what he feels a crush – after all, he’s a grown adult who hasn’t had a crush on anyone since Jenny Rodriguez broke his heart in eighth grade by picking Eugene as her lab partner instead of him. (Coincidentally, they are both married to someone named Makayla and neither of them lived outside of Texas for more than a few months).

He always thought that would be him. Not, married to Jenny or Eugene (or either Makayla for that matter), but there was a part of him that knew he was destined to live a quiet life. Marriage, children, maybe a dog and a white picket fence if they wanted to be really cliched. And he was okay with that – he really was. For Eddie, there was no other life than the one laid out for him.

Going to war didn’t change that. A poor country boy joining the military to provide for his pregnant wife back home? Even pulp fiction novelists thought it was too obvious. But, again, he never minded living an uninteresting life. Not everyone was destined for adventure and drama. Most people were made to get through the day.

Even when the nightmares came and he struggled to keep his family together, it just seemed like the next chapter in his boring novelization of a life. Everyone had marital troubles after coming home, everyone had bad dreams and phantom pains. Everyone worried where the money would come from to support their family. Everyone snuck into their son’s room to watch him sleep because they were afraid to admit that they’d forgotten what he looked like while he was away. Everyone felt guilt and shame and fear and regret. It was a part of life.

And then his wife left and his parents offered to take Christopher and for one moment, the thought crossed his mind. Could he let his son go (be with people who could stay at home and give him the care he needed)? Could he forget about Shannon and move somewhere else? Could he start over (relive his 20s in the carefree manner he’d seen others struggling to find)? Could he run away again and make it stick this time?

By the end of the week, he and Christopher were packed into his truck and headed to Los Angeles.

It didn’t feel like running away when he was mumbling his way through the Frozen soundtrack or listening to his son talk about his old school’s pet turtle that he’ll miss (and wonder what kind of pets the kids in Los Angeles got to have). It didn’t feel like running away then. It felt like they were running towards something.

Running towards a new life, of sorts, as it turned out. Sure, he still dealt with his parents’ criticism, and Shannon came back into their lives and for a moment, it felt like she’d never left him. But in LA, he had a purpose, he had freedom. For the first time in a long time, Eddie looked forward to opening his door in the mornings; for the first time in a long time, he never knew exactly what to expect, and LA was full of surprises.

The biggest surprise of all was named Evan Buckley.

Buck was a lot of things: a friend, a skilled firefighter, endearingly enthusiastic, subtle as a brick, and the first person outside of his real family that he called ‘family’ and truly meant it. He loved the men and women he served with in Afghanistan, but the moment they departed at the airport, he lost that connection. Joining the 118 had been a way to get that back and it had worked out fantastically. He had sports fanatics to cheer with, parents of blended families to vent with, people who knew his past and loved him despite it all.

Eddie never told anyone (except his therapist who never commented on it, but made a face that said they’d circle back to it at a later date), but he felt as though he’d known Buck for years. Once the man opened up to him, the trust he felt was strong, and the way he took an instant affection to Christopher made it easy to let this man into his life.

Within less than a year of joining the LA Fire Department however, his world imploded.

Or exploded, actually. First Shannon died, then Buck was injured, then his son was nearly taken by a natural disaster and he didn’t even know it. He spent so much time after that trying to put the pieces back together. For all the things he’d assumed his life would be – a wife and kid and a white picket fence – the only thing he had left was a son now dealing with immense trauma for such a young child to handle. And he had Buck (who was so bright and eager to please that one might describe him as a puppy at times). Nothing of his life had turned out the way it was meant to.

Suddenly, a year had passed since Shannon’s death and his life was still an unrecognizable sort of decagon shape instead of the standard cookie cutter circle. But none of that mattered because he was staring into bright brown eyes and a luminescent smile that was telling him that he was doing a wonderful job of raising Christopher on his own.

Others had been trying to tell him that for years (never the ones whose opinion meant to world to him, but he was learning to let that go) but that beautiful face was so sincere that he forgot himself. He forgot that he was a widow with a grieving son. He forgot the fear and regret that went along with the phantom pains when the weather turned cold. He forgot that he had failed in his ambition to live an entirely ordinary life. For a moment he thought: ‘when she smiles at me, I feel happy’.

He wanted to feel that way again.

There were several reasons that things just wouldn’t work out with Ana. For one: she was Christopher’s teacher, and even if it wasn’t against the rules, it still felt wrong. Two: he’d seen the moment she thought differently about him after he yelled at her at school. She was too professional and kind to say anything but even if it was possible, she was definitely no longer interested. The third reason was that he was a firefighter who worked insane hours and when he wasn’t at work, he was home with his son. There wasn’t exactly a lot of time for dating. Fourth: she wasn’t Buck.

That thought had been the one that kept him up at night. It had come to him while he stood in the shower, recounting his day, wondering how long he had until it would be time to pick up Christopher from school. He wasn’t feeling overly ambitious so he figured spaghetti and meatballs would be perfect for supper. He wondered what it would be like to cook for someone who wasn’t ten years old. Someone he could cook beside without having to keep a constant eye. There were times (in the early days with Shannon) where the two of them would cook together, do laundry, clean, do all the domestic things side by side. She had been insistent that they both learn to care for the house that they shared and he was happy to stand beside her in all things.

Remember to throw Buck’s gym clothes in the laundry next time he comes over. He keeps forgetting to throw them in his basket.

A simple little thought, really. He’d thought it before. His friend would leave his gym bag by the door for work and forget to empty it out when he went to do laundry. It was unlikely that anyone other than Eddie noticed the state of Buck’s clothes, but he’d been paying closer attention to him lately. Like how after the train derailment, his smile seemed easier; his shoulders relaxed more often – especially when he was with the 118 or Christopher. Buck seemed happy now that he’d gotten his closure from Abby.

He deserves to be happy. He makes me feel happy.

Buck did make him feel happy. The way he interacted with Christopher, the way he entrusted his son to this man without a second thought. But even when Christopher wasn’t around, Eddie enjoyed Buck’s company. Going to baseball games (dragging him, more like), sitting together when the crew went out for drinks after work. With Buck, he felt…

Safe.

Which wasn’t surprising, really. Buck was a kind man. Sweet and thoughtful. He put other’s first – just like Eddie does, he could hear Frank’s voice in his mind – and cared deeply about the people in his life. Not to mention, he was physically a very strong figure. In some other life, he and Buck met on the wrestling circuit but never fought. Him: with his MMA, and Buck: with his Greco-Roman Wrestling. With those broad shoulders and firm arms, he wouldn’t mind being pulled into a stronghold once or twice.

He knew Buck was conventionally attractive from the day they met. There was no hiding the sharp blue eyes or curly blond hair and rounded jaw.

Nothing like Ana.

Another correct statement that still seemed ominous in context. Why was he comparing Buck to Ana – or Shannon, for that matter? It wasn’t fair to compare friends to lovers. Although, Buck did fit into several categories on both sides.

Buck was a loyal friend, caring and trustworthy. He made Eddie and Christopher feel safe and loved. He wanted to do Buck’s laundry. He thought he was attractive. Slowly, one side of the column began to build in size.

Perhaps Buck was a bigger part of Eddie’s life than he realized. He hadn’t thought seriously about dating anyone until Ana and that never felt right but Buck…

Buck always felt right. Like he belonged with them. Like he’d known them all his life.

Could it be that Eddie wanted something other than friendship? Had he been climbing the wrong ladder all this time only to find himself at the top with no way across? After all: Buck had never given any indication that he was romantically interested in Eddie.

Though, to be fair, Eddie had given no indication either.

But that was because he’d just figured it out. Surely Buck had some idea that best friends didn’t act the way they did. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t interested, in any way, with Eddie. Could he forget it and go back to the way things were? Now that his fingers seemed to tingle with the new realization, could he take it back? Could he put those feelings in a box until someone else came along?

Would there be anyone else?

What did he want to happen with Buck?

Kissing him, for starters, might be interesting. Those plump, pink lips exploring his entire body. Having someone in his bed every night would be nice – and not just anyone, but someone who understood his work and the stressors of the day. If anyone was going to stand by his side while he freaked out about Christopher going on his first date, it should be Buck. Next to Eddie, that man was the most protective when it came to that little boy. He’d only seen it once or twice but Eddie knew that Buck looked good in a suit. Would he look even better in a tux? Years from now, when he retired from the LAFD, it would be nice to feel the weight of a ring on his finger, knowing he had someone he loved waiting at home.

Oh.

Oh damn.

Eddie’s shower ran a little bit longer than expected that day.

That simple thought had sent him on a spiral two weeks ago and every night that he struggled to fall asleep, he found himself rolling to the empty side of the bed, wondering what it would be like to wake up next to his best friend.

The conclusion he inevitably came to: it would be wonderful.

If the worlds aligned, of course. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about his sudden, escalating realization (not even Frank). There was no way to know if Buck reciprocated his feelings in any way. Though he knew with uncanny certainty that he would be safe to confess his feelings without fear of losing his relationship entirely, it still seemed safer to gather more information before making any sort of move.

I’m safe with Buck no matter what.

So, no. Eddie would not describe what he felt for Buck as a simple ‘crush’.

It was everything.

------------------------------

The accident scene was a mess. It always was. They so rarely rolled up on an event that was neatly organized – not that it would make him any less stressed or worried for the safety of his patients. It was his job to worry, to be surrounded by chaos. Perhaps that was his new normal now, and his idea of an ordinary life had shifted to one that involved heavier boots.

There was still a sense of satisfaction and ease, knowing that he got to go home to his son every night, that he was helping people, and there were people in his life who loved and supported him. Unlike his old army mates (as strong as those relationships were), he also knew that if he woke up and decided to be a baker instead of a firefighter, the 118 would still treat him as one of their own.

Perhaps ‘baker’ wasn’t the best example, baking had never been one of his favourite activities. A florist, or a construction worker, maybe. Firefighting meant a lot to him but it wasn’t his calling – the way it was for his… for Buck. How would the man react if one day, Eddie told him that they would no longer be partners in work? There was no doubt in his mind that Buck would still be over on Thursday nights with pizza and video games. And perhaps if Eddie was working more regular hours, he could go over to Buck’s on occasion and make dinner for the three of them. That would be a nice surprise. Buck would smile that impossibly bright smile and open his arms to Christopher, swinging the boy around gently because he was overly cautious about roughhousing with him – something that only made Eddie’s heart beat faster. Then, Buck would make his way over to Eddie and kiss him with a sort of reverence; like he can’t quite believe that Eddie’s real. He could rest assured that the feeling was mutual.

What a ridiculously outdated fantasy. He’d clearly grown up watching too much ‘I Love Lucy’.

The firefighter shook his head as he hopped out of the truck, turning his thoughts towards the work at hand.

That was something he’d always been good at: focus and calm under pressure. It was what had made becoming a firefighter so appealing. Sure, being a combat medic meant he was more than qualified for field rescues, but all that stoic strength he possessed was better used at work rather than at home. At home, he could be Christopher’s dad. At work, he was Firefighter Diaz.

There was no room for fantasies in Firefighter Diaz’s mind.

The chaos of the accident mostly consisted of cries of pain from passengers trapped in their vehicles as they tried in vain to free themselves before the qualified company could arrive. It wasn’t uncommon to come across a major pile up in the middle of the day, when Angelenos weren’t kept at a complete standstill, and impatient drivers were a staple of life in the LAFD.

Eddie took his orders from Bobby, clearing a path of bystanders for the heavy equipment, and assisting those who were stuck somewhere between freeing themselves and receiving a particularly crude hemicorporectomy. For all the noise, it was a relatively calm affair. Sure, some were screaming and crying – and one woman definitely threw a fit when told to climb out the passenger-side window of her shattered vehicle. But those in need of help received the assistance they required, and the worst injury they encountered was a broken rib and neck bruise from a young man who remained conscious throughout his entire extraction.

It was messy, it was chaotic, it was loud, but it was all right. There were still a few people with minor concussions and bloody wounds that could hopefully be tended to at the scene (most of them unwilling to take the ambulance ride if it wasn’t strictly necessary). He was admittedly a little hyper-focused today, his mind fighting the urge to wander away from its regular duties. Eddie chided himself for feeling so lovesick at work. He’d gone all this time loving Buck, he could handle a few more hours. It was that hyper focus which would be his undoing.

“All right, I think you’re going to be just fine. Head on over to my husband over there and he’ll get you some gauze for your arm.”

An innocent enough sentence – one that didn’t register in his mind through the haze of moving from one patient to the next – but one that only fed into that dangerous fantasy of his.

“What did you call Buck?”

And one that Chimney had apparently heard loud and clear.

Eddie blinked, as he kept his eyes trained on the man before him (some poor bystander who’d bumped his head when he’d stumbled backwards to avoid the oncoming collisions), determined to remain professional in the face of his own idiocy.

Clicking his penlight on with a little too much enthusiasm, he shook the device over his patient’s face. “Can you look up, sir?” Eddie felt his coworker’s eyes trained on him but he kept his focus on his work. As he continued his examination, Chimney crept closer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and amusement but still, the ex-soldier remained stoic as ever. Some part of Eddie knew that ignoring his friend now would only lead to a confrontation later but right now, he had work to do. And dividing his attention between his duty and his teasing friends was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon. So, he stayed focused. After a few moments, he saw Chimney shake his head and move away, letting Eddie take a much-needed breath of relief.

He was safe from his own stupid brain. For now.

Eddie knew it was coming when Chimney let him be during the rest of their scene cleanup. It was inevitable; but knowing and experiencing were two entirely separate matters.

“So.” Chimney wore what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’ as he began his sentence, pulling all eyes in the back of the truck to him. “Is there something that Buck and Eddie would like to tell us?”

Buck, innocent as ever, turned to Eddie for guidance. “No…?” Eddie could only stare out the window, sorely tempted to remove his headphones if only to prolong the inevitable conversation. Was he blushing or was his face simply burning from the inside out?

“Are you sure?” The man was unrelenting, his voice growing higher with his escalating amusement. As if giving them a chance to confess would be easier than Chimney spilling the truth.

Not that there was any truth to confess. There was just one, very, very, idiotic man who got one simple crush and couldn’t keep it in his pants.

“Chim, what’s going on?”

There were two options Eddie faced in this moment where his head filled with warning sirens (not dissimilar to the ones that normally filled the truck). He could come clean and confess his sins to the team, facing the consequences with what meager amount of dignity he had left. Or, he could lie and pretend Chimney had misheard him, and they could all go about their day. That seemed the safer option. Of course, he hated lying to his team – to his friends – but what was the alternative?

“I called Buck my husband at the scene.”

Apparently, the alternative was exclaiming his idiocy in front of his teammates and denying the flash of a smile on his partner’s face. It was a simple upturn twitch of his lip, hardly noticeable, but the only opinion that mattered to Eddie as he gave his confession was from the man sitting across from him – and he was decidedly attuned to Buck’s ever-changing expressions. On a normal day, he enjoyed the way their knees bumped as the truck bounced through the streets of Los Angeles; it was just another reminder of how connected they were. Now, it made the space between them feel too close – yet still not close enough.

Buck’s face, upon hearing the news that Eddie had tied them together in the mind of some random stranger, flickered once before falling to something neutral and curious (almost amused). As if he was studying something.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” His partner shrugged and Eddie’s heart stopped. “Were they hitting on you?”

Again, Eddie appeared at a crossroads. “No.” And chose the more embarrassingly honest answer.

“Were they hitting on me?”

“No.” So many forks in his path but he continued to veer in one direction, as Buck furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Then why did you”

“I don’t know.” Eddie tried to sound casual as he grumblingly cut him off before he could continue his innocent interrogation. Through the headset, he could hear Chimney snort in disbelief but his eyes remained solely locked on his partner.

He knew why Chimney might scoff at his dismissal – those type of slipups didn’t ‘just happen’, after all – but it was as close to the truth as he could muster. He didn’t know why he’d said what he said. His mind was still frazzled from long hours contemplating what he wanted and what he felt.

Apparently, his subconscious had taken over and now he had his answer.

An answer which was decidedly too large to attempt to unpack while he was still on duty.

He wanted Buck to be his husband. He was ready to get married again – and to his best friend, no less. All wonderful information to process at another time.

The rest of the trip back to the station was filled with noise: the roar of the engine, the shout of the horn when someone inevitably cut them off, the clank of metal against metal. Eddie’s head was silent. He stared out the window at the passing world, feeling the eyes of his partner drilling into his cheek for a time, and then return to his phone. No one spoke, but the absence of voice was deafening. Teasing or pestering would have been better than the juxtaposing silence that told him everyone knew what he’d meant.

Buck had given him every out for his little mistake and, instead, Eddie had barreled straight into his own demise. There was no other explanation as to why he’d said what he said: he’d meant it. Or wanted to mean it, rather. Sure, his dirty little secret had been outed, but Buck had yet to make a comment one way or the other.

I don’t mind.

One friend helping out another: that was what it meant to Buck. And he loved that. But there was no mistaking now what Eddie felt in his heart.

He wanted it to mean something else.

Climbing out of the truck at the end of their journey was harder than usual. The silent stares wouldn’t stop because they were back at the station, it would only be worsened by the fact that there was nothing else to focus on. Eddie never prayed for a call – and he still wouldn’t now – but if there was any mercy in the world, he could avoid all of his friends and co-workers for the rest of their shift.

Simple enough.

“Hey.” Eddie cursed at the familiar voice following him towards the cubbies. Naturally, they were alone, naturally, there was no real excuse to leave – and apparently, he’d decided to suppress his ability to tell white lies for the sake of his pride today – naturally, his heart pounded behind his eyelids as Buck stopped jogging in front of him.

“I just want to say…” and here came the inevitable turndown Eddie dreaded and secretly hoped would never come. “It’s okay, I get it.” Buck’s smile was small but sincere. That man couldn’t be anything less than sincere.

It’s one of the reasons why I lo-

“It was just a slip of the tongue,” Eddie cut off his own thoughts before they betrayed him the way his subconscious had. He needed at least some of his faculties to survive the day. “Don’t worry about it.”

He stepped to the side, intending to escape his own personal hell – was it always this hot in the station? Did they always stand so close to one another? How had he never realized his feelings before now? – but Buck blocked his path.

“No, really, it’s fine.” Was Buck blushing now? “I kind of think of you as my work-husband, too.”

Another perfect opportunity for an out. He could flounder excuses about being tired and meaning it in a work-related setting the way Buck implied.

“Right.” His words sounded weak to his own ears. Who knew what they sounded like to Buck, as the man finally let him pass. Freedom secured, Eddie quickened his pace so as to escape the curious eyes of his fellow crewmates as quickly as possible.

Or at least, that was the plan, until Buck called out: “But you know, I’m free tonight if you wanted to talk about it.”

It felt as though the world stopped spinning – but the distant sound of clanking cutlery from the loft reminded him that it had not. His stomach dropped into his shoes, and his skin burst into flames from the buzzing in his ears. Eddie pivoted on his heel slowly to face his partner, uncertain he’d even heard the words he’d said. But there was Buck, blushing as brightly as he felt, but smiling a much more lopsided grin.

“Talk about what?” He cautiously asked.

Buck moved first, filling the minimal space Eddie had put between them with his broad chest and bright, eager eyes. He smelled of smoke and pine (despite interacting with neither today) and a thin sheen of sweat made him appear more disheveled than perhaps he was. Had he always been so intoxicating? What were they talking about?

“About being husbands… outside of work.”

“What?” Now Eddie was certain that he’d misheard his friend.

Buck simply smirked in response to his question, eyes moving slowly over Eddie’s face. He was always examining, questioning, confident. He had been doomed from the start.

“Christopher’s in bed at eight, right?”

“We’re pushing it to eight-thirty.” His mouth moved on autopilot, too stunned to comprehend the sudden shift in subject.

Again, Buck’s blue eyes circled his face slowly, absorbing all Eddie’s focus as he felt himself physically affected from the mere sight of his partner with his knowing grin and wandering eye. So entranced was he, that he didn’t notice how closely the other man had leaned into his space until he felt his hot breath against his skin. Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat.

He was absolutely doomed.

When Buck spoke, his tongue danced along his teeth, an enticing show of some unfulfilled fantasy that had never occurred to Eddie in the first place.

“Then I’ll be there at eight-thirty-one.”

Buck’s flirtatious demeanor melted into a giddy smile that snapped through the tension he’d pulled between them. “I was a little- a lot worried you didn’t feel the same.” He confessed, still filling Eddie’s space with his infectious energy. One word from him, and Eddie melted.

“You…were…” No more words filled his mind beyond a string of victorious swears and the sound of panicked cheering, but Buck seemed to understand him nonetheless. Buck had always understood him.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with using the truck to keep his legs underneath him, he would have turned to see Buck walk away, pumping his fist in excitement. As it was, several crewmembers looked on from the balcony, shaking their heads at the pair of idiots acting like lovesick teenagers over a single date.

Chimney shooed them all away before taking the opportunity to shout: “Buck, tell your husband that lunch is ready.” Which earned him more than a few chuckles from the firefighters upstairs, and two overexaggerated groans from the men below.

They were definitely not going to be living this down for a while.

For once, Eddie didn’t mind – and if the grin plastered on Buck’s face for the rest of the shift was any indication, neither did he.

[stormbornbastard]

The Potential In Philoise

gif credit: @vakariaan​

tw/ sexual assault, abuse, depression, suicide, julia quinn’s writing 

AN: Okay, so I said awhile ago I would explain why Phillip and Eloise are my favorite couple in the series so get ready...it’s a bit of a long one. 

I read four Bridgerton books immediately after the show ended. Skipping over The Duke and I because I wasn’t comfortable with the assault scene between Simon and Daphne and also because I had already seen the romance play out onscreen. I fell in love with each romance I encountered, mainly because I didn’t read them as they were but as the show would make them out to be. I romanticized a romance series as weird as that sounds. Yet, none of the romances struck me the way To Sir Phillip, With Love did.

It’s not a perfect book. In fact, it's incredibly problematic. Phillip rapes his depressed wife, Marina (although given Julia’s history with crossing the lines of consent I doubt this is the way she wanted us to interpret the scene. Actually, the way it was written made it seem like we were meant to sympathize with Phillip and his loveless marriage. Hence the way he immediately grows ill afterward.) Marina attempts suicide and dies due to disease later on. Given her storyline in the show and the fact that a young biracial woman is playing her was disheartening, to say the least.

(AN: I don’t consider the character to be Black representation, she’s biracial. As a black woman who enjoyed her character and arc, no part of me felt seen and represented through her because she was half black. She's Biracial rep, not Black rep and that’s okay. Just putting that out there. )

Phillip seeks a woman to take care of his children, fuck and do the shit he doesn’t want to do. His mental illness is handled in such a shitty way. The independent nature Eloise once has is almost stifled by Phillip and what he wants for some reason. He’s neglectful, erratic and he does dismiss potential negative feelings Eloise could have in their relationship because of his past relationship.

It's fucked up. The entire book.

And yet, imagining how this problematic romance would play out on screen once properly adapted for modern audiences makes me fucking giddy. All because of one, simple thing that remains the reason I am so fucking excited to see this pairing onscreen.

The unrealized potential the pairing and Phillip as a character have in the novel.

Let me explain.

Their romance is unique. Phillip and Eloise are not strangers when they meet. They’ve been writing to each other for months, picking each other’s brains every week or so. Getting to know each other in a way that other couples in the series don’t at first. Intellectually. They’re able to keep such a steady, enthralling dialogue through letters, and it's a friendship that they both enjoy. Phillip stimulates Eloise’s mind, something the show has emphasized her wanting, for months. He’s her intellectual equal, or at least...he has the potential to be. Of course, he slaves over the letters (which is cute as fuck because he really just wants her to like him) but it's still his words. It’s his voice. It is Phillip, at his best.

I hope the show can play this up. Phillip is a botanist and a scholar before he inherits his family’s estate. Eloise has a desire to learn and further her knowledge of the world around her. Bonding over their shared love of education, fun banter based around teasing the other and their individual studies, taking an interest in what the other desires to learn.  Reading books together in the greenhouse, etc. The show could easily play up the fact that Phillip was not only a gardener but a literal man of science, something Julia neglects in their book despite it having the possibility of playing a major factor in their love story.

The possibilities of it just...makes me swoon.

Moving on, Eloise choosing to pursue a possible future with this man is a big fucking deal. Running away from home to go after a future for herself IS her displaying her OWN agency. Sure, Phillip poses the question of it but she’s the one who chooses it. Phillip doesn’t demand her to come to him, he simply suggests it and she’s the one who acts. The one who pursues. And if they hadn’t been bombarded by her brothers, it would’ve remained her choice of whether or she wanted to be a part of this man’s life permanently.

Phillip wouldn’t have forced her, he could’ve easily tried to. By going to the Bridgerton house and discussing with Anthony the possibility of marrying her but no, he asks her. HE ASKS HER AND SHE CHOOSES. I fucking love that. It's like the bare minimum but given the time period and the number of couples where the man has the final say on the marriage, this just makes me giddy. The show could change this and give Eloise more time with Phillip to the point where she chooses him and isn’t forced into the marriage which I hope they do.

Also, their first meeting where neither one of them is what the other expects sounds amazing ngl. The initial confusion, shock, unease, and undeniable attraction, it's gonna serve why lie?

Despite how much it affects him, the subject of Phillip’s abuse is handled so...wrong. As someone who shares an experience with abusive parents, I understand the fear of becoming like them. Of hurting the ones you love and being angry and feeling guilty. Yet, Phillip never confronts these fears. Not really. Sure, we get the scene in the nursery but thinking of how the show could handle it and his relationship with his children makes me excited. Having him being neglectful of his children was the wrong move, especially if his fear is hurting them in an attempt to discipline them. It's clear he loves them and ultimately wants the best for them which is why he’s searching for someone to better take care of them despite the shitty bitch he already has hired. I hope the show capitalizes on that.

Have Phillip be involved but not a disciplinary figure. Yeah, I get that he’s the man or whatever but it's clear that Phillip finds no enjoyment in the act or even pondering it. But he does love his kids. Have him be overwhelmed but still involved. It just felt weird that Phillip didn’t want anything to do with his kids despite one of his main reasons to look for a wife was so that they could be properly taken care of. Have him try but struggle. A lot.

It’d be funny to see Oliver and Amanda running the house and Phillip struggling to keep up. They’re supposed to be mischievous, they should play that up in the show. Having the kids be little gremlins but instead of him ignoring them completely, he could just give in to their whims. And when his anger does get the best of him, then he could run. Be distant, wrestle with his internal struggle with abuse but also knowing he can’t let his kids run his household like this and go about as reckless as they do.

Speaking of abuse, I hope they scrap the nursery lady altogether. I know it’s supposed to show him stepping into dad mode but it just felt like unnecessary and triggering of his own child abuse. He could easily step into this role by learning to deal with his anger, learning to control it. Eloise could suggest journaling the way she does (another bonding moment that could be less cute and more intimate if done right.) Having him put his anger into gardening, I interpreted it as it being a safe place and coping mechanism for him in the book and that would be nice to see.

Having to finally put an end to his kids' tirade once he learns to trust himself and realize that he’s nothing like his father. Actual healing from childhood trauma and Eloise helping him do so. She could also suggest boxing with her brothers like...it just makes sense. As someone with a temper, boxing helped me sort through that and the opportunity to see Phillip and Simon bonding, while boxing, over their shitty dads, sounds pretty fucking cathartic (and hot).

I would just like the show to truly show that just because you’ve dealt with abuse doesn’t mean you have to be defined and like your abuser. Phillip is a pretty great candidate for it because the guy is...scarred, to say the least.

I love the physical side of Phillip and Eloise’s relationship. Like really love, it's said that they try different things and are comfortable in that regard with each other and it just...yeah, that makes me happy. Besides that, I hope they play up the intellectual side of their relationship. Two nerds in love are adorable and imagining Phillip ranting about plants and Eloise just being completely enthralled at this man and his passion sounds like the cutest fucking shit.

Speaking of intellectual, it's implied Phillip cares little about high society. Meaning, wouldn’t he care even less about societal expectations and norms? Meaning Eloise would literally find freedom with this man to just...do her. Despite the book showing how Phillip wants a wife, it never really says that he cares exactly how that wife maintains herself or their household. Eloise wants to fuck around and wear trousers? He doesn’t care. Eloise wants a private tutor and a study for herself? Cool. Eloise wants to take Amanda riding in the forest and then teach her how to shoot? All good. The man was literally proud to watch her beat her brothers in a traditionally masculine sport. He wants his wife to run his house and his entire life how she sees fit.

Julia really neglected how much agency and power that could give Eloise. She could be his equal, like really be his equal. Of course, Phillip becoming more involved in his and his children’s lives is a part of his arc but nothing leads me to believe he would want to control Eloise. The two of them being more than just lovers, but partners who allow the other their freedoms when needed sounds epic as shit.

Now some things that could easily be left out, the rape scene. It’s there to showcase that Phillip has lost his wife and there is no chance of reigniting whatever they may have had in the past. Yet, there are so many other ways to show that. Phillip could try and speak with her with no response. Hold her hand and she pulls away? He’s a smart man, it doesn’t take much to get the hint so that could’ve easily been written out and replaced with something else.

Second of all, I like the possibility of Marina and Phillip finding happiness at first. Of them trying to love each other after George and succeeding. The way Marina is written in the show, I doubt she’s quick to give up. So to see the two of them having an agreeable marriage and getting along would be nice. They could showcase her mental illness in a different form, it's clear she suffers from postpartum depression. She withdraws into herself, distances herself from her children. She’s depressed but it's not as stereotypical and easily spotted as Julia makes it out to be. Marina just gives up on her children and life without any fight? Absolutely not.

As someone who suffers from depression, the way Julia wrote it is so...??? The truth is, I would like Phillip and their family to not even realize she’s suicidal. To not see it coming when she jumps in the lake and attempts to end her own life because that's exactly how suicide impacts so many people and their loved ones. They don’t see it coming. Phillip struggling with the guilt of that rather than the anger of being trapped in a loveless marriage sounds...a lot more interesting to me. Me, personally. Considering how much buzz the show has, it would spark up a dialogue and a good one if handled properly. I’ve thought a lot about Marina but this is just how I would prefer to see it handled if they go through with her canon death (which I am not actively rooting for by the way.)

Another reason I like the potential of Philloise is Oliver and Amanda, they just add some extra spice. If fully realized characters, watching them grow closer to their dad and form a relationship with Eloise would be so rewarding for two kids who have lost a lot. Also, the amount of comedic gold in their pranks with Eloise and dynamic with each other would give the season even more humor on top of Eloise herself.

And as much as I love the line, “this-us-is heaven.” They could easily modify the love speech. Like very easily.

My point is, I think their potential outweighs the problematic factors in their story and I doubt the show will fail on realizing it and ridding itself of the problematic aspects. One could even say they already started, I mean look at the way the show made a point to show Eloise’s disgust with fathers and husbands who abandon their family, and then comes Phillip, doing the absolute most to protect his remaining family. I mean, Bridgerton did turn the weakest romance in the series into a whole pop culture phenomenon. My hopes are high. Okay, that’s all.

[samkee00]

She-Ra Spoilers Ahead!!!

I just finished She-Ra and the Princesses of Power so I figured I’d slap down a few of my immediate thoughts. I’m not a great writer and I don’t always know how to put my thoughts into words, but I wanted to try.

- I got Catradora spoiled for me early on, so I looked at a lot of their interactions through a lens of that being the end result. For the first few seasons, I was like “that shouldn’t happen, this relationship is too riddled with trauma and abuse to end up healthy”. Between now and then, though, I’ve seen/read several things on seeing characters as parts of a story instead of as “real” people. Catra’s arc and her relationship with Adora are obviously much faster-paced “recoveries” than would (healthily) happen in real life, but that’s an artifact of the medium. The messages of the story still come through clearly, and the fact that there are things that need to heal is pointedly noted. Basically, I guess what I’m saying is “I ship it”.

- Catra and Adora’s reaction to Shadowweaver’s sacrifice felt really notably real and genuine to me. I feel like this is a part where some people might say “she was horrible to them, especially Catra. Why would they care?” without stopping to think about what she was to them. From what we see, she’s effectively their only parental figure growing up, someone whose affection and approval they, or at least Catra, desperately worked for. Unfortunately, being abused doesn’t always stop you from loving someone. It can make you feel like you aren’t doing enough for the person you love, like you could be better. I’m not a fan of the “redeems self, dies” trope, but Shadowweaver’s end felt like less of a redemption and more of an apology. I think it works. I do question why they couldn’t all go into the passageway and then have her block it off, but whatever, Plot

- Still really disappointed with the relative lack of general worldbuilding throughout the show, especially the first three, maybe even four!!! out of five seasons. Background characters only existed in places to move the plot along, when I really feel like they should’ve also been there to provide atmosphere and tell us about the world. There were tons of different races depicted throughout the show, and none of them (IIRC) were ever given a name. For most kingdoms and the Fright Zone, we never really even saw the citizenry. Catra, Scorpia?, and I guess Swiftwind were the only non-extremely human adjacent, non-horde clone people who were really given any role. Rogelio barely counts, he was played off as a joke (like I complained about before).

- Wish we would’ve gotten a bit more epilogue, or at least were shown more of the characters we’ve met at the end. Kyle, Rogelio, and Lonnie especially come to mind. We got a whole episode about them, they left the Fright Zone, and then..... nothing, really.

- I REALLY shouldn’t want Hordak to actually have a happy ending with Entrapta... Like I mentioned earlier with Catradora, there is a ton of trauma and abuse involved, and obviously he committed so many atrocities of his own volition and with no remorse, and has done almost nothing to redeem himself. but they’re so cute........ this is such a stupid point and I realize I just said a lot to say I think Catradora is justified while I have NO reasoning or excuse for this. The show just (obviously intentionally) played them up to be cute with each other!!! Really though, if they make another season or an extended epilogue or something, I do hope Hordak is shown as being punished for and atoning for all the incredibly bad shit he’s done. Shadowweaver got out of it by dying. Hordak needs to work for his forgiveness, or at least his freedom.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For mermay, could you do 11 for sternclay? sfw please :) I love your prompt fills!

Thank you so much! Here you go. The prompt was “royalty” and I based Barclay on a basking shark and Joseph on a mimic octopus.

For the last two weeks, Joseph has been hearing what a difficult assignment he’s taken, and how most bodyguards wouldn’t take it even with the handsome pay. That the princes of Sylvain are impossible to guard, that they’ve gone through more security staff than sharks go through teeth (this part he knows to be true from the records he’s found). 

Two days in, he’s starting to wonder if there’s been some sort of mistake. 

Now, had he received Duck’s assignment, he’d understand the warnings. Prince Indrid, seer to the court of Sylvain, has already shown himself to be a strange mixture of aloof, demanding, and spoiled.

But Prince Barclay?

When Joseph was shown into his chambers and introduced, the instant the servants left Barclay swam over to him with a nervous smile. He asked if there was anything he could get him, was he hungry, would he like something to drink? Joseph accepted that last offer, curious to see how the prince would react if called upon to perform hospitality rather than simply offer it. 

What happened was Barclay swam into an anteroom and came back with a carved coral platter with mother of pearl pitcher and goblets, pouring Joseph’s first before taking a glass for himself. 

That set the tone for his behavior, and it hasn’t changed in the week since he’s arrived. The prince, charcoal tailed and a little shy, seems to view Joseph as just another mer to talk to. When in the castle, Barclay will ask him his thoughts on the historical and political scrolls his tutors assign him as part of his preparation to one day inherit the kingdom. Out in public, Joseph shifts into the background, watches everything with care while the prince swims behind his parents or, more often, their advisors. 

“Do you think there was some kind of misunderstanding with his previous guard?” Joseph asks Duck over a late night dinner in the hall, which allows them to keep their eyes on their charges rooms. 

“I mean, he seems like a nice enough fella to me. But nice fellas can still be sneaky; from what Ned told me, Barclay’s an escape artist. Think he might be lurin you into a false sense of security.”

“And I think trusting what Ned Chicane tells you is a terrible way to gather intel.”

Movement from Indrid’s room and Duck stiffens, listening, then relaxes.

“Shouldn’t you go check on that?”

“Nah, he’s just pacin, does that a lot, especially at night.”

“He really should get some sleep.”

Duck shrugs, “He should. But treatin him like a child is the wrong way to go. He knows he oughta rest, my remindin him will just annoy him. Besides,” Duck raises an eyebrow, “maybe you better be more focused on your prince.”

“He turned in an hour ago.”

“You sure?”

Something in Duck’s voice sends worry bubbling through his guts, “I’ll check now, just to be positive.”

The bed is empty, the prince nowhere to be found. 

“Shit!” He darts back into the dim hallway, “he’s gone, I’ve got to find him and fast. How, how in name of the deep did you know?”

“Call it a hunch. Indrid likes to play the ‘I know somethin you don’t’ game, but if I let ‘im play it long enough, he let’s somethin important slip out.”

“Shit” Joseph says again, “I, if anyone asks-” 

“I’ll say I ain’t seen you or Barclay since dinner. Ain’t a lie.” Duck winks and Joseph flashes him a quick smile before swimming back into the prince’s rooms. There’s only one door and no secret passageways, (he checked for those himself), so the windows it is. His tentacles can sense Barclay’s trail, faint but unmistakable, and he follows it until he’s almost at the shore. Then it’s gone. 

He spends the next three hours feverishly tracing and retracing his path and keeping his panic to a minimum. When he spies a figure swimming towards him, he backs against a rock, planning to hide until they pass. 

This plan changes the instant he registers who it is. 

“Gaahfuck” Barclay catches his yell quickly and muffles it down to a hiss, “what the hell Joseph, you scared me.”

“And you just made me spend three hours swimming around and wondering if my charge had been abducted. I’d say that makes us even.”

“Didn’t make you do anything.” Barclay grumbles as Joseph turns them towards the palace. 

He sighs, “No, I guess technically you didn’t. But I take my job very, very seriously. If this past week hasn’t demonstrated that sufficiently, maybe tonight has. When you disappear into the night, it’s my duty to follow.” He catches brown eyes studying him warily and adds, “I’m not doing it to be punitive or steal your freedom, or even because their majesties told me to; I’m doing it because you’re under my protection.”

The prince nods but says nothing else until they return to his rooms. 

“Joseph? I’m uh, I’m sorry. For scaring you. You got farther than anyone else did, none of them ever tracked me that well, if they noticed I was gone at all. I figured you wouldn’t notice, so you wouldn’t worry. So, yeah. I’m sorry.” 

Joseph knows a false apology when he hears it, and this is as far from one as a desert is from the deep sea. 

“Apology accepted, my prince. But Barclay” he levels the other mer with a stern gaze, tries not to notice his cheeks tinging pink the longer he holds it, “don’t do it again.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“Are you certain we cannot trade?” Indrid’s fin ripples with agitation as he draws. 

“Nope, Joseph is a good bodyguard.”

“And your crush on him is not governing your answer in the slightest?” Indrid smirks but doesn’t look up. 

“No idea what you’re talking about. Besides, Duck seems nice.” Barclay stretches his other arm, then pauses, “wait, fuck, is he hurting you or something?”

“No. On the contrary, he is annoyingly concerned with my wellbeing.”

“That’s his job.”

“It was the job of all his predecessors as well, but all it took was ordering them around or demanding things in the right tone before they were letting me do as I pleased. I wanted to go to that bar on the edge of town last night and do you know what he did? He told me no, because word had gotten around that it was a spot I frequented and someone there might try to take me hostage.”

“...And?”

“And, and then when I tried to leave anyway he blocked the door with that blasted muscular tail and obnoxiously charming face and wouldn’t move! Then he told me he would if I looked at the future told him we’d both be safe if we went. It turns out he was right, the chances of violence were high.”

“I mean, you don’t like places that loud anyway-”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Indrid sighs, “so we stayed in and I made him read to me as penance but he was very good at it and I fell asleep within a half hour.”

Barclay is trying hard not to laugh, only because he knows how hard it is for his brother to admit such things. And because, given what else he knows of Duck, the mer might be exactly what his brother needs. If nothing else, Barclay hopes Duck might be observant enough to notice what’s there, not just what his brother tries to toss up like so much sand in hopes of obscuring the truth. 

Indrid goes back to his drawings. Barclay can remember the first time their ministers caught Indrid capturing the futures this way and scolded him, saying the futures to look at were only those the court asked him to, nothing else. Indrid had explained, in a number of different ways, that this was how he could keep the images from overwhelming him, but still they insisted he stop. It wasn’t until he drew on his status and threw a near fit that they relented. That was a lesson he never forgot. 

Barclay hopes todays lessons will be more enjoyable. One of the jobs of a royal bodyguard is to train the princes in self-defense. When Joseph and Duck enter the gym through kelp curtains, Barclay can’t help but be mesmerized by the poise with which his tentacles move across the ground. 

“Good morning, your highness. And to you as well, your highness.” Joseph bows to them each in turn, “Barclay, today you and I will be working with swords while Duck and Prince Indrid work on hand to hand combat.”

“What?” Indrid looks up, red eyes wide, “Barclay is the one who trains hand to hand, not me.”

“Which is exactly why we gotta mix things up. You need all the modes of defense you can get. Unless of course you’re, uh, afraid you can’t take me.” Duck raises an eyebrow at Indrid. 

His brother says nothing, simply grabs his bodyguard and pulls him towards the designated room, calling, “I’ll see you after lunch!”

He and Joseph trade an amused look, then swim to the shelf of blunted training weapons. They’re still bone or sharks tooth, but they’ve been sanded down so no one can get hurt. 

“Now, you mentioned you’ve done some sword work, so am I right that you know how to hold this safely?”

“Yep.” Barclay takes the sword, swimming over to one of the Xs on the floor. 

“Good. To keep things fair for now, I won’t use my tentacles for anything other than swimming.” Joseph takes his position on the opposite X and lifts his sword, “ready?”

Barclay nods and then immediately parries as Joseph lunges with a burst of speed. He recovers quickly, and they begin an elegant back and forth, bubbles and stray sand swirling through the air as they spin and dodge around one another. Joseph keeps up a steady stream of commentary, either positive or instructive, and Barclay is having a hard time ignoring the the thrill he gets every time Joseph pulls off a graceful maneuver. 

When they break, both a little winded, there’s a crash from the next room. 

“Fuck! You okay, your highness?” Duck sounds concerned. 

“Yes, now try that again, I am going to get this right.” 

Joseph glances at him, “Should we-”

“Nah. He kinda sounds like he’s enjoying himself.”

The other mer studies him, “Are you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then I’m going to ask you to stop holding back. I can’t train you effectively if I don’t know what your skill level actually is.”

He’s learned not to insist Joseph is mis-observing things when he’s actually observing them perfectly; the other mer is too sharp for that. 

“I...I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Joseph swims close, sets a hand on his shoulder, “For starters, these are fake swords, and I’m not a bad fighter. But more than that, I suspect there’s a very impressive swordsman under those scales.”

They take their positions and when Joseph gives the signal Barclay attacks with all the force his tail can muster. Joseph dodges easily but makes an approving noise. Then he grins, the expression downright rakish, and attacks with such precision and speed that Barclay barely manages to counter him. 

His focus narrows down to the fight, to watching Joseph’s body for every sign of movement, every twitch of muscle and tentacle. Finally, he sees his opening and drives the other mer backwards until he’s trapped, back to the rocky grey wall. 

“Well” Barclay pants, images of finishing the fight with a kiss banging about his mind, “what do you think of that, Joseph?”

Two tentacles rise, plucking both swords from their fighters hands as his bodyguard murmurs, “I’m impressed.”

-------------------------------------------------------

It’s been a month and a half since Barclay slipped out of his room, and while he’s tried twice more, Joseph has been ready each time. Tonight, however, he’s opting for a new strategy.

He bids the prince goodnight, well aware he’ll swim out the window around moonrise. Then he waits just across from the window, skin and tentacles camouflaged with the rocks. Right on time, Barclay emerges, swimming quickly and quietly towards the shore. Joseph follows at a safe distance, forces himself to focus on the prince’s likely path rather than on how handsome he looks in the moonlight. 

When they reach the shallows Barclay pauses, slips a woven bracelet onto his wrist, and kicks towards the surface. 

Who in the name of the wide ocean gave him legs?

Joseph’s physiology allows him to crawl across the tidepools, keeping his eyes on Barclay as the prince retrieves a set of clothes hidden behind a rock and walks into the small town of Kepler, turning towards a restaurant on the pier. 

Someone had to enchant that bracelet for him, has to know where he’s going while using it. And that someone has to be a mer he trusts. 

------------------------------------------------------

“Yes. I made him the bracelet. What of it?” Indrid says coolly. 

“Indrid, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Joseph throws his arms and several tentacles in the air. 

“Hold up” Duck turns to his prince, “Indrid, I’m guessin Barclay probably asked for a reason, right?”

“Indeed, but if I say what it was, you will reveal it to our parents and ministers and take it away from him.”

“I won’t. I promise. I, I just want to help.”

Indrid narrows his eyes. Then, remarkably, he turns to Duck and cocks his head. Duck nods. 

“Very well. And yes, I will grant you that favor you’re about to ask for…”

----------------------------------------------------------

How do humans manage with these things? His tentacles tell him so much more than these useless feet do. 

Joseph makes his wobbly way into Kepler, following Barclay’s trail down the pier, the one he’s walked the last two weeks while Joseph intermittently clung to the nearby wooden supports or fencing to make sure his prince wasn’t in danger. 

Even with Indrid’s explanation, the room he enters is a surprise. Several counters with what he knows humans call “stoves” sitting on them, each manned by one or two people. 

“Hello there” An affable older man in a multi-colored shirt approaches him, “you here for the class?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Hmmm, since you’re new, better pair you with someone, just to be safe. Follow me.”

Joseph isn’t afraid of much. But when he sees who the man intends to pair him with, he almost jumps out the window and flees back to the sea.

“You’re in luck, gonna pair you with my best student. Barclay, this is…”

“Joseph”

“Joseph’s first class with us, so I’m handin him over to you. Make me proud.”

Barclay isn’t blinking, but he manages to say, “sure thing, Thacker.” 

The older man nods, pleased, and makes his way towards the kitchen set-up at the front of the room, greeting people as he goes. 

“What the fuck, Joseph?” Barclay keeps his voice low, “did Janelle give you legs just so you could come drag me out of class?”

“No, no not at all. Indrid did this.”

“What?”

Joseph takes a deep breath, “Barclay, I told you that first week that I’m here to protect you. The way I see it, I’ll do a much better job if I come with you to something that clearly matters to you, rather than force you to hide it from me. No one knows about this but Indrid and Duck.”

Barclay seems stunned, doesn’t say anything as Thacker opens the class and instructs them on how to make something called “marinara” to go on “pasta.” The prince stays silent until they’re working on the cookies the human is also having them make.

“Here, it’s easier to cut them out like this.” He sets his hand atop Joseph’s, pressing and shaking it so the dough comes away from the stone slab in the shape of a heart. 

“Thank you.”

Barclay smiles at him, and the kitchen grows hotter. 

When everything is done cooking, they sit on stools at their station, eating the fruits of their labor. Barclay is animatedly describing the pie they made last week, occasionally stopping to chat with some of the other students. He looks so happy, and Joseph decides he will not tell their majesties about this even if they torture him. Or fire him. 

As they walk back along the beach, Barclay explaining all the things he’s learned about cooking and how much he wishes they’d let him cook at the palace rather than insist it’s beneath his station, the prince takes his hand.

“Humans do this when they’re waling on the beach together. I think it’s to keep them from getting separated if they get hit by a wave.

Joseph is pretty sure that’s not the reason, but he’s not about to say so now. 

They dive back under the waves, removing their charms and swimming side by side in the dark water. Once they’re safely inside, Barclay turns to him, beaming, “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Even if I wasn’t invited?”

“Yeah. It, uh, it means a lot to me that you wanna learn about the stuff that matters to me. That you wanna know the real me.”

“Of course I do.”

Barclay swims dangerously close, “You, uh, do you wanna know another part?”

He nods. Barclay leans in and presses their lips together. Joseph manages to keep his hands himself, but his tentacles have other ideas, curling protectively around the prince’s tail and waist. The instant Barclay pulls back with the most adorable sigh in the sea, Joseph forces them to return to their normal position. 

The prince gives him a final, shy smile and whispers, “‘Night, Joseph. And thanks for everything.”

[kyber-crystal]

Maybe It’s Meant To Be

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~3.7k

Summary: Sometimes, love finds people in unexpected ways. In this case, fate has extra special plans for America’s golden boy and one of SHIELD’s best agents in history. And you know there’s no running away from fate once she’s set out your futures for you. 

Warnings: mentions of violence and blood, angst, and once again, soft steve :)

A/N: I haven’t attempted a soulmate AU in over a year. this is one of my fav works but it’s really poorly written rip. The age gap between you and Steve is ~3 years. 2017 AU where they made up after the Accords :) Steve’s back with his WS look bc that suit was hot af

Tags: @pies-writes-and-more​ this is for you! THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS BEING SO ACTIVE ON MY BLOG AND FOR YOUR SWEET AND SUPER ENCOURAGING WORDS. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. AND @marvelsswansong BECAUSE YOU'RE MY IDOL AND I LOOK UP TO YOU YOU'RE AMAZING

Soulmates.

You'd heard plenty about them growing up. Seeing your parents' perfect relationship blossom over the years piqued your interest, and for the longest time, your only wish was to find someone who could love you with their whole heart and soul and mind, like the way your Mom and Dad loved each other.

Unfortunately, as all stories must come to an end, love stories had to find their ending. And not all of them ended on a high note.

Their jobs should've kept them apart from the beginning. Your mother was head surgeon at one of the best hospitals in Brooklyn, and your father was head of SHIELD's navy division. Constantly out and about, they were rarely granted any time to rest. Yet they still found a way to make things work; and it all started because of a run-in at a café around the corner.

Then when you were fifteen, you got word that your father had been deployed overseas again, but this time, he wasn't coming back.

You had to stand there and watch your mother slowly fall apart, breaking down a little more each day until she fell gravely ill. A mere week after her diagnosis of cardiomyopathy, she passed away in her sleep.

A person's soulmark didn't appear at a specific time. It could show up at any point in their lives, when the Gods believed the time was right for them. When those Gods felt the time was right for you to find out who it was, you'd feel a slight tingle where the mark was etched into your skin.

Some people didn't receive the soulmark at all. Along with this came a sense of freedom to fall in love with whoever they pleased, but often times it would end in a loveless relationship. But they were additionally granted the ability of being able to carry on by themselves.

If your soulmate got injured in any way, you would feel the same pain that they endured. And if they died, you would carry a weight around with you for the rest of your life that slowly progressed into a disease. So ultimately, those left in the world without their soulmate would also die in the end, further proving the claim of humans being unable to live without love.

One by one, you watched your friends find their match. They would excited come up to you, goofy grins on their faces as they showed you their marks. You were happy for them in the beginning, of course. But as years went by, and you passed adulthood with still no sign of your designated soulmark, you slowly began losing hope. There was no point in looking forward to the future when you watched one fall apart before your very eyes.

Maybe it was because of your job. None of the Avengers had received their soulmarks either, asides from Tony and Pepper. But they were an exception. Everyone could see it coming from the day they first met, judging by the way they lovingly gazed at each other from across the room. It was a match made in heaven.

You believed that maybe, just maybe, you were destined to be alone. So when you woke up one morning with the burn mark on your wrist, you were taken completely by surprise.

"Hey, Tony? Bruce?" you asked, walking into the lab with a frown. "I need to ask you guys a quick question."

"Ask away, Killer," Tony nodded, using the nickname he'd given you years ago when you first joined the initiative. "What's on your mind?"

"So, um..." you fiddled with the sleeve of your sweatshirt for a moment, before pulling it up to reveal the mark, "this happened."

"That's a soulmark," he stated.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," you rolled your eyes. "But why would it appear now? I don't see any sign of me meeting them anytime soon."

"When did it appear?"

"I don't know. I woke up this morning and saw it."

"Let me take a look at that," Bruce carefully took ahold of your wrist, squinting as he adjusted his glasses to peer at the mark, "huh. So it appeared last night...have you felt any side-effects?"

"Not that I know of yet, no..."

"If you start feeling any severe symptoms, I can prescribe you some medication to deal with the pain, though I doubt that's going to happen. In the meantime, we need to figure out who this could be."

"Imagine if it was someone who already died, and I'm slowly dying right now," you joked.

"No, if that were to be true, you'd be lying in a hospital bed right now."

"Does the symbol have any specific meaning?"

"That I'm not so sure about," Tony shrugged.

Bruce was silent as he began typing away for a bit, before turning the screen over to you.

"I've checked out over a dozen different sites about this, and..."

"And what?"

"Well...once both people discover their mark, they have a week to find each other before both of them disappear off the face of the earth, forever."

"Sounds like a damn time bomb to me," you muttered. "What the hell? I thought that the point of this whole thing was the gods trying to push us with someone else! Not the other way around!"

"I don't know, Y/N," Bruce sighed. "Feel free to do your own research, but everything I've read up on so far says the same thing."

"So basically, what you're telling me is I'm gonna die if I don't find out who the hell has this same mark as I do," you repeated.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I'll have to worry about that later. Got a briefing with Cap, Bucky, and Wilson in five. Fury's gonna kill me if I'm late again," you breathed out as you tugged your hoodie's sleeve back down. "See ya."

"Agent Y/N," Nick Fury gave you a curt nod as you burst into the meeting room, breathless. "I hope you slept well last night."

"Of course."

"I need you four to track down a weapons dealer in Skagway," he explained as he handed Steve a black manila file folder, "shut down the base, download the intel onto the flashdrive. You’ll be staying at a safe house in Juneau afterwards for about a week to keep things on the down-low in case something goes wrong. Simple in-and-out job."

"When are we leaving?" Sam questioned.

"You're taking off in half an hour. Suit up."

You sighed. Finding your soulmate would just have to wait, then.

...

"Y/N, look out!"

You quickly whipped around and narrowly missed a bullet whizzing past you, as Steve tugged you around the corner, an arm wrapped firmly around your torso as he hid you both behind his shield.

You gasped as you felt a sharp pain in your chest, and Steve immediately pulled away from you in alarm, gripping your shoulders worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you panted, trying to steady your rapid breathing, “I’m fine. But we’re gonna have to split up from here if we wanna get the job done faster.”

“Y/N, I can’t-”

“Steve,” you interrupted, the firm tone of voice making him immediately shut up. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Go find Sam and Bucky, and I’ll meet you guys by the rendezvous point as soon as I’m done. Okay?”

“Alright.” He looked around for a moment before stepping away, as if he was hesitant to leave you on your own.

Ignoring the slight ache in your chest, you parted ways, darting down the hall with your guns up and ears alert. 

From there, it was easy to fall into your usual routine. Keep all eyes and ears open; don’t hesitate, shoot on sight unless ordered otherwise. If necessary, engage powers but if not, use your fists or bullets. The mantra repeated itself over and over in your head as you followed through with your job.

You hid behind a tower of wooden crates, back pressed up against the steel walls. “Sam. Status update?”

“Controls room with Barnes, disabling all security systems. Steve’s retrieving intel from the north wing. You?”

“Outside on standby,” you murmured, keeping a finger pressed to your ear. Three technicians were loading equipment onto crates as the other six stood guard several yards away. “I make nine hostiles on the load dock straight ahead at twelve o’clock. Three dozen in total scattered around the area. Most likely preparing for an overseas arms trade. We’ll have to stop them.”

“And...done. We’re heading your way,” Bucky reported. “Be there in three.”

“Roger that.”

Exactly three minutes and two seconds later Bucky showed up, with Steve and Sam in tow. You came out from your hiding spot and began making your way towards the loading dock where the agents were stationed. They were quick to stop what they were doing and noticed the four of you approaching, whipping their snipers out and proceeding to open fire.

...

Your breath came out in white wisps of fog as you got caught in between a fistfight with one of the three dozen men on the docks, the freezing cold slowing all your movements and making them feel more sluggish than usual. If it weren’t for the thick material of your suit and your enhancements, you would’ve succumbed to the harsh weather hours ago.

The man captured you into a tight headlock with his thick arm but despite your frostbite you were too fast; you quickly whipped around and grabbed his wrist, twisting it to the side. His eyes widened slightly as he cried out in pain, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the frigid Alaskan air as you swiftly dodged each one of moves as he attempted to come at you, countering with a sharp right hook to his jaw. 

His body slumped to the ground with a thump. 

“Why the hell do you even carry around a sniper if your fists do all the work for you?” Sam yelled over the cacophony as he released Redwing, swooping down from the rooftops. “Seriously, you don’t need guns! You’re strong enough as it is!”

“I prefer versatility in fights, Wilson!” you yelled back, grunting as you dodged a blow to the stomach, sweeping out your attacker’s feet from underneath him as his head smacked against the wall, before sliding down to the ground with a dull thud. 

“Y/N, look out-” Bucky called out, but it was too late. You didn’t get to hear his warning in time before you felt something cold and hard hit your lower abdomen. A yell of pain ripped through your throat as you felt a sticky warmth spread across your skin, your knees hitting the ground as you clutched the wound.

At that exact moment, Steve felt a sharp pain flare up his side as well. “Shit,” he cursed to himself, “Buck, cover me so I can get to her.”

You were barely clinging on to life by the time he reached you. Your breathing was heavy and labored, your eyes beginning to roll back as you struggled to stay awake. Everything hurt. Your arms and legs felt like they were weighed down with bricks. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t open your mouth to scream, either - you had no energy left to do so.

“Come on, Y/N, stay with me, please stay with me,” he muttered as he began carefully applying pressure to your wound. You let out a hiss of pain at the same time he did. “Just hang in there for me, please. Sam’s getting the Quinjet ready. We’re gonna get out of here in just a few minutes, okay? Please don’t die on me.”

“Look, if I don’t make it-”

“Don’t say that,” he spoke in between clenched teeth while fighting back tears of his own, “you’re not going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not on my watch.”

“Steve…” you croaked out, the stinging from the wound almost becoming impossible to bear. Your eyes were becoming heavier by the second, your body throbbing painfully now that all the adrenaline had worn off. It was a struggle just to take in a single breath and to stay awake. "I'm so tired, I can't do this anymore..."

He disappeared from your line of sight as your began seeing spots at the edges of your vision momentarily, before reappearing and pulling you into his lap, trying to put pressure on the area of injury again in an attempt to stem the bleeding. But it didn’t seem to work. There was so much blood. So much of it, coming out so fast. There was no way you’d last out here for longer than ten minutes before bleeding to death.

"Stay with me..." he murmured as he looked up around him. "Hang in there for a few more minutes, please…Damn it, Sam, how much longer is this gonna take? Y/N’s down. We gotta get her to the safe house as soon as we can. She’s bleeding out.”

"Three minutes, tops. I’m circling the perimeter as an extra precaution," Sam replied. "You guys hang tight for a sec."

"We don't have time!" he raised his voice. "Just hurry the hell over here."

"I'm so sorry," you choked out before going into a coughing fit, blood dripping down your lips and chin much to Steve’s alarm. "I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry for being reckless and not keeping a look ou—"

"Shhh, it's okay," he soothed, "There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just save your energy for later, okay? You're gonna be just fine."

"Hold my hand," you begged hoarsely.

"I already am," the super-soldier answered, but his look shifted to that of an alarmed one when he realized you couldn't feel it. "Y/N—"

"I'm cold," you said weakly, already feeling your limbs grow heavy and numb and your vision growing blurrier with each passing second. "I'm so tired, Cap, I just wanna sleep—"

"No no no, please don't leave me," he pleaded as he felt his head begin to spin as well. Where had the sudden wave of dizziness come from? "Hang in there for a little longer, please, I l—"

You didn’t get to hear the rest of his sentence before your eyes fluttered shut and everything went dark.

...

When you came to, your throat felt dry and raw, the metallic taste of dried blood around your lips and chin overwhelming your senses as you adjusted your eyes to the harsh bright lights streaming into the room. It looked like you were in some sort of antique coastal house, strangely void of belongings with the only decoration being a plain floral calendar hung on the wall opposite you, above the fireplace.

You were still in your suit, but your wound had been treated and wrapped up in a thick set of bandages. The couch you were on was old but extremely comfortable, so you found yourself not wanting to sit up at the same time you wanted to get up and look around.

The blinds were drawn shut, but the sunlight still managed to shine through. It was light outside, but you  weren’t sure what time it really was. The walls were a dull grey, and if you listened hard enough you could hear the faint ticking of a nearby clock and probably Bucky or Sam talking on the phone upstairs with someone in hushed whispers.

You finally pulled yourself up into a sitting position, glancing around at your surroundings. Someone quietly entered the living room and you looked up to see Steve. His shoulders sagged in relief upon seeing that you were awake.

“Hey,” his voice came out so softly it took both of you by surprise. You moved over slightly to make room for him to sit. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” you groaned lightly, feeling a dull ache in your stomach where you’d been hit. “But other than that, I’m fine. What about you? Did you get hurt anywhere?”

“Body aches that come and go, but I’m fine. It isn’t your place to be worrying about me right now though, Y/N. You got shot.”

The curtains fluttered and a cool breeze rushed in, making you shiver. Steve took notice and stood up to go light up the fireplace, then sat back down and wrapped the fleece blanket around your body. You let out a small sigh of contentment. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You knocked out for over twenty-six hours .”

“I’m fine, Steve, just tired...hey, how’s Bucky and Sam?”

“Sam’s upstairs radioing Fury on the mission status. Bucky’s taking a nap in the guest room.”

“Oh. Okay. So, I-” you were interrupted by a sharp stabbing sensation in your wrist. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Language,” he joked lightly, but when he saw the obvious pained expression on your face, his face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just...I get those random pains from time to time. I don’t know why, but...they’ve gotten worse since we took off for Skagway and then came here...”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “I should’ve kept a closer watch over you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine...I should’ve watched my own back better.”

You both fell into an awkward silence for several minutes before he spoke up again, the realization finally dawning on him. 

"Y/N."

"What?"

"Your wrist."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked down and saw the star glowing brightly, sending a white-hot pain down your arm. "What about it?"

Steve pulled at his shirt's sleeve for a few seconds before lifting it up to reveal the same exact symbol.

"We're soulmates," you breathed out, the realization hitting you like a flash flood.

"Yeah, I guess we are, huh," he smiled softly.

“W-when did yours appear?”

“Monday afternoon.”

“Mine appeared in the morning...I showed it to Tony and Bruce and they said I had a week to find who it was or both me and my soulmate would die. So I guess we got lucky, huh? Only four more days, then...”

“Yeah, we did,” he exhaled. “I’m glad you’re the one. I can’t imagine living out the rest of my life with anyone else.”

“But Peggy...”

“She found her soulmate decades ago,” he explained, “which explained why our relationship was so short-lived. I didn’t expect to find mine...especially not after coming out of the ice. Maybe I had this coming from the get-go, I’d wonder...”

“Then how come they’d appear now?” Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t get it. We’ve known each other for years.”

“Because it was only this year that I accepted it.”

“Accepted what?”

“That I’d fallen in love with you, and I kept that inside for far too long.”

“You...what?” You were officially rendered speechless. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly, face breaking into a gorgeous, million-dollar grin before turning serious again, lowering his voice. “Y/N, I’m in love with you. You are my infinity and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my present and my future, and I hate that I couldn’t see that sooner. I should’ve known from the start that Peggy and I wouldn’t work out, but I never understood why...until I met you. I didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates because I felt I was undeserving of that love, but then you came along...and I started hoping and praying I’d find someone who’d love me as much as I love you. So now that I know for sure it’s you, that it always has been and always will be...I couldn’t be more happier that you’re my soulmate.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he reached forward to brush your hair away from your face and wipe the stray tears that fell, before wrapping an arm around you and gently pulling you towards him.

“God, I made you cry, I’m so sorry,” he choked on a sob of his own. “I’m the worst.”

“I’m not mad at you, Steve,” you sniffed as you wiped your nose with your sleeve, and looked up and cracked a small grin. “You’re just so cheesy.”

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t catch what he said. 

“You can kiss me any day, Captain,” you smiled.

“I love you more than you know.”

“I know. I love you too.”

He then brought a hand up to cup your face, allowing his thumb to lightly skim against your cheek, his warm breath fanning against your skin.

When his lips met yours, it was like you were turning back the clock. Everything in the world stopped and held its breath,  and all the hurt, all the sadness and heartache and pain bottled up inside your body, washed away.

...

BONUS

“HOLY SHIT, Y’ALL ARE SOULMATES?”

The sound of Sam’s screeching made you finally break apart for air. You could’ve been like that for two minutes, two hours, or two weeks, you weren’t sure.

You blushed and quickly averted your gaze. 

Steve’s face was as red as a tomato. “Yeah. We are.”

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW SOMETHING WAS GONNA HAPPEN BETWEEN THEM SOON! PAY UP, BARNES! YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS.”

“Come on, man,” Bucky groaned, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “We’re gonna head back home soon, anyways! And you’re not even poor.”

“A bet’s a bet, Barnes.”

“Of course you two bet on it,” you groaned. “Classic Sambucky activity.”

...

NINE MONTHS LATER

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Captain Rogers,” Fury announced, a rare smile gracing his normally stoic features. 

Steve did his best not to break down sobbing as he slid the ring onto your finger. With the backdrop of the waves gently crashing against the shore and the sun slowly sinking lower and lower into the horizon, he leaned down and cupped your face in his hands, passionately pressing his lips to yours. Your soulmarks glowed brightly in tandem, lighting up in a brilliant gold hue. 

Needless to say, there wasn’t a single dry eye in the house. 

[imaginesbymk]

“There is no Goodbye.”

The Pacific One Shot

Summary: Nothing is more ironic than Eugene breaking up with you just for the sake of sparing you the heartbreak if he were to die at war. But when he’s lucky to return home to Mobile, his first mission is to find you. Will Eugene be able to win you back before someone else does?

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader

Non Requested

Tags: angst/breakup, swearing, smoking, drinking, mentions of an ethnic slur + mentions of war violence

Word Count: 3,016

Author’s Note: song inspiration for this oneshot is wait by m83!!! i totally recommend this song cos its so beautiful!! pls give this a like/reblog and maybe some feedback!! <333

YOU were sick of crying in your pillow every night. You were aware of how puffy your eyes must have been by now, you acknowledged your friends who called and visited, checking on you, but not even that helped soothe the heartache in you. His name just kept echoing in your mind and replayed, finding their way into your sleep. You wished you hated Eugene Sledge, but deep down in your heart- you just couldn’t.

Three knocks came on your bedroom door. “Y/n, your food’s getting cold,” you heard your mother from the other side.

“I’m not hungry.” You couldn’t remember the amount of times you’ve used that as an excuse to stay where you were, depressed and heartbroken. 

Eugene broke up with you on a Sunday night. You two were dressed for the occasion; a dinner party was held at a grand convention center that was known and popular by several Alabamians. You wore the necklace Eugene got you as a gift, and you loved showing it off. In fact, you wore it every day to remind yourself, your family and your friends that Eugene Sledge was the love of your life. 

Later you noticed how strange he was acting the whole dinner, how quiet and tense he got so suddenly. His hand would slip away whenever you held it while walking, or when they were held under the table. It was like he was trying to hold something back, like a cat catching his tongue. Then, you found him outside, leaning against the stairway. 

“What is it, Eugene?” 

He paused every time he looked at you, how it pained him to say what he needed to say. Whether it was now or never, he leaves for the train in a couple of days.

“Wait a minute, Eugene,” You remembered your body turning cold as ice, but not from the night breeze. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Oh how you wished he was kidding, but the look on his face read that he wasn’t in the slightest. He was joining the marines corps, despite his heart murmur and his father and brother encouraging him to go to college instead. He flunked out of his classes on purpose just to enlist, and since only God knows what fate lies ahead, he felt it was best to put a stop to the relationship.

It wasn’t your right to be angry about his choices sometimes. He was in his twenties now, old enough to make up his mind. He was fighting for everyone’s freedom, after all, which is probably the bravest thing Eugene is doing. However, you didn’t understand why. Eugene was a believer, he believed in God and miracles. He asked God to send him a miracle through prayer in his own time, and they were answered in the form of you. So why couldn’t he believe in the stable relationship you both can still have even when he’s off to fight?

As expected, you didn’t take it too well. Right there, you broke down in front of him. Eugene walked over and reached his hand out to touch your shoulder, but you shoved him away. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. You angrily ripped the necklace off of you and threw it at him before running off in tears. He never chased after you.

You dared not to go back inside the dining hall where your family and friends were, as well as his, so you walked home by yourself without waiting for anyone to catch up with you. He was going mad, you bet. Enlisting in the marines was one thing, but calling it quits on your relationship?

That was the last time you saw Eugene. He didn’t wait to see if you would turn up at the train station, begging him to have a change of heart. He never saw you there, and he boarded the train to California.

What were you more upset about: the love of your life dumping you, or the chances of the love of your life dying?

THE year was now 1945, and Eugene sat in the passenger seat in Sid’s mobile when he picked him up from the station. 

The Japanese surrendered, and the boys back at the islands held a celebration with drinking, bonfires and loud music. Eugene, Snafu and Burgin sat on the rocks, watching the night sky, contemplating their return to home.

Victory Day was now nighttime, Eugene blew out smoke from his pipe, counting the stars. His tiny bible that was pocketed in his dungarees was pulled out, using the distant lit fires as a light to read through the tallied marks from the book of Genesis to Thessalonians, then out came a piece of paper that fell onto his lap. 

He picked it up and unfolded it, taking another puff from his pipe. Eugene reads the first two words. 

Dear y/n

The letter was never delivered to you because it was a letter Eugene had never sent, in fact it was never finished. He never got his first sentence down as they were ordered to get their gear ready to move down Okinawa. He never wrote a letter to you at all for the rest of his time serving, because he knew he wouldn’t be receiving one back.

Snafu slapped him awake one night and told him to shut up because he kept saying your name in his sleep. Eugene sounded desperate and panicked when he said it, too, and if the volume increased, it would have given away their spot. The marine was lucky it was a slap in the face rather than a bullet to the skull. 

The next day, Snafu asked Eugene for two things: a light, and who “y/n” was.

“She was my girl,” Eugene handed a lighter to Snafu to light his cigarette.

“Was.”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her at home just for a man in uniform to come to her door to tell her I’ve been KIA.”

“Shit, so you dumped her?” Snafu grins. “Should of given her to me, Sledgehammer.”

Eugene didn’t laugh. It was an inappropriate joke, no surprise coming from Snafu himself. He sat in the filth in silence, his bloodied and dirty hands holding your gold necklace that you threw at him. He brought it with him to war, and kept it as a bookmark in his Bible.

Eugene’s home was the same as he had left it, he knew that when Sid pulled up at the long pathway at the gates. Georgia cottage was indeed a sight, and Eugene loved it so much as a child. It was spacious with nature and trees to walk his dog, a forest down the road to go hunting and fishing with his father, a meadow where he would take you on a warm day.

Sid sat in the parked car for a few moments, Eugene hadn't started walking to the front door just yet. “I visited her,” Sid broke the silence. “Just like I promised.”

Eugene had to ask, “How is she?”

“I was starting to think she had forgotten about you... that was until I showed up at her door,” he replies. “It was tense, but she’s doing all right.”

Eugene nods, smiling a bit. He trusted his best friend to check up on you for him. At least you were doing fine, according to Sid’s words. "No crying?”

“She don’t cry no more. I introduced her to Mary Houston and invited her to my wedding- if that’s alright with you.”

He chuckled, making a face. “Why would I not be? It’s your wedding, you greaser.”

“Well one, and you should probably take my word for it, Y/N still hates your guts,” he said. “And two, whether or not she speaks to you at all on my wedding day, at least I’ll have you there as my best man.” Sid noticed the look on his best friend’s face. “There’s the O.O.M ball coming up. Y/n’s gonna be there.”

He smiles at him. “See you later?”

“Welcome home, Eugene.” And he drives off, prompting Eugene to reunite with his parents.

[x]

SHOWING up to the O.O.M ball immediately made you feel bummed. You showed up without a date. You shouldn’t have the right to feel bummed, anyway. You turned down any guy that had asked you. You could have said yes, but something in your heart was telling you no, and you couldn’t figure out what it was. 

Sighing, you suddenly didn’t feel like going to the bar for a second drink, and you just didn’t like waiting until your friends weren’t with their dates to go up to talk to them, so you found yourself heading outside to the front. It’s not like you could escape the guests, as tables and chairs were set outside occupied with more people, and even more people standing around and chatting with their friends.

You leaned over a tree where you felt like no one could see you for approach, being able to hear the loud music from the inside. But for what? You could just leave and say you felt sick. What were you waiting for? 

Several years had gone by since he left, and nothing about you has changed. Your hair grew a bit after a slight trim, and so has your wardrobe. Your dress was pretty expensive, and no one complimented it. You just needed someone to come up to you and say- 

“You look beautiful.” 

You spun around, knowing that Southern accent all too well. Not a lot of alcohol was consumed, so asking yourself if you drank too much that you started to see and hear things was out of the question. How did he know where to find you? How was he able to sneak up on you like how he used to as a surprise? He’d always do that, then pick you up and spin you around with joy. But this time, he stood in front of you, gazing at you like a painting.

Your vision started blurring.

“Y/n?” he thought you were having a stroke in front of him, and he reached out his hand. “Y/n?”

“Gimme a minute.” You breathed heavily, gripping the tree for support. Maybe you were about to faint in shock. After picking up your senses, you were able to respond. “Eugene,” you said softly. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “In the flesh.” You really couldn’t believe it. Maybe you were seeing and hearing things. But he was here. Eugene Sledge was really here, standing before you, and not a scratch on his face. His hair was fixed, too, and you could tell he was now in greater shape.

“How was...” you felt like you shouldn’t ask for so many reasons. “I mean, you made it. You’re home.”

“At last,” he answered, placing his wooden pipe in his mouth. “What are you doing all the way over here? Your date’s probably searching all of Mobile for you.”

“I don’t have a date,” you shook your head. “I mean, I came alone. I didn’t bring anyone.”

“You too?” he blew out smoke.

“Yeah. Um-” all it took was for you to breath in and crunch your nose from the awful stench of nicotine that everyone was so used to. “Since when did you start smoking?” 

He shrugged. “Since I killed my first Jap. Helps me calm down.”

"Well... I’m talking to you and you’re blowing smoke right in my face.”

Eugene nodded, taking the pipe out. “Sorry. How have you been?”

“Good.”

Eugene furrowed his brows. “That’s it? Just good?”

“I mean, what else would you expect me to say?”

“You’ve completed your education, you’re engaged, you and your partner are buying a house?”

“Jesus, Eugene. It’s way too early for that. I can’t even drive.”

“I’m kidding. I can only assume you’re in complete shock. I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Eugene says. “I can also assume you hated me as soon as you threw the necklace I gave you right at me.”

“And I still hate you.”

He looks at you, scoffing. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” you folded your arms. “You dump me and leave to join the marine corps, I wrote you a letter on your birthday and you never wrote back, every time I see your parents at the market they look at me like I’m the face of death. You shouldn’t have come here, I was doing just fine.”

“Really?” Eugene raised his eyebrows. The nonsense coming out that mouth. If only Eugene could kiss them shut. "All right. Heard you spoke with Sid.”

“Yeah, and? He invited me to his wedding."

“And he asked me to be his best man. So you might as well hold in your punch until the wedding is over.”

Your blood started to boil. Maybe you haven’t changed, but the war did indeed change the hell out of him. This attitude he carried wasn’t impressing you one bit. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem? I’m trying to have a conversation with you, y/n.”

“And you’re acting as if I’m the reason you dumped me.”

“I had my reasons,” he spoke back,

“Damn you, Eugene Sledge!” you slapped him repeatedly on his chest and shoulder. “Damn you for hurting me like that! Damn you for not writing to me! Damn you for leaving me!”

You cried out, as he simply stared and did his best to restrain your arms away from hitting him once more. 

He never spoke a word until you calmed down. Then, you realized... “Oh God, Eugene. I’m so sorry,” you gasp. “I would never lay a hand on you.”

“A Jap tried to kill me with a bayonet,” Eugene said. “I kinda had that slap coming.”

You let a tear fall down your cheek, and you looked down so Eugene wouldn’t be able to notice, but he was smart enough to know. “Baby... it’s okay. I’m here now.” He pulled you close and held you. You haven’t felt his touch since that night. You were overcome with the nostalgia during the happy times, and even the sad times. He would hold you like you were gonna slip right out of his hands.

“I’ve missed you so much, y/n. There hasn’t been a night where I haven’t dreamt about you, where I would die, or where I would watch you marry a man who doesn’t know you the way I do.”

“Eugene... you broke my heart and just stomped on it like mud.”

“And you had every right to be hurt, but that was never my intention, I just did what I thought was the right thing.” He played with the curls in your hair and kissed you softly on your temple.

It wasn’t like it was a last minute decision. Regardless his heart murmur was there or not, he wasn’t going to stay home and attend classes. Breaking up with you wasn’t last minute, either. 

“I guess I should have been more understanding,” you admit, leaning back against the tree. 

“I spent nights trying to come up with what I was going to say, and when I was planning on saying it. I used to worry about the murmur, if I’d remember to feed Deacon, or telling my Mother about my plans for the future.”

“You weren’t sure about any of those things, Gene.”

“Seeing your face that night made me realize I’m never going to love anyone else the way I love you,” Eugene shook his head slowly. “I was definitely sure about that.”

“Loved,” you correct him.

“No, y/n. Love. I still love you, more than the stars reach the apex of this goddamn universe. I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop loving you. You’re really the answer God has given me after endless nights of praying for something good.”

“Then why didn’t you write me?”

“I had to find a way to move on. If it distracted me from fighting, I would have been as good as dead. Something in me died from the war, but the feelings I have for you are still here.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit. “I love you more, Eugene.”

“So I hope it’s not too late to ask this,” Eugene said. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N, are you seeing anyone?”

You shook your head.

He raised his brows. “So for nearly four years, you haven’t been seeing anyone? Not one fella?”

“I tried to. I mean, I kept thinking you slept with a nurse.”

“Women weren’t even in my corner of the pacific, and nurses were there to do their jobs. Besides,” Eugene smiled. “I’d rather come home to the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known in Mobile.”

“Mary Houston?”

Eugene laughs. “I was talking about you. At least you’re humble.” He laughed harder when you started playfully slapping him on the chest repeatedly again. “Hey! But there’s no one I’d rather be with. I’m willing to start over, maybe pick up where we left off.”

“I would love that.” 

Eugene reached in his tux pocket, pulling out the golden necklace you loved wearing. “I believe this belongs to you.” He walked behind you, and began wrapping the necklace around your neck, clipping the lock together in place. “Y’know, after throwing it right at my face?”

“Sorry,” you blushed. “Don’t ever do that again; saying goodbye.”

“There is no goodbye.” He turned your head to face him using his finger under your chin. “There never was, just the old hello.”

You smiled again. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” He pulls you close to him. “Is that all right?”

“You can kiss me whenever you feel like it, Gene.” And you wouldn’t mind it one bit.

“Yes, ma’am.” And he leans in, kissing you almost a dozen times now, the overcoming nostalgia of the good time hitting once more. “And once I’m done kissing the daylights outta you, I’m bringing you inside. It’s been a while since I’ve danced with the love of my life.”

the end

[lokiondisneyplus]

For his entire tenure as an Avenger, Anthony Mackie had never been the first name on the call sheet.

In a galaxy of stars populated by Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson, the actor was aware of his place in the on-set pecking order, but would never miss an opportunity to make his presence felt.

“Number six on the call sheet has arrived!” Mackie would routinely shout on films like “Captain America: Civil War” and the box office-busting “Infinity Saga” sequels, according to Marvel chief creative officer Kevin Feige.

It exemplifies the sort of winning tone that the 42-year-old actor has brought to his superhero character the Falcon, aka Sam Wilson, for six movies from the top-earning studio — wry and collegial humor, with the potential to turn explosive at any moment. Both Mackie and his character are set to burn brighter than ever when the Disney Plus series “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier” lands on March 18.

On that call sheet, “Anthony is No. 1,” Feige is happy to report, “but it still says ‘No. 6.’ He kept it because he didn’t want it to go to his head.” The series is essentially a two-hander with his friend and longtime co-star Sebastian Stan, the titular soldier. All six episodes were produced and directed by Emmy winner Kari Skogland (“The Handmaid’s Tale,” “The Loudest Voice”). The series, for which combined Super Bowl TV spot and trailer viewership earned a record-breaking 125 million views this year, is reported to have cost $150 million in total.

For Mackie, though, the show comes at a critical time for both his career and for representation in the MCU. Sam Wilson is graduating from handy wingman (Falcon literally gets his job done with the use of mechanical wings), having been handed the Captain America shield by Evans in the last “Avengers” film. While it’s unclear if he will formally don the superhero’s star-spangled uniform moving forward (as the character did in a 2015 comic series), global fandoms and the overall industry are still reeling from the loss of Chadwick Boseman, who portrayed Marvel’s Black Panther to culture-defining effect. With this new story, Mackie will become the most visible African American hero in the franchise. And when asked whether he’ll be taking the mantle of one of its most iconic characters, he doesn’t exactly say no.

“I was really surprised and affected by the idea of possibly getting the shield and becoming Captain America. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I did it the way they said you’re supposed to do it. I didn’t go to L.A. and say, ‘Make me famous.’ I went to theater school, did Off Broadway, did indie movies and worked my way through the ranks. It took a long time for this shit to manifest itself the way it has, and I’m extremely happy about that,” Mackie says.

Feige says that, especially with the advent of Disney Plus and the freedom afforded long-form storytelling, the moment was right to give the Falcon his due.

“Suddenly, what had been a classic passing of the torch from one hero to another at the end of ‘Endgame’ became an opening up of our potential to tell an entire story about that. What does it really mean for somebody to step into those shoes, and not just somebody but a Black man in the present day?” says Feige.

Like many comic book heroes, Mackie has an origin story marked by tragedy at a young age — specifically around the loss of a parental figure. The New Orleans native is the youngest of six children from a tight-knit middle-class family, whose trajectory was spun into chaos when his mother was stricken with a terminal illness.

“It was unexpected and very untimely. I was 15 when she was diagnosed with cancer, and a few months later, she was gone. She passed the day before my ninth-grade graduation,” Mackie recalls. “If my mom wouldn’t have passed away when I was so young, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

Mackie had already gravitated toward the performing arts before the loss of his mother, having enrolled at the pre-professional school New Orleans Center for Creative Arts. Like many young people grappling with trauma, Mackie says he began to act out. A core group of teachers helped get him out of trouble. Ray Vrazel, still an instructor at the school, personally drove the student to a Houston-based audition for the University of North Carolina School of the Arts, where he was accepted for his senior year of high school.

“Everything I did, I did for my mama. The idea of leaving home at 17 to go away to school would have never been an option if she was still around. She was my best friend. Losing her gave me a kind of strength, and a desire to succeed,” Mackie says.

Succeed he did. Spending that formative year as a minor on a college campus helped Mackie find his “tribe,” a misfit crew of artists and performers, which propelled him to acceptance at New York’s prestigious Juilliard School in 1997. There he was part of the breakthrough class of students of color to be chosen for the notoriously selective drama program, which Mackie says was liberating given the institution’s track record.

“Our year was a huge transition. There were hardly any Asian people in the drama program, maybe one or two Black people and hardly any Black women. In our class, we had three black women, two black men, one Native American, one Asian female, out of 20 people. Ever since then, the classes have been wildly diverse,” says Mackie, whose fellow students included stage and film star Tracie Thoms and actor Lee Pace.

Following his training, Mackie launched a staggeringly versatile career. He has played Tupac Shakur and Martin Luther King Jr. to similar acclaim, a juicehead bodybuilder in “Pain & Gain” and a homeless gay teen in the Sundance player “Brother to Brother.” He has exhibited remarkable staying power in an industry that often pigeonholes actors and has a pockmarked soul when it comes to inclusion.

“I was drawn to Anthony because of his electrifying ability to combine intensity with sensitivity, courage with compassion, and all of it comes across as inevitable, as if it could be no other way,” says Kathryn Bigelow, who directed him in the 2009 best picture Oscar winner “The Hurt Locker.”

Samuel L. Jackson, whom Mackie calls a mentor and has played alongside in several films, says he has “an innate quality that first and foremost makes everyone want to cast him.” On a recent idle Netflix search, Jackson came across Mackie’s latest sci-fi film, “Outside the Wire,” and it triggered a memory of sitting in the audience for his performance in the 2010 Broadway production of Martin McDonagh’s play “A Behanding in Spokane.”

“Watching him onstage, I thought, he’s a very adroit actor capable of putting on many hats. He’s fearless and will try to be anybody. Then, on my TV, he’s playing a nanobyte soldier or some shit,” Jackson says.

Though always humble about getting the next job, pre-Marvel Mackie was rarely offered pole position.

“There were certain pegs. My first was ‘8 Mile.’ It was a monumental step at the beginning of my career,” Mackie says of the 2002 Curtis Hanson film that elevated rapper Eminem to multi-hyphenate stardom.

“After that it was ‘Half Nelson.’ It blew up Ryan Gosling, so I was there to ride the wave. Then ‘The Hurt Locker,’ and it blew up Jeremy Renner. It was the joke for a long time — if you’re a white dude and you want to get nominated for an Oscar, play opposite me. I bring the business for white dudes,” says Mackie.

He remembers the sensation “Hurt Locker” caused during its awards season. It was a moment he thought would change everything as he stood on the stage of the Dolby Theatre with the cast and filmmakers, having just sipped from George Clooney’s flask while Halle Berry radiated a few rows away.

“I thought I would be able to move forward in my career and not have to jostle and position myself for work. To get into rooms with certain people. I thought my work would speak for itself. I didn’t feel a huge shift,” he says, “but I 100% think that ‘The Hurt Locker’ is the reason I got ‘Captain America.’”

He’s referring to “Captain America: The Winter Soldier,” the 2014 Marvel film that was the first to be directed by Joe and Anthony Russo (the current title holders for the highest-grossing film of all time with “Avenges: Endgame”). Mackie says that blockbuster not only gave him his largest platform to date but changed expectations of superhero movies forever.

“It was the first of the espionage, Jason Bourne-esque action movies at Marvel. After that, the movies shifted and had different themes and were more in touch with the world we live in, more grounded,” he says.

Bolstered by the words of another mentor, Morgan Freeman, Mackie feels no bitterness about his path.

“We did ‘Million Dollar Baby’ together, and when we were shooting this movie, I got offered a play. When you do Off Broadway, it’s $425 a week. In New York, that’s really $75 per week. I got a movie offer at the same time, and it was buckets of money. Three Home Depot buckets of money were going to be dropped off at my door,” Mackie says. “The script was awful; the whole thing was slimy. I went to Morgan’s trailer and asked him what he would do. He took a second and said, ‘Do the play. When Hollywood wants you, they’ll come get you. And when they come get you, they’ll pay for it.’ That blew my mind, and I left him that day with such a massive amount of confidence. He’s been a huge influence on me.”

He used the currency of that first Russo Brothers film and five subsequent ones to do what many creators and performers in Hollywood have done in recent years to help balance the scales of profit and representation in content: make things on his own.

Last year, Mackie produced and starred in “The Banker” — what would be Apple Studios’ first foray into original streaming film distribution and the awards landscape — through his banner Make It With Gravy. The film follows the true story of America’s first Black bankers and the white frontman they deployed to acquire the institution, all while supporting Black-owned businesses and communities in the process. A late-breaking scandal over sexual misconduct accusations involving the real-life family members of the film’s subjects delayed the release, overshooting awards-season deadlines and entangling the fledgling producer.

“It was a good lesson, and gave me a new perspective on the world around us. It’s very important to me that the women by my side are treated equally. It was a valuable lesson learned. I was very humbled by my sisters, for once not being mean to me,” he says.

Mackie is in development on the film “Signal Hill,” about the early days of lawyer Johnnie Cochran and the theater he brought to courtrooms long before the O.J. Simpson trial, and is hoping to secure the life story of civil rights pioneer Claudette Colvin as a vehicle for his directorial debut. Raising four sons of his own now, Mackie wants his off-screen work to make them well-rounded men.

“Look at Robin Williams,” he says. “He used to be crass and funny, and then he had kids, and he started doing all these family-friendly movies. Same thing with Eddie Murphy. I’m trying to curate my children’s experience with the things that I’ll be producing, rather than starring in. That’s what is most important. They know my job is my job; they know who I am. I’ve given up the idea of them ever thinking that I’m cool,” he says.

Jokes about the call sheet are among many of Mackie’s filming quirks. Jackson says that sets are often littered with hidden cigar stubs, to be fired up between takes or after long days. Bigelow says his rapport with crew has led to nights where the “clock was ticking but it was impossible to regain composure enough to shoot.” But according to Evans, no Mackie-ism is more famous than the phrase he bellows whenever his directors cut a scene: “Cut the check!”

Evans says this “will be forever associated with Mackie. I find myself saying it on sets all the time. I love it. But I’ll never be able to say it as well as him.”

As the man handing Mackie his armor, Evan says the Falcon’s “role within the Marvel universe has answered the call to action time and time again. He’s proven his courage, loyalty and reliability over multiple films. Sam has given so much, and he’s also lost a lot too. He believes in something bigger than himself, and that type of humility is necessary to carry the shield.”

The question of Sam Wilson’s humanity will be explored at length in “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier,” what Mackie calls a deeper showcase for both himself and Stan and their characters. It was a prospect that at first confused and frightened him.

“I didn’t think we could do on the television what we’d been doing on the big screen. I didn’t want to be the face of the first Marvel franchise to fail. Like, ‘See? We cast the Black dude, and now this shit is awful.’ That was a huge fear of mine, and also a huge responsibility with playing a Marvel character,” Mackie says.

He was quickly assuaged by the level of depth in the scripts from head writer Malcolm Spellman (“Empire,” “Truth Be Told”), especially when it came to the nuances of Wilson — a Black American man with no powers beyond his badass wings.

“Sam Wilson as played by Mackie is different than a Thor or a Black Panther, because he’s not from another planet or a king from another country,” Feige says. “He’s an African American man. He’s got experience in the military and doing grief counseling with soldiers who have PTSD. But where did he grow up? Who is his family? Mackie was excited to dig into it as this man, this Black man in particular, in the Marvel version of the world outside our window.”

Mackie celebrates Sam’s relatability in a universe full of mythological gods and lab-made enforcers. “I’m basically the eyes and ears of the audience, if you were put in that position where you could go out and fight alongside superheroes. It adds a really nice quality to him, that he’s a regular guy who can go out there and do special things,” Mackie says.

While bound by standard Marvel-grade secrecy, the actor confirms there have been no discussions of a second season for “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.” As the majority of domestic movie theaters remain closed due to the coronavirus pandemic, he is equally unaware of the theatrical prospects for his Falcon character — or the Captain he may become by the end of this Disney Plus run. For now, he’s content to take up the mantle left by Boseman, a quietly understood pact of responsibility to Marvel-loving kids the world over.

“For Chad and I, [representation] was never a conversation that needed to be had because of our backgrounds. There was a hinted-at understanding between the two of us, because we’re both from humble beginnings in the South; we have very similar backgrounds. We knew what the game was. We knew going into it,” he says.

Outside comic book movies, Mackie is not done searching as a performer. There is a particular genre he would very much like to cut him a check.

“My team gets mad at me for saying this, but I would love to do a cheesy old-school ‘When Harry Met Sally’-type of project,” he says. “One of those movies where I’m working outside and have to take my shirt off because it’s too hot. I want a romantic comedy. I want to do every movie written for Matthew McConaughey that he passed on.”

[thewitcherstan]

Prompt where Geralt leaves Jaskier in charge of Ciri and when he comes back its just... Chaos?

To be fair, Geralt should have known better than to leave Jaskier and Ciri to their own devices for any longer than a day.

But he couldn’t very well have them distracting him while he hunted down a drowner. The last time Jaskier had accompanied him on such a hunt, they’d both nearly died, if only because Jaskier simply can’t seem to shut up, even when faced with what would be most people’s worse nightmares.

So yeah, with Ciri now tagging along with them and as curious as ever, Geralt figured it’d be safer for everyone to leave them both at the inn for a couple of days. He left Jaskier in charge with a stern, “Don’t let her wander off.”

Jaskier had given him a mock-salute. “But of course not.”

“And don’t get anyone knocked up while I’m gone. We have enough to deal with without you buttering the wrong.... biscuits.”

“Aw, Geralt, euphemisms sound so crass when you use them.” At Geralt’s responding glare, Jaskier had given him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Besides, my faith lies with you and you only, my dear.”

“Great,” Geralt had responded, not feeling at all reassured.

A sentiment which he finds is completely justified upon his return, when he hears a mixture of shouting and cheering as he approaches the dingy tavern a couple evenings later.

He walks into the tavern and is somehow entirely unsurprised to find a crowd surrounding Ciri and Jaskier, who are facing off two large men bearing swords, one holding a ridiculously colorful coin bag which Geralt immediately recognizes as Jaskier’s, a purchase Jaskier had insisted was essential.

If they weren’t in immediate danger, the picture before him would be rather amusing. Ciri, with the dagger Geralt had given her to use until they arrive at Kaer Morhen, where he can finally start her formal swordsmanship training, and Jaskier, looking reluctant but ready to swing his lute.

Geralt swiftly pushes his way through the crowd, crossing his arms sternly.

“I believe that doesn’t belong to you,” Geralt grits out to the man holding the bag, and the man laughs.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it you? I think we’re all owed a little compensation after listening to this bloody banshee wail for three days straight,” he sneers, gesturing to Jaskier, and Geralt feels a low growl building in his chest.

“Just because you don’t have any qualities useful enough to earn you money doesn’t mean—”

Geralt closes his eyes for a second. Jesus. “Fiona,” he grits out to Ciri. “Quiet.”

She huffs, but closes her mouth. Her dagger, he notices, is still raised threateningly, just as he’d taught her, and he can’t help but feel a rush of pride. He turns his attention back to the two men.

“Hand over the bag and leave,” he orders, and they laugh.

“Oh no, witcher. That wasn’t part of the deal, you see,” the first man says, and Geralt shoots Jaskier a look.

“Deal?”

“Little Miss Princess and your side bitch here agreed to a duel for the money. We win, we get to keep it.”

Geralt shoots them an incredulous look, and they both shrug sheepishly. This, he thinks exasperatedly. This is why I always traveled alone.

“Great. I’m on their team,” Geralt announces.

“Ah, but three against one isn’t fair play, witcher!” one of the men protests.

Geralt quirks an eyebrow at them before turning to Jaskier and Ciri. “Fiona. Out.”

“What!” she protests, enraged, and Geralt barely resists the urge to sigh. So much for keeping a low profile.

“Fiona, dear heart, why don’t you sit this one out?” Jaskier says soothingly. “I’d rather like to have this all settled quickly.”

“I can handle myself better than you can,” Ciri mutters, too low for anyone but Jaskier and Geralt’s witcher hearing to pick up.

Exactly, Geralt thinks. And no one can know that.

She cringes when she meets Geralt’s stern gaze and sighs, lowering her dagger and stepping out of immediate danger, and Geralt can’t help the wave of relief that washes over him. She, at least, is safe for now.

He turns back to the men. “Great. Now we’re even.” Geralt feels a sense of grim satisfaction at hearing how their heartbeats speed up in fear.

“Whatever. Time to exterminate this witcher scum, yeah?” the man says to their gathered audience. There are a handful of cheers, but for the most part, everyone is waiting with baited breath. Tired of playing, Geralt pushes himself in front of Jaskier, and swiftly makes the first move.

From there, the time passes quickly, Geralt dancing forward and back, swinging his sword in smooth arcs and sharp jabs, opting to disarm the men rather than kill them altogether. As much as he’d admittedly like to, he refuses to commit needless murder in front of Ciri, who has seen way too much of it for a lifetime.

Within minutes, both men are incapacitated, and Geralt snatches up the bag of coin, jabbing the unconscious man viciously despite himself. That, he thinks, is for threatening my bard and my kid.

Geralt straightens up and glares at the people around him. “Get these men out of here,” he growls out to no one in particular. He turns to Ciri and Jaskier. “You two. Upstairs.”

His face must say a lot, because for once, they shuffle out in front of him without protest. Geralt snatches a tankard of ale up before following them. He figures he’ll need it.

They make their way upstairs and Ciri and Jaskier quickly make their way inside, sitting on the edge of Geralt and Jaskier’s bed while Geralt stands in front of them.

“Jaskier, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Oh, I see,” Jaskier huffs, offended. “Just assume it’s all my fault, Geralt.”

“You’re the adult,” Geralt says, trying not to roll his eyes. “It is your fault.”

“Actually, it really isn’t his fault,” Ciri cuts in.

“Ciri, he’s right—”

“When those men took his bag, I was the one who challenged them to a duel.”

This time, Geralt really does sigh. “Why.”

It’s more of a statement than a question.

She shrugs. “To be fair, they looked like they’d lose against a gust of wind, so I really wasn’t all that worried,” she tells him.

“You can’t afford to not be worried!” Geralt snaps. “You don’t have the training to not rely on your abilities, and using them in the open could literally mean life or death for you right now.”

Her face falls a bit, and Geralt immediately feels a rush of guilt, though he stands by the sentiment. But looking at these two reckless, beloved idiots sitting before him, his chest aches at the thought of something happening to them.

He takes a deep breath and moves forward, crouching in front of her. He tentatively takes her hands into his, knowing that, just like Jaskier, Ciri responds best to touch and kind words, though not to the same degree as the bard.

It is a softness he’d scorn in anyone else. But he loves these two for it.

“Ciri,” Geralt starts, trying to get his words right this time. “You know as well as anyone that this world does not take kindly to people like us. Powerful people. We cannot afford to be reckless. I know this is difficult, but I made a promise to your grandmother, and to you. We will reach our destination shortly, and then I promise, you will have more freedom. Do you understand?”

She looks down at him and sags, all traces of playfulness leaving her face. For a moment, she looks like a lost, terrified child—and, really, she is—but then her face hardens in an echo of Queen Calanthe’s fierceness and nods.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

He squeezes her hand gently before reaching up to tenderly brush her hair out of her face.

“Go wash up while Jaskier and I talk,” he tells her kindly, getting to his feet again. She gets up and darts around him, grabbing his ale and taking a swig.

He reaches out to swat at her, but she darts away with a laugh, all at once the picture of a playful kid again. Jaskier shakes his head as she disappears into the washroom.

“That’s what you get for always letting her sip from your tankard,” he says pointedly. “She likes the stuff a bit too much, yeah?”

“You really think the daughter of Calanthe has never tasted beer before?” Geralt asks him, raising an eyebrow.

“Good point,” Jaskier admits. For a moment, there’s silence, and then Jaskier slumps. “Alright, go ahead. Lay into me.”

Geralt studies him for a moment, watching him squirm. “I’m not mad,” he says eventually.

“You’re—wait, what?” Jaskier says incredulously.

“Do you want me to be?” Geralt asks, amused.

“Well, no,” Jaskier sputters. “But I thought you were furious, what with the whole grouchy, ‘You. Upstairs,’ bit and the fact that we challenged some big scary men to a duel.”

Geralt tilts his head. “Annoyed, maybe. But not mad. You and Ciri are still healthy and in one piece. You did as I asked. Those men were shitbags, you couldn’t have stopped that.”

Jaskier sighs in relief, happy that Geralt isn’t furious with him. He tugs Geralt down onto the bed next to him, placing his head on the witcher’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about Ciri. The duel,” he mutters into the crook of Geralt’s neck, listening to Geralt’s answering rumble of laughter.

“It was hardly a duel. You two really probably would have gotten by without my help,” Geralt comments.

“Yes, but I was rather hoping to avoid harm to my lute,” Jaskier admits.

“Shit, I definitely shouldn’t have stepped in then,” Geralt jokes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier whines. “Don’t be rude.”

“Can’t help it. It’s my default,” he says as Jaskier falls fully into his lap. “Tired?”

“Mmmm,” Jaskier replies sleepily. “Hard work keeping a child alive.”

“Think of how I must feel. I have to keep two alive.”

“Shhhh,” Jaskier says, too tired to be properly offended. Besides, he knows Geralt loves taking care of them. “Sleepy.”

“Rest, then. Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“‘Night, Geralt,” Jaskier slurs tiredly.

The witcher runs a gentle hand through his hair, sitting back and allowing himself to relax.

Trying to parent his wild Child Surprise alongside his bard, who has just as much of a penchant for mischief as their child, is a lot of work sometimes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thegoods]

It’s me, I’m my purpose.

The reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists.

God has been showing up for me so much here lately. In the past 3 months. He’s shown me who I am. It’s crazy. It sounds crazy af. I was like, “I’m not that religious for God to be this chatty with me?”. I mean don’t get me wrong, G and I talk on the daily but it’s mostly like 87% me talking and G shaking his head. This time around, I’ve been so at peace in the moments that there are very few words. I get to wake up everyday amazed by the woman that I am right now. I love that for me. I love that for the people around me. I move how I want to, always. With love. I control my happiness, manage my pain, and write my story. I am magnetic to all things that I want to attract. I only pour my energy into things that will replenish me. Anything else is aimless.

Manifest. Finesse. Hussle.

It’s forced me to face my demons, see my evil self. It’s like every time we (G and I) talk my health meter grows a little more like in the video games we used to play. I was so deep in the red but you don’t really notice that when you’re fighting. Ya know, you just keep swinging. I immediately started to not deal with toxic relationships by valuing myself more. Baby, the price done went up! When I decided to quit a job, heavy emphasis on the “a” because it wasn’t my j-o-b. Walmart was a job to me that’s it. It held nothing else with me. I walked away with a nauseously clear spirit. But in that, my faith went up 5 points. I focused on my means, my happiness and my freedom and I went for it. My job purpose in life is find myself. For most, growing up it was instilled in us that our purpose in life was whatever we decide to do for work. You’ll have some parents that dressed that up to say “ doing whatever makes you happy” but they meant what I said above just with sprinkles on top. But what if that’s not for everybody... because in my daydreams there’s no sign of work.

I am rooted. But I flow.

I feel very strongly that my purpose in this lifetime is to find out who I am. Find myself. Discover what genuine happiness looks like, what real love feels like, what success tastes like ‘to me’. When I think about it that’s always been my biggest question. Since I was a little girl, wow. I wasn’t raised by happy people. I grew up seeing people work and get by. Very rarely did I see witness a dream chaser. But yeah sure I may find a career that makes me happier. I’ll find love, have more children ya know like the movies. But they’re just mini movies along the way. You pick up what I’m putting down? Like if we believe that childhood find your “dream job” bullshit is the only way to true happiness and that’s not our individual purpose we’re gonna miss it every time it’s presented to us. Which results in feeling lost and becoming lost. I saw a podcast once that said “we’ll never have it all figured out”. Hmph. Not with that attitude.

I find my self, I find my way.

But he could have a point as well. Maybe it’s just a race until the clock runs out. But a decent sized part of me refuses to believe that everyone that has died before me didn’t knowingly find they’re t-r-u-e purpose. Like if it’s something that we’ll never be able to really prove why not just say we did—at least. We were given one life (in this body) with an expiration date. Don’t waste it on trivial bullshit. Find yourself and do everything that makes that person happy. I know I am. I can have a shit ton of regrets tossed around in my life span but doesn’t take away from all the good. “I knew the assignment” .... put that on my hedge stone please. But seriously.... I don’t know what exactly triggered my quantum leap but I love this period of my life. It’s giving fulfilled.

For sure.