#and the first ever post-race highlights i ever made! and now here i am a billion posts later

[skitskatdacat63]

2005 | 2023

[astonmartinii]

was wondering if you could do a smau or just a normal fic where oscar or lando are with an f1 academy driver!reader where maybe outside of racing reader is slightly alternative/rockstar gf vibes

hope you have a good day!

i am the rockstar, girlfriend | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x f1academy!reader

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, oliviarodrigo and 320,984 others

yourusername: you get the best of both worlds

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user1: enough is enough i need to be her

user2: someone get that kitty cat some ear protectors

yourusername: i found cumberland sausage in a bush by an airfield baby has ear drums of literal steel

user3: i wish i was a kitten who gets to go racing and live the rockstar life

racerbia: tell cumberland i love her

yourusername: so what about me ???

racerbia: i guess i love you too

yourusername: that's what i thought

user4: miss ma'am lowkey MADE it tell me why she has olivia rodrigo in her likes

user5: the girlies been using y/n as a pinterest board

oscarpiastri: who's the cutie

yourusername: oh oscar i'm blushing ... 😊

oscarpiastri: i meant cumberland sausage

yourusername: blocked.

oscarpiastri: i'm in your walls.

user6: i'm sorry but what the fuck is going on in here

user7: i'm just going to sit back and observe

vogue

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 1,209,875 others

tagged: yourusername

vogue: this month's cover of british vogue is up and coming f1 academy driver y/n y/ln who doesn't let her day job as a driver stop her from embracing her chosen aesthetic in every other aspect of her life. inside y/n touches upon her struggles as a woman in the industry, inspiring others and her scene-stealing cat, cumberland sausage.

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user8: mama on the cover of vogue ???

user9: okay i don't have a clue what the f1 academy is but i may have to tune in now

yourusername: thank yew for having me 🥰

user10: i guess we can't gatekeep her anymore

user11: gatekeep? girl she had like 700k followers before this

racerbia: oh so my bestie FAMOUS famous

yourusername: don't worry i'll never forget you

racerbia: i should hope not you still don't have your road license and who gives you lifts?

yourusername: i love youuuuuuuu

user12: so not to make it about a man, but oscar always be in the comments/interacting with posts from/about y/n

user13: rocks for brains

user14: tbf they'd be cute

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 609,812 others

tagged: premaracing, yourusername

oscarpiastri: can't keep me away from the racing, i spent my spare weekend in barcelona with the f1 academy. oh i guess i bumped into y/n (most importantly, cumberland sausage)

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user15: so ... did anyone else know they were friends?

user16: i went dumpster-diving to find out and they're very lowkey but they've known each other a long time but because of racing in different series they've mostly had an online friendship

user15: interesting

yourusername: always nice to see you osc, and cumberland says thank you for her dreamies

oscarpiastri: she's always the highlight of our visits

yourusername: stop playing hard to get

oscarpiastri: you know i'm always easy for you

user16: @yourusername you know we can all see this, right?

yourusername: i know that's half the fun

user17: god this comment section fried my brain

landonorris: so THIS is where you were this weekend

oscarpiastri: yes, i told you this

landonorris: nooooo, you skipped my bbq because you were visiting "someone special"

oscarpiastri: yes, cumberland sausage

landonorris: i'm on to you, piastri 🤨

f1academy

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 331,896 others

tagged: premaracing, yourusername

f1academy: OH WOW !! y/n y/ln sets a record this weekend in monza by leading all practices, grabbing pole for all three races, leading all laps and winning all three races - the first ever f1 academy grand chelem

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user18: okay but like what more does she need to do to get to f2?

user19: i was there and lord this is DOMINATION

racerbia: that's MY teammate

yourusername: i love youuuuuu

user20: now this is a slay

oscarpiastri: wowowowowowowo

yourusername: do i make you speechless?

oscarpiastri: you know it

user21: these bitches are just teasing us now.

yourusername

liked by racerbia, oscarpiastri and 679,034 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: happy birthday cumberland sausage, my pretty girl, mummy and daddy love you xxx

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user22: MUMMY AND DADDY?

user23: so we're all idiots?

racerbia: i thought you guys agreed on a soft launch?

yourusername: too much effort, cumberland's birthday is now

racerbia: your mind confuses me so much

user24: i'm new here someone PLEASE tell me how this cat ended up with the name cumberland sausage

yourusername: when i rescued her the only food i had in my flat was a pack of sausages and it just stuck

oscarpiastri: does this make you a milf?

yourusername: and you a dilf?

landonorris: who are you and what have you done with my teammate?

oscarpiastri: are you just annoyed you found out the same time as everyone else?

landonorris: .... no

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 788,034 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: best weekend, with the best of company

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user25: mama y papa

user26: obsessed with y/n's need to bring her cat with her everywhere, she's just like me

yourusername: so proud of you osc

oscarpiastri: maybe it's because i had a good luck charm in my garage

yourusername: that's cute, but for real you're just TALENTED AS FUCK AND DESERVE EVERYTHING

user27: loving y/n's brand of aggressive positive reinforcement

mclaren: turns out we ARE a cat friendly garage

yourusername: that you are, and your catering is very good 10/10 experience would do again

oscarpiastri: extra points for letting cumberland sleep on a tyre blanket

yourusername

liked by racerbia, oscarpiastri and 821,067 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: living the dream

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user28: that should be me 😭

user29: god i have seen what you have done for others

oscarpiastri: i dream of you often

landonorris: i beg you stop being horny on main

oscarpiastri: you made it weird mate i'm just professing my love for my girlfriend

yourusername: awwww love you too baby

user30: the way oscar is lowkey bringing in y/n's aesthetic

yourusername: i love this thought but really he'd just came for a last min visit and that is my shirt 😭

oscarpiastri: don't expose me like that

user31: now that's MY f1 IT couple

[nieded]

Hi! Not an ask, more like a confession. I just really felt compelled to tell you that #RainbowRoad is the absolute best fan-created work i’ve ever engaged with, and i’ve been a fan of many things! You are an amazing storyteller.

I also felt compelled to reach out because my friends & family are perplexed. I am perplexed. Primarily because:

1. I started watching DTS. Excellent. Normal for me to try on a new Netflix show….mostly. But is it really? Sports? Me?

2. I casually check out streaming options for the real deal, because you know, i’m curious, and oh! Would you look at that…it’s almost the end of fall break….

3. I subscribe and what’s this….I am absorbing F1. Like i’ve been starved for a sport to enjoy my whole life. Replays. Free practice. Fuckin Tech Talk.

4. Suddenly, I’ve watched 3 seasons of DTS and a disturbing amount of F1 content and it’s COTA Sunday and i’m on the couch, surrounded by snacks, insisting that we have to watch the WHOLE qualifying session not just the highlights because we need to get a feel for everyone’s headspace going into the race.

5. Post-COTA; We have decided Sainz is our driver to watch. I’m also really intrigued by McLaren rn someone pls help. We’re shouting as we watch live as Ferrari pulls a 1-2 and wow. When’s the next race?

6. Mexico City. MEXICO CITY. Sainz has been our man now for 10 days and forever. I suppose i’ll have to dedicate myself to Williams next season but I feel conflicted about that and WHY do I have an OPINION on that already. Who am I? Also can I watch the whole race again just tuned into Russel’s radio? Did he really ask mid-race for tea on Verstappen’s timeout? You don’t have to answer either of those questions i’m probably going look that up as soon as I finish writing you this manic soliloquy.

I’m not saying that you’re to blame for this complex crisis of identity happening over here, i’m really not. I just….I know the difference by now when i’m transfixed by something that’ll surely pass and…well…when I find something that compels me to sit tight & take hold.

On second thought, yeah. From one internet stranger to another, this is your fault.

And i’m enjoying every second of it. ♥️🏎️♥️

P.S. If there is going to be another #rainbowroad story I will be more excited about that than I am about GO3. This summer has been hard and engaging with your work has made it so much less so. Thank you ♥️🏎️♥️

hello! thank you sooooo much. i'm excited that you've gotten so into f1.

couple of things:

1 - i love carlos. he is my favorite himbo. he is so dumb sometimes. all that boy knows how to do is drive but damn does he drive well! i have felt for a long time that he's a sleeper agent. he just goes under the radar. you should look up the circumstances of his first few podiums. some of his biggest achievements have been afterthoughts, sidelined by other drama in f1. for example, when he did all those crazy overtakes during the sprint race and ended up in p2, nobody was talking about it at all! drove me nuts. it is such a sainz thing to be winning races and still losing his seat at ferrari.

2 - williams is worth being a fan of. they are one of the most historic teams and are wccs! i know that's strange to think if you're coming into the sport now, but there are many, many reasons to love williams. the other cool thing about the team is their principal, james vowles, was part of brawn gp. since you're diving into dts, i highly recommend watching brawn gp on amazon prime. you will also develop a love for jensen button.

also, i'm sorry your summer has been hard, and i am glad i could shine some light for you. my summer also was rough, and i still feel like i am recovering. i do have a story in the pipeline. it's still very much in its early development so i don't know if i will write it, but it does exist in my head!

[vvivacious101]

Oh God! We need to talk!

I have been insane ever since the RWRB movie came out but I guess you can only stay immersed in a fandom for so long before you start to see its more insidious aspects.

This thought has entered my mind before but I chose not to engage because fandom should ideally be fun and a break from reality. Unfortunately, all of humanity's creations contain humanity's flaws and I can't keep turning a blind eye anymore.

I don't think this post is going to do much but if it makes even one person realise they aren't alone in their experience it would have served its purpose.

So, let's talk about fandom racism.

The only other couple that I ship that is an interracial one is Joe and Nicky from The Old Guard. They are also an interfaith couple so they really had the odds stacked against them from the very beginning. But by the time I came into that fandom, there was a real movement to call out racial bias and ignorance in Joe's portrayal. So I thankfully avoided the racism in that fandom because when I got involved in that fandom there was an active will to counter said racism which also made me very careful regarding how I interacted with that fandom. I was just more informed so I protected myself.

The thing I totally forgot while getting into this fandom is that FirstPrince is also an interracial couple. This fandom is very passive in its racism because you can tell fandom racism exists by how people choose to not interact at all with certain elements that are a part of this ship and never has the insidiousness of racism been more obvious than since the movie came out.

It's obvious that a lot of people just didn't engage with the fact that Alex is biracial. The book actually plays a huge part in it because, for the most part, it doesn't do a good job of portraying Alex as someone who comes from two cultures and speaks two languages (even though I have to say that the only time Alex speaks Spanish where it is presented as such in the book is also one of the most beautiful moments in the book and that fact that it isn't talked about nearly as much kind of proves my point). But with the release of the movie, it's harder to ignore Alex's race.

I mean frankly, it is so obvious in the way this fandom treats the actors portraying these characters that they are being confronted by the interraciality of this couple for the very first time.

It's a lot harder to ignore colour on screen.

I love the fact that the director chose to lean into Alex's roots.

But the true impetus for writing this post comes from a fic I recently read which reminded me of this post that I had seen on Tumblr (you can read it here) and combining that with the above issue meant that I felt like I should speak up if only for my own mental peace.

Now, I am very much of the opinion that if you don't like a fanfic you shouldn't engage with it because fanfic writers don't owe you anything. The mere fact that they choose to share their works of art with the public is kind of a very selfless deed. But, I need to talk about this fic because it really started highlighting the issues that insidiously exist in this fandom (we should probably make a drinking game of how many times I use the word insidious in this post).

Henry running away from Alex at the lakehouse is something that only works if you account for the fact that he is an honest-to-god Prince. His actions in any other scenario are just douchey. Fanfic can get very creative and I'm pretty sure that fanfic writers can come up with alternative ways of making this scenario work even in an AU without him being royalty but it needs to be creative to work.

In the book, this works because Henry is a prince and the one thing that I know about the British Monarchy is that it has a will for self-preservation like no other. So you can sympathise with Henry's position without needing the details. It's also important to realise that the monarchy is not just an institution for Henry it's his family. At some point, he is going to be the son of the reigning monarch abdication or not.

But if you try to spin off an AU in which Henry pulls this stunt except with way more viciousness then you better come prepared to make him GROVEL. It really hurt because apparently people reading this fic were angry with Alex for his understandable vindictiveness something I gleaned from the author's notes on the various chapters and not because I read every comment on the fic so I could be wrong about how people were reacting to the events in the fic but clearly the author believed that the events in the fic would garner hate towards Alex which was literally unbelievable to me. Because predictably it's Alex who takes the first step towards reconciliation and Henry literally does the bare minimum. Reading this fic was so disturbing and disconcerting because I don't think the author even realises that they have set such different standards for Henry and Alex in this fic which made it infinitely worse.

Henry's abandonment of Alex just doesn't work if he isn't burdened by something as powerful as the monarchy and I don't get how that isn't obvious.

The Tumblr post I came across also on a similar note is pretty succinct and I like the point it is making.

But it got me thinking and I realised that Henry's initial rejection of Alex can't be read as Henry rejecting Alex, it has to be read while keeping Alex's lived experience in mind. So no matter what Henry said be it the "get rid of him" version from the book or the "get me out of here" version from the movie, it still can't only be about Alex and Henry it also has to be viewed through the lens of race and class differences that exist between these two. It means that Alex not only has to deal with a person being rude to him he has to deal with the fact that this person is rude to him because of things about him that are a fundamental part of who he is. Of course, that isn't the case here but I don't blame him one bit for jumping to conclusions. Also, in this case, context matters and I like the fact that the movie changed the line because with context Henry's position is much more sympathetic than in the book version of his line (which is incidentally never brought up in the book).

I also like the fact that Henry is the first to contact Alex unlike in the book where Alex gives Henry his number and Henry just decides to use it because it showcases a will to know Alex. Henry makes an effort to give this relationship a chance on his own terms which is something I didn't know I needed. It also means that Alex isn't the only one seen fighting for and wanting this relationship. We have express proof that Henry wants it too with not one but two instances in the movie.

I should probably also tell you that so far I haven't encountered a whole lot of racial bias in fics in this fandom so you are actually pretty safe because I'm pretty sure I have read more than fifty fics in this fandom and not one was insidiously racist. The racism is more observable and notable with how this fandom treats the two actors differently but when I read this one fic and yes so far it is only the one fic that I was tempted to quit in the middle but didn't because by that time it had already become the straw that broke the camel's back and I didn't want to critique something I hadn't read in its entirety.

So, here it is whatever this is. I hope this helps in some way either in validating some people's feelings or alternatively making someone else recognise their own bias.

That's it from me!

[qnewsau]

Meet the new cast of 'Drag Race: Down Under'

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/meet-the-new-cast-of-drag-race-down-under/

Meet the new cast of 'Drag Race: Down Under'

Drag Race: Down Under is back, and for the first time in ‘Drag Race’ herstory, Michelle Visage is stepping up to host. 

“Ohhhhh Babies, I am buzzing with excitement for season 4 of ‘Drag Race Down Under.’ The talent this year is unreal, and I’m so proud of these incredible Australasian queens,” Visage told Variety.

“It’s so important for the world to see the diversity and creativity of drag in this region—it’s more than just entertainment, it’s a movement. These queens are putting Aussie and Kiwi drag on the global stage where it belongs, and trust me, they are ready to slay!”

Rhys Nicholson will also be returning to the main judging panel, alongside a rotating cast of Down Under drag royalty.

Meet the new cast of queens ready to snatch the crown below.

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BRENDA BRESSED (Melbourne, VIC), 24 

A high energy, camp performer with a background in musical theatre. Despite her young age, Brenda Bressed is considered to be one of the most polished queens on the Melbourne scene. In 2023 Brenda appeared as one of the finalists on The Voice Australia, belonging to Rita Ora’s team, and has since garnered quite the following. Brenda names Dolly Parton as a key drag inspiration, in awe of her fashion, wigs, musical talent and charity work.

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  A post shared by Freya Armani (@freyaarmani)

FREYA ARMANI (Brisbane, QLD), 24

Originally born in Philadelphia, USA, of Lebanese and Puerto Rican ethnicity, Freya made her way across the pond back in 2011. She started drag in 2019 and has found herself to be booked and blessed ever since, working as a regular at all the biggest gay clubs up and down the Gold Coast. Known for her stage presence, she belongs to the Drag Haus of Thicc, a POC collective in Brisbane and is passionate about innovation and diversity in the industry. In addition to competitive dance experience, she also has years of acting on the stage and screen as well as a Bachelors degree in dramatic training from Queensland University of Technology.

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  A post shared by Karna Ford (@karnaford)

KARNA FORD (Sydney, NSW), 27 

Known for her high energy performance style and sassy attitude, Sydney’s dancing diva can be found jumping off stages and doing the splits. One of the newest queens on the scene, she has quickly become well known with a recent highlight being winning Sydney’s Slay 2 Stay competition. Karna was also a special guest performer at the opening ceremonies for Sydney World Pride, and recently appeared in Jessica Mauboy’s latest music video, “Right here, right now” and on the TV series NCIS Sydney. She would like to incorporate more of her Filipino culture into her performances and travel internationally with drag.

    View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by (@mslazysusan)

LAZY SUSAN (Melbourne, VIC), 32

This queen is pure comedy, known for her zany sense of humour and kooky drag aesthetic, Lazy Susan’s drag is unmatched by any other queen on the Melbourne scene. Her most recent achievements include performing with Charlie XCX, appearing in a Troy Sivan music video and selling out at Melbourne comedy festival. She is also known for her online content, namely her YouTube channel as well as appearing on Kick Ons with Art Simone.

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  A post shared by LUCINA INNOCENCE (@lucinainnocence)

LUCINA INNOCENCE (Auckland, NZ), 28

This queen is a tall drink of water, standing at around 6ft 7 in drag. Lucina has spent the last seven years building up her reputation and is known for her wig styling ability – with some of her work appearing on drag race alumni Yuri Guy & Flor. Lucina is a gorgeous queen who can make her own garments and is known for her live singing performances.

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  A post shared by Mandy Moobs (@mandymoobs)

MANDY MOOBS (Brisbane, QLD), 33

Brisbane’s most accomplished drag costumier, Mandy Moobs offers the most polished looks – some of which have already appeared on the mainstage of RuPaul’s Drag Race Down Under! Known as the ‘mum’ of Brisbane, Mandy’s achievements include having been nominated for Best Drag Artist three years in a row and having represented Australia at the NZ Pride Ski week last year.

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  A post shared by Max (@maxdragqueen)

MAX DRAG QUEEN (Melbourne, VIC), 24

A formidable force on the Melbourne scene, Max Drag Queen is known for pulling out ALL the stunts on stage, as well as belonging to the Isis Avis Loren Dynasty. Max has previously won Best New Talent at the Melbourne’s Drag Awards, won countless drag competitions such as Dragathon, and appeared in a number of national campaigns. Many queens fear having to perform against Max Drag Queen!

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  A post shared by Tony x Nikita (@nikitaiman)

NIKITA IMAN (Auckland, NZ), 27

This Samoan beauty was birthed in the ballroom where she won her first category, “FACE” – which is exactly what she’ll be serving in the competition! After getting a taste of drag, Nikkita ventured out to explore the Auckland club scene and has been unstoppable ever since. Now based in Sydney, Nikita recently made the move to try and break into the scene there.

      View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Olivia Dreams (@oliviadreamsnz)

OLIVIA DREAMS (Wellington, NZ), 26 

Olivia is a young, passionate and high performer who is up and coming on the Wellington scene. She’s been doing drag for three years now and is known for being the quintessential pop diva, able to serve a high energy dance number as well as a ballad. Her biggest achievement so far is producing her own drag show that toured nationwide. Olivia’s star is shining bright. Originally from Te Tai Tokerau and of Te Rarawa descent, she has been calling Te-Whanganui-a-Tara home for the last four years and aims to ensure that Rainbow Wellington is inclusive and supports diverse rainbow and disability communities.

  View this post on Instagram

  A post shared by Vybe (@itsjustvybe)

VYBE (Sydney, NSW), 32

Vybe has been in the Sydney scene for the last 13 years, residing with her drag sister (and brother), RuPaul’s Drag Race Down Under Season 1 contestant Coco Jumbo. Vybe is a polished queen with a killer sense of humour. A regular host at Universal, Stonewall and Arq Sydney, she has performed at major venues, festivals, parties and the incredible Mardi Gras After Party numerous times over the years, as well as working with high profile companies including Qantas, Disney and Playstation.

The new season will premiere on Friday, November 1 on Stan.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[animeraider]

Radio Free California - 2022 on Random Play and a few final thoughts for this FRUSTRATING year.

I thought about making a "best of" list, but I realized that I'd come up with something different every time I tried. So here is a highlight reel, cultivated from all of the 2022 RFC's. Feel free to put together your own list. I recommend putting this on random play for the best possible experience - I just went through all 51 episodes for 2022 and picked the ones that tickled my fancy at that moment. If I tried again tomorrow I would probably pick 246 different songs than are on this list. 

You should subscribe to my weekly playlists to get the full experience.

So what was your 2022 like? I usually do a recap of the previous year as my last blog post but I'm really not feeling it this time around. Face it folks, 2022 SUCKED. I had a decent career year with a couple of hit singles and videos plus my improvised piano album, and I got to see both Roger Waters and Bjork live (not on the same night), but overall...?

I mean, social media imploded and fragmented, led by the Chief Twit. The Previous Motherfucker is STILL hanging on all our necks instead of in prison where he fucking belongs. Far too many Americans embrace Fascism, Racism, and a large portion of the country is now a Hee-Haw version of The Handmaid's Tale.

I can't even imagine how weird it must be to be young in this country. My children grew up in one country and as of this year it no longer exists. They're not like those of us who are old enough to remember how it used to be. 

And just what the ever-lovin' FUCK is it with wanting to destroy power stations? This is supposed to start a race war? How fucking STUPID is that? It's like saying 1+2=Licorice. The sum is less than the parts.

Strangely enough, the Pandemic has put me in a position to leave, and I just might. I'm incredibly fortunate to live in one of the remaining pockets of sanity in this country and I don't want to leave, but I don't want to live in an isolated exception to the rule either. I'd rather the whole country be sane than just my little corner of it with with fascist fucks encroaching from all sides.

I have family in Canada, New Zealand and Spain - so I have options (although I don't speak Spanish). I also have possibly misplaced hope, so I have to admit that the decision isn't an easy one. I haven't made it yet, and there are other's I'd need to convince to come with.

The craziest part about all of this is that on a whole lot of specifics America had a great year. It's just that the terrible parts are so bad that they overwhelm the good parts.

I don't think there is a "best of" 2022 to be had. I think that this has been example after example of wasted talent, potential, and ability. I think of 2022 as a squandered year. There ain't no best to be had.

Now, there's two ways to look at that: To be depressed about it or to be determined to do better. I am choosing the second option.

Taking a step back from Social Media has given me something I hadn't even noticed I had lost: TIME. I reclaim my fucking time.

I have a new single coming out the first week of January and I'm going to focus on it for a bit, but then I'm going to hunker down and fucking FINISH this album that's been percolating for the past decade. Those of you who follow my music career have heard snippets of it, but only small snippets of it. I expect that promoting and performing that album is going to take up a lot of my time in 2023. I have tickets to see Arcade Fire on my birthday, so I'll take that day off.

And then I'm going to gear up for 2024, which I want to be my busiest and most productive year musically ever. There's a couple of reasons for that - a big birthday is coming up in 2024; one my own father didn't reach. Now I don't have his issues and expect to go on for decades yet, but I'm going to fucking CELEBRATE. I hope that the country will still be here for it. Another reason is that I have set a challenge for myself and it's a difficult one, but I damned well want to TRY.

I am absolutely awful at predicting the future, but I still want to try.

So let's shake off this past year, bury it, and roll up them sleeves and get to it. I fucking HATE Hee-Haw.

See you next year.

And because I love you, I leave you with my new single.

[imaginesntingz]

Imagine Gaara comforting you when the depression and anxiety hit

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Swearing(?)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is my first post on this blog. I hope you all enjoy it <3 Please don’t copy any of my works. It’s all originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into my pieces. Please ask me before reposting.

————————-

You were curled up in bed staring into nothingness. The past week or two you’ve tried to keep it at bay, but you felt the ever lingering depression creeping its way in. Nothing in particular happened. It was just always there. There wasn’t a time you could remember it not being there. Sometimes it was muffled like background noise and other times the volume was turned up so loud it was the only thing you could hear. It was your constant companion following you like a shadow. And to top it all off, anxiety was right behind it. You thought about overthinking and overthought about thinking. Racing thoughts kept you up sometimes until the sun shone through the blinds.

Everyone wondered why you were so quiet at times, but they couldn’t hear the ass beating you were getting from your own mind that made it almost impossible to be in the present moment. Nor could you find the energy, the language, nor a fuck to give to even begin to explain the war going on inside you. Temari invited you out to what you thought would be a small kickback yesterday that ended up being a full blown party. Gaara, who was supposed to go with you, was inevitably called in for village business. You ended up socially tapped after just a few hours in. Although Temari was with you and you met up with some chill friends . . Although you were surrounded by people, you still felt completely alone. Although you heard the words coming out of their mouths, you couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Although you were physically there, you weren’t there. You wanted so badly to just enjoy yourself like everyone else, but it was what it was. After pleading with your sister in law, you finally went home only to find that Gaara was still in the office. One final push that sent you

Spiraling

down

And there you were exhausted but painfully awake in the darkness of your shared room. You didn’t know how long you were lying there. There was no time, only the bottomless ocean that swallowed anything and everything you tried to drop into it. No amount of journaling, affirmations, meditation, prayer, movement, walking, entertainment, pet cuddling, food, water, medication, vitamins, herbs, epsom salt baths, incense, face masks or any of the methods you’ve tried felt tangible to you in that moment. What was the point when you didn’t even have the will to move? How could you think of going on a mission next week when you couldn’t guarantee you’d attempt to leave your room tomorrow? How were you going to take care of your hair if you couldn’t even braid, twist or put it up for the night? How could you call yourself a caring friend when you’re thinking about canceling the dinner you’ve already rescheduled twice?

“My love? Why are you still awake?”

Your husband’s soothing voice jolted you out of your inner dialogue. You hadn’t even heard him come in, too lost in the wall in front of you.

“ . . . Can’t sleep.”

You heard the sound of the door closing and hushed shuffling as he moved around the room. A few moments later, you felt his weight dip the mattress beside you. A warm arm wrapped around your middle, gently pulling you to his chest. His hand moved to intertwine with yours as he spooned you from behind.

“How did it go with Temari? Again I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go with you. I hope you had a good time.”

“It’s fine. It was fine.” you replied flatly.

Gaara caressed the back of your thumb with his own as silence filled the space between you. His lips met the skin of your shoulder and you felt your body gradually relax into his embrace. He was never one to push you when you weren’t ready to talk and always made you feel grounded back to earth with his very presence. Even amidst his many responsibilities as Kazekage, he always made sure to check in on you and provide whatever you may want or need. He would do anything for you if it meant you would feel loved, safe, balanced and happy. Gaara, sweet Gaara, was the love of your lifetimes and you, his. He knew you better than he knew himself and picked up on every detail. Your likes and dislikes. How you took your tea in the morning. Your sensitivities. Every expression. Your body language. The tone in your voice. The slightest change in your eyes. So it was no surprise that he picked up on the shift in your mood right away.

“(y/n) . . . Sweetheart, It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but please know that I am here. I love you more than words can express. I am here to listen and support you in any way that I can. I always will be. You know that, right?”

And with that, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Your body trembled as he maneuvered you to face him. He wrapped his arms firmly around you, cocooning you into the safety of his hold. You buried your face into his chest and the calming scent of earth and cinnamon enveloped your senses. Your tears and running nose wetted the shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. Soft kisses were pressed to the crown of your head as his fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine, occasionally drawing soothing circles. You turned your head to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart pressed against you before finally catching your breath to speak.

“I-I’m just so tired of fighting just to be okay all the time. I’ve been taking steps to take care of my mental health, but it still feels like it isn’t enough. It’s like one day I’m fine and a couple days later it feels like I’m back at square one. I just want to exist sometimes. No expectations. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be.”

He squeezed you gently at your words, pausing thoughtfully before responding.

“You once told me that your dream is to become the peace within and despite the chaos inside of you. The chaos all around us. You said that you wish to heal yourself and pass on healing to others. I know it is easy to lose sight of it when you’re in the midst of what feels like a never ending battle, but I wanted to remind you of it because I never want you to lose hope.”

Your eyes widened in shock and turned glassy as he continued on.

“You have brought me out of the depths of the greatest despair and have played a huge role in supporting me in healing from my past. Your love is medicine to my heart. There were times when I was lost that you reminded me to never lose sight of my dream. To never lose sight of what truly matters. Even in the most difficult times, you have always found hope where others have felt hopeless. That is one of the many reasons I love you. I am your husband, so let me be your strength when you are tired and feel you can’t go on because you are my strength, dear wife. We can get through this together. Remember that healing is a lifelong journey, not a destination. So take it one day at a time. Hour by hour or minute by minute if that’s what it takes. You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, but look how far you’ve come to be here. Right now. How much you’ve grown. I want you to know that I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I hope that you can come to be proud of your accomplishments too.”

A fresh wave of tears came over you, but for a completely different reason this time. You practically tackled your poor mans onto his back and your lips met in an intense yet equally loving kiss. His hands worshipped the expanse of your hips and time fell away. Vibrations hummed throughout your body as you pulled back to look into those seafoam green eyes. His red hair and pale complexion highlighted by the light of the moon peeking through the window. He was ethereal.

“I love you, Gaara. So much. I am so happy that you exist. Honestly when you speak so openly and directly like that I feel like my heart is gonna burst through my chest . . . fuckkkk. In a good way though! But seriously, thank you for being you. I never thought I’d be able to say this to someone without fear, but . . when I am with you, I know that I am home. You are my home, love. ”

His eyes softened before a huge grin spread across his now blushing features. Gaara didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a sight to behold. It was like feeling the warmth of a sunrise for the first time. An all encompassing glow.

He sat up and cupped both of your cheeks in his hands, tears now mirroring your own. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Do you know how beautiful you are? Truly? Your beauty radiates from the inside out. Honestly, what have I done to deserve you?”

“Sir, have you taken a good look at yourself lately? That’s my line. Fight me. Right now.” you deadpanned playfully.

A look of genuine concern crossed over his face. His hands settled on your waist and his posture noticeably drooped.

“(y/n), I would never fight you.”

“ . . . Gaara, I was just joking. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Mhm.”

“ . . . Right. I should have known. I’ll do better next time.” he sighed dejectedly.

Your body shook with laughter at your man’s adorably serious face. He’s always trying his best. Only Gaara could go from holding space through your tears of sadness, to making you cry from happiness, to having you doubled over with laughter within a matter of moments just by being authentically himself.

“I love you so fucking much, my sweet Gaara.”

“And I, you. My beautiful (y/n).”

You both slept soundly that night in a tangle of limbs, not knowing where one ended or the other began. Two, who together, are one.

[f1notebook]

Max Verstappen's career

Here you have the little post about Max's career like I promise. For this one we are kind of doing a test, it's a preposition my lovely @babssionate did and I am thinking about it for a while so let's see how it works.

So you have the 5 pages of Max's career on the top, without comments like I always did. Now I am taking some info I want to talk about and so I can do it. Let me know what you think !

So let's start with the first one :

The real interesting thing here is that Max only made a year in single-seater juniors, he never drove in the F2 championship for example. And he went from karting to F3 immediately, not droving in Formula Renault or similar categories.

Max was karting until 2013, it was the year he won the World KZ Championship. That winter he tested various cars, one of them being the F3 car and decided to drive in that category. He didn't win it but he came 3rd, which isn't bad at all. The big surprise comes here, when Red Bull decides to put him in an F1 car at 17 years old, the youngest F1 driver ever.

It could have been a disaster, with only one year in single-seater it was a risky move that most of the drivers couldn't take as normally they need time to learn and to progress. However, Max didn't let anyone indifferent with his drive style (I won't talk about it as I believe @race-week would do it wayyyy better so nicely ask her if she can if she hasn't done it yet)

You can see his precocity on the team he needed to make his way from Torro Roso to Red Bull, help a little bit by Daniil but it's still insane, especially looking at his results and the fact he won his first race with Red Bull but you all know that story.

Another very interesting thing in Max's career is his loyalty to Red Bull and how he always stays with them, 100% of his F1 career has been made with a Red Bull team.

Going now to the stats one ! Let be honest, If you don't follow F1, and you hear something about this Max Verstappen guy and go check his stats, you will think he isn't that good. Of course these stats don't include the 2021 season as it still going and I don't know when I will post this when I do it.

But the truth is, 119 starts over 6 seasons and only 10 wins. However what I highlighted here is something I found very interesting, the difference between the wins and the podiums. Looking at it you can just think he doesn't have what it takes to win, however knowing the sport it's completely normal.

Until now, Max was always in a car that wasn't competitive to win championships, a car that was good in some circuit like Brazil or Austria, but didn't make the difference during all championship.

Another interesting way of looking at it is the podiums, because if we say Max's car wasn't perfect and good enough to win, that means a car was, in this case, Mercedes, they were then, theoretically 1-2, one spot left in the podium, however, Max has a teammate that has the same car as him. So the 42 podiums show how dominant he has been on the team. Of course, this isn't math, is a sport, and Mercedes aren't always on the podium 1-2, but it's stats over 100 races with 42 podiums, so at some podium, the tendency is confirmed when he has 35% of podiums.

There is two more very interesting points on this page, first, something I didn't highlight but I should have, is the point Max has in F1, 1162 from 2015 to 2020, 38% of what he could have (fastest point included since 2019), but one even more important point that isn't here, it that Max very rarely finished outside the points. When he doesn't get points is mostly because he didn't show the checkered flag, interesting no ?

The last one is the number of pole positions, even if Max never had the fastest car on the grid, qualifying was not his biggest strength, he is way better during the race, overtaking than doing a perfect lap. (But again, it's about his driving style).

Moving now to the Championship tracker, the progression from Torro Roso to Red Bull is absolutely insane, but I already spoke about it here. However, I highlighted the positions he finished during his F1 career and how consistent he has been through the years, here again, at least for 2019 and 2020, the theory of the Mercedes is true again.

The last one, and what I believe, one of the most intresting ones. I obviously put a spotlight on the pole position by year, Max had to wait until 2018 for his first pole position, for the record, from 2016 to 2018, Red Bull only had 1 pole position in Monaco 2016.

Now, my favorite part, the number of podiums, for the info, the 2018 and 2019 calendar had 21 races and the 2020 calendar had 17 races.

Knowing that, it means Max was able to score 52,38% of the available podiums in 2018, 47,62% in 2019 and more importantly 64% in 2020. Those numbers are absolutely insane for a driver that wasn't battle for the championship win or wasn't in a car that won the championship constructors'.

Coming to the end of this post, I think we can all agree Max has a great talent, especially look at his career and how he arrived in F1 and stay, doing well and been consistent.

I wanted to add a little note to something that isn't in the graphs but I believe is important to know and remember. When Max arrived in F1, he was involved in a couple of accidents, and that image stayed in the minds of a lot of people, I think is fair to remember Max has progressed and improved a lot since his F1 debut, and he is nearly never involved in an accident, especially been the guilty one. Most of his DNF have been due to engine and mechanics problems. Remember here that Max has only 2 penalty points on his superlicence. (I wrote this a week before Monza, I just edited the 2 that was a 0 before, I decided to let this part as I believe Max improved a lot since he joined F1 and I like to highlight that)

I really hope you enjoy this post, I wanted to thank @babssionate for the idea and remembering her how amazing she is !

I mentioned a sort of post @race-week does about the driving style, I don't know she already did it with Max, if she hasn't you can always ask but please, I beg you, be nice to this sweetheart, ask nicely and remember she has other things to do !

The next one on the list is Sergio ! Hope he will come soon, probably after the next race !

If you have some time please check the links below

If you want to talk about Max' career and this post, send me an ask (anon or not)

My linktree | My Redbubble store | Tell me your opinion on my work (google forms)

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite (Casetello)

AN: do these two have a ship name? Caseytello? eh whatever it’s casey x donnie and they’re gay

special thanks to cal for reading this for me and saying i should post it <3

There were quite a lot of things Casey Jones loved. Hockey, pizza, riding his motorcycle, video games, beating the crap out of his opponents. Normal teenage stuff. Lately he had been doing the latter, ever since he and April officially joined the 'Unofficial Turtles Team' , helping alongside the teen mutants on patrol. Goofing off with Mikey and Raph were the highlights, but he couldn't deny spending extra time with April was also a benefit. Even if they barely got a single word out- too busy fighting off random mutants scattering the city, it was still nice.

But what wasn't nice, downright unpleasant about patrol...was Donatello. There was an unspoken, mutual loathing that the pair shared that even quick glances at each other led to glaring and arguing. Leaving them together in the same room was never a good idea. Casey hasn't understood why the purple genius was so hostile towards him at first. But the reasons became obvious the first time he caught him staring helplessly at April, fumbling his words and blushing profusely. Not that Casey didn't feel similarly, heck, that was the problem. Both were attracted to April. Obviously Casey had the upper hand, being human. A turtle and a human girl in a relationship was built for disaster.

But their hatred didn't stop there. It wasn't just about April.  Eventually, everything about Donatello annoyed him. His whiny voice, his love for using complicated words to sound superior, soon every little thing bugged him.

Things were easier if the two stayed as far apart as possible.

Of course, fate seemed to work in mysterious ways.

It was starting to get late, the moonlight illuminating the sky. The group stopped on a rooftop, perched by the edge. Leo halted them silently, then turned around.

"Why'd you stop, Fearless?" Raph asked.

"I think we should split up. We'll cover more ground. If you see any sign of trouble, use your T-Phones." said Leo.

"No way dudes!" Mikey squeaked. "I saw this scary movie last night where the team split up! And then..." He paused for dramatic effect. "They all got taken out one by one. Starting with the cute funny one!" He trembled, hiding behind Donnie, who rolled his eyes.

Raph smirked, always prepared for a sassy remark. "Which means, you'll be just fine since you're neither of those."

"Hey!"

"And you'll be in pairs." Leo crossed his arms. "I've got it all planned out. Raph and April. Mikey and me."

"Mikey and I." Donnie corrected under his breath. Casey fought the urge to whack the smart aleck turtle with his hockey stick.

Leo ignored him. "Donnie and Casey-"

Casey involuntary let out a loud groan. Just his luck.

Leo narrowed his blue eyes, unamused. "Something wrong, Jones?"

"Er..." His eyes darted to Donatello, who seemed stoic, but equally frustrated with this predicament. On one hand, he wanted to argue and beg to be with literally anyone else. On the other, he didn't want to deal with the leader in blue getting annoyed with him.  "Nah Leo, that's fine by me. Right, D?"

Donnie huffed. "Yeah, that's alright."

"I think this will be good for you both." April grinned.

"Of course, April." Donnie agreed.

"No problem at all." Casey smiled through gritted teeth. When she turned away, they both shared an equally menacing glare.

"I knew I could count on you two." April smiled softly, though even she didn't look entirely convinced.

This was going to be a long night.

~•~

Turns out, Casey had underestimated the scrawny (ugh, svelte) turtle. In what Donnie lacked in muscle, he gained with his speed, mobility and of course, his mind. It was practically impossible to keep up once Donatello had leaped from the first building, tumbling and landing with ease, while Casey was coughing his lungs out as he ran desperately after the brainy terrapin.

"Okay, now you're just showing off." He panted irritably, nearly collapsing once he finally caught up with him.

"Are you coming or not?" Donnie gave his trademark gap tooth grin as he turned, slowing down.

"I am! You're just moving too fast!" Casey complained. "I thought turtles were supposed to be slow! I didn't even have time to get my grappling hook."

Donnie shrugged, ending the conversation with one simple movement.

They walked side by side, neither wanting to say anything. They both knew it would only end in arguing.

"Can I just say-" Casey started.

"No, you can't."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Exactly."

"Listen, Gap Tooth, I don't like this either!" He flicked a stone off the roof with his shoe. "But we have to ..." He swallowed. "work together, right?"

Donnie said nothing. He looked deep in thought.

"Is it because of April? Because it's not my fault she...y'know likes me more."

At the mention of April, Donnie turned away, eyes flashed with hurt, which only filled Casey with that annoying feeling of guilt.

"It isn't about her."

"Alright." Silence. "Sorry, let's just-" He cleared his throat. "Let's just work together, we don't need to be friends. Just get through the mission. After that, we can go back to hating each other."

"That was...surprisingly mature, Jones. Glad we can agree on something." Donnie quipped. "And for once, you're right. This mission is more important than our petty squabbles. No matter how insufferable you may be."

"Now you're just making up words."

Donnie fought the urge to roll his eyes. "So, that's two more hours of this."

Casey scoffed, but couldn't help but chuckle. Quietly of course. Last thing he wanted was for Donnie to think he was actually amusing.

"So...deal?"

"Deal." Donnie said, then added: "Cave Mouth." Which made Casey shove him lightly.

For a brief moment, they seemed to share a mutual understanding. The silence that followed wasn't awkward or forced, it was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as they could possibly be.

Donnie paused, startled by something. Lifting his bō carefully, he tried to follow whatever the sound was.

"What the-" Casey raised an eyebrow.

"Shh!" He hissed. "Do you hear that?"

"No?" Casey scrunched his nose, listening closely. It sounded like a...buzzing noise? Like a fly or mosquito. Irritating, but not dangerous. "Chill Don, it's just a bug or something."

"No, listen!" The turtle looked frantic and alert.

The buzzing became louder. Then, it was followed by the sound of snapping wood. Deliberate and exact. Casey gulped, taking his own weapon.

A massive shadow flew over their heads and landed in front of them. Donnie yelped in surprise, stumbling forward.

"Ah, shell." He swore, lifting his head to face the hideous insectoid mutant with acid green eyes. Scumbug spread his deformed wings, antenayes raised, prepared to strike.

"Well, I was right. That definitely is a bug. Scumbug! Wicked! This'll be fun!" Casey sneered.

"Which makes no sense, considering stag beetles aren't even bugs! They're insects!" Donnie spun his staff like a propeller, hitting the mutant face on.

"Not the time!" Casey tackled Scumbug, who roared, jostling him aside like a ragdoll. He smacked the floor with a sickening thud, directly on his arm. He fought back a scream of agony.  "Do you- gah- seriously have to be such a know it all, all the time?" He looked at his arm, which currently looked seriously messed up.

Donnie looked affronted. "I am not a know it all!"

"Yes you are!" Another whack of his trusty hockey stick, followed by a knock to the ground, face first. He wiped his mouth from the metallic taste of blood.

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you- Donnie, look out!" Casey shrieked, sounding less manly than he intended.

Scumbug, now furious, had efficiently used his enemies' bickering to his advantage. Before he could turn around, a spider web twirled from its appendages binding Donatello to the ground, who kicked and struggled furiously.

The mutant now crouched over the captured turtle, prepared to strike with his signature acid spit.

"Hang on, D! Casey Jones is here to save the day! GOONGALA!" He bellowed, racing towards Scumbug and latching onto him like a demented parasite. It was hardly the most graceful of moves, but it distracted him briefly.

He raised his hockey stick, poking him hard in the eye in an attempt to gouge them. Eyes were sensitive- he remembered Splinter telling him that.

With the extra time, Donnie reached for his bō, ripping the web apart with the extended naginata blade.

Scumbug, now looking more disheveled and horrifically disfigured than normal, retreated blindly into the misty air.

"I didn't need your help." Donnie said bitterly.

"Aw, is that any way to say thank you?" Casey retorted. "I just saved your shell." He poked his plastron roughly. "I think I deserve a little appreciation for my heroism."

"I had it handled."

"Did you? Because you looked just about ready to be eaten by Scumbug."

Donatello scowled, moving closer. "And he got away. So your heroism didn't exactly work, did it?"

"Would you rather have acid stuck to your face?" Casey growled. "You'd look even freakier than you do now. Next time you're a little 'turtle in distress' don't expect me to come save your-"

"I didn't need saving." Their foreheads pressed together, any moment ready to face each other on.

Casey gritted his teeth. "Sure, whatever you say. I didn't help because I actually cared about you or anything."

"Then why did you?" Donnie snapped, pulling away. "You could have left me."

"Because I- you- argh!" Casey felt his temper rising. "Because I'm not a monster, alright? We're a team, and we help each other. That's the deal." He wiped his chapped lips again, the disgusting taste of blood still lingering. He winced, clutching his arm.

"I can patch you up at the lair." Donnie said softly. "It just looks sprained."

"Mm." Casey grumbled, still pissed. Stubbornness was taking over any injury he had. He'd rather have his arm stay at this awkward angle than admit he was hurt in front of his rival. "I'll just wrap it up at home. I'll be fine."

Donnie sighed, raising his palm to his face. "Don't be so stubborn, I can help you."

Casey didn't look convinced.

"To repay the favor?" His warm brown eyes looked surprisingly sincere. "You did help me, after all. I'd probably be toast if you didn't."

Casey snorted. "You got that right."

A beat. Donnie looked unsure, as if he wanted to say something else. But whatever it was, it was holding him back.

"So...we should go back to the lair then?" Casey suggested, easing the awkwardness.

"Huh? Yes, of course. Totally. " Donnie nodded. "Naturally."

"Alright then."

"Jones?"

Casey turned, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say...thanks."

"Hey, no problem. But don't tell anyone I saved your ass."

"Deal."

~•~

Casey never expected to be sitting in Donnie's lab table, in between Timothy the blob-organ filled mutant and several bunsen burners, but life tended to be weird that way. He also didn’t expect to be pouting on said table like he was at some freaky doctor’s office. The rest of the team returned shortly after them, and seemed surprised that Donnie was actually willing to fix Casey's arm- and not begrudgingly.

Donnie returned with a first aid kit, setting it on the table. He hummed a familiar tune to himself, as if to fill the empty air of any more awkwardness.

"I've seen these before." Casey said, poking the bunsen burner tap, immediately then swatted away by Donatello. "At my school's science lab."

Donnie nodded, rolling up Casey's sleeve to examine his bare arm. Casey flinched, not comfortable with the random act of touching. "Hey don't!"

"Do you want your arm fixed or not?"

"...yeah."

"Then let me work my magic."

Casey frowned, staring at the bottle the turtle was holding. "Your magic looks like antibiotics and advil."

Donnie's lip twitched.

After his arm was treated somewhat, Donnie wrapped him up gently with a clean bandage. The slow movement made his heart race increase every time Donnie's fingertips brushed his arm, but he ignored it.

Don't be weird, Jones.

"That should be good. Don't put any pressure on it." said Donnie, passing him the advil. "And take this, it'll soothe the pain."

Casey pretended to look offended. "Here I thought you were gonna kiss it better."

Donnie rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't push it, Jones. We aren't there yet."

Casey laughed. "Yet. Thanks for fixin' my arm, D. You...aren't so bad, I guess. But let's go back to hating each other, alright?"

Donnie smirked. "Whatever you say."

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[bluebuckstallion]

the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

-

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.."  he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

[violet-t-9]

My take on why Caleb doesn’t trust Astrid and Eadwulf

Why does Caleb not trust Astrid even though she helped the M9 multiple times by now and let them leave? Well, Liam has always kept good track of what happened in previous episodes of the campaign and I believe Caleb was drawing information from all his previous encounters with Astrid and Eadwulf, so here is just some highlights on what they know about them so far. This is another long post. Again, all quotes are not exact and straight from my memory. This is just my biased personal interpretations so take it as you will.

To illustrate my points, I recommend that you watch the Narrative Telephone episode Widogast’s Web of Words. It described the three of them this way:

1. Eadwulf as the boy whose mind was eaten, and he had “no mind of his own”.

2. Astrid as the girl whose eye was cut out, and she “never saw true again”.

3. Caleb as the boy whose heart was swallowed he “never knew love again”.

1. Eadwulf: From all the interactions we have seen with Eadwulf in it, he always appeared to defer to Astrid/Trent and this very much reminded me of the “no mind of his own” aspect. He “looks to Astrid” for what to do for multiple situations, and is clearly pretty content to be a follower. Otherwise, Eadwulf didn’t get to interact with Caleb a lot in general so to Caleb he must still be kind of an enigma. Whenever Eadwulf did answer Caleb’s questions he seemed like he was pretty content in his role as a Volstrucker as well and was pretty nonchalant about his job (basically talking about it like a summer job and very casually) without showing any hesitancy about what he does/carrying out his missions. His apparent association with the Raven Queen fascinates me and I don’t think Caleb knows what to make of that either. So far from what we’ve seen, Eadwulf clearly still cares about Caleb but also has lost some capacity to think for himself due to the trauma and abuse he suffered. This may also be why Eadwulf could be harder to reach than Astrid in a sense. So far, he has not given any indicator that he doesn’t believe in Trent’s system.

2. Astrid: “never saw true again” gave me the impression of her being “blind” to what is actually right and the true nature of Trent’s system, and given the evidence so far Caleb is right to think she is still buying into Trent’s ideology. When Caleb went to Astrid’s house to talk with her, she apologized and Caleb made a very high insight check. Astrid was “genuinely mournful for his pain” but there is also something “hardened” in her that was more like a “I’m sorry that you have suffered, as many people have, life is suffering and sometimes it is necessary”. Clearly, she on some level believe that what they are doing as Volstruckers to be the right thing. She said she felt guilty about her actions sometimes, but did believe that they were making a necessary sacrifice to protect the rest of the empire. Caleb even remarked that “he blinded you”. Basically, Astrid thought that Trent’s system and ideology is a necessary evil that is ultimately good for the empire because the Volstrucker does hard things so civilians can be safe. However, there is doubt in her, especially since Caleb continued to try to reach her. She made a remark at the dinner episode, something like “what we did was for the greater good... right?” and she sounded uncertain. I do think changing her mind would be easier and she may have started to see the flaw in Trent’s system already. As of right now though, Astrid seems to be already training other Volstruckers (I could be wrong, but she mentioned “tutelage”) and Caleb/Liam’s comment about her buying into the system is clearly not mistaken based on what we have seen from her so far. 

She is also ambitious in a sense that she wants to replace Trent, and she keeps reminding Caleb of that (”race you to the top”, “he is just an old man...”, “it could be an opportunity if you struck first”). She sees Caleb as an opportunity (I think Matt confirmed something about it or about her ambition when the Traveler was analyzing Astrid but can’t quite remember). She clearly doesn’t like Trent, and wants Trent gone, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t believe in Trent’s system (all evidence suggests she does still buy into it). She also likely wants to use Caleb to further her own goals, and like Fjord said “not in an evil way” but that Caleb defying Trent would be very beneficial/convenient for her own goals. She clearly still cares about Caleb a lot and is happy to see him again, and like I said, this doesn’t mean she is trustworthy. Caleb’s concern is mostly what Astrid would do if she does replace Trent and he is right to assume things wouldn’t change much given Astrid’s belief in the system right now (her mindset of “Volstruckers are necessary and they do the dirty work so the empire can thrive”). Her helping M9 doesn’t really cancel out her ideology, it just shows that she genuinely cares for Caleb. Furthermore, so far Caleb’s presence is good for her goals. We don’t really know what she would do if Caleb appears more a threat than a benefit to her ambitions one day. 

So far, Caleb is the first one to break away from Volstruckers and I do think that gives Astrid hope that Trent can be taken down, but she could very well want to keep the program around if she ever gets in charge after Trent. She is very much dangerous, ambitious, conflicted and fascinating. Her caring for Caleb is clearly not all of her character, she has her own plots and I love her for it (thanks Liam for developing this character) and I love how Matt portrays her.

3. Caleb: another reason why Caleb may not trust his “old friends” is that his heart has very much been broken. “He never knew love again” is an apt description. This is more just interpretation from my part, but I think Caleb has partially lost his ability to trust others and he doesn’t trust anyone outside the M9, his immediate found family and their extended families (it took him a LONG time to trust them as well). Honestly? He is for the most part right to not trust people so far (exhibit A: Essek reveal) and all his paranoia from early episodes have come true, so I would not be surprised that this one does as well. [I wanted to use Yussa as a counter argument for trusting people then I remembered they trusted him with the knowledge of Aeor and he proceeded to yeet himself into the astral sea in 48 hours (the poor man).] 

So yeah, reason 3 is that Caleb is just not a very trusting individual in general. He has expressed that he loved Astrid and Eadwulf, but that feeling has of course faded after more than a decade of not seeing them. He does still care for the both of them, but he does not - and should not - trust them to want to reform the Volstrucker system and change the Empire the way that Caleb wants it changed. 

Now there is clearly still hope that Eadwulf and Astrid can change their mind, especially if Caleb keeps reaching out. Astrid has already shown some hesitancy and reconsideration. They also both helped the M9. I do believe that it is possible for them to eventually see Trent’s system as it is, and they have the capacity to change for the better. Right now though? Yeah, they are still pretty much buying into Trent’s system as far as I can tell. Helping M9, caring for Caleb and wanting Trent dead are separate issues and have nothing to do with what they believe in ideology-wise. I really hope that Caleb does make it back and gets to try reaching out to them again after the whole city thing is dealt with. I am very excited to see where both of these characters will go. They are very complex and fun to think about.

[emilyoftheshadows]

Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see a cute guy/gal/person smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, bit this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

So, this is the first piece I have written and posted here! This is a fluffy drabble loosely based on the prompt above as well as some tik tok ideas i've seen. I hope you enjoy and don't judge too hard :)

~~~~~~

Aelin never knew that she could feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. The hectic events she had endured earlier in her day had left her drained and in dire need of sleep.

She started out her mornings as usual - brewing her coffee with the help of an overly excited Fleetfoot. On the subway ride to work, coffee in hand, she explicitly remembered checking her emails for any important notices regarding her job. As an advertising agent, she dealt with multiple clients at one time. With her meticulously organized calendar and the help of her overworked assistant Marion, she was usually able to keep everything in check. Today was not one of those days.

As she entered her office, Marion greeted her with her tablet in hand- Aelin’s schedule color coded, labeled and sorted by hour.

 “Good morning Ms. Galathynius, ready to hear your schedule for today?” Aelin nodded, sipping her coffee as Marion listed her client meetings for the upcoming day. As they entered her office, Aelin paused.

“Marion, could you please repeat that first meeting  again?”

“The Havilliard Scotch pitch at 12?” And that was when Aelin knew she was fucked. This pitch was meant for a well known drinking company in New York, fast on the come up. Havilliard Sr. was known to be picky about his branding, scrutinizing most agencies that had helped him before. She had barely gotten this client, practically begging Nehemia for the job. As she worked the branding, she had become worried about the content she was producing.

She was so worried about this pitch, that she had taken her laptop home last night in hopes of triple checking her work for mistakes and to fine tune some details. And that's where her laptop was at that moment. At her apartment, across town, sitting on her desk, collecting dust. Her mind raced at how to solve her predicament. The subway ride to and from her apartment was too long of a trip to make before the meeting and, like an amateur, she hadn’t saved her files anywhere else but her laptop. She was completely fucked. 

Marion stood in the doorway, confused on what was going on in Aelin’s head. Aelin decided to finally release herself from her stupor. “Marion, could you please go find Aedion for me? And tell him it’s an emergency.”

With a determined look on her face, her assistant went as fast as her short legs could carry her to Aedion’s office on the adjacent part of the building floor she was on. Within minutes, Aedion was standing at her door, panting like he had just sprinted the fastest race of his life. The good thing about having her overbearing cousin work with her, is that she knew that in any problem he would help in an instant. And this was one hell of a fucking problem.

“What happened Aelin? Are you okay? Were you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“You idiot I am physically fine, but still screwed and I need your help.” Aedion released the first breath Aelin had seen him take since entering her office.

“You know, when Marion power walked into my office saying you had an EMERGENCY and she didn’t know what was wrong with you, I definitely thought you would be passed out on your floor with blood on your face. But, you know, thanks for the heart attack. Really woke me up this morning.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes at him. He was more dramatic than her, and that spoke volumes in itself. 

“Aedion, please it really is an emergency. I have the big pitch for the Havilliard Scotch today and I left my laptop with the presentation at my apartment.” Aedion’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that Aelin had been obsessed about this pitch and that mistakes like this only happened to her once in a blue moon. Aelin saw understanding dawn on his face and took that as a sign to continue.

“Now, I know a while back I sent you the rough drafts of the branding from when I first got the pitch. Is there any chance that you have the email or presentation saved still? If I have the basis of the presentation, I have an hour to build on it and hopefully fix this.”

Aedion’s face fell at the request. “We can go look, but you know I’m not the best at organizing my files Ace. It could be anywhere on my computer or not at all.” With those reaffirming words, Aelin and Aedion walked at a brisk pace back to his office. Combing through Aedion’s computer was an agonizing process. There were files saved from years ago that should��ve been deleted, and backtracking through all the contents of his computer made Aelin want to stab her eyes out. But it was all worth it, because hidden in the depths of this man’s terribly organized computer was the presentation. With a quick click of a button, she emailed the document to herself. She gave a half ass hug to Aedion, then practically ran to her office to start reworking her pitch on the computer there.

--

Aelin believed it was pure adrenaline that enabled her to finish her pitch in time for the Havilliard meeting. With a strong foundation laid out before her from her first draft, she had constructed almost her exact pitch that was left at home. Aelin waited for the Havilliards in the boardroom, smoothing out her clothes as she paced at the front. Far too soon, Marion escorted Havilliard Sr., Dorian Havilliard, and their close friend and partner Chaol Westfall into the room for her presentation. The three men had sat down in silence with no introduction, except for a small encouraging smile from the younger Havilliard. Taking that as her sign to start, Aelin cleared her throat.

“Hello gentlemen, today I want to present to you the future of Havilliard Scotch…”

---

As the men had exited the room single file, Aelin finally allowed herself to relax. That had felt like the longest pitch of her life. Going into the meeting, she had known the men were notorious for being extremely serious and critical of their agents. What she had not expected was the whispered words between the men after she had finished her presentation. As she looked on, Dorian Havilliard had finally broken away from their circle to address her.

“Miss Galathynius, thank you for your time. We will get back to you shortly about our decision to run with this branding or not.” With a quick nod and gesture to his companions, the trio had stood up and left the room. She was utterly shocked. Aelin had poured her sweat and tears into this pitch, quite literally, and they had just thanked her and left. No critiques, no opinions, no nothing. 

Quite honestly, Aelin was exhausted. She had spent most of her brain power reworking that pitch in that 45 minutes before that meeting and she had nothing left to give today. Yet, she still had a full schedule left to woo clients and work on her other projects. By the time Aelin trudged back to the subway, she was ready for a nice dinner at home followed by a restorative night of sleep with Fleetfoot at her side. 

Now, as she entered the subway, she immediately noticed the mystery man sitting down a few feet away from her. The man was moderately built, with muscles that were outlined by the fabric of his long sleeve t-shirt. His style was simple with a pair of nice jeans and Doc Marten boots, but that just allowed one's focus to settle on the beautiful creation that was his face. Mystery man had a strong jawline, lined with a bit of stubble and scruff. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green like none that she had seen before, his head topped with luscious silver hair. As the subway started, Mystery Man continued to sketch drawings into his book. Now, Aelin was never one to back  down from an opportunity to flirt with one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. She was a single woman in a big city, why the hell not. But her day had taken a toll on her, and she just didn’t know if this was the right time or place. So, she opted to put in her headphones as she waited for her stop, listening to relaxing music to calm her anxieties regarding the failed Havilliard pitch. 

 Seeing that her stop was next, Aelin rose from her seat to wait in line for the doors to open. As she waited, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Low and behold, there was the Mystery Man standing next to her with a piece of paper in hand. As she pulled her headphone out, the man silently handed her the paper. Looking down, she saw a pencil sketch of herself on the subway. The drawing was beautifully done with bold lines and harsh shading, contrasted by highlights created from the fluorescent lights of the subway. Her eyes welled up, immediately grateful for this thoughtful gift after such a horrible day. The Mystery Man saw her emotions, startled to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I just… I like to draw and when I saw you… I mean, it’s just you’re so stunning..” The man’s face flushed red as he tried to justify his beautiful art. Aelin laughed out loud for the first time today at his misunderstanding of her swell of emotions. 

“Oh no, these are just tears of..uhmm.. happiness? I guess…” She started to flush at her own awkwardness, trying to explain her emotions this time.

“I just had a really rough day and feel like shit. But this drawing is beautiful and I really am grateful that such a talented artist like yourself chose me as your muse today.” Aelin watched as the Mystery Man reacted to such a lavish compliment, somehow developing an even deeper blush with a shy smile . Gaining confidence from his reaction, she decided to make her move before she exited for her upcoming stop. 

“Hey, Mystery Man, why don’t I give you my number? Seeing that I am your muse and all, I would really like to learn more about your art.” It was a subpar pickup line at best, but hey, she had a long day and for the circumstance she thought it good enough. The man gave a deep timbered laugh at her pickup line, clearly enjoying their conversation now. 

“I think I might be one step ahead of you actually. Flip the drawing over.” As she flipped the paper, she saw a messy scrawl with the name Rowan, and what she could only assume was his number. The sight of these two things brought her complete giddiness. Giddiness that made you want to jump in the air and pump your fist because you're so excited. She looked up at Rowan, smirking as she tucked the piece of paper into her purse.

As the subway doors opened and they were pushed apart by bypassers, she turned around one last time to look at the man who had brightened her day beyond belief. She winked at Rowan as she walked away, not missing the wide smile he gave in return as the subway doors closed and continued on to the next stop.

[parkersbliss]

i saw your hc about the avengers and one direction was mentioned so i had an idea where the reader stayed up on july 23rd and she was crying because of one direction and then the avengers come in and ask what is wrong but when they say what happened they can’t stop laughing or something like that. hopefully that made sense :)

this may or may not be how my day went??

If y’all want more directioner reader stuff I am so down

Manifesting | Avengers

—

So obviously, like any other directioner fan, you were not ready

Here’s the picture: it’s July 22nd, 9 P.M New York time

You’re in your room, listening to one direction and crying your eyes out

It’s like Christmas Eve, except you don’t really know if tomorrows Christmas

Something could happen

Nothing could happen

It’s a very stressful situation

You had opted for staying up all night, after all, they were 5 hours ahead of you

But instead you decided to just wake up early

So 5 A.M You’re out of bed, first thing you do

Grab your phone and check it

AND WHAT DO YOU SEE

NOTHING

Nothing??

BUT YOUR HOPE WASNT GONE

There was an interview scheduled with Liam in two hours, that had too mean something

Right

RIGHT

WRONG

Seven minutes of nOTHING

I mean, seriously

By now all the avengers were up

You were still in your room, blasting one direction as one does

“kid?” Tony asked knocking on your door

He opened it all the way and… he’s not sure what he saw

“Are you meditating?”

“SHHH”

“What the hell is going on?”

“be quiet!” You hissed

“kid, what the he-“

“she’s manifesting,” Peter anserwed, standing behind tony.

“what now?”

“manifesting, she’s manifesting that something happens. now, if you’ll excuse me, I must join.”

So now Tony is just kind of staring as the two of you ‘manifest’

He mumbled something about it being too early for this and walking out

You had your phone’s ringer on, notifications turned on for instagram, twitter, youtube, you name it, you had it

You hourly checked your phone, just in case

But at some point, you decided to take a shower

So it’s like 9 am

You just got out of your shower and you’re in a towel

And then you hear it - a small ding from your room

You waste no time in throwing the door opening, hitting Bucky in the face who stumbles onto the floor

“(Y/N) what the-“

But you’re gone

You race into your room grabbing your phone

And there it is

Twitter

A TWEET BY ONE DIRECTION

You screamed

Very loudly

And so Peter raced in, laptop in hand

“DID YOU SEE”

“OPEN IT OPEN IT”

The two of you quickly get to work opening the website and

It crashed

OF COURSE IT CRASHED

“WHAT DO WE DO” Peter asked frantically reloading the page

You turn to him, mouth set in a straight line “We hack it”

“genius.”

So you hack the system

You break in and-

“OH MY GOSH”

“ITS REAL”

Cue the tears

But as you go deeper, and you enter the 2010 stage you LOST IT

The website it blasting what makes you beautiful and you’re just in tEARS

Because literally what the fuck one direction come back

Peter is sat beside you, praying frantically

“bring them back . They can save 2020. Please I’m praying on harry’s rings, louis’ accent, Liam’s fear of spoons, Niall’s bitchy tweets and Zayn’s non existence, PLEASE”

So you’re going through liking everything bc uh yes?? You love it all

Your visions also kind of blurry from tears so you can’t really see anything

But then you get to louis’ highlight

It says he’s 5’7

You and Peter both look at each other

“LIES ITS ALL LIES ITS FAKE”

And then harry’s and

“he’s not 5’11” you said

“he’s six feet”

“they’re lying to us”

And don’t even get me started on the ending page

THE END

HELL NO

“time to manifest again”

So you and Peter are once against praying, your mixtape in the back

When your phone goes off again

And again

And again

And there it was

The boys posts, each one of them thanking the fans, TAGGING ZAYN

You’ve never cried so Hard in your life

And louis’ tweets

And then your door burst down

And in walk tony, bucky, cap, nat, bruce, Thor, Clint and well the whole squad

“WHO IS IT”

“What it going on?”

Peter shakes his head sadly, holding onto you as you hiccup

“It’s - it’s them - ONE DIRECTION THEY’RE ALIVE”

Tony rolls his eyes

Cap bursts out laughing, grabbing onto sam

Nat and Clint are howling as they clap

And Thor is still holding his hammer as bruce tries to explain that one direction was a boy band and not a group of evil space aliens

“you slammed a door in my face fOR A BOY BAND”

“IT WAS NECESSARY”

“NO IT WASNT”

“if you’re done now, we must manifest for Zayn’s reply” peter spoke up

“we can only hope” you said sadly

“you guys are crazy” cap said

“no” Peter corrects “We’re a Bunch of clowns with depression”

“i’m concerned” Nat whispered

“me too” peter said

Needless to say

It was a very emotional time

And the avengers did not shut up about it

“so did he ever reply?”

*cue crying breakdown*

“NO”

“so now what?”

You look Tony dead in the eye, “we’re staring the kitten direction”

“(Y/N)”

“it must be done” Peter said, bowing his head

“kid”

“Tony we NEED THEM BACK”

“They could save us all”

“with what?”

“you don’t understand their power”

“they’re adults mEN”

Instead of replying, you grab your phone and blast one direction so you can’t hear them

And this was how you and Peter stayed up all night theorizing about it

Louis’ wouldn’t egg Liam’s house over this

He’s not 5’7

Harry’s 6’0

All lies

And it’s up to you and Peter to figure out the truth

They could save 2020

You just have to save them

[libsterslobsters]

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

*************************************************

 Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

 The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

 Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

 Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

 If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

 The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

 Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

 “Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

 “Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

 Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

 It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

 “I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

 She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

 “Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

 “Oh.”

 Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

 “I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

 “I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

 “No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

 It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses  her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

 So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

 Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

 He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

 He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

 “Hey, Doll.”

 “I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

 “At what?”

 “The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

 “How-”

 “I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

 “Jesus.” 

 She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

 “So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

 “I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

 She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

 “Better than you are.”

 “What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

 “No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.”  Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

 “Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

 “I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

 “Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

 “That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

 “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

 “Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

 “See you then.”

 As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

 His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember. 

 By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

 It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

 “Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.  

 “Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

 She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

 True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

 “Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

 “Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

 “I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

 “I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

 They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

 Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

 “Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

 “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

 It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her.  He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

 “You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

 “Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

 “It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

 “I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

 “Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

 “I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

 “I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

 “I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

 As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

 “Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

 “Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

 “You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

 “Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

 “Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

 “Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

 “Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

 “Yes.”

 Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

 “May I touch you?” She nods.

 “You’d better.”

 It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

 “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

 “What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

 Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

 “Are you okay?” She nods.

 “Don’t stop.”

 The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

 “Do you still want to-”

 “If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

 “I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

 “Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

 He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

 “I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

 He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

 “Definitely.”

 There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

 “Can you wait a second? Please?”

 “Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

 “Fine. You can move now.”

 She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

 “I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

 “I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

 The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

 That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

 “Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

 His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

 She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

 She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

 “Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

 “Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

 Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better. 

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like  her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

 “I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

 “Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

 “Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

 “Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

 “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

 “I did.”

 She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

 “Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

 “Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

 Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

 “Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

 “And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

 “Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

 “That’s not the same thing.”

 “How is it not the same thing?”

 “I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

 She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

 “Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

 “Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

 “Hey!”

 “Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

 “So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

 “But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

 A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

 “Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

 He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

 “I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

 “That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

 “Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

 Smirking, he asks her,

 “You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

 “Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.”  That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

 “You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

 “I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

 “I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

 “And what’s that?”  The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

 “Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

 “So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

 “Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

[geeky-politics-46]

The Asgardian Candidate

Loki/The West Wing FanFiction Crossover

Chapter 3 - “The First Debate”

The 2 candidates strode toward the center of the stage for the ceremonial pre-debate handshake. Both men exuding confidence & authority, even though the air around them was thick with palpable tension

The first lady, Abbey, entering hand in hand with her husband. It was an effort to further highlight the differences between the candidates.

President Bartlet easily outplayed Loki in policy knowledge, but regardless the handsome raven haired charismatic Loki managed to maintain a thin lead over the incumbent. Tonight they were hoping to change that.

They had found a vulnerable spot in Loki, one that Jed was particularly suited to take advantage of. Jed Bartlet was a family man 1st & foremost, nothing mattered more to him. Loki, always solo on the campaign trail with no spouse or relatives to be seen, became visibly angered at the mention of family.

After the first lady had smiled & waved to the audience she turned to her husband. Abbey tipped her head up & kissed Jed, she then placed her hand on his chest over his heart & touched her forehead to his. Both of their eyes closed in that moment & the president placed his hand over Abbey’s, smiling as their hands met.

Loki watched the display with annoyance, to him they were simply putting on an act, a show for their audience. They were posturing.

To the Bartlet’s however this was their moment of ritual, a grounding force that connected them before a moment of political chaos. While it may have been Loki’s weakness, Jed derived only strength from his family & especially from his wife.

Loki placed his hands on his hips & shifted his weight to signal his impatience with being made to wait. He had just finished rolling his eyes when Abbey pulled away from her husband & exited the debate stage.

President Bartlet was the 1st to extend his hand, his warm friendly smile covering a feeling of anxiety. He may be the President of the United States, the Commander In Chief, but something about this man exuded an authority outranking even his own.

Loki locked hands with the President, his lips curling into his signature mischievous smirk, lowering his gaze slightly & boring his rich emerald eyes into his opponent. He was ready for a battle.

As they walked to their podiums, Loki’s eyes stayed on the President. Like a predator stalking his prey, he watched every step the man took. The president could feel the eyes on him, causing him to swallow hard as he took his position.

The 2 men stood roughly 20 feet apart on the large stage, podiums angled toward the front center. The audience had begun to silence & still themselves. The moderator was finishing up sorting her papers. It was nearly time to begin.

Bartlet adjusted his microphone, straightened his tie, basically anything except look at the man to his left. Loki was still staring him down, & he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the nervous fidgeting he had elicited.

Loki’s attention snapped to the front of the stage as the moderator began reciting the debate rules over her own microphone. Truth be told, he had been so wrapped up in his game that he had forgotten she was even there.

He could hardly even see her due to the stage lights, so he looked for the news & TV cameras instead. That was where he would focus. That was who he was campaigning to after all, to the millions watching on TV. They were who he wanted to win.

As the cameras went live the moderator once again recited her introduction & the rules for the debate. This time leaving out bits & pieces that pertained only to the candidates themselves or to their staff. It was really showtime now.

“Good evening, & welcome to the first debate for this year’s U.S. Presidential election. The participants are President Josiah Bartlet, & Mr. Loki Laufeyson. I am Rachel Maddow your moderator. The topics this evening will all be pertaining to U.S. domestic policy. The format for the debate is as follows, & has been agreed to by both campaigns. Each candidate will make a 2 minute opening statement. The debate will then be divided into 6 segments, each 14 minutes long. At the beginning of each segment I will ask both candidates the same lead-off question & they will each have up to 2 minutes to respond, we will then move into open discussion for the rest of the time allotted. At the end of the debate each candidate will be given 2 minutes to make a closing statement. Mr. Laufeyson you won the coin toss, so we will be beginning with you. You have 2 minutes for your opening statement please.”

Loki shifted his weight from foot to foot, hands poised on the edges of the podium. He glanced downward & licked his lips. A smile spread across his face as he brought his gaze back up, locking into the cameras.

“Well, first of all thank you dear Rachel & my opponent, President Bartlet, for taking part in this glorious display of… purpose… before the American people. I know you all feel lost, like leaves scattered in the wind. Without a true direction. That is the downside of freedom, it diminishes life’s joy as you scramble for identity. In order to truly embrace all that this life, this country, has to offer you must put your trust in a true leader. Someone who will lead you down the path toward greatness without question or hesitation. I will be that benevolent leader if you put your trust in my hands.”

“Thank you Mr. Laufeyson. Now to you President Bartlet.”

“I grew up on the promise of life, liberty, & the pursuit of happiness. Along the way, however, we learn how important so many other things there are in our lives. Healthcare, an education, family. Those are just a few that pop to mind. I am, & will be a, president who see’s these issues as ever evolving questions seeking adaptable solutions. As your president I will continue to fight for policy that pulls us forward together, not pushes people into a line. To unite as one family; because at the end of the day, if you have people to call your family - even if you aren’t related by family - you are never truly lost.”

Loki could feel the color drain from his face. Bartlet had just fired a shot across the bow, within the first five minutes of the debate Loki knew he was already starting to sink.

————————

It simply got worse from there. On Asgard Loki never had to attend to matters of actual policy. He was trained as a sorcerer & warrior with a birth right to the throne. Why in the nine realms would he have bothered to learn about budgets & taxes? He was a prince, destined to be a king. A ruler waiting for his throne.

Despite his best efforts to keep up, & even throw a few quick magical charms to make his answers sound more polished, he knew he was floundering. The bile was rising in his stomach as he watched the human to his right take the last of the open question time.

All he had to do now was deliver his closing statement. Then he would re-evaluate. He knew he would have to make a big move tomorrow if he wanted to hold any footing .

“We have now come to the final segment of our debate, the closing statements. Mr. Laufeyson, you have 2 minutes.”

“Standing here, before all of you, I must confess that I spent much of my life being lied to. Many of you have also spent your lives being lied to, by the politicians who claim they will put your needs first. Being told you were something only to find out it was all fiction. All they really care about is power. It’s time for something different than these same lies time after time. I will never feed you those same lies, I will lead you to where you can fully flourish. I will make it easy for you.”

“President Bartlet, you have 2 minutes for your closing statement.”

“While I know that many voters prefer to not delve too deep into the world of policy specifics, & I certainly understand why, but a president should be able to give you a specific plan of how they intend to solve the problems befalling our country. While my opposition here certainly has a flair for language, even when it edges a tad on the overdramatic, I have yet to hear him detail exactly how he will lead this country to a better place. I can tell you that there aren’t many un-nuanced moments in leading a country, it takes much more than fancy generalities. So, Mr. Laufeyson, my question to you is what comes after the generality? What are the next 10 words? How are we going to do it? Give me the next 10 words after that & I’ll drop out of the race right now.”

Loki stood yet with his mouth agape. Fists clenched so tight on the podium his knuckles were white. A mere mortal had bested him, & he knew it just as well as Loki did. Even the moderator had appeared stunned at Bartlet’s closing statement bravado.

As the moderator closed out the debate, the tv camera crews began their scuttle over to the spin room to try & get the best spot for interviews. Bartlet smiled & waved to the audience as he strode offstage. Loki stood there, basking in the stage lights for just a moment longer. Taking a deep breath to compose himself before turning & leaving through the other side of stage. He could already see staffers & stagehands clearing a path for him, they could feel the frustration radiating off of him.

His campaign staff would be taking care of all the post debate interviews. On his best days he hardly had patience for them, on days like today he would rather be looked in closet with his brother than deal with the media’s pedantic prattling. Loki had a plan to put together, & he had to put it together fast.