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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

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Tables Turned | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary: You are nervous for Tom’s interview with Graham Norton. But when Graham decides to have Tom read some fan fiction, you know the tables have turned.

Warnings: none

You had been fidgeting since Tom had left the green room to take the stage for his interview. This interview was different. Graham Norton had put Tom in uncomfortable situations more than once and even though Tom was a consummate professional. It didn’t make you any less protective of him.

“So… welcome back, Tom,” Graham greeted in his usual tone.

“It’s good to be back,” Tom responded, smiling.

“You’ve been busy since the last time. More movies, a great run in Jamie Lloyd’s Betrayal, and now Round 2 of The Night Manager.”

Tom blushed and laughed.

“It has been a busy several years. I have been very lucky to work in projects I love.”

Graham’s eye sparkled. Tom realized he had walked into something he did not expect.

“Speaking of love…”

Tom looked down and shuffled his feet as he unbuttoned his jacket, preparing himself for the inevitable question.

“… you have been dating for someone for quite a while.”

“Three years in April, Graham. I couldn’t be happier.”

“And how does she feel about your… how would say… enthusiastic fanbase?”

You were in the back, cringing. You jumped off the couch and paced again, spinning your ring, a habit you never broke. Tom prepared for this question and the two of you had discussed the answer. It didn’t make you any less nervous.

Tom cleared his throat before answering.

“She is a fan herself. She is completely supportive.”

Tom smiled and you could hear the “awws” and screams rippling through the audience. Graham would let it go, so he went in for the kill.

“Even the fan fiction?” Graham raised an eye.

Tom blushed.

“I’m not sure I understand what you are getting,” Tom lied, knowing what Graham was insinuating.

“There are some interesting stories out there. Particularly these stories where you are in a relationship with the reader? How about we read some of this summaries out loud?”

And there it was. Graham handed Tom some cards. Tom was laughing.

“This one is by lokisgirl1798. You are visiting London for the first time when your purse is stolen with all your money and credit cards. Now wandering in a foreign city with no money, you bump into a handsome stranger. It turns out to be actor Tom Hiddleston. In an act of chivalry, Tom takes you to his place to call the police and collect your wits. But what will happen behind closed doors?” Tom read the description out loud.

As you stared through your fingers during Tom’s recitation, you grinned. Tom had this.

“So what do you think, Tom?” Graham looked at Tom.

“Actually, Graham, I read this one the other day. The writing was superb and considering the writer’s first language is not English, they did an amazing job Brit-picking. I mean they used the words ‘mobile’ and ‘telly’ and ‘loo,’ so it impressed me.”

Graham’s mouth fell open.

“Shall I continue?” Tom asked, blinking at the host.

Graham motioned to carry on.

“This one is from hiddlesforprez. Oh this one was sounds fun. You meet up with your old childhood friend, Tom Hiddleston, as he is filming the latest Avengers movie. You harbored a secret crush on Tom and unbeknownst to you, so has Tom. When Tom arrives to his trailer in full Loki costume, you cannot keep your feelings or hands to yourself.”

You giggled out loud backstage. This could not be going any better.

“Would you like my thoughts, Graham?” Tom deadpanned.

“Of course.” Graham sputtered out, not sure what’s happening.

“This one I have read as well. I love the interplay between RPF, that is real person fiction, and the MCU fandom in this one, but that is just my taste. The metaphors are on point. And while it takes getting used to, I found the smut portion to be well researched and the language… well… eloquent.”

Now you were blushing as much as Tom.

“That is an excellent point… why don’t we…” Graham stuttered, reaching for the card. Tom snatches it away.

“Ooooh, there is one more.” Tom read the card and his face lit up. He looks up at the camera and winks. “I know of someone in particular who will love this one!”

“This one is written by Y/user name and it is an angst fic. Tom and the reader have been dating for a few months and they have their first big fight. They exchange angry words and slammed doors. After several weeks with no apologies or phone calls, you go out with a friend to drown your sorrows. Who should you run into but Tom, and it appears he is on a date? Can this relationship be repaired or is too far gone?”

Tom laughed at the end of reading this, just like he always does when he reads the summaries.

“So may I critique?” Tom asked Graham.

“By all means.” Graham has been sinking lower into his chair.

“Well, this fic is interesting because my fiancé wrote it.” The audience gasps and so do you. That was not part of the plan. “She always has me beta read for her. And while she wrote this not long after our first fight, she changed the facts to protect the guilty.”

Graham about fell off his chair at Tom’s response. Tom and you had only gotten engaged a month ago. Both of you agreed to make not an official announcement until after the press junket.

“Well, that’s all the time we have today. Thanks, Tom.”

Once the cameras turned off, Tom headed to the green room. He swept you up into an embrace and kissed you.

“You were wonderful, honey,” you told Tom when the two of you broke from the embrace.

“Thank you. You are aware none of it will ever make it to air.”

“I know, but maybe he will think twice before using fan fiction as the punch line to a joke.”

“I hope so too. Now why don’t I take you home and you can write about what happened today.”

You gave Tom a playful punch to the chest, and he laughed as he pulled you in close to his side, arm around your waist. Just as the two of you reached the door, it opened and Graham walked in.

“Tom.”

“Graham, have you met my fiancé?”

You smiled and offered your hand. Graham gave a firm handshake, but you noted he avoided eye contact.

“Great writing.”

“Thanks,” you responded with a smirk, “but it is average. You should read things on Tumblr. That is where the great stuff is.”

“I agree, darling,” Tom piped up, placing a kiss on your temple, “next time you want to read fics on the air, Graham, call us and we can give you some recommendations.”

Graham mumbled something unintelligible, but you were certain it was not an apology. Tom and you left the room and headed to the car to take you home. When the episode aired, they cut the entire fan fiction segment. You were disappointed but knew it was likely to happen. But Tom was amazing just the same. You also noticed since Tom’s appearance, fan art and fan fiction and other fan interactions almost never came up again.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston imagine

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angeli-marco-writes · 5 years ago

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Steve Rogers - Promise

A/N - So, this is my first marvel imagine? I haven’t watched all the films yet, I’m halfway through and watching them all in chronological order, but I couldn’t resist because I love Steve Rogers. So much. Once I’ve finished watching, I'll probably realise a shit tonne of mistakes in this, but please don’t judge. Apologies for any typos and incorrect information. GIF credits to owner.

Warnings - angst, smut so 18+ please; fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do it), borderline ‘captain’ kink, 5k.

Summary - you’re an admin worker in stark tower, an average working girl except for one thing, you have a superior memory, one that has aided you many a time. But when you’re leading Cap on a mission and it gets cut off, is it because of your memory, or are you just letting your crush on Steve cloud any reasonable thinking?

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, there’s no denying it. You’re young, a Brit in America, just working to help with your future, but after how well it’s been going recently? You don’t think you’ll want to leave.

You’re an admin at Stark Tower. Not that one is really needed with all of Tony’s tech, and the fact that everyone is more than capable of sorting themselves out, it’s just fun to be around. Not only do you complete all the stenography and spreadsheets that don’t necessarily have to do with anyone specific, but you also do many of the more artistic plans and are everyone’s personal therapist. You probably don’t help your own cause - leaving your door propped open with a book to let anyone drift in and out of their own accord at any given time, unless you’re properly working, and then they know to find you in your office. Yes, your very own office.

Recently, with you becoming more and more familiar with the workings of all the residents, growing more knowledgeable of their work lives, picking up the lingo and everyone’s gladness at your perfect, imperturbable memory, you’re slowly being given more tasks. This could be anything from mission reassignment to looking through months old footage, but you’ve been helping out over the system on a couple of missions. You really feel like one of the team even though you know you’re far from it. Sleeping in the tower helps, as well as being welcomed by everyone every meal time that you sit together, especially the way they test your memory trick and always seem completely amazed at how you remember the most obscure details. Anything from the exact positioning of a birth mark on someone that Natasha took down the first week you began working, to the precise measurement of metal that Tony needed to complete a new project, to the freckle on Steve’s bare ass that one time he had to use your shower-

That escalated quickly.

Currently, you’re in your office, daydreaming and completely wistfully thinking. You have no trouble remembering every conversation you and Steve have ever had, not that many admittedly, but he’s always been so kind to you. He was the first one to truly make you feel part of the team, welcoming you with a hug before holding you at arms length and brushing a crease from the arm of your blouse. You’re not really sure if he’d seen anyone dress that way, since all the girls he was around were always in their kick ass clothes, gym shorts or comfies, so you wandering around day in day out and wearing frilly Victorian-era blouses paired with short, tight pencil skirts and Louboutin stilettos may have been a shock to his system. It wasn’t with any agenda in mind that you did this, merely a mix of modesty and business woman style. Every word Cap has ever said flies through your mind, the impeccable memory of the way his exquisite nylon suit clings to him in all the right places...

Steve is the only guy you’ve fancied for a while, the only person you’ve ever really gone for emotionally, and all of that is because he’s such a cute human being; so genuine, so upbeat around you, so supportive, and his smile. Goddamn his smile. He’s just too cute for life, which is also why you should really be concentrating, considering you’re supposed to be monitoring his mission.

“Y/N, are you there? I think somethings happening, someone’s here that we didn’t know about, where do I go?”

His usually soft voice is frantic, and you can tell he’s a little scared, since this was supposed to be a simple solo mission, in and out, but now you’re having to recite an escape route.

“Turn left at the end of that corridor, half way down there’s a grate on the wall. Pull it off, climb inside.” You tell him as calmly as you can, but even your heart is beating out of your chest, breathing laboured and a slight sweat forming on your forehead.

“I’m in, sweetheart. What next?” Not the right time for your heart to flutter at his words, especially not the time to imagine the way his raspy morning voice would curl around those very same Few words...

“Follow the route, it’ll bring you out in a downstairs kitchen area that was empty last time I checked, I’ll look again...” you trail off, clicking off the one screen with the dot of his whereabouts to check the surveillance, and he seems to be safe.

You hear his breathing calm down as he crawls through the ventilation system, but even as you flick through every camera that you’ve been able to access in the building he’s in and the surrounding area, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary apart from a couple of unconscious, probably dead blokes scattered across stone floors.

“I’m in the kitchen, but there’s no doors in here, no way out.” He says.

Fuck.

Your heart sinks to your feet.

“Yes there is Steve, it’s on the north wall beside a faux, oversized spice rack. It has a silver handle and it’s an oak door, exactly like my bedroom door.”

He pauses, his heart rate thrumming heavily, “sweetheart there’s no door here, there’s no spice rack, just old built in cabinets and flat walls. You must have misremembered.”

“Shut the fuck op Steve, I’m doing what I can,”

Your usual eloquence is out the window along with all of your chill, sounding mildly like a road man as you frantically tap between the screens. He’s right though, his only way out is to climb back in the vent and hope to god, well, or Thor, that no one finds him there, but that may be too late.

“Try the cold tap on the sink, I don’t know exactly what was said but I distinctly remember someone talking about it. Stay calm for me Cap, please.” You want to beg for him to be ok, to come back in one piece, because this isn’t a normal mission, you’re emotionally attached.

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the tap, but as soon as he touches it, all surveillance is cut off, your computer goes black, and you can’t even hear his breathing anymore.

“Steve? Cap, come back to me, can you hear me? Steve?” With each call of his name to which he doesn’t respond, you grow more frantic. The lights are still on so you know that it’s not the mains, but you’re not educated with circuits, so you do what you can to reboot your computer, only for it to show up with your bland screen of spreadsheets, sans anything about the mission or Steve.

Your hands start shaking, lip quivering and mind overwhelmed with stress. It’s over, you’ve lost Steve, fucked up the mission, you’ll be out of a job, and the worst part? You broke a promise.

“Promise you’ll keep me safe out there Y/N?” Steve asked, his cute little smile twinkling in his eyes and making your whole body go giddy.

“I promise, but you have to promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

“That I can do, for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your body and placing a kiss to your hairline.

You haven’t been at the compound long enough to know whether this is normal for Steve, or for anyone, or if he’s just a natural flirt. Whatever it is, you feel too guilty to face him again if he even comes back alive.

Slowly, soft sobs start to escape your lips without you noticing, tears slipping down your cheeks and dampening the neck of your blouse. You can’t help the guilt that overtakes you, the fear that you can’t even reason, and that’s when you hear a soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Natasha. You nod gently as she takes a seat in the corner of your room, throwing her feet up on your coffee table so nonchalantly that it’s almost not a challenge of authority.

“What’s up? Didn’t you have to radio for Cap?” Once again you nod, hastily wiping the tears from your face and smoothing your skirt out. “So, why are you crying?”

You like Natasha, of course you do, but you have normal people emotions and a little more conscience, unable to stand the thought of anyone even getting a papercut on your watch.

“He went off, the computers crashed, and it’s all my fault.” You say, standing up and moving to shut your office door, locking it for safekeeping, because if Bucky finds out then you’re dead.

Natasha grabs a lollipop from your sweet bowl and sticks it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s flirting. She’s not, that’s just Natasha. “Care to elaborate?”

You take a sharp breath, “someone was there that we didn’t calculate, I had to get him through the ventilation system to an abandoned kitchen that I KNOW had a door, my memory doesn’t glitch, so in the time it took for Steve to get through the vents, someone must’ve closed off the door, but I’m not sure how. Then he just went when he touched the only possible thing that could be an escape route. Fuck, what if he’s dead?”

You feel tears bubbling up in your eyes again, blinking harshly to keep them away.

“So what if he is? You’re smart, you’re panicking, so you’ve obviously done everything. It sounds harsh but you can’t get too attached. Just listen out and he’ll come back of his own accord, but if he doesn’t then we’ll have to deal with that later.” She says, grasping a hand around your shoulder before stepping over the threshold to the main compound, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Maybe she thought tough love would work, but she has a point. You’ve done everything you can, so now it’s just a waiting game.

You keep an ear piece on you but shut your office for the night, heading out to the bar to pour yourself a more than healthy sized glass of wine. You unbutton your shirt a little and slide down the wall to your favourite reading spot, in one far corner, you set up some cushions and bedding. You’re the only one that uses it, but you could swear that you’ve seen Steve eyeing it up before. So you sit, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving you with mascara-stained tear tracks, the first few buttons of your shirt recklessly undone, and your heels flung elsewhere. You bring the bottle over with your glass, and you pick up a book to keep you distracted.

You’re not sure how long you sit there, guilt slowly building, occasionally calling Steve’s name to check if he’s come back on the system, but there’s nothing. Nothing until the lift doors open, and out walks a very bloody Cap with his suit half on and a skin tight white t-shirt clinging to his upper body.

The tears don’t stop falling from your eyes, but you close your book anyway. You would stand up, run to hug him, but your legs can’t hold you up, so you stay seated, all your words caught in your throat as Steve edges further across the common area towards you.

He offers you a shy smile, virtually collapsing into the carpet only metres from you. Slowly his head lifts, hair falling into his eyes, and he holds his arms out.

“Oh god Steve,” it’s him. Really him. You feared he’d be a hologram or something, your eyes deceiving you from their soreness post crying. But he’s here, you can tell from the overly memorised display of veins in his bicep when he offers you his arm.

“It’s me,” he nods, edging a little further towards you as you crawl closer and settle into his grip.

Your tears flow freely, dampening his shirt. Neither of you says a word, he just grips you closer to him, cuddling your legs into his lap to soothe you.

After a while, Steve fidgets, and you find your eyes dry.

You angle your head upwards, your well kept chignon completely haywire. Steve’s face is covered in bruises and dried blood, but his eyes don’t look at all worried.

“What happened?” You whisper, words vibrating through his chest.

“The tap was a trick, or maybe I twisted the wrong one, but all the lights went out and I was shocked, I had to attack a few guys but I made it out, albeit bruised.” He swallows, running a shy finger over the curves of your face. “Were you worried about me?”

You nod, clutching him close. He chuckles and draws circles on your back through your shirt, just his soft touch more comforting than anything else.

“I’m fine, sweetheart, is my nose broken though?”

You look at his nose, softly smoothing over a hell of a bruise, before placing a gentle kiss to the bridge.

“No, trust me. In British comps, fights happen daily, and my ex was in with a bad crowd, always in fights. I had to deal with all kinds of injuries, and your nose is not broken. Be grateful because it hurts to sort it out.”

He laughs and brings you in.

“You deserve so much better than someone like that. I was worried about you when I was out there you know...” he says.

A strange conversation transition, but who are you to judge.

“I was so scared, I thought you’d died,” ah shit, here come the tears again, “Natasha told me to just wait it out like I wasn’t completely emotionally attached to you. Bloody hell, Steve, I’d be responsible if you died.”

He cooes sweet reassurances in your ear, wrapping his arms entirely around your torso while the join between his neck and shoulder becomes your sanctuary.

“I’m emotionally attached to you too if that helps,” he whispers in your ear, so quietly that he hopes you didn’t hear, instantly regretting it. But with the soft kiss you place on the sweet spot just below his ear, he brings up all his courage to angle his head just right, capturing your lips in his in the sweetest of kisses.

You gasp into the kiss, your reaction giving Steve means to believe you didn’t like it, instantly pulling away and dropping his hands from around your body.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re upset and I took advantage of that, and I haven’t really been with anyone since, well...”

“Shut up and kiss me, Steve.” You command, cutting off his rambling, your hand cupping his cheek.

His hands slowly make their way around your body, fumbling for the bottom of your blouse and subsequently unable to find where your shirt ends and your skirt starts. You giggle a little into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss by delving his tongue into your mouth. You place your hands over his and guide them to your chest. For a second, he seems confused, his lips halting their massaging movements on your own, until he finds the open buttons at the top of your blouse. He pulls his lips away for a moment, breath mingling together in the air. His smells of strawberries, you note. He glances at you for reassurance, something which you eagerly give, so he begins. His hands slowly work their way over your chest, fingers fiddling with your buttons as you wait patiently, completely submissive for Steve to do whatever he wants to you.

He pushes the material from your shoulders, and you untuck the back of it from your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing your bra. Though now you see Steve eyeing it up, you realise it’s not really a bra at all, rather two triangles of flimsy fabric with some bands and strings attached, one of your only bras that doesn’t show through a sheer blouse. The way his eyes are boggling at your tits though, you guess he likes it.

An unwitting blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, suddenly feeling cold under his scrutiny.

“You can touch them if you want,” you chuckle lightly, fearing that you’ll sound like an inexperienced teenager if you say more.

Steve blushes as crimson as you, his large hands leaping at the opportunity to feel you. You throw your head back in pleasure as his cold thumb rubs over your nipples, making them hard to the touch, and the rest of his hands get to work massaging and kneading your boobs, pulling down the fabric to softly kiss your bare skin.

Although he hasn’t done this in a while, well, a lifetime, he still knows how to do it realllly well.

Your hands fly to his heart, keeping him there, his lips switching between your breasts until you grow a little more needy, grinding down on his bulge.

“You wanna do this?” He asks, voice a little hoarse but still silky.

“Yes, Steve. Fuck, just take me.”

“Language,” he chides jokingly, but despite that, he agrees.

Clearly he doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he has you flipped beneath him with your back on your cushions in your reading corner, his lips attaching your neck.

You fumble with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head between kisses and suckles to a sensitive spot on your neck. He’s carved like a Greek god, abs toned to perfection, his tanned skin rippling with any given movement. He feels so soft too, skin tender beneath your fingers, trailing them gently across his back and torso to simply feel him. The contrary of gentle skin and solid muscles is one that makes your mouth water with desire, bringing Cap’s lips back to your own, palms pressed firmly against his back. You go in deep this time, licking his mouth and devouring his taste. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more fervour, so passionate that you lose track of any thought swirling in your mind.

“Suit off, now.” You call breathlessly, watching on as Steve clumsily tries to peel off his trousers by using the sleeve of his suit. He’s moving so recklessly that with an abrupt movement he’ll snag the fabric, ripping the suit that makes him look heaven sent.

“Here,” you giggle, offering a hand out which he gladly takes, letting you shimmy the tough material down his legs, only blocked by his clunky boots which he kicks off at the same time as the suit, haphazardly leaving them wherever they fall in the lounge. “Fuck.” Is all you can choke out. The serum worked on everything. Even with his briefs still on, you can see his cock twitching within its confines.

“You’re wearing too many clothes now,” he faux scolds, leaping atop you again, kissing your collarbone as his hands work their way down your body.

First he unhooks your bra properly, throwing it off and you both hear it land on the glass coffee table from the way your clasp knocks the glass. Next he moves onto your skirt, unzipping it, your hips raising of their own accord to accommodate his actions, slipping it off alongside your tights, revealing your bare legs to him for the first time. He doesn’t care about any of the natural marks that grace your skin, merely that you’re sitting in just your panties and only for him.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says.

He runs his palms over your thighs, just feeling your skin beneath his. His touch is soothing, as is his presence, allowing you to feel open towards him. You tilt your legs a little more open, revealing to him the small wet latch that graces your not-so-sexy work underwear.

“All for me?” Steve asks, eyes innocent and doe like.

If he’s really this sweet and naive then you’re gonna fucking ruin him. Sweet Jesus what you wouldn’t do to that man, starting with your incredibly well hidden Captain kink, though it may not be hidden much longer.

He brings a finger up to your core, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger up and down your slit. He audibly moans while collecting your slick from between your folds, fingers rough in contrast to the part of his body that you’re gripping onto, though you’re not sure quite where from your eyes fluttering closed.

“Ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself as he rips your panties off and pushes one finger inside you. He feels brilliant, his fingers so much longer and better than your own, already bringing you jolts of pleasure from its presence.

He draws it out before pumping back in again, continuing his movements. Your forehead falls against his bare shoulder, small gasps of pleasure escaping your open mouth.

“More,” you pant, ready to feel more of his intoxicating ministrations.

He nods obligingly, slowly adding a second finger, continuing his gentle assault on your pussy. God, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, just his two fingers pumping in and out of you brings you more pleasure than you’d care to admit.

“S-stop,”

He looks up at you, immediately withdrawing his fingers, covered in your juices and glistening in the moonlight. You flush far too deeply at such a simple thing.

“I need to feel you already, please.”

You sensually drag your finger all over his bare chest, hearing his breath hitch in his throat. He nods vigorously, hair falling in his line of vision, but scrambles to be on top of you properly, hands either side of your head on your array of cushions and his legs steady, trapping you completely beneath him.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna take advantage of you, y/n. You’re so beautiful and perfect and I want your first time with me to be something you’ll remember forever.” He says sweetly, but despite his kind words, you can’t help but chuckle for a solid few seconds before he realises what he’s said.

“Ok, but are you sure you wanna do it here rather than my room? Yours is out of the option, everyone will assume you’re dead if your book isn’t there anymore...”

once more you chuckle, as does he, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw.

“I’m sure, Steve, now get inside me before I change my mind and wake Bucky up,” you quip.

He knows you’re joking but gets to work anyway, swiftly getting rid of his brokers and ungracefully kicking them off as you watch him. He may be hot but even Loki’s magic may not be able to make him elegant.

As soon as he’s back in his previous position and you see is dick slapping against his stomach, hard and already a little red, you can’t help but gape. His too-tight boxers didn’t do him justice because now you’re worried he won’t even fit.

He sees your worried face and panics, “We can go back if you want, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want this Steve, shitting hell-“

“Language,” he chides, interrupting you, allowing you to cock your eyebrows at him, a look to say ‘is this really the time?’

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just go slow because you’re huge.” You finish, smiling at his dorky smile and flushed cheeks.

Of all the things he could blush at, he chooses a compliment. Such a dork, you think to yourself, unable to stop the contagious smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

And that he is.

“Oh, and call me captain.”

That’s something you knew he’d have a kink for, making you smirk a little too.

He runs the head of his cock through your folds to father a little lubrication before pushing in, very slightly and very gently. He bends his arms and kisses all over your face with the new leverage, feather light kisses of pure affection before you give him a breathy whisper, resembling of a ‘more’, so he pushes in a bit more again, repeating the process until he’s buried to the hilt inside your aching core, clenching around him without Steve even needing to do anything.

“Can I start moving?” He asks, awkwardly shifting his weight above you, but you nod vigorously, kissing him urgently as his lips begin to move.

He starts off slow, gradual thrusts, ensuring that he finds every weak spot inside or you, making your toes curl already and your legs knot around his waist, his tongue still dancing with yours.

He increases his pace after a while, bucking into you faster, making you moan out his name and clutch onto his wonderfully broad shoulders.

You pull your lips away for a moment, “more Captain,” you ask, nothing more than a breathy sound, but Steve obliges.

He breaks the kiss as he begins snapping his hips into yours with fervour and purpose. His balls are hitting your bare ass, his cock stuffed inside you and making the most delectable sounds from how wet you are, all for Steve. He looks down, tearing his gaze away from your pretty little face with your die eyes and parted lips, only to watch as he sinks into you again and again, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin.

“Steve, Captain, please, talk to me,”

Your words come out as a strangled cry, a beg mixing with his moan at the name, oxygen lessening as your eyes flutter shut, too engrossed in the pleasure to even care that your voice has gone up in pitch while his has gone down.

“You’re such a tease, walking around in that tight skirt all day, those long legs always crossed. All I want is to pull them apart and go down on you, under your desk, in the kitchen, just anywhere that I can have you for my own.”

His voice is low, raspy and needy as he trails his tongue along your collarbone filthily, forcing your eyes open with some unearthly force he must possess simply so that he can meet your gaze as he bites your nipples, his cock continually hitting that sweet spot inside you.

“It’s not just that though,” he continues, resuming his dirty talk between caresses of his lips all over you, “you’re so perfect. So stunning, so intelligent, the reason I wake up every day just for the hope that one of these days I’d be able to kiss you.”

his hips halt just for a moment, long enough to unwrap your legs from his back and throw them over his shoulders, lust filled eyes boring into your own with an uncharacteristically devilish smirk.

He kisses you again, fleeting but passionate before he nibbles your earlobe and purrs,

“And now I get to have you at my mercy, and believe me, that desk fantasy is gonna come true every day.”

With that sentiment, he starts ploughing into you even more ferociously than before, making you scream his name, a lot of murmured ‘Captain!’s and curses mingling with the cries.

The new angle hits spots you forgot even existed. Your nails take his back, tugging in and clinging on for mercy, the burn of your legs in such a contorted position only adding to your pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout breathlessly, chest heaving, your boobs moving up and down of their own accord and Steve is unable to take his eyes off them.

You feel the coil ready to spring in your stomach, a climax that’s been steadily building since he first kissed you.

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with me tomorrow, and then you can come.”

His words are something forbidden, coaxing you off the edge, daring you to hit that wave of pleasure. Just the thought of your past daydreams make your walls clench around him.

“I’ll wake you up by sucking your magnificent cock, then I’ll ride you harder than anyone has ever before, and then I’ll ride your face before we have intermittent sex in my office, at least twice.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, your imagination running winks with the thought of Steve having you in his lap in your desk chair, pressed up against the glass of your office for everyone to see as he fucks you senseless. You’re insatiable. The thought of his dick twitching in your mouth is too much to handle, especially as he brings his thumb down and presses on your clit, moaning unintelligibly at your apparently sexy words, and you feel it.

Your orgasm crashes over you so hard that you feel it on your bones, thrashing around beneath Steve, screaming out his name as he dudes your high out only seconds before coming too, his muffled cries of your name drowned out as he bites onto the juncture of your neck, bruising it and rendering you unable to wear anything other than polo necks for a good few days. The pleasure he’s given you is unrivalled, and you can’t waist for more.

His body collapses onto yours inelegantly, wrapping you unto his body warmth in your cosy little corner, both forgetting that you’re completely naked in the common area after having rather loud sex.

“Was that good?” Steve asks sheepishly, fingers running through your tangled hair.

“Yes, incredible. And for you?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, “exquisite, sweetheart.”

Your heart glows a little at his sleepy voice. You run your thumb over the bump of his nose and the blood residue still on his face, but you think you may like Steve a little roughed up. You stay close to each other, breathing together and sharing kisses in the night time, so absorbed in your own bubble that you don’t hear someone come in.

“The fuck is this, Steve?”

Fuck, Bucky.

“Couldn’t you have been a little better at aiming your clothes? We’re all glad you’re finally together, but loud and untidy as well as sex in the common area? Come on.”

You can hear the humour in his words, but they do hold some sincerity, making you blush and chuckle. Next thing you know, your bra is being thrown at the pair of you, landing in Steve’s messed up hair.

“Thanks buck...” you say with a meek giggle, kissing Steve and removing your bra from his face.

“Round two? My room?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling.

“Promise you’ll let me clean you up first?!” You insist, kissing his shoulder and beaming at him.

“Promise.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #captain america #captain america imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagine #captain america smut #steve rogers smut

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ginger-snapled · 4 years ago

Text

It was shaping up to be just another regular night on the clock. There were the usuals sipping their poison of taste and sliding dollars over like it somehow made them special. Then the newbs, you could always tell which ones were stopping in for the first time. Typically, they had two other ‘buddies’ with them, egging them on and making crude comments trying to eek a blushed reaction from said Newb. And more often than not succeeding, which always meant whichever girl was closest received the blunt end of rude commentary and a couple $20s slipped over by Newb with an apologetic smile. Max stood at the door, arms crossed, surveying the crowd as an ever-looming presence that would likely snap your neck almost as quickly as he could ask you to leave. There was no need to feel unsafe with his calculating glare keeping tabs.

“I need you in room two.” The night manager, Jax, appeared next to me from what I could only assume was shadow walking as I hadn’t heard a single movement.

“It’s Amber’s night. And AJ’s backup.” I protested, scanning the crowd in mild confusion. None of the ‘regulars’ of mine were here so there wasn’t any reason for me to run a room on my off night.

“Yea well…Amber’s already been in there. As has AJ” Jax grunted shaking his head. “Candie, Brit, Celine, and Angel too if you’re wondering. I went through the list of everyone scheduled tonight before coming to you. I’m not stupid.”

One of the perks of being more ‘established’ here was that even the managers knew better than to send you in for tasks not on your day’s schedule. Gone were the nights of doing whatever was said in order to make money and keep making it. My face must have betrayed my shock as the names were rattled off because Jax quickly kept on before I could object.

“N-not like that. No. Fuck no. We’d have asked him to leave if that was the case. No” He paused giving me a side eye. “He said he’s just here looking for some relaxation but for whatever reason he keeps dismissing them. Candie was asked to leave before she’d even made it all the way through the door…you can imagine her reaction to that sort of ego pop.”

We both snickered as I could absolutely imagine it, Candie was one of those women who believed she was a gift to human kind and acted accordingly. If you didn’t worship her existence there wasn’t much point to yours. “All right…” I gave in, pulling my jacket off and handing it over. “But I’m skipping out on it being my room Wednesday. You’ll have to find someone to fill in.”

Jax took my jacket with a grateful sigh, clearly relieved though I couldn’t understand why. “Okay…look…you get him to commit to his hour reservation payment and I’ll take you off the room for two rotations. Dude’s offered a couple grand cash if we can offer this ‘relaxation’ he’s after and clearly run of the mill strip tease and CandieCane blow jobs isn’t it…”

Ah…there it was. The ever-present money motivator. I chuckled, giving Jax a thumbs up as I made my way to the room. I wouldn’t say it out loud but I had to admit I wanted to know who was in the room. I didn’t hold too much hope that I’d keep his attention, while I know I’m above average in the looks department I definitely think at least two of the others rank above me. And he’d dismissed them.

I knocked, entering without waiting for invitation, and glanced around. The room was as it always was, comfortable seats on one side, small private stage and pole directly in front, a little table where drinks rested. And an unassuming man who lounged in one of the chairs. I’d never seen him before but judging by his relaxed demeanor he wasn’t among the newbs, and the causal jeans and t-shirt he sported pegged him far lower on the corporate chain than most men using this room.

“Evening.” I offered sweetly, starting towards the stage. “I’ll be stepping in for your entertainment. If there’s anything you want or need don’t hesitate to let me know.”

He hadn’t stopped me in the door way, though I felt his eyes move over my clothing and tried not to feel self-conscious. Jax would die if he knew I hadn’t changed before going to ‘work’ and instead popped in wearing my street clothes. Which today consisted of yoga pants, a sports bra, and an off the shoulder sheer shirt. I’d had the good sense to kick my shoes off at the door but otherwise I probably looked like the plainest woman around.

I placed my phone on the speaker, setting the playlist and making my way to the pole. I preferred dancing to instrumental music, lyrics tending to get in the way of intention and vision. It’s easy to get into the movements of dancing when it’s not for anyone other than myself, usually not a problem for me. But tonight was different because of Jax’s urgency that this work…and the man barely even glancing my way.

I’m not sure how he dismissed any of the other ladies working tonight because not once did I catch his eyes on me, not a single twist or bend. He didn’t seem to notice when my shirt landed on the floor, nor did he bat an eye as I slowly peeled off my yoga pants one leg at a time. (Yes girls, there’s a sexy way to do this). No…he spent the entire time staring at the lit square screen in the palm of his hand, sipping his drink. I should have been happy that he hadn’t sent me out. This is what Jax had wanted. This was what I was supposed to be doing. But I couldn’t be happy about it because the jackass hadn’t given me enough of a look over to even KNOW whether he wanted me to stay or not. I made it through 7 songs before frustration got the better of me.

My bra lay on the stage with the rest of my clothes and I found myself hopping off and all but stomping to this man without realizing it. ‘get your ass back up there and keep your mouth shut’ I could hear Jax all but screaming in my mind.

“Am I boring you?” Too late. My head-space Jax fainted as the man finally looked up at me, dark eyes blankly assessing.

The only part of me not naked was the thin line of a lace thong, the rest of me was bared a mere foot from him. I’d been naked in front of plenty of men but for some reason the fact he’d all but ignored me up until now made my nakedness new all over. My breasts reacted sharply to this arousal, nipples perking up, and he must have noticed because immediately his lips parted in a proud smirk.

“Yes.” Was all he offered, staring at me for a moment, then looking back to the screen in his hand.

I stared at him, disbelief that made me impulsive and frankly frustrated. And a little wet.

“Then what can I do to make you NOT bored?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level. He laughed.

“Ha. Doll face…does a chef at a michellin star restaurant ask his customer what he can do to make the food not boring?” He still didn’t look at me. “No. The customer is paying for a meal that should be divine based on the reputation of the restaurant. Either you’re a chef who knows how to do their job. Or you might want to go back to waitressing.”

That was it. He never once looked back up. But he also hadn’t dismissed me. ‘Go back to the stage, give him this dumbass meal he’s paid for and leave it be.’ Inner Jax had come to enough to start ordering me again. But I was too heated by now. This customer had been dismissive of everyone on staff, dismissive of ME, and now basically insinuated I needed a different job since I was incompetent in mine. Or so I heard.

I don’t know what happened, I don’t know how it happened, but one moment I was standing in front of him demanding to know if I was boring and the next I had straddled myself over his leg. I began grinding my clit against him with the beat of the song and took his free hand to hold my breast. He didn’t bat an eye which only made me grind harder. Desperate now for him to show he noticed at all. But he didn’t.

I kept pressing my clit against him, grinding harder on his leg as a wet spot began to grow on his jeans. The roughness of the fabric only teased my thighs farther and I knew I was dripping. I wanted him to pinch my nipples, slide a finger into my wetness, anything to show he noticed the ache that had grown. But he didn’t. My breathing got deeper the longer I used his thigh to tease myself, the hand resting on my breast did nothing to alleviate my desires and I could feel the pleasure building within me.

“Do not cum.”

He hadn’t looked at me, but he’d finally spoken again. Only this time it was to deny the very thing I wanted so desperately. And like hell I was going to listen to the jackass who hadn’t paid a single bit of attention to me all evening. AND had called me boring.

I came. Hard. Wetness spilling out of me and soaking onto his jeans. A delicious intensity of pleasure that rocked my core and released the tension his rude words had given me.

“Now look what you’ve done…I hope you’re ready to pay for that.”

His tone was teasing, full of wicked promise, and I realized he was no longer staring at the phone. I also realized I’d missed something crucial during my intensely pleasure-filled orgasm.

There was a bulge between his legs, straining to break the jeans away…and his free hand had slid up to my throat.

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maybankiara · 4 years ago

Text

PHONE SWAP (DREW STARKEY)

04: CHOCOLATE

summary: Addie Mallory is just your average economics student when she meets Drew Starkey at her local Target in Atlanta. This is where the story is supposed to end – a short meeting and a picture to go – except Drew accidentally leaves with the wrong phone, and the story begins, instead.

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: real life, my dudes, it’s real life. (well, after a lil texting sequence.) writing drew is actually hard, believe it or not, and i edited this chapter right after finishing chapter 14 -- and the difference is huge. i’m really excited! as always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, and tell me what you thought!

read on wattpad

previous part | series masterlist

drewstarkey | 10:53am Hey! I’ll be running a little late, so meet you at quarter past noon?

addisonmallory | 11:07am That's okay, I would’ve been late, too lol

drewstarkey | 11:08am Okay cool so it’s not just me hahah

addisonmallory | 11:09am Nope, I’ve got a reputation ngl

drewstarkey | 11:11am Let’s see who’s the worse one, then 😂

addisonmallory | 11:14am It’s on 😎

◇

It takes all in Addie to keep Marianne from tagging along. If the French-Brit is anything, it’s stubborn and persistent, which Addie claims to be the worst two stereotypical traits she could’ve picked up from the two cultures – and they both know she’s right.

‘I won’t bother you,’ says Marianne, looking at Addie through her rose-tinted sunglasses. ‘I’ll just be behind you. You won’t even know I’m there!’

Addie sighs and leans sideways against the doorway. Marianne’s foot is blocking the door from closing, and this is all dragging out way beyond rational.

‘Marianne, I’m going there for literally five minutes. It’s not a big deal.’

‘He’s a famous actor.'

‘He’s not even that famous. I met him in a fucking Tesco, Marianne!’

The look she receives for that statement is scorching – but the edge in the girl’s eyebrow relaxes, and Marianne gives way to one of her quiet sighs. ‘Fine. Whatever. Go have fun.’

‘Thanks,’ says Addie; a weak attempt to keep the bitter tone at bay.

The door shuts with a bang – she waits until she hears faint footsteps disappearing into the heart of the apartment. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Marianne, but the girl usually lives in her own world and tends to disregard the common notions of what would be okay in a situation like this. Addie doesn't hold it against her. She can’t hold who Marianne is against herself.

With this now over and done with, Addie walks down two flights of stairs and exits the building. It’s a sunny day, just like it was yesterday, and she takes some pride in the fact that she’s got her contacts in, and sunglasses, and a face that doesn’t look like somebody tortured her for a week. There’s a spring to her step even if she tries to control it, and really, Addie just feels great.

Although, she still can’t believe she’s about to meet up with Drew Starkey to exchange phones because he got startled and gave her the wrong one.

She doesn’t even have the damn photo they took together.

The thought makes her laugh, and relax a little, and somehow it clicks in her head that Drew really is just a regular guy, susceptible to ridiculous shitty things happening to him just like everyone else. It calms her on her walk down to Tesco, even when it’s a few minutes after they’ve agreed on meeting up and he's still not here.

Expected, really. He did say he’d be late, after all.

When he finally walks out of the car, she doesn’t realise it’s him, at first. The car he’s driving is a silver Toyota, looking a little older than she'd expect. He parks it a couple dozen feet away from her, and the only reason she even takes note of the car is because it’s similar to the one her high school friends used to drive when they were all still back in town. Her eyes land on the dark-haired figure inside the car and recognises him only when the Atlanta sun shines its light on him, making the brown strands appear almost blonde, blonde structure framed by the sun’s gentleness.

Something in Addie flutters. It’s not butterflies, but the feeling of excitement at the prospect of an adventure, or something entirely surreal yet about to happen.

Drew’s face breaks into a smile as warm as summer itself at the sight of her. She gives a little wave, clutching his phone in her hands. It takes him a couple of seconds to cross the distance between them, and he joins her under the shade.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi.’ Addie grins back, the sheer lack of knowing what to do bringing heat to her cheeks. ‘Nice car you got there. My friend had the same one.’

He glances at the car with pride in his eyes, nodding. ‘Yeah, she’s a badass. Stuck with me through thick and thin.’

‘You got the AC?’

‘Yeah, I had it installed a few years back, when I moved here. Your friend didn’t?’

‘Nope.’ Addie shakes her head, sighing at the mere thought of the days she spent roasting in that car during midsummer roadtrips. ‘Some AC would be good right now. I walked here and honestly, I pretty much melted off. Even wearing this.’

The girl grabs a handful of the dress below her waist, the lower part of the lightest fabric she could find in her closet. It’s an ordinary summer dress meant for beaches and walks under the Mediterranean sun, light blue with flowers scattered all over it, and reaching just to her knees when still. The day is windy, so the fabric sways on the wind, pulling itself a little higher, instead.

Drew chuckles at her comment and makes one about misjudging the temperature and choosing to wear long jeans instead of shorts, and stops himself mid sentence. ‘Ah, fuck.’

Addie recognises the sigh and the eyeroll, and figures something’s up even before he runs his fingers through his hair, saying, 'I forgot something. I'll be right back.'

Before she manages to mutter ‘Okay’, he’s making a beeline for his car. She watches him take something out of the glove compartment and he’s back within seconds, holding one of the biggest Hershey’s chocolate bars Addie has ever seen, and her phone is on top of it. She lets out a small chuckle, feeling her eyebrows come closer.

Drew holds the two in front of her, scratching the back of his neck with the other hand. ‘This is a little something for the inconvenience. And – and as congratulations, you know, for getting the internship.’

‘Oh my god, you didn’t need to buy me a chocolate,’ Addie says, voice high pitched in a combination of laughter and disbelief.

‘No, I did. Just – just take it, okay?’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Addie’s fingers wrap around the chocolate and she slips her phone into her pocket, handing him his. It feels odd—this whole interaction does—and she has the stupidly childish need to stare at her feet, but she makes herself look up at him, and he does the same once he glances briefly at his phone, putting it into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s squinting a little, and she can’t tell if it’s because of the sun and the fact that he’s not wearing sunglasses, or because that way it's easier to mask the awkwardness she knows he’s also feeling.

She offers him a smile, earnest as he can, and sees his shoulders drop a little.

The smile he gives in return is so genuinely apologetic that Addie finds it sweet – contagious, too.

‘Look, I really am sorry about this whole thing. I know I keep apologising, but I mean it. The chocolate was the least I could’ve done.’

‘And it’s more than enough,’ she reassures him. ‘Honestly. You’re all good. It’s not like you tried to steal my phone.’ She squints at him, jokingly, and crosses her arms on her chest. ‘Unless...?’

It makes him laugh, wide and bright, and his hair moves gently as his head shakes. ‘Fuck no. I’m not skilled enough for that.’

‘Yeah, you’re driving an old Toyota that does’'t even come with an AC. Not good enough for a thief.’

Drew’s laughter persists, and Addie lets herself relax a little. She leans against the tree with the side of her body, a little tired of being on her feet for so long, one of her hands stuck in her pocket and the other holding onto the chocolate that's getting softer between her fingers and her palm.

The man in front of her glances around with an edge to it, just like he did back inside the supermarket.

‘I should get going,’ he says. ‘It’s an interview week, so…’

Addie smiles. ‘Yeah, it’s cool. Thanks for bringing my phone back.’

‘Once again, I’m really—’

‘Okay. It was nice seeing you again. I can’t hear you apologise one more time so I’m going to leave.’

She considers turning on her heel and pretending to walk away, but she only takes a single step back and gives him a cheeky grin, instead. Drew is staring at her, squinting a little, probably because she’s all in the sun now and her dress is more than a little reflective.

He raises two fingers, gives her a little salute. ‘Bye, then.’

Addie repeats the word, mimicking his gesture.

Drew grins at that and it’s the last she sees of his face, as he turns toward his car and walks away. He waves at her driving out of the parking lot, while Addie fumbles with her headphones and her phone, and she waves back.

The moment he’s out of sight, she walks back under the tree, completely leaning her back against it. The breeze is enjoyable now, something between comfortable and warm, and Addie feels her heart thumping in her chest. Her eyes flutter and a shaky breath leaves her lungs, lips curling into a smile. Her hands may not be sweaty, but she feels sweaty all around, and knows she should be getting home as fast as possible because of the chocolate she’s holding, but she just... she can’t.

It’s not like Addie Mallory to get her head spinning at the sight of a boy – far from it. In fact, she likes to think of herself as an experienced person with a level-headed, realistic perspective on life and everything that constitutes. She’s put her career and future first for years now, and this is the first time she feels like she’s taking baby steps when talking to someone new, instead of striding.

Except, be as it is, Drew Starkey isn’t just someone new. Even if Addie is used to meeting people of far more importance than her, it’s usually in her line of business, and it’s usually people she knows what to expect from. This is someone who she feels like she knows what to expect from except he breaks all those expectations with ease.

It’s far from being the same, so Addie allows herself to be okay with her heart racing, palms sweating, and just getting overall excited like a schoolgirl. This doesn’t make her any less mature or her priorities any less set in stone.

As Addie goes into her text messages, rereads the one from Harry Martin, she realises that her life definitely took a 180 the day before. She texts him back, letting him know she’s available whenever and apologising for the late reply. Her phone rests against her chest, warm and familiar.

She’s glad to have it back.

But, even if she’s having a hard time admitting it, she’s not glad that her story with Drew is over.

◇

05: TOMFOOLERY

tagging. @jjmaybanksbaby @taiter-tots @sacredto @snkkat @drewswannabegirl @yeslifeofateen @rudypnkw @stfukie @x-lulu @sacredto @drewstarkey @butgilinsky @solllaris @hyperactive2411 @chasefreakinstokes @surferkie @jroseron @k-k0129

#drew starkey #outer banks #obx #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x oc #outer banks fanfiction #phone swap series

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happymetalgirl · 4 years ago

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October 2020

Six Feet Under - Nightmares of the Decomposed

I wrote a full-length review of this disaster of an album earlier in the month, and yeah, wow. Between the phoned-in performances from the instrumentalists who have proven themselves far above this joke of a band and the half-assed production this would have been a pretty crappy album even without Chris Barnes’ milk-aged vocals. But he’s here, and he’s managed to actually get worse too, gasping his way through the whole album and littering it with these ludicrous “high” squeals that would make Smeagol sound like a more competent death metal vocalist. It’s the worst thing I’ve heard all year, and what’s worse, I don’t think Six Feet Under is stopping.

1/10

With that out of the way, let’s cleanse the pallet right away with some really good shit.

Greg Puciato - Child Soldier: Creator of God

Ever reliable in his artistically integrity, explosive former Dillinger Escape Plan frontman, Greg Puciato, has been pretty sonically and artistically adventurous since the honorable dissolution of the iconic mathcore outfit, his most notable music project being the ethereal, synth-heavy The Black Queen. This year, however, Puciato has gone fully solo for a full-length project, and something told me to get ready for a wild ride, and boy was I right on that hunch. Borne out of an exponentiated process of songwriting that produced songs Puciato deemed unfitting for any of his current projects, what was planned as a small release to ship these songs out of the writing room eventually spiraled into a full-blown debut solo album clocking in at over an hour. A lot of solo projects play like clearly indulgent amateur hour sessions from an artist whose ego has been boosted pretty well from significant success from their main project, leading them to overconfidently try their hand at music they have no business trying it at. And it’s often approached under the understanding that it is a victory lap, more or less, and a satisfaction of creative impulses for the sake of it. Sometimes the resultant material is clearly inspired and showcases a side of an artist that certainly deserves some spotlight. Other times it feels like being trapped in an awkward situation with an acquaintance where they just show you all their newest pedals and production software and you’re just stuck there watching them fiddle around while you nod along and offer the occasional “wow, that’s pretty crazy” every now and then while they don’t pick up on the obvious cues that you are just waiting for them to finish playing with their toys. While Puciato was open about this album being borne from the very creatively borderless mindset that so often damns solo projects, Child Soldier: Creator of God is an actual realization of the type of grand, genre-spanning album that so many solo artists envision themselves making and set out to create, and it’s hardly a whimsical, amateurish crack at the styles within either. Puciato’s foray into sludge metal, industrial rock, harsh noise, darkwave, synthwave, and shoegaze, (1) makes for a hell of a dynamic and exciting track list, and (2) shows a much deeper than average respect for and relationship with the styles being played here. This isn’t some frontman thinking his charisma can carry him through a whole rap solo album; this is a well-rounded artist (also a hell of a frontman, no denying that) giving the most comprehensive look yet into his creative mind. The album leaps around in patches of different styles, strung together mostly by ambient connective tissue of various types, all with a great attention to detail paid to both texture and progression. We get early patches of smooth ambiance, but also aggressive industrial and sludge metal, eventually moving to more soothing and meditative synthy stuff around the middle, finishing with some serene, Have a Nice Life-esque shoegaze. But really there’s no way to sum up this album stylistically without breaking down every single song on here, and that would just ruin the fun and the experience. You really just have to experience it for yourself.

9/10

DevilDriver - Dealing with Demons I

Embarking on a conceptual double-album, Dez Fafara and DevilDriver’s first installment in the pair is a scoop of the, indeed, slightly above average, but unfortunately still plain and predictable modern groove metal they always offer up. I’ll give the band credit for keeping the pace up and clearly putting substantial energy into the performances on this album, while also trying to squeeze in a few shake-ups to their sound, like the clear Gojira-inspired riffage on the opening track. The album loses steam, unfortunately, as its punches lose their impact as it goes on.

6/10

Anaal Nathrakh - Endarkenment

While certainly cultivating a unique sound, Anaal Nathrakh’s unholy fusion of nasty modern blackened grindcore with sweeter metalcore and melodic death metal elements has its mixed results. And while that might at first sound like a relatively critical assessment of the Brits’ eleventh album, I’d say that there is actually a lot to enjoy and take in for at least the interesting mix of styles, most of which are hits rather than misses as well.

7/10

Enslaved - Utgard

Having been a fan of a good amount of their recent output, especially 2015’s In Times, I came out of Utgard moderately disappointed with how infrequently Enslaved galvanized their potent brand of Viking folky, progressive black metal effectively; the few moments the band do channel their strengths cohesively and purposefully left me wanting more rather than savoring those moments.

6/10

In Cauda Venenum - G.O.H.E.

It’s hard to, and indeed seems kind of in just to, sum up a heaping prog metal serving like G.O.H.E., comprised of two 22-minute halves, in a capsule review, but that is kind of the format my current busy circumstances have forced me into. French outfit In Cauda Venenum made a self-titled debut in similar two-long-track fashion back in 2015, and the band’s gothic and somewhat theatrical brand of atmospheric post-black-metal is continued on their sophomore effort here, drawing the obvious comparisons to Opeth and Katatonia, as well as Der Weg Einer Freiheit, Numenorean, and Sólstafir, and apart from the more frequent sample usage and extra drawn-out songs, there really isn’t that much to differentiate In Cauda Venenum stylistically. The band’s second album, unfortunately, resembles so many others in the field with big aspirations and the same inadequate means of getting there.

5/10

Apparition - Granular Transformation

A much more bite-sized early two-track offering, Apparition’s debut EP offers a more promising glimpse into a heady, atmospheric, yet still visceral manipulation of modern death metal that I would be curious to hear in a more long-form format. In a genre as extreme as death metal in recent years has been, finding artists effective at working with negative space can be difficult, but the two songs on Granular Transformation showcase a formidable dexterity from Apparition that I think can take them places.

6/10

Molasses - Through the Hollow

While indeed marred by some rough performances on songs with sometimes more desert to cross than water to make it there, there’s an undeniable occult hypnotism about the Dio-era-esque doom metal hollow that Molasses ritualize their way through.

7/10

Death Angel - Under Pressure

While certainly an odd choice on the surface, Death Angel’s acoustic EP and cover of the famous Queen song actually comes out pretty alright. The acoustic version of Act III’s “A Room with a View” comes off with the energy of something like Rush whenever they went acoustic, and the original acoustic cut, “Faded Remains” isn’t too bad either. The acoustic format did not, however, mask the drabness of “Revelation Song” from last year’s overall disappointment, Humanicide.

6/10

Necrophobic - Dawn of the Damned

The Swedes’ melodic brand of blackened death metal is nothing if not thorough on the quintet’s ninth full-length, Dawn of the Damned, covering all the ground that their fans expect their style to cover and doing so with more compositional and performative stamina than their average contemporary. While the band’s broader compositional approach is akin to the beating of a dead horse, I can’t deny it produces some tasty motifs in the process.

7/10

Bloodbather - Silence

After coming onto the blossoming metallic hardcore scene in 2018 with a standard, but potent enough 14-minute EP, Pressure, Bloodbather are back with another 14 minutes of similar, yet less promising material, doing little to set themselves apart from or on the same level of the likes of Jesus Piece, Vein, Knocked Loose, or Harm’s Way.

5/10

Infera Bruo - Rites of the Nameless

The Bostonians’ fourth full-length is, at the very least, a rather well-executed forty minutes of modern black metal a la Craft or Watain, but beneath the seams the band’s progressive tendencies twist what would otherwise be a fresh, but standard, slab of black metal into a more head-turning offering of the usual shrieks and blast beats.

7/10

Touché Amoré - Lament

While somewhat shaky in their compositional exploration in their fifth LP, the firmness of their emotive post-hardcore foundation allows for Touché Amoré to build upwards relatively steadily without losing that raw vulnerability that has made them so captivating to begin with.

7/10

Gargoyl - Gargoyl

This is the self-titled debut from Bostonian four-piece Gargoyl; a novel blend of dirty nineties grunge and gothic prog metal, Gargoyl come through with one of the more impressive genre fusions of the year, meeting the lofty sufficiency for dexterity with excessive vocal harmonies in a manner so uncanny that would make habe to Layne Stayley proud. While there is the expected room for improvement on the compositional end that many debut projects come with, Gargoyl have laid the groundwork for themselves fantastically and started off on a good foot.

7/10

Crippled Black Phoenix - Ellengæst

Through creative gothic flair and full-bodied guest vocal contributions that bolster the somber atmosphere beyond the typical post-metal album, the UK band’s most recent offering of “endtime ballads”, despite its few low points that undo its otherwise immersive atmosphere, serves as one of the more engaging releases under the broader post-metal umbrella of the past year.

7/10

Wayfarer - A Romance with Violence

The Denver-based quartet follow up 2018’s strong emotive case for the potential for evoking cathartic power of the atmospheric black metal which has so saturated the American scene to the point of numbness, their Americana-tinged third LP, World’s Blood, unfortunately, with a fourth LP whose compositional homogeneity and mere few intermittent bursts of enthralling atmospheric instrumentation more represent, rather than advocate the merit of, the saturation of the American atmospheric black metal scene.

6/10

Armored Saint - Punching the Sky

Though I think the structural homogeneity and John Bush’s similarly limited vocal delivery holds it back, with crunchy bangers like “Do Wrong to None” and “My Jurisdiction” alongside more tempered tracks the clearly grunge-influenced “Lone Wolf”, Bush and company provide a relatively stylistically diverse traditional heavy metal album for an age that could use more contemporary representation of classic styles (beyond the entire stoner metal genre LARPing as Black Sabbath too).

7/10

Spirit Adrift - Enlightened in Eternity

But it's not just the old guard representing their era of classic heavy metal robustly; a year and a half after their energetically melodic third album, Divided by Darkness, which took a triumphant melodic approach to classic heavy metal and doom metal similar to that of Khemmis on their excellent third album, Spirit Adrift ease up a bit on the hyper-soulful approach to guitar melody that had led me (and others I'm sure) to draw the comparison to Khemmis, and instead dive deeper into the headspace of the genre's earliest progenitors to achieve that unabashedly glorious rallying cry that is evoked by the very front cover of Enlightened in Eternity. While I am personally pretty partial to the very vulnerable and heartfelt melodic approach that characterized Divided by Darkness, the effectiveness with which Spirit Adrift are able to wield the sometimes Maiden-esque, sometimes Testament-esque sounds of the 80’s on this album is undeniably impressive.

8/10

Fever 333 - Wrong Generation

Providing the correction to this generation’s answer to Rage Against the Machine (after Prophets of Rage’s insufficient attempted revival) Fever 333 follow up last year’s debut of heavy, fired-up and modern take on rapcore with another 14 minutes of righteous anti-racist hardcore anger that’s attuned to the issues to a level that I wish more artists would at least express in their art. While the EP is 18 minutes long, the last two songs, “The Last Time” and “Supremacy”, don’t match the sonic energy of the first six tracks. The somber piano-led snippet-length ballad, “The Last Time”, should have been the conclusion of the album, but the closing track, “Supremacy”, while as conscious as the tracks before it, is basically a late-stage formulaic Linkin Park track that flatters neither of the two bands. Despite botching the landing though, Wrong Generation is a ripping batch of songs that well represent the current unrest and provide a positive hypothetical idea of what it might be like if Rage Against the Machine were in their prime and active today.

7/10

Mörk Gryning - Hinsides Vrede

The Swedes return from their 15-year disillusioned absence from the studio with a concise and clearly renewed enthusiasm for the energetic black metal that they put forth on Hinsides Vrede. Dynamically bolstered by folk-metal compositional tendencies and more than a dash of that famed Gothenburg melodicism (I know they’re from Stockholm and in fact their melodic approach often does heaven to that of their close neighbors from Uppsala, Watain), Mörk Gryning’s seamless return to music finds them jumping into the modern black metal scene’s advanced compositional rubric with relative ease.

7/10

Zeal & Ardor - Wake of a Nation

Having covered their output since their debut and being a big fan of Manuel Gagneux’ project, it pains me to say, especially given the noble pretext and occasional momentary flashes of sobering messaging, that this six-song mini release really doesn’t capture the unique sonic pallet that has made Zeal & Ardor such an interesting act to listen to for the past few years in the most flattering light. The title track is possibly the least of the offenders here, but all the songs here function by taking a little snippet of sound that samples Zeal & Ardor’s broader stylistic range, and drawing it out across these short, but all too minimally composed tracks in such a way that they lose their momentum very quickly. Like I said, I wholeheartedly appreciate, sympathize with, and support what Manuel Gagneux is doing to lend his band’s platform to the addressing of the dire issue of today’s racism through musical means with this project, and when its social motivation is at the forefront, it’s at its most potent, but musically, unfortunately, it’s just desperately underwritten in a way that doesn’t fairly represent how accomplished Zeal & Ardor really are with their sound.

5/10

Sevendust - Blood & Stone

The flashes of crushing grooves reminiscent of their earlier work on Blood & Stone that highlight how well Sevendust can harness nu/alternative metal to execute pummeling attacks with the right crunchy guitar tone, unfortunately, don’t come frequently enough on their twelfth LP to mirage the exhaustion that has come of the band’s writing process after such frequent, unrelenting output and the all too apparent desperate need for a recalibrating, refreshing break, which they certainly deserve for their tenacity.

5/10

Undeath - Lesions of a Different Kind

In one of those cases where the ridiculously gratuitous album cover actually represents the album’s sound quite well, Rochester, New York five-piece, Undeath mince neither words nor sounds on their debut LP in their 100% upfront, no-nonsense, and wonderfully nasty delivery of death metal. Eschewing even the slightest sense of snobbery or pretense for aimless ambition, the band simply compile the genre’s tried and true elements of bellowing growls, filthy riffs, mean-ass down-tuned chugging, and blood-pumping double-bass with blast beats into an addictive slab of raw, uncured death metal that serves as a testament to the merit of not overthinking shit.

8/10

Griffon - Ὸ Θεός Ὸ Βασιλεύς

On their sophomore LP, Parisian quintet Griffon channel the world innovative ethos that has become rather prominent in their scene into a somewhat short, but definitely sweet offering of modestly ambitious black metal that captures much more effectively than most albums of similar style and lesser imagination, the divine grandeur that the genre so often tries and fails to embody.

8/10

Bring Me the Horizon - Post-Human: Survival Horror

After taking the hard left into current pop music trends very transparently on their controversial, which was at least partially intentional on their part, and ultimately really patchy, but not wholly awful, 2019 album, amo, Oli Sykes and co. walk it back substantially for this smaller release here, back to That's the Spirit, even Sempiternal, a prospect that might get a lot of the band's more long-time, metalcore-centric fans excited, but I would suggest those fans temper their expectations of Post-Human: Survival Horror. The band reunite with the anthemic metalcore/deathcore that put them on the map for a good chunk of this album, and the intro track, "Dear Diary,", might even give some false hope of the prodigal sons returning home. But songs like the cookie-cutter single, "Teardrops", provide strong evidence that, while the band have re-embraced their old aesthetic, they have not kicked the pop vocal or compositional habits. And the project really does run out of energy in its final third because of this compositional homogeneity. I do want to highlight the song, "Kingslayer", which features a very in-form Babymetal (I loved their album last year), because their fun, not-so-serious approach to the crossing of J-pop and metal music in their feature on this track among the other songs around it provides a contrast to the more formulaic, disinterested radio pop swagger that Bring Me the Horizon have been trying to jam into their sound that could perhaps inform Bring Me the Horizon's artistic approach to integrating pop music if they really are so hellbent on doing so. Ultimately though, as much as they want to move into newer territory, this trajectory-revising release shows just how much more solid Bring Me the Horizon are in their metalcore territory than they were on amo. It had its predictable hiccups, but this thing wasn't too bad.

7/10

Pallbearer - Forgotten Days

With the slow, sludgy, down-tuned riffing of the menacing opening title track and the similar chug of “Vengeance & Ruination” being the sole exceptions, the remainder of Pallbearer’s fouth full-length largely sees them operating in the same niche they have in their three previous albums. And while this could invoke accusations of playing it safe, the brimming heartfelt sorrow and resistance to succumbing to despair across Forgotten Days is enough to wave that away, as Pallbearer showcase just how emotive doom metal can be.

8/10

Bleeding Out - Lifelong Death Fantasy

The very new act and fresh Profound Lore signing, Bleeding Out, certainly display more dynamic capability than your average local grindcore scene’s biggest names here on their 18-minute debut for the label, but as of now it is still just a glimpse of potential for more effective future implementation. It’s a good start, though, and I’ll be looking forward to a more long-form project from these guys.

6/10

Evildead - United States of Anarchy

Every year we get the resurrection of some long-inactive old-school band who seem to have found that missing spark at last; we’ve seen the return of smaller bands to the studio like Angel Witch or Sorcerer and long-awaited revivals of iconic acts like Possessed. This year, Los Angeles’ Evildead has seen fit to make their commentary on the massive ongoing sociopolitical upheaval. Despite my love for the 80’s thrash scene they were born out of, the combination of the utterly lame band name, logo, and covers for either their ‘89 or ‘91 albums never really made me want to check them out, but seeing the horridly cheesy and incoherent cover of United States of Anarchy (I mean how much more on-the-nose can you get), my morbid curiosity got the best of me. Maybe I’d be wrong to have judged them by their cover, plenty of my favorite 80’s albums have particularly goofy cover art. So what do we get from Evildead in 2020 with this fucking album? Well, it’s not as poorly performed as the past few Anvil albums I’ve had to review have been, but Jesus the lyricism is similarly cheesy 5th-grade-level stuff and smacks of silly political incoherence that essentially boils down to “enlightened centrism” with mix of that good ol’ Illuminati-conspiracy-theory belief that no political thrash album is apparently complete without. I mean there’s just basic acknowledgment of the prominent problems of the day and the fact that both major political parties are bad and that corruption is rampant all throughout DC, but Evildead not only barely scratch the surface, they apply the same level cynicism to the “both sides” they criticize with no substantiation to their criticism despite that mindset being a big reason for our being where we are right now, mixed in with the occasional conspiracy-paranoia about the shadowy underworld running everything, so no real solutions or even proper addressing of these problems. Like, the same level of criticism is levied at right-wingers and communists, like communists are at all why this country has gone to shit. And the generic Anthrax/Megadeth type of thrash instrumentation, while rumbly and mixed well to highlight its bass heaviness, doesn’t exactly make it easy to get past the commentary deficiencies on here.

4/10

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full

Rounding off their year (at least I think), with a long-teased collaboration with Emma Ruth Rundle, Thou finally present their massive sludge-doom sound in a much more flattering light than the previous cover albums this year did. Thou's original material continues to highlight just why their relatively stiff sound is much more cut out for that, original material, than for trying to bend beyond its flexibility to tribute grunge songs. And while Thou being back in their more effective department, Emma Ruth Rundle's contributions, beyond just her gorgeous and ethereally haunting vocals, to the album's atmosphere, dynamic, and structuring really take the collaboration to the next level. Not to say that Thou are completely overshadowed and relegated to the background on this record or that they don't contribute to a fair share of the legwork here; the workload is shared pretty equally, and both collaborators have their moments of prominence, but Emma Ruth Rundle's ever-present gothic/folky influence really directs the music in a way that plays to Thou's strengths in a way I'm not sure they would have been able to on their own. It's great work from both of them, and I'd be eager to hear Thou find more collaborations like this in the future that push them into doing more interesting things with their crushing doom sound, as opposed to the rather tepid collaborations with The Body.

8/10

Auðn - Vökudraumsins Fangi

Sadly, three albums in, Auðn have only barely exceeded the bare minimum for naturalistic atmospheric black metal, with no signs of significant improvement to be found. The Icelandic band earn points for their earnest delivery, but they never seem to fully make it out of the rut that the genre’s many contemporary acts have dug.

5/10

Botanist - Photosynthesis

The black metal traditionalists might have had to accept that the floodgates to bright ambience and serene shoegaze in the genre have been opened and that there's no going back now, but even as an avid Deafheaven fan, I'm sometimes momentarily surprised at just how heavenly some black metal has gotten lately, and this new album from Botanist is one of those albums. And while it sometimes slips into some of the current wave's typical ruts, the sheer blindingly illuminating aura of this album when it reaches those high points (and it does so frequently) is enough to pull it out from those gutters and high into the cosmos. Yeah, another splendid offering of nature worship from Botanist.

8/10

Mr. Bungle - The Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny Demo

Making their return after over a decade, Mike Patton recruits both Dave Lombardo and Scott Ian for the long-awaited fourth Mr. Bungle album, which is titled in homage to the first Mr. Bungle demo which it is comprised largely of much clearer re-recordings of. Ever impressive, Mike Patton balances aggression and eccentricity like a tightrope walker on this project too, while his bandmates do the same with thrash metal’s natural adrenaline rush while pushing the genre into new compositional and stylistic territory without sacrificing that crucial whiplash. It’s a great time, and definitely one of the year’s best thrash albums.

8/10

Carcass - Despicable

While they've been much less prolific since their reboot than they were prior, Liverpool's melodic death metal pioneers simply continue to demonstrate their excellence in this seemingly effortless four-track appetizer to next year's Torn Arteries. Anyone familiar with the band's brutal form of melodic death metal will certainly be pleased with the four quite sufficiently pulverizing cuts here; those who may only be familiar with some of the band's many less muscular imitators might be surprised, and pleasantly so, with the Englanders' ability to lay on the infectious guitar melody without sacrificing an ounce of force.

8/10

#metal #heavy metal #death metal #black metal #deathcore #sludge metal #post metal #new album #album review #new music #thrash metal #blackened death metal #blackgaze #experimental metal #mathcore #doom metal #stoner metal #groove metal

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fairyavengerwrites · 4 years ago

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youngblood ⇝ steve rogers ⇝ one

fanfiction.net link https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13549564/1/Youngblood

pairing: steve rogers x oc

series summary: when Director Fury asks Gemma Bloom to assist the Avengers Initiative for reasons that seem vague, she can’t help but feel like a babysitter. she also doesn’t understand that she’s in for a hell of a ride, courtesy of Steve Rogers.

chapter summary: Gemma gets a promotion. kind of.

author’s note: Youngblood and Gemma are kind of my babies. Gemma is loosely based off me (a Brit). This series is already mostly written, and if you can’t wait for me to update here, then check the ff.net link above!

“There’s a member of your team, sir, who may be able to help start the Avengers Initiative,” Phil Coulson told Agent Matthew White as they walked through S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters. “And who might that be?” Matthew responded, a frown forming on his features as he heard the answer. “Gemma Bloom.”

Gemma had just finished pulling some research on the victim from the latest case she had been working on, ready to present it to her boss, Mathew. She had been a S.H.I.E.L.D agent since part-way in university, and when she graduated from that, she moved into S.H.I.E.L.D full time. Over the years she’d been there, she’d become a Level Six Agent, working her way into Level Seven now to be on the same level as everyone else on the team.

“I brought coffee!” Agent Tony Allan exclaimed, holding the carrier in the air to present four cups. Tony was holding his coffee in his hand. “The boss man not back yet?” he inquired, as the desk next to Gemma was still empty.

“No,” Lidia Bianchi answered Tony truthfully, taking her cup from him and sniffing it.

“Yeah, I think he’s in some kind of meeting,” Samuel Harris added, watching as Gemma grabbed her cup with both hands.

“You got oat milk, right?” Gemma asked. Tony nodded as he handed Sam his cup, leaving their boss’ cup on his desk.

“Maybe we should run through what we already have,” Lidia suggested.

“I don’t want you stealing my intel,” Sam joked, and Gemma rolled her eyes.

“We should probably tell Tony some facts, though,” she suggested. “So he’s not completely clueless,” she added. “That would be embarrassing.”

“Thanks for the faith, Bloom,” Tony told her as she smiled sweetly at him.

“I got your back, Tony,” she replied, sipping on the caffeinated drink. At that exact moment, Matthew walked into the bullpen, with another S.H.I.E.L.D Agent Gemma recognised as Phil Coulson, who was sort of a legend around there. The team had worked with him every so often, so Gemma knew that the legends were true.

“Vic, go,” Matthew ordered, snapping his fingers. Immediately, all of them crowded around the screen behind Gemma’s desk, where she projected something from her computer screen.

“James Langley, twenty-five. Worked in HR,” Gemma started. Lidia continued.

“Mother and father died a few years ago. Langley lives with his wife, Anna, a nurse.”

“His history is relatively normal. Nothing out of the blue, no criminal record, no debt,” Sam added. “Everyone I’ve called so far has called him lovely.”

“He was nice,” Gemma agreed. When she first joined S.H.I.E.L.D, Langley was the HR Agent assigned to her.

“Not to everyone, or he wouldn’t have been murdered,” Matthew jumped in.

“Allan, I want you to go down to Aaron, see what he’s found about the body. Lidia, Harris, head to forensics. Gemma, you’re with me.”

“Where is it we’re going, exactly?” she asked him, frowning in confusion.

“Director’s office.” Not for the first time in her life, she cursed Mathew’s inability to explain facts.

“Yes, boss,” she muttered meekly, pushing herself up with an even deeper frown.

“Agent Coulson, Agent White, Agent Bloom,” Director Fury greeted the trio as they entered his office. Unsurprisingly, there was paperwork all over his desk, but the Director discarded it immediately to give his agents his full attention.

“Am I in trouble?” Gemma whispered to Matthew nervously, but her boss only chuckled as they came to a stop.

“No, Agent Bloom, rather the contrary,” Fury answered her, standing up. Gemma’s eyes went wide. “Agent Coulson, if you will.” Phil handed Gemma his tablet and some files and started talking.

“The Avengers Initiative is a program that combines all the superheroes we can muster to fight against... whatever needs fighting. Extraordinary people to help save the world,” Phil explained.

“Isn’t that what we’re for?” Gemma asked, frowning in confusion.

“I don’t mean your average crimes,” Phil corrected.

“You’ve heard of Thor?” Fury asked. Gemma nodded. “From somewhere other than earth. That means that there are forces out there we’ve never heard of, that might decide they want to stop off at planet Earth for a little more than a restroom break.”

“We might not be able to stop them, but these people...” Phil trailed off, and Gemma finally understood.

“Right. Where do I come in?” Gemma asked, looking at Mathew, who had yet to say a word. He shrugged. Phil smiled at her.

“We’ve heard nothing but good things about you, Gemma,” he told her. “You can help me to recruit them, and then look after them. You’ve got good fighting skills too, so there’s nothing to stop you joining in during battle.”

“So, I’m not working with White’s team anymore?” Gemma queried, frowning at her boss.

“You’ll be with me in between this,” Matthew finally said, patting her shoulder to reassure her.

“So, are you in?” All three men looked at her. After a minute, Gemma nodded.

“But what about my training?”

“So, you’re working with the big dogs now?” Tony confirmed, taking a bite of his pizza slice. Currently, the team was in the bullpen, trying to pull an all-nighter to solve the case. Gemma shrugged, struggling to keep her eyelids open.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say big dogs,” Gemma corrected, handing her crust over to Lidia.

“Who are these people, anyway?” Lidia asked. Gemma pushed her swivel chair back so she could reach her desk, then pushed herself away from it so she was back in the centre of the bullpen.

“Err, Captain America... we all know who he is, right?” They nodded. “Next... Tony Stark. Iron Man. Again, we all know who he is?”

“You know why I’m so great?” Tony asked the team, smirking.

“Don’t say it, don’t say it...” Sam trailed off, but Tony ignored him anyway.

“Because I share his namesake. Great minds think alike,” Tony told them, tapping his temple. Sam groaned helplessly, and Gemma giggled at his response.

“Weren’t you named after your father?” Lidia asked him, a teasing smile on her face. He rolled his eyes at her.

“Small details,” he replied, and she threw the last bite of Gemma’s crust at him.

“We then have Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.”

“Wow. She’s more legendary than Lidia. Can you get me her number?” Tony teased. Gemma threw her napkin at him. “Why am I so attacked by everyone?”

“Bruce Banner, the Hulk.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sam asked her, worry in his eyes. Gemma shook her head.

“He’s nice as Bruce Banner, which is who we need. Clint Barton, Hawkeye. But we have to rescue him on this mission.” They all nodded. Clint was an S.H.I.E.L.D Agent too; he’d worked with the team once, although it was before Gemma had joined it. “And me and Coulson.”

“Boo,” Tony said. “You got that great line up, and then you? Why not Lidia?”

“Hey! I was only hired to be their babysitter,” Gemma reminded him, throwing another napkin at him.

“You’re wasting napkins,” Sam told her. “He’s not worth it.” Tony stuck his tongue out at him.

“Aren’t you kids meant to be doing something?” The team scrambled out of their leisurely positions as they heard Director Fury interrupted their conversation, followed closely by Mathew and Phil. “Are they always like this?” Fury asked Mathew. Matthew let out a small smile at his team.

“Most of the time,” he replied. “Gemma, you’re up.”

Gemma looked at the notes in her hand, then double-checked, then tripled checked, just to make sure she was in the right place. Weirdly, she’d lived in this apartment complex for three short months just before she’d moved into her house. Which was not important right now.

Right now, Gemma was supposed to escort Captain-fucking-America (she was freaking out about that. Big time) to the quinjet that was going to be the base of their task. Fury had done most of the talking, so Gemma just had to make sure he wasn’t going to drop out last minute. Which, at the crack of dawn, made Gemma feel like dropping out herself. She did, however, come with a peace offering- a nice big cup of coffee. She wasn’t very sure what to expect, but coffee at this time of day could surely never be turned down. Bracing herself, very wary of the time, she knocked on his door. She could hear some moving about for a few seconds, then the lock turning in the door.

“Steve Rogers?” she asked, smiling. He frowned. He still had a hand behind the door, and Gemma sensed some sort of weapon.

“Who’s asking?” Steve responded.

“Gemma Bloom, SHIELD.” Gemma couldn’t lie; he really was very breathtaking and dreamy and muscular. She held forwards a coffee. “Coffee?” He took the cup.

“Come in,” Steve said a moment later. “Did Fury send you to herd me there?”

“More or less,” Gemma responded, looking around the apartment. Somehow, it was almost exactly what she thought it would look like. “Plus, I figured you don’t really know where you’re going when walking around SHIELD and I kinda know where the quinjets are, so I guess you can think of it like when you’re on a school trip in primary school and your teacher makes you buddy up so you don’t get lost.” Gemma watched as he grabbed a bag and a file.

“Primary school?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“Er, Kindergarten, I guess? It’s the British version. I’m British.”

“I think they’ve probably changed since I went to school.” Steve looked around his apartment. “So, where do SHIELD keep their quinjets?” Gemma jingled her car keys.

“Let’s get there first. You need me to grab anything else for you?” Steve shook his head, and so they both left to go to her car. Gemma also wasn’t really sure why she had to bring Steve in; surely Coulson would’ve been better.

“How long have you been at SHIELD for?” he asked, observing her driving. Gemma was a very safe driver.

“A few years.” The small talk felt very awkward in her car, but it was better than the music quietly playing.

“What about America? What made you come?” A few memories appeared behind Gemma’s eyes.

“Since I was eighteen. I got a full-ride scholarship at NYU and I haven’t looked back since. Although,” she added, looking back over at him. The sun was starting to come up. “There’s loads I miss. Like the chocolate this side of the pond. It’s really shitty.”

“You kiss your mother with that tongue?” he teased. Gemma smiled and concentrated on driving as the awkward air started to ease.

“What about you? There must be stuff you miss from before your seventy-year nap.” She heard him sigh and hoped it wasn’t too much of a touchy subject.

“I mean, the chocolate is far better now than it was then.”

“All that tells me is you’ve never had good chocolate.” Gemma stopped in front of the SHIELD building and parked up. She looked over at Steve. “Time to go do our jobs.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x ofc #mcu #mcufam #steve rogers fic #youngbloodffavengers #fanfic #mcu fanfiction

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frunbuns · 5 years ago

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Salamanders and Porcupines

Chapter 2: Charms

Newt shows Queenie where the Charms classroom is and Queenie shares some wisdom

Previous chapter / Next chapter

Read on Ao3

Even though the blonde girl, Queenie, is staying in the Hufflepuff common room, Newt doesn’t see her until breakfast the next day. She’s chatting happily with Tina before they part ways and Queenie sits down next to him at the table, while Tina walks towards the Gryffindor table. When she notices Newt looking at them she gives him a small smile and a wave. Newt blushes slightly and looks away shyly.

Queenie walks up to him and sits down. “This castle is huge!” she laughs. “Took me forever to find this place again.”

Newt can’t help but smile at that. “You’ll get used to it,” he says.

Queenie chuckles. “Mercy Lewis, I hope so,” she says before she starts eating.

Leta jogs up to the table and sits down on the other side of Newt. He smiles at her. “I didn’t catch you last night,” she says, then pulls out her timetable. “Anyway, we have Transfiguration together second period,” she says, then groans dramatically. “I have Potions with Gryffindor later. But I’m free after lunch.”

“I have Herbology,” Newt says

Leta sighs. “Bugger.” She looks around the hall. “I have to get to class. See you around.” She gets up again and walks out of the hall. Newt watches her leave.

More students have also started to leave for class, some of them having to go quite far for their classes. And probably some that just like to be early. Newt should also get going soon when he thinks about it.

“You like her,” Queenie says. It’s not a question, but a statement.

Newt turns to her. “I - I’m sorry?” he asks, a little startled by her blunt statement.

Queenie smiles at him. “You like her,” she says again.

Newt’s cheeks redden dramatically, like the the Gryffindor scarf. He looks down at his hands in his lap. He’s sure that even his ears are bright red now. Had he really been that obvious? “I’m - how—” he starts. “What - what makes you say that?” he asks.

Queenie giggles. “Don’t worry,” she says. “You haven’t been obvious.”

How did she—

Newt looks at her. Something in his brain clicks. “You’re a legilimens!” His eyes light up, a big smile breaking across his face. Embarrassment completely forgotten about. Queenie smiles at him, not quite used to responding so positively to finding out she can read minds.

She nods. “Uh huh, yeah,” she says. “But I always have trouble with your kind. Brits. It’s the accent.”

“Really?” Newt asks, intrigued. His scientific curiosity has suddenly been piqued. “How come?”

Queenie shrugs, then looks around the hall. Upon noticing it’s almost empty she perks up and pulls out her timetable. “We should get going,” she says as she unfolds the piece of paper. “Do you know where Charms is?” she asks.

“Oh, uh - yeah, sure. It’s on my way,” he says.

They walk out of the Great Hall together. Queenie clutches her books to her chest, looking around the castle excitedly. It’s still all very new for her and she soaks everything in. They walk in silence the entire way as the young girl is busy taking in the details of the old castle.

At one point she makes a comment on Newt’s height that makes him chuckle lightly. He supposes she’s right. He’s quite tall. It seems to run in the family. Not that Queenie is short - of course. In fact, she seems to be of average height for her age.

She giggles at his panicked thoughts and assure him it’s all okay.

Eventually they stop outside the classroom.

“I’m sorry about Leta,” Queenie says.

Newt stops in his tracks, caught off guard, and looks down at her, brows furrowed together in confusion. “Why - why would you be sorry about Leta?” he asks.

She looks up at him. “She likes your brother, right?” she says. “That must really suck.”

Newt’s face falls. “oh,” he mumbles. “yeah…”

Queenie frowns, looking down for a moment. Then her expression turns thoughtful. She looks back up at him, meeting his eyes for a second before he looks away. “Leta is a taker,” she says, softly, only for him to hear. “You need a giver. There are better people for you out there, honey.”

Newt stares at her for a moment, stunned. Lips slightly parted. He looks directly into her radiant green eyes, he somehow finding himself unable to look away. Eventually he seems to be able to get back to his senses. He blinks rapidly, shaking his head. He looks down at his shoes. “I should - I should get going,” he mumbles, slightly embarrassed. “Bye, Queenie.”

He gives her a small, tight lipped smile and walks off.

~ ~ ~

Throughout the rest of the day Newt keeps thinking about what Queenie had said to him. No matter what he does he can’t really seem to take his mind of it. Leta seems to notice during Transfiguration, repeatedly nudging him throughout class to get him to pay attention again. She appears to grow slightly frustrated at his faraway behaviour after a while, but doesn’t voice it.

Perhaps Queenie is right? To only be twelve years old, the little girl is incredibly bright, no to mention the fact that she can read minds. She clearly seems to be better with people than Newt is, which honestly isn’t that big of a feat, but still impressive nevertheless.

It’s been slightly awkward between them since Leta told him about her crush on Theseus, primarily because of him. Even if he tries to hide the bitter feelings that rise up within him whenever she mentions the older Scamander brother. It’s hard, and Newt’s never liked a person in this way before.

She’s his only friend so he doesn’t want to lose her so maybe it’s all for the best anyway? He doesn’t want to throw away their friendship over a little crush. Though it’s not a very little crush either, he thinks.

But maybe Queenie and Tina could be his friends too?

#fantastic beasts #newt scamander #tina goldstein #leta lestrange #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts the crimes of Grindelwald #fics #my fics #mine

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justcallmehitgirl · 6 years ago

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MY BLUE HEAVEN // PART ONE

Fiona Carrasco is just trying to get by in law school. She has average grades and good friends, but is currently jobless and trying not to binge on ice-cream every night.

Harry Styles seems to have it all. He’s third in their class, has a job lined up at one of the biggest law firms in New York, and is beloved by the student body.

However, Harry has a problem and Fiona may be the answer to his problems… if they don’t strangle each other first.

A short story about law students, late night Dairy Queen runs, and finding love where you least expect it. AU.

Author’s Note: Hello my beautiful lovelies! Thank you for reading. I’m pretty excited yet nervous to be publishing this. This story is my first foray into the fanfiction world in twelve years so I apologize in advance if I’m a little rusty. Please like and comment, and thank you again for the support! xo.

Part One

–

“He’s staring at you again.”

I look up from my Evidence textbook to give my friend an exasperated glance. I’m behind on my reading and my stomach still hurts from our Dairy Queen outing last night so I really don’t have time for conspiracy theories of whether or not Harry Styles is staring at me.

“No he’s not, Paola,” I hum.

She has her chin propped up on her hand, and she’s leaning in close like we’re swapping secrets. Even though Paola’s one of my best friends, I can’t help but send daggers her way. I look back down and try to concentrate on how hearsay objections are used in court. Pretty riveting stuff.

Paola pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and squints as she continues, “He’s been staring at you for the past two hours, and I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

I bite my lip and look up again to give Paola another glare when I see him from the corner of my eye. He’s sitting in the far corner of the coffee shop with a book splayed over his lap and an intense gaze aimed in my direction. He was definitely staring. I take a quick glance behind me to see if there’s some leggy blue-eyed, blonde haired woman or pigs flying in the distance that he’s trying to peer at through me.

I sigh in defeat. “Fine, you win, he’s staring. Should I go over and talk to him? I have reading that I need to do, and I can’t get it done if I feel like Harry Styles is peering into my soul.”

Paola perks up in her seat. “Your call, Fi, but I feel like he doesn’t really talk to anyone.”

“That’s what happens when you’re in the top ten percent of the class, Paola. There’s certain luxuries that come with it like securing clerkships and jobs and most of all, not having to talk to the bottom half of the student-body like ourselves.”

“He’s always been nice to me though,” she says with a shrug.

“A curt nod and an ‘excuse me, can you please move’ are not exactly good indicators of a warm, friendly personality,” I state.

I move to get up from my seat, and Paola places a hand on my wrist. “Wait, you’re really going?” she asks, her mouth slightly agape.

“Yeah why not? I have eighty pages of Evidence still left to read and I’m not going to waste my precious study time because someone has developed a staring problem.”

She lets go of my wrist and nods her head in agreement. I give her a small smile through pursed lips and slowly make my way over to where Harry’s sitting. He adjusts himself in his seat when he notices I’m walking straight toward him. Once I’m in front of him, I lick my dry lips and clear my throat.

“Hey,” I say cooly. Even though I consider myself immune to Harry’s piercing green eyes and strong jawline, I still can’t help but be a bit nervous at our impending interaction. He is considered to be quite popular at our school. If the rumor-mill is correct, he’s ranked third in our class and has already secured a job for the upcoming summer. He’s also a member of the school’s highest ranking law journal, President of the Corporate and Securities Law Society, and a member of the Mock Trial Society. If his credentials gave any indication, we really had no reason to talk to each other.

During our first year of law school, we had every class together. He was never shy about raising his hand with the right answer or sharing his opinion. He had gotten the law school thing down quickly while I was still trying to find ways to stay afloat. He also wasn’t shy about his status. He hung out with the other top-ranked students and rarely interacted with anyone else. I didn’t resent Harry for his bravado and intelligence, I resented him for lifting his nose at anyone who he didn’t deem worthy of interacting with.

“Hi Fiona,” he says, his voice deep and smooth through his English accent. This is going well already.

“How are you?” I ask crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Great,” he responds curtly as he runs a hand through his short brown hair.

I uncross my arms and rub my hands together. “So I noticed…”

“I wasn’t trying to be creepy,” he blurts out gruffly.

I straighten up at his response. “I wasn’t insinuating that you were.”

“I was just trying to figure out a good way to come talk to you,” he says, glancing down quickly at the textbook in his lap.

“A simple ‘hey, how are you’ would’ve done the trick. C’mon Harry, we’re law students. If we’re not studying or working, we’re networking like our asses depend on it. Our social skills should be out of this world,” I joke.

He doesn’t crack a smile, which makes me instantly cringe at my lame attempt to be funny.

“Gotcha,” he says shortly.

An awkward silence fills the space between us. Who knew this would be so painful.

“Well if you don’t really have anything else to say, I’m just gonna…” I start motioning to where Paola is and where my books lay abandoned. I can see her peaking at us from the corner of her eye. Reading eighty pages of Evidence sounds so much more appealing now.

“I need a partner,” he interrupts. Excuse me?

“For life or just for the short-term?” I quip.

“No, I mean I need a partner for a competition, the Meskill Annual Mock Trial Competition.”

“And why are you telling me this?” I ask with furrowed brows.

“Because I want you to be my partner.”

I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. “What? Why?” I ask, crinkling my nose.

“Because I know you’re good. I saw you in our Trial Advocacy class last semester. You were amazing, one of the best I’ve seen in our year.”

I can’t help but feel a little pride swell inside me that he had noticed. “Well thank you… but I thought you would’ve already had partner by now.”

He sighs heavily and responds, “Liam had to drop out. He said he overloaded himself this semester and can’t handle prepping for a competition on top of his workload.”

Of course he would pair up with the other Brit in our class.

“I’m pretty busy myself too you know,” I say, lifting my chin.

“It’s minimal commitment, only an extra six hours a week plus you get two credits for just doing it. The competition is in April so you’re done right before final exams. I tried explaining this to Liam but he wouldn’t have it,” he grumbles.

I chew on my bottom lip in thought. I could use the extra credits and a competition doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. However, working with Harry Styles does.

Harry interrupts my thoughts. “Please just think about it, I’m really in a bind here. Registration closes this Friday and if I don’t do it, I’ll be the only one in my Summer Associate class who isn’t competing, which would look terrible to the partners.”

“But I’m not even a Summer at Meskill, Fisher & Cole,” I reason.

“You don’t have to be. All you need is a partner that is,” he insists.

“Why should I help you though? We’re not exactly friends, Harry.”

“Ouch,” he winces sarcastically.

“Really though, we’ve barely said two words to each other for the past two years and all of a sudden you want to work with me for your firm’s big annual competition. Just sounds so random,” I admit.

“Because you’re the best advocate I’ve seen at this school, and we could really win this thing if you’re on-board. Wouldn’t you want the title of Champion of the 55th Annual Meskill Mock Trial Competition on your resume?”

“Do we get gold medals?” I say with a snort. He doesn’t respond to my comment so I continue, “Have you tried asking other people?”

“Would it make you consider it less if I did?”

“I’m neutral about it,” I comment.

He sighs as he rubs the nape of his neck, “I asked a few people that I thought were contenders but everyone I know is either studying abroad this semester or has prior commitments.”

I’m only a little insulted that I’m the last person on his list to ask.

“Best advocate you’ve seen, huh? More like last advocate who’s available.”

“It’s not like that. Like you said, we’re not exactly friends so it was just awkward coming to you first.”

“And what makes you think I don’t have any prior commitments? I’ll have you know that I am the President of the Asian Pacific American Law Student Association,” I beam.

“And I’m sure you’re doing a fine job at it,” he mutters.

I clench my fists. “You know what, I don’t have to deal with your condescension. Good luck finding a partner,” I spat, as I turn to walk away. Harry pushes the book off his lap and leaps from his seat. He places a gentle hand on my arm. Oh boy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just stressed out and desperate. Please, at least think about it,” he please, letting go of my arm. His eyes are peering down at mine and his tall frame towers over me.

I just want to say, ‘Look Harry, I wish I could, but I’m already drowning in work as it is. I wish I could be of some help but I just don’t think I can handle a competition on top of my course-load,’ but instead all that comes is, “sure.”

–

“So Harry Styles just asked you to compete with him in one of the biggest mock trial competitions in New York?”

I look over from the TV screen to Paola and Leanna who are both looking at me expectantly. While Leanna is also one of my best friends in law school, she’s not the most subtle out of the bunch. We’re in my apartment hanging out and binge watching another TV show. But instead of focusing on what’s on the TV screen, Paola and Leanna are focused on me.

“Sounds about right,” I say turning my attention back to the TV as another episode of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo appears on the screen. I dig my spoon back into the half-empty pint of ice-cream in my hands. Even Cherry Garcia can’t quell the excitement from today’s events.

“And you said….” Leanna says, motioning for me to continue.

I look back at her and respond, “I said I’d think about it.”

“You cannot not work with Harry Styles,” Leanna states.

“Why do you say his full name like he’s a rockstar or something?” I say rolling my eyes, as I take another bite of my ice-cream.

“He practically is in our class. All our professors are practically obsessed with him. I bet it’s because he’s British. Everyone is a sucker for an English accent,” Paola interjects.

“So are you going to do it or not? You have me on the edge of my seat, Fi,” Leanna gushes.

“I’m leaning more towards a no,” I respond.

“But you can’t though, this is a great opportunity for you,” Leanna adds.

“If you want to work with him so bad, you should be his partner.”

“I wish, but I have too much stage-fright to compete in a competition,” she maintains.

“Then I guess Harry is out of luck,” I sigh, placing the empty carton on the floor next to me.

“Well let’s do a mental list of reasons why you shouldn’t do the competition,” Paola chimes.

“This will be easy,” I mutter.

“Number one…” Paola trails.

“I’m way too busy,” I say.

“With what exactly?” Leanna asks.

“With law school,” I counter.

“Yeah, we’re all busy with law school. Come up with another excuse,” Leanna presses.

“I have too many extracurricular activities to manage.”

“You have an entire executive board to help you,” Leanna reasons.

“I need to find a summer job.”

“And I think competing would be a great networking opportunity to get you that summer job,” Leanna adds.

I give Leanna an exasperated look as she continues, “C’mon Fi, you’ll be buddying up with the partners of one of the biggest firms in New York. How can you not say yes? As my dad always says to never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’m pretty sure every dad says that,” Paola retorts.

“It’s easy for you to say, Leanna, you already have a job lined up.”

Leanna gives me a small smile. She knew she was already in the clear.

“I mean, have you asked your dad about working at his–”

“No,” I blurt, giving her a look that could kill. “First off, he’ll lecture me on the importance of hard work and being your own person. Second, I would dread having to work for my dad over the summer. Third, it’s my dad.”

“Your dad can’t be that bad.”

“Oh really? Try having him lecture you your whole life about law school and you’ll understand why I haven’t told him that I currently have no job prospects.”

“You haven’t told him?” Paola squeaks, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

“No, I really don’t want to be lectured even more about how I’m a complete and utter failure,” I lament, throwing my body back down on my couch and grabbing a throw pillow to cover my face.

“You’re not a failure, Fi,” Leanna says, placing a hand on my knee.

“I sure do feel like it sometimes,” I whisper under the pillow.

Leanna and Paola are both silent for a moment until Paola perks up and says, “Maybe you should do this competition with Harry. It might just help improve your self-esteem.”

I sit upright and the pillow falls to the floor. “Wow, now my self-esteem is on the line.”

“I’m just saying, it might be a good experience,” she reasons.

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s gonna be totally weird,” I say, biting my bottom lip.

“Don’t let that stop you. Remember when you took Trial Ad last semester? You said you took it to challenge yourself, and in the end you couldn’t stop gushing about how proud you were of yourself for doing it,” Leanna says.

Leanna had a point.

“Yeah, and Harry wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you were capable,” Paola adds.

Paola also had a point.

They were both staring at with big smiles on their faces. I turn my attention back to Marie Kondo meticulously folding t-shirts. I hated it when my friends were right.

–

A couple nights later, I’m laying down on my bed listening to a playlist of Queen and playing around with my planner when I feel my phone vibrate near me. I reach over and see the words “MOM” splayed across the screen. I pick it up and swipe right to accept the video call.

“Helloooooo,” I chime.

“Hi FiFi,” my mom exclaims, as her face appears on the screen. She’s waving brightly and smiling widely. Her dark blonde hair is cut right beneath her chin and her blue eyes are fixated on my dark brown ones. If you wouldn’t know any better, you’d think we aren’t related.

“Hi Mom,” I smile.

“Hey Fi,” my dad grunts, as he comes into frame. My dad is short with dark brown eyes and jet-black hair. However, don’t let his height fool you. He can knock you down with his quick wit and foul temper.

“Hi Dad.”

“How are you? How was class today? Learn anything interesting?” my mom asks exuberantly. She is always the optimist. Sometimes I wonder how my parents got together. My mom was born in Worcester, Massachusetts and is a second-generation Irish-American. My dad is a first-generation Filipino-American who came to the United States when he was ten years old. My parents met at Boston College and have been together ever since.

“Class was the same as always. Learned more of… well, the law.”

“The law is fascinating, Fi,” my dad interjects. “When I was in law school, I couldn’t get enough of it.”

“I know, dad,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip. “How’s everything at home?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“Everything’s good here on the homefront. Your brother has a soccer game tomorrow and your dad’s flying out to his conference next week. Oh, and your grandma is being transferred to another facility next week,” my mom responds.

Smooth transition, Mom.

“What’s wrong with grandma’s current place?” I ask.

My Mom pauses thoughtfully for a moment before she answers. “She’s just gotten a bit out of hand for them so she needs a place that can provide her with better care.”

“As long as she’s getting better care,” I relent.

“I’ll give you the new address so you can visit her. I can tell she misses you,” she says with a sad look in her eyes.

‘She doesn’t even remember me,’ I think to myself.

“Sounds great,” I manage to get out.

“So Fi, how are your extracurricular activities?” My dad asks, trying to change the subject. Even though my grandma is my mom’s mother, she’s a sore subject for both my parents.

“They’re… okay.”

“Just okay?” he grunts.

“Yeah dad, just okay,” I maintain.

“Fi, you’re not going to law school to do ‘just okay.’”

“That’s not what I meant,” I try to interrupt, as I start to fidget with the ring on my index finger.

“I don’t understand why you’re not more enthusiastic about school. You’re going into a solid profession. You know how many people wish they were where you are. There are tons of children in the Philippines who wish they had your education,” my dad booms.

Here we go.

“I know, dad,” I groan.

“Oh Eli, she’s doing her best,” my mom coos.

“But she should be doing more,” he retorts.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s talking like I’m not even in the conversation.

My dad continues, “When I was in law school, I was eating up every opportunity I could. I went to conferences, organized events on campus, and participated in every competition being offered. I was Managing Editor of the my law journal…”

“You’re doing great, FiFi, don’t let your father discourage you,” my mom interrupts. She always knew when dad was going on tangents about his time in law school.

“Thanks mom,” I mumble.

“There you go again, Denise,” my dad bellows.

I just want to tell my dad that I am making the most of my time at law school. I’m a student leader and I have great friends. But I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and I can’t help but feel my throat tighten up and my heart start to beat a little faster. I’m frustrated by my dad’s attitude and his constant need to put me down. I just want to tell him all the ways that I’m trying and all the things that I’ve accomplished so far. I try to get out the words, but instead all that comes out is, “I’m competing in a mock trial competition in April.”

Shit.

“Really, FiFi? That’s so exciting,” my mom chirps.

“You are? What competition?” my dad inquires.

“The Meskill Mock Trial Competition in New York.”

‘Shut up, Fiona,’ I think to myself.

“That’s great, Fi,” my dad admits.

“It’s in April and I’m competing with that British guy in my class,” I add.

“Mom, Dad!” I hear in the distance.

“Hi sweetie,” my mom calls out. My dad leaves the video frame and I hear some muffled chattering in the distance.

“Connor’s home, FiFi,” my mom beams. Connor was always the favorite child.

“Hey sis, miss you!” He calls out, coming into frame to give me a big wave.

“I bet,” I retort, “miss you too, Connor.” Even though he’s six years younger than him, he’s about half a foot taller than me at 5’11. He’s a soccer star at his school and inherited my mom’s light skin and blue eyes while I, on the other hand, inherited my dad’s dark eyes and tan complexion.

“We’re going to head to the nursing home now to visit your grandma but give us a ring if you need anything, we’re always just a phone call away,” my mom smiles.

“Keep up the good work, Fi,” my dad calls out in the distance.

“Thanks dad, love you guys.”

“Love you too,” they all call out in unison. I end the video call and immediately flop back down on my bed in exhaustion. I inhale deeply and think to myself, ‘What have I done?’

I think about all the reasons that I shouldn’t do the competition and all the excuses I could use to get out of it. ‘I’m too busy,’ ‘I’m not good enough,’ and ‘I’ll fail,’ are thoughts that race through my mind. I place the palms of my hands over my eyes in an effort to soothe the increasing throbbing of my head.

‘Do I even want to do this?’ I finally think to myself.

That is the question of the century.

–

The next day I enter the library and scan the first floor to find Harry sitting at a table by himself. His eyes are glued to his textbook and he’s biting on his bottom lip. I breathe in deeply to gather my courage. ‘It’s now or never,’ I think to myself. Before I know it, I’m standing right next to him.

“Hey Harry.”

He looks up from his book and gives me a small smile, “Hey Fiona.”

“Whatcha reading?”

“White Collar Crime. Fascinating stuff.”

I scrunch my nose. “Sure sounds like it.”

“And what exactly is your poison?”

I pause for a moment and respond, “I’m not sure actually. Still trying to figure that out.”

He nods in understanding.

“Have you thought more about my offer?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“I have… minimal commitment right? Only six hours max per week.”

He nods carefully.

“Alright… when would we start?”

“We can start tomorrow. We can meet to go over the problem and put together a proper strategy.”

“You really think we could win this thing?”

“I know we can.”

“Alright Styles, I’m in.”

What have I gotten myself into?

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #my blue heaven fanfiction #my blue heaven fanfic #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #1dff #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles series #harry styles

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boycottphil · 6 years ago

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Omg if you're writing usuk can you please do something involving the Beatles/Beatlemania or the British Invasion in general? Theres so much good material there but no one really writes about it. I will love you forever

For context, I am taking fanfic requests!

This was a lot of fun to write! I wasn’t too sure if this is what you meant, anon, but if it’s not, feel free to send another ask! I’d be happy to write more. Anyway, enjoy!

Pairing: UsUk Rating: T Warnings: Strong language, mentions of blood, smoking (cigarettes) Word count: 2026

Imagine hundreds of thousands of people screaming your name. Imagine hundreds of thousands of people obsessing over your every step, word, move… Imagine loving every second of the intrusive behaviour displayed by fans.

Arthur, the lead singer of the “best band in history,” lived off of such things. Fame… It brought him joy, joy which he previously thought was impossible for him to feel. He was surrounded by security, yet his favourite moments were those when a fan managed to get to him, and looked at him with amazement in their eyes…

Looked at him as if he were a god.

[[MORE]]

Now, one could say that such thoughts and such behaviour was perhaps a bit… unhealthy. And one would be right. Arthur was sick; getting off on his own fame, and as he gathered more and more fans all over the world with each tour, he felt better. And better.

His band was good, not the best band in the world, per say, but definitely good. Their music was largely enjoyed by a female audience. Girls loved to imagine the songs being sung to them personally. They were written to be perceived that way. No names of girls were mentioned… no hints at any particular gender were given either.

Now, there were rumours, as there always are surrounding any band as huge as Arthur’s. Rumours like selling their souls to the devil, rumours like being robots invested by the government. Rumours like… being gay.

Arthur could only benefit from rumours that claimed he was an alien. It added more mystery to his character, more reasons for people to check out his music, come to his concerts. However…

Rumours that claimed he was gay could destroy his career. The thing is… he is gay. He does not fancy women at all. He couldn’t care less when girls form whole crowds and take off their shirts and bras. He didn’t care about his bandmate’s groupies offering threesomes or foursomes or ogies. He’d rather bang his bandmates if he didn’t despise them all.

He came quite close to having his career ruined, though.

One day, while touring the United States, they stopped in middle-of-nowhere-town of some State that Arthur thought was made up by the Americans to make it to 50 states in the first place. He was still convinced there aren’t 50 of them, but 10 divided into five parts each. But he would not express that opinion. Lest someone shot him for even mentioning the USA in any context that doesn’t presents it as the best country on the planet.

It was a town they were merely passing through, but they had to stop for fuel and food and for the drivers to rest a bit as well. Arthur wore his sunglasses and had clothes on that he wasn’t known for wearing, and decided to walk around town a bit. They had a few hours, and he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to stretch his legs and turn off his brain a bit. Touring meant little walking and too much work, so moments such as those were few and far between.

He had purchased a box of cigarettes, which he planned to get through before he had to be locked in a fast moving vehicle again; in which he wasn’t allowed to smoke. With a fag already lit and dangling off his lips, he walked out onto the pavement, ready to resume his walk just when…

He was bumped into by some 5 foot 6 tall boy. He groaned as his cigarette fell into a puddle, together with his sunglasses. He grumbled and hurried to retrieve his glasses but, well… the kid already saw.

“Arthur Kirkland?! No way!!” He yelled too loudly, his voice far too deep for what Arthur assumed was a 13 year old boy.

“Shh!” Arthur shushed and then wrapped an arm around the other’s head and covered his mouth so he couldn’t make more noise. He felt screaming behind his hand and the boy seemed to be losing his mind just from being touched. Arthur did love attention… but not in some hick town when he was looking for a quiet place to smoke and meditate until he had to leave again.

He dragged the other into an alley- not a suspicious thing to do at all- and shushed him until the other stopped freaking out. He rambled about being touched and carried by Arthur, all of which was technically true, but it sounded so much more dramatic coming out of the kid’s mouth.

“Okay, listen here, kid-” he started, but was promptly interrupted.

“Kid? I’m 19!” He argued.

Arthur looked annoyed, but slightly less on-edge about dragging him into a dark alley. “Whatever, mate. Just stop screaming like a bloody schoolgirl. I don’t want this whole town to know we’re here. The paparazzi would hound us for hundreds of miles, like they did in the last town this happened in.” He explained as he lit his second cigarette- he was mourning the first.

“So you really are Arthur Kirkland?” The other asked, already taking off the backpack he had on and reaching for the first paper and pen he had. “Would you please sign this?” He asked, his bright blue eyes shining in anticipation.

Arthur frowned, but he took the pen and, without really looking or even thinking about it, produced a perfect loopy signature.

“Whoaa… That’s so cool! My name’s Alfred so could you…”

Arthur added, ‘for Alfred, stay cute’ at the bottom, as he does for all signatures, merely replacing the name.

“You think I’m cute?! Wow, Arthur Kirkland thinks I’m cute!!” Alfred said, his voice so high pitched in excitement that Arthur almost really did think he was cute.

“No, mate- I write that for everyone. Most of my fans are girls, you see and-” once again, he was interrupted.

“But you do think I’m cute! I can tell. You keep looking at me,” Alfred insisted, perhaps a bit cheekily. Arthur blinked, trying not to seem too taken aback.

“I, uh… I don’t… What?” He was usually never speechless. He always had a way to make a fan swoon over him with smooth comebacks and flirty lines that made girls go absolutely mad. But this was a boy. A boy who had called him out on his obvious interest in him, and a boy who, while excited to see him, clearly didn’t think he was a god.

Weird. He was supposed to always be seen as a god. What else could he be seen as?

“So… if you could keep this meeting to yourself for the next 24 hours, that would be bloody fantastic. Now, if you excuse me…” he mumbled and started walking away. He thought Alfred would be satisfied enough with that; he got an autograph and a hug- sort of. But no…

“So where are you headed now?” Came the American voice of the 19 year old who just decided to tag along.

Arthur felt his blood beginning to boil just a bit. “That is literally none of your business. Literally.” He sighed, exasperated.

Alfred fell into step beside him, keeping up easily even as the Brit tried to speed up. “Aw, come on! I won’t tell. I know how to keep secrets! I’m great at it. This one time, my cousin Austin, he told me that he and his aunt on his mum’s side-”

Arthur stopped abruptly. “How the fuck are you good at keeping secrets?”

“Well… I… You don’t know my cousin Austin, do you?”

Arthur groaned and kept walking, now deciding to ignore Alfred entirely. The teen though; he decided that he would ignore Arthur ignoring him. The Brit continued walking and smoking his cigarette as if Alfred wasn’t right there, and talking his ears off about dinosaurs and spaceships and how much he loved boys and how he knew Arthur could relate and-

Wait.

They had at that point reached a park, which was perhaps the size of two average backyards. There was no one around, and Arthur really appreciated it.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, his blood really getting to a simmer.

“Well, you know… You’ve never been seen with a girl, you never touch girls, you don’t talk about girls, you don’t even seem interested to all the girls we just passed while getting here. At all. You’re gay, and I can tell,” Alfred claimed.

“I have absolutely no idea where you get those ideas from. How would you know what I do in my free time?” He crossed his arms, perhaps a bit defensively.

“You look at my lips and arms so much, and you’ve looked at my ass too. I’m not dumb, you know! There’s no shame in being gay, Arthur. It’s all just-”

Arthur was angry at that point. He threw his half finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, then turned to face Alfred. “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re gay and you think making up lies is going to turn me gay, then forget about it. All right? I don’t even mess with groupies in the first place. Would you kindly leave me the fuck alone now?” He said loudly, keeping his composure enough not to yell at this kid.

“You’re just mean and in denial because you think if you come out that girls will stop obsessing over you. That’s okay. If you don’t want a groupie because all of them are girls, that’s understandable. But I mean… I’m free. I ran away from home a week ago. I have nowhere to be so… I could come with you. Warm your bed at night. Maybe do a few more other things too. Like ride you while you-”

Arthur punched him. He got too heated, too angry, amd he just… threw the punch. His knuckles ached after, and Alfred was holding onto his bleeding nose. It didn’t seem broken, but knowing the consequences of literally punching someone, Arthur began briskly walking away.

He should have expected to see the American again, before he even managed to walk down half a block. How he could cradle a bloody nose and run after him was a miracle.

“That was so rude!! I did not deserve to be fucking punched, man! I was just teasing you, dude! It’s literally not my fault that you are hiding your repressed homosexuality-”

“Stop. Calling. Me. Gay.” He growled, taking one step closer to the teen with each word uttered.

Alfred was practically pinned to a wall just then, looking up at the Brit with wide blue eyes. He was tall and handsome and…

And he kissed Alfred before he could get socked again. Instead of being pushed away and hit, as Alfred expected he would, he was pulled closer and kissed intensely enough to have all the air sucked out of his lungs.

Arthur pulled away seconds later, practically pushing himself off Alfred. Even behind his sunglasses, his eyes looked wide and shocked at what he had done. He looked around, then took Alfred’s hand and ran toward the bus.

He fucked up. He fucked up big time. But that’s okay… No one saw. And if he just kept Alfred with him on tour at all times… No one would find out that he was gay. At all.

“Is everything you need in that backpack?” He asked Alfred, out of breath from running, once they arrived at the bus.

“Yeah, why?” He asked and took off his backpack so he could take some tissues out and clean the blood off his face.

“Good. You’ll be coming with us on tour,” Arthur stated bluntly, not even bothering to listen for a yes or a no. Alfred grinned like a kid and hopped into the bus behind Arthur, already reaching out to cop a feel of his favourite singer’s ass.

Needless to say, Arthur did get himself a groupie. Involuntarily. And now every day became a series of “I almost outed myself to my millions of crazy fans.” It could be worse. At least he sleeps with a cute and annoying twink every night.

#hetalia #Anonymous #usuk #ukus #aph england #aph america #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones #beatlemania #i think #i mean i tried rlly hard n i think i did well #aph

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theawkwardterrier · 7 years ago

Text

Oh, But Aren't You Already My Darling?

Steggy Week, day 6 Prompt: Tropes and Cliches

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy faked a relationship, and one time they didn’t.

AO3 link here.

The fact that it is not at all her job doesn’t stop anyone from assigning Peggy the task of bringing Private Rogers to his lodgings for the night. She understands that things are a bit chaotic after the assassination this afternoon (and she certainly has her own sorrow about losing Erskine) and that working with Rogers requires a high clearance level. She also knows for a fact that there are people (men) of lower rank who could escort him, and yet she’s been ordered to do it.

“Thank you for this,” Rogers says. It’s the first thing she’s heard him say in a long while, certainly since they were put into the car with orders to return to SSR headquarters tomorrow morning for testing. “I’m sure you had other things to do.”

“I do,” she acknowledges, not willing to demur for his comfort or conscience. “But I’ll get to them as well. We’re putting you up just a few blocks from here, so as long as you don’t require me to plump your pillows, I’ll be through in plenty of time.”

He smiles a little, and she’s strangely comforted that the man she’s started to know is still in there. “No pillow plumping, but if they give me a room with ugly wallpaper, we’d better hope you’re willing to fight for a new one.”

She hadn’t expected such a directly amusing response. She laughs, but it stops abruptly as the driver of their car reports, “We’ve run into the police barricade.”

“Of course.” That the HYDRA agent had been undercover rather than storming the SSR facility hadn’t mattered to Senator Brandt, nor that it was better to keep these things as quiet as possible for public good and as an espionage tactic. He had demanded police presence in the surrounding area, as if hundreds of Nazi spies might suddenly decide to throw off their masks and attack.

The policeman shines his flashlight into the window on Rogers’s side, waiting for him to crank it open. “Evening, fella,” he says, taking a quick glance over Peggy and the driver but focusing on Steve, still disheveled in an undershirt and too-small pants. “We’re on the lookout tonight. You know about that trouble by the water?”

Sounding tired and yet as if he can’t avoid taking an impertinent tone, Rogers replies, “I heard a little something.”

The officer bristles at the way Rogers doesn’t seem impressed or intimidated. “Well then I’m sure you know it was a big problem, big enough for a United States senator to take a personal interest. We’re all taking it real seriously, so I might wonder what a man such as yourself was doing looking so disordered, sitting in such a fancy car next to a pretty lady.”

At this point, he seems a bit baffled about exactly what he’s accusing Rogers of (are they meant to having a torridly romantic assignation, or spying?), and Rogers is starting to look as if he’d like to give him something specific for which to arrest him. Peggy nearly wants to let him, but she decides better of it; she doesn’t have the time to clean up a mess, and considering the effects of the serum, even a single punch might do some significant damage.

She can’t very well mention who Steve is in specific, and even mentioning that he is a soldier is touchy: if someone took a good look at his technically uniform pants, it would be hard to explain why they are so small. Sizing up the officer, and realizing that Senator Brandt would likely have planted a suspicion of badges in the heads of the police, she leans over so that not only her face but her uniform becomes apparent in the light. “I apologize, Officer. My fiance has had a tremendously tiring day - as you can see, he was in a bus accident on the way from Pennsylvania - and we were just on the way to bring him to his hotel.”

“Your fiance, huh?” The policeman peers in closely, still suspicious. Peggy’s hand rests on top of Steve’s in the middle seat, as if it has always been there. She pinches Steve subtly to get him to stop gaping about it. “How’d a Pennsylvania boy meet a Brit like you?”

“A dairy exchange,” she says promptly, keeping it casual, as if she had been asked by a friend at a party. “His father and the dairy farmers consortium wanted to send a representative to see the famous Jersey cows, and I happened to be visiting a friend who’s a milkmaid.”

“It was all very lucky,” Steve manages, leaning toward her awkwardly. Despite his lack of actual acting skill, his instinct is good.

“And now of course I’m being posted back to England for my war work, so we wanted to get a chance to say goodbye, and see the city once more.” She blinks up a few tears just so they rest in her eyes. “Considering the situation in Jersey, it could be quite a while before they’re hosting farmers again.”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Don’t sound like that, sweetheart,” he says. He does a decent job of sounding brave and nicely supportive, although he might as well have stolen his lines from a propaganda film. “With our countries working together, we’ll have those stormtroopers off your pretty island in no time.”

“You did promise me a honeymoon there,” she says, settling against him. Despite his swim earlier in the day, and the newness of his muscles, it’s actually quite a comfortable place to be.

“I’m sure you’ll get it, honey.” The policeman, when she looks over toward him, seems to have been truly affected by the charade: he has real tears in his eyes to match her fake ones. “Now, you go on through and get him settled in.”

“Thank you,” she says prettily, and elbows Steve until he does the same. The driver, snorting quietly, steers them past the barricade.

After a few minutes of quiet, she says, “My dairy farmer fiance. I can’t believe he bought that. If a real Nazi spy showed up, I don’t know if our officer friend could be counted on to notice a tattoo of Hitler.”

“Let’s hope the rest of the force is doing a better job protecting the city, or everyone might come back from overseas and find the place turned into New Nuremberg behind their backs.”

They pull up in front of what looks like an average rooming house, the only light visible from a small desk lamp on the ground floor.

“When you go inside, just ask for Eleanor,” Peggy instructs. “And when she asks you how your trip was, say that you’re lucky to only be this late as you had trouble finding a cab.”

“Is there an SSR division that’s just innocent-looking older ladies acting as bodyguards?” he asks, looking out at his home for the night.

“Well, I do need a role to aspire to in my old age,” she tells him.

Steve laughs and steps out of the car, but leans back into the space of the open door. “Thanks for all of your help. In training, and today, and just now.”

“My pleasure,” she says, “and my job.”

“The dairy farmer sounds pretty lucky. You built him a great life.” He looks around down the darkened street, houses closed up for the night, and then says quietly, “You know, if he’d seen us driving together this morning, he probably wouldn’t have believed any of it. That I could milk cows, or get a girl like you.”

In the dim light, she can see that his face has lost the humor. He just looks tired now, and sad. She wonders how long it will take him to sleep. “As far as I’m concerned, the story was equally plausible then and now.”

The smile he gives is still tired, but seems genuine. She imagines that whichever Eleanor is on duty tonight will insist on feeding him a hot supper, and she’s glad of that.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Agent Carter,” he says, and goes inside.

ii.

The red dress was an obvious signal, one that even Steve would have to pick up on. Peggy refuses to admit that the next day’s outfit - a simple blouse and pencil skirt - had similarly flattering elements. They’re practical clothing for a workday, a little break from her uniform, and that’s all.

Except that she does feel just a brief flare of excitement as she comes around the corner to bring Steve over to Howard’s workshop… A flare which is doused as she sees Private Lorraine right up against Steve.

But then she looks closer.

She’s seen Steve uncomfortable at this point - more than once, in fact - but never this much. He’s stammering, his shoulders tucked inward as if he wishes he could return to his former, less noticeable size. It’s a perfect storm, she thinks with pity, of a woman who wants something, and a man who has had no practice saying that he’s not interested.

“Hello, Steve, darling,” she calls out before she can think better of it.

The two of them snap toward her immediately. Lorraine takes a step back and Peggy thinks, Good, with vicious satisfaction.

“Howard’s ready for you, so as long as you’re done with your conversation over here…”

“Yes!” He edges away from where he’d been cornered and walks toward Peggy, straightening his uniform. “It’s good to see you,” he says, thankfully canny enough not to sound too desperate.

Peggy tucks her arm into his and says, casually, but loudly enough to be heard, “Well, I thought I’d come find you - we need to firm up plans for tonight…”

Around the corner, she moves back away from him, easily shifting back to professional as they near Howard’s area.

“I really appreciated that,” he says, surprising her. She had expected him to turn awkward and choose not to mention it.

“It might get around,” she warns. “Private Lorraine is a bit forward, as you saw.”

“I don’t have a problem with people knowing.” She tries not to make it too obvious, but she finds his blush quite endearing.

“And you should likely learn to turn down an advance,” she tells him clearly. She waves a hand toward him. “Considering…”

“Yeah.” He sounds slightly sad as he says, “I’m sure I’ll get a lot of ribbing for not taking advantage when women who wouldn’t have looked at me twice before do more than that now, but I’ll ask around for some advice.”

Howard comes over at a clip to show off his latest gadgets. Peggy says quickly, “Perhaps don’t ask Howard,” just as Steve says, “But maybe not him,” and they laugh.

Peggy gets a lot of glares around the base over the next few days which just confirms whom among her colleagues she wants to be friends with. She can’t quite bring herself to care, regardless.

iii.

Peggy, it turns out, looks quite fetching in a kerchief. But Dernier reminds everyone in rapid French that just because the village is small, it does not mean that everyone is a rural peasant.

“Your normal hair will be fine,” he tells her, and goes off to tell the pilot that they’re ready.

They make the jump just after twilight. All three of them arrive safely on the ground, but that is their last bit of luck for a while. They land farther apart than intended, Steve’s chute is stuck in a tree and while he cuts himself out fairly easily, it’s a bear to collect the silk so that they leave no trace. And then they accidentally wander into a farmer’s land and are quickly nearly gored by a bull.

Their avoidance of such a fate is perhaps a second bit of luck, except: their escape is not exactly subtle, and as they collect themselves beneath a stand of trees, they hear footsteps and then the click of a flashlight and a voice saying in German-accented French, “Who’s there?”

This was meant to be a brief mission. The plan was for a quick surveillance of a site that had been rumored to be a HYDRA-affiliated lab (Jacques had admitted, shamefaced, that there were certainly ambitious French scientists who would mistake what was right for them with what was right), a rendezvous with a contact of Peggy’s, and then a return to SSR headquarters. Therefore, the costumes that they’d been given were meant to hold up to basic scrutiny at a distance, and they had developed barely a sketch of a cover story.

Steve automatically looks to Peggy, because typically if they’re in some trouble because of poor planning, she’s the one to pull them out. But instead, he hears Dernier’s voice.

“How dare you get in the way of true love!”

“Excuse me?” The crunching footsteps move closer, and finally they can see on the other end of the flashlight two soldiers in German uniforms.

“These two good people are from important families in the village who have been enemies for a century! And perhaps we will never know whether it is true that his great-grandfather truly ordered a horse or if her great-grandfather was right to deliver a mule, but it no longer matters. Because as soon as they saw each other when they came to help the schoolchildren prepare for the annual picnic, they knew that no other would do.”

“Perhaps this is the new Romeo and Juliet,” says the taller soldier with rough scepticism, “but then who are you?”

Dernier draws himself up. “I am their priest, of course.” This, naturally, surprises Steve: Dernier has been a firm atheist since 1928, and typically when asked his religion will proudly respond, “French.” But when Steve looks more closely, he finds that Dernier has tucked his white kerchief into the collar of his black shirt and somehow in the dim light it approximates the look of a priest. “Their families would never have allowed a marriage in the village, so we are going to the church in the valley, and once there, we shall finalize the bond that no one will ever be able to break.”

Peggy, always quicker on the uptake, has been holding Steve’s hands in both of hers and looking nervous but besotted. By the time the flashlight has turned to examine them, however, Steve too has caught on. He has his arms around Peggy and is certain that his expression looks like an overly enthusiastic stage actor. But apparently he’s done a decent job, because the shorter soldier relaxes a bit and, waving a hand, says, “Move along, then. Have your romance.”

They walk for a few moments before doubling back and finding the two soldiers again. It turns out that the HYDRA outpost is not just a rumor. It also turns out that Dernier can make quite a large explosion using only minimal materials.

Years later, when the mission file has been declassified, a television episode will be made focusing on the incident. Peggy will be fawning and practically invisible, Steve will speak fluent French while for some reason wearing his Captain America uniform beneath his disguise, and Dernier will do nothing but cackle when blowing things up.

A historical group will write in protest of the accuracy, but they shouldn’t really have bothered: it changes nothing, and honestly, what Steve himself remembers most strongly is Peggy in his arms for the first time.

iv.

After three weeks in the field with what she estimates was an average of three hours sleep a night, a wet cloth the closest substitute for a bath, and an impromptu field surgery to remove a rotten molar from Dugan, all Peggy wants when they reach the small base in the north of England is to collapse into bed. Even an army cot would feel like a palace at this point, but she’s even denied that: there are no women’s bunks where the rest of the Commandos are being billeted and the commander refuses to let her stay even in a room alone.

“Let’s see when the next train is,” Steve says when it’s been made clear to them that the men are welcome to stay, but if Peggy is given a bed there, they will all be turned out. “We’ll get everyone back in their boots in just a minute.”

But Peggy, watching Jones dunk nearly his whole head into a basin of water and Morita lying back fully clothed with an arm over his eyes, already snoring, demurs. There’s no reason to tear all the rest of them away just because she isn’t allowed.

She goes to the village and asks around, and is eventually pointed to the town’s one guest house. The building itself is lovely: sprawling and neatly arranged, with what Peggy would guess are lovely bedrooms if she could actually get inside one of them. But instead, when she is nearly ready to lie down in the foyer, she meets what she expects is the base commander’s sister, a pointed woman who, when Peggy requests a room, indicates a placard beside the desk: Gentlemen and married couples only.

Peggy tries politeness first. “I’m here on important war work, and they don’t have accommodations for me on the base,” she says calmly.

“Well then I’m sure your superiors share my concerns,” says the owner. The look of disapproval she aims toward Peggy’s uniform boils Peggy’s blood. She spent a childhood being shamed for acting ‘like the boys.’ Her memories of the years in which she suppressed herself in order to be accepted are pale, marked by a sadness that comes from little that actually happened during that time. Now she’s found a compromise, a way to be herself that’s been endorsed by the highest officials in the country, and still she is judged. She wants to tell this woman exactly what would be different had Peggy Carter been at home, tending the fires for a man, rather than using her skills to win this wretched war, but instead she just meets the other woman’s gaze head on.

“I’ll only be here for the night,” Peggy says, “and then I’ll be on the train to London in the morning.”

The woman snorts. “As if I don’t know what can happen in a night!” She folds her arms, her elbows sticking out like pokers. “A young girl can sneak a man in here and be ruined in a night. With a child in the equation, she can ruin three lives! My rules ensure propriety, a return to decency which has been sorely lacking these past years.”

There’s so much wrong with this logic, that for a moment Peggy, her brain already slowed, can’t think of anything to say. Luckily she avoids the statements which would almost certainly get her ejected (that babies born out of wedlock weren’t begun with the invasion of Poland, and certainly didn’t have to be the end of the world; that two gentlemen could get up to some behavior that she would certainly find shocking). Instead she takes a breath and points out, “I could be a married woman traveling alone, and of equal virtue to a man traveling in the same state.”

“But you aren’t,” snaps the woman, and instead of feeling like a victory for Peggy, it seems like the beginning of a slow road to defeat. “You’re just another of those liberated army girls. You haven’t got a husband any more than I do.”

“I guess that leaves me feeling pretty useless,” says a voice from the doorway behind them.

The army uniform has always flattered Steve, but just now, with the last of the sunset catching on his hair and the medals on his jacket, the shadows beneath his own eyes concealed, he looks quite heroic.

“Hello, darling,” Peggy says, strangely comforted by the return to a familiar scenario, if only this charade that they seem to keep falling into. “I hadn’t realized you’d be given leave to be able to meet me, but it’s very convenient. We were just having a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Steve asks, striding over. He seems in his element not because this is a situation calling for a man to take over, making declarations, but because he has experience standing up to people who are too stuck in particular ideas of how things should be done.

“As I was just explaining, this is a respectable establishment and we have some rules,” says the lady behind the desk, with only a brief pause. She still sounds sour, but perhaps actually a bit shaken too. “We don’t allow rooms to women traveling alone, such as your...wife?”

“It seems to me that women traveling alone are the ones you should be jumping to rent rooms to,” Steve says blandly, “especially if you’re worried about the respectability of the youth, but I guess it doesn’t matter, because she’s actually part of a married couple.”

And when he puts his hands on top of the desk to pull the guest book toward himself, Peggy sees that he is indeed wearing a wedding ring on his left hand. The owner, growing more shriveled by the moment, stares at it.

“My wife wears hers on a chain,” Steve says idly, as if just noticing her gaze. “It’s safer in case of accident or capture.” He nods over at Peggy and she pulls a chain forward from around her neck, the crest of Michael’s school ring concealed by her hand so the visible piece looks plausibly like a wedding band. She hadn’t even known Steve had been aware that she wore it.

The room is indeed lovely when they’re finally shown up to it: a large bed, soft, brightly colored linens, an adjoining bathroom with an enormous clawfoot bathtub that nearly makes Peggy want to return to church. The only blemish is their hostess, who takes them through their brief tour with gritted teeth and glowers her way out the door as if she’d still like to demand their marriage certificate and three witnesses including a member of clergy.

“How did you know I was here?” Peggy asks as soon as they’re alone. “And where on earth did you get that ring?”

“I mentioned to one of the guys at the base that one of us had to go find a room in town and he said, ‘Hope it’s not a lady,’” he says, his British accent an absolute abomination, Cockney mixed with bear by way of New York. “I borrowed his ring in exchange.”

Peggy laughs, collapsing into the pretty paisley armchair with no intention of getting up, although both the bed and bathtub look tempting in the extreme.

“I can probably climb down,” Steve says from where he’s looking out the drapes onto the low roof and the lawn below. “Just tell her that I had to go back on duty.”

“And have her turn me out again?” Peggy yawns. “As long as the boys are covering for you to avoid an AWOL charge, just stay here until morning.”

“You sure it won’t make you uncomfortable?” Steve says, and he sounds sincere, as if he truly would scale down the building and return to the barracks if she wanted him gone.

Instead she waves a hand and says, “I’ll likely be asleep as soon as I climb into bed. You could indulge your passion for can-can dancing and I’d be none the wiser.”

But she finds, after she has splashed water over her face and arms, and brushed her hair and teeth in a bid for some minimal feeling of cleanliness, after she has stripped to her slip (she pulls it off well but the uniform isn’t exactly built for comfort) and climbed under the coverlet beside Steve in his undershirt and trousers, that she can’t fall asleep.

“How ridiculous that I’ve been treated more fairly fighting against the Nazis than I have been trying to pay good money for a room in my own country,” Peggy says, and although she tries to keep her voice even and perhaps joking, the true heart of her disappointment seeps through. “Although at this point I likely shouldn’t be surprised.”

“One day it won’t be like this,” Steve says firmly. “You’re going to change that.”

She shakes her head. “I have a life to live and things to do. I haven’t the time to change everyone’s mind.”

He props himself up and turns to face her. “Every time a little girl sees you in your uniform, she thinks that maybe it could be her one day. And maybe she doesn’t want to be a soldier, she wants to be a professor or a doctor or the owner of her own bed and breakfast that serves single ladies only, but she sees a woman doing something that her mother and grandmother never even got to try, and it plants the seed in her mind.” She thinks that she can see his eyes glimmering in the dark. “Peggy, you’re changing things just by being you.”

She kisses him. There’s nothing else to be done.

“Is this alright?” she asks when he pulls away.

Shakily, he says, “I was just going to ask the same thing.”

“Of course,” she says, surprised. She can’t believe he can’t feel the giddiness that’s overtaken her, completely separate from the peak of exhaustion. “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And besides—” She leans close. “It’s alright. You’re my husband, after all.”

He laughs, and she cuts him off with another kiss.

Peggy has some nursing experience, but she’s no match for the barrel-shaped woman in the nurse’s cap before her. It’s not because Peggy is disheveled, or because everything inside of her has been askew since she got Howard’s call - she could have pushed her aside despite all of that. But this woman reminds her of Rose back at SSR headquarters, overlooked and underestimated but like she knows where the nearest machine gun is located and how to access it.

Good. That’s exactly who Peggy wants guarding this particular door.

She calms enough to say politely, “I’m here to see Steve Rogers. I’m his wife,” and notices the nurse’s eyes widen just a bit. How strange: it doesn’t even feel foreign anymore, nor like a lie.

“We’ve been expecting you. Identification please?”

Peggy hands over her passport. It seems a strange precaution to allow them to know her real identity but not Steve’s, to fake a relationship but give this facility unlimited access to Steve’s actual body. It’s all part of the compromise Phillips struck with his superiors. The army technically had the rights to Steve whenever he was found and in whatever condition, and could control who could see him. But when Howard had found a heartbeat for the first time, Phillips stepped in to say that even prisoners of war get access to the Red Cross and Steve Rogers would be allowed visits by his wife, Peggy Carter. And when some paper-pushing corporal had brought up that they had no record of Steve Rogers ever having been married, Phillips had said that he had himself been in attendance at their small ceremony in England seven months ago and it wasn’t his fault that they couldn’t keep track of files on even their most valuable soldiers.

“I’m sure you’re aware that this is a special case,” the nurse tells Peggy as she guides her back through a maze of hallways. “We aren’t entirely certain about anything, but we’re doing our best, and we’re fairly certain he’s stable.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says, managing to sound calm. She appreciates the honesty, but the fact that they are even admitting to uncertainty makes her feel as if they are on shaky footing.

Steve, when she sees him, looks the same as ever, only deeply asleep. She moves his hair off of his forehead and sits beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him quietly. She stays for two hours, catching him up on everything he’s missed as doctors and nurses come in to monitor him every so often. Finally, she wipes her eyes, picks up her handbag, and goes to leave her contact information with the nurse.

She returns the next afternoon, slipping out of work precisely at 5, and repeats the same process: handing over her identification, even though the same nurse is on duty, being shown back to Steve’s room, and filling the space with quiet chat for a few hours.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says, squeezing Steve’s hand before she leaves, and she fully expects to. But instead she receives a midnight call and, making the always perilous egress from the ladies’ residence, catches a taxi through the darkened streets.

The nurse doesn’t bother with her passport this time, hurrying the two of them back rapidly. When they arrive, Peggy sees why: Steve has that stubborn set to his jaw, pushing close up against the doctor. That he hasn’t actually stood is both worrying and a relief.

“Peggy,” Steve says with deep gratitude as she walks in the door.

“I told you that we had called your wife,” protests the doctor, annoyed.

“Right,” Steve says absently. Peggy has joined him by the bed. She holds his face in her hands, looking him over, carefully meeting his eyes.

“You were gone six months,” she tells him. “This is an army facility, in New York. You were found a week ago and brought here as fast as possible. Howard’s been looking after you, between a dozen other things.”

Steve rests his hands on her wrists, so gentle, and she wants to cry. “Peg,” he says quietly, “can you maybe track me down a pair of pants? I know my legs aren’t really working yet, but I’ve had enough of showing off in a hospital gown for one lifetime.”

The tears are technically from the laughter that bubbles up and out of her, but not entirely. Nevertheless, it’s primarily joy in her voice when she responds, “Of course, my darling. Anything for you.”

vi.

They’ve barely left the ceremony dedicating a new military hospital in Bucky’s honor, and Morita is already yanking his tie loose while Dugan bellows for a drink.

“We’ve got a reservation,” Steve assures him, missing Bucky and the way he’d always kept everyone in line. “We just have to make one stop along the way.”

The photo shop is convenient from the hospital, the apartment, and the restaurant where they’re headed. Not for the first time, Steve blesses Peggy’s logical, big-picture thinking. If it had been up to him, he’d probably be racing to pick up the photos after lunch only to find the shop was on the other side of town and closed for the day.

“I’m here to pick up some pictures for my wife,” Steve tells the man at the counter, and waits for the envelope to be fetched.

“Let’s see them,” Dugan demands as soon as they’re in hand, and begins dividing the pictures up for the boys to look at.

Gabe starts it all this time. “That’s strange,” he says, looking at a snapshot taken on their recent trip to the mountains upstate.

“What’s strange?” Steve asks dutifully. He’d known this was coming, as much as he hoped to avoid it.

“I think you must’ve gotten the wrong pictures,” says Morita.

“How’s that?” Steve says with a sigh.

“Well, I’m certain that this can’t be your wife, Captain, because that’s Agent Carter in each of these photos. You’ll recall of course that we fought a war with the both of you, and if you two were to have actually gotten married, we certainly would have been invited,” Monty says with placid logic.

Dernier, who it turns out has always spoken English albeit with a very strong accent (they didn’t find out until after the war, when they could all speak at least basic French), says, “Of course not all of our invitations could have been lost by the mail, so this must be business,” and Morita adds, “Yeah, Cap, tell us what’s up with this charade.”

“If they’re giving her problems with being a Brit and working for the Feds, I’m sure Phillips could pull some strings,” Gabe points out. “Or Howard.”

“Hell, I’ll go down to Washington myself and tell them how much Peg helped us in the field while they were sitting on their fat asses,” Dugan says, rubbing a palm against his fist.

“And while we all know that you were always sweet on her, there’s certainly no need to force her to persist with some sort of sham marriage merely to allow her to keep doing her job here.” Monty again. He’s struggling to keep a straight face; he’s always the first to go.

“It’s been five years, fellas,” Steve protests. “How much longer are you going to keep bringing it up?”

The Commandos look at each other. “Stark’s working on time travel, right?” says Dugan. “He’s pretty smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to get back in time soon to fix things.”

Steve rolls his eyes, although not without a bit of guilt. He and Peggy (but mostly he, as the boys are apparently suitably frightened of Peggy that she doesn’t have to put up with anything but slight ribbing) have been apologizing to those insulted by their lack of invitation to the wedding, which was everyone, practically since it happened. Steve had been surprised by how touchy Phillips still seemed about it, acting especially gruffly affronted when their anniversary came around again.

“We were keeping it small,” Steve tells them once again. It’s what he and Peggy always say. Neither one of them wants to admit to anyone else that they were really concerned that they wouldn’t be able to make it official before some other disaster drew them apart again.

The restaurant is up ahead, and a woman in a blue patterned summer dress stands near the doorway with a newspaper in hand. Steve picks up his pace.

“Now we’ll get a real answer,” Morita says as they approach.

Peggy folds her paper with a smile and kisses Steve briefly but firmly on the mouth. “The wedding debate again?” she asks, falling into step with the group. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to invite you all to the next one.”

“Something you need to tell me?” Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow.

She pats his arm. “It could be you up there with me, but only if you pull up your socks a bit. The chili you made last night wasn’t quite up to the standard to which I’m accustomed, so I’m considering other applicants.”

Dugan says, “I’ll be your best man, no matter which sucker you’ve got on your arm,” and starts a clamor of volunteering and elbowing between the rest.

“Hey!” says Steve, cutting them off. “I’m always going to be the sucker on her arm.”

“Damn right,” Peggy adds, and hand in hand they enter the restaurant.

#steggyweek2k18 #Steggy fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steve/Peggy #I would have had this up 100% on time and even early but I had Internet Problems on Friday afternoon and then Shabbat interfered

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theallamericangirl-blog · 7 years ago

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My Boyfriend’s Father

I thought this lil series was over... until I rewatched some Supernatural (even though this is not accurate to Supernatural).

Summary: Ludwig meets Matthew and Alfred’s father.

Ludwig had assumed that Matthew was the only other living member of Alfred’s family, but, in his time before Alfred (aka, a dark era where his only connections to the human world was to feed), he had forgotten that a typical family consists of parents. Some sort of older figure to provide guidance.

So, when Matthew returns to their hotel room one night announcing that their (apparently estranged) father had finally contacted them, Ludwig was a bit confused.

He had turned to Alfred and said, “Father? It is not just you and Matthew?”

Alfred had almost laughed, Ludwig could tell by the way his eyes crinkled in the corners, but his frown remained in place, “Yeah, we have a father. If you can even call him that.”

Ludwig had quirked a brow at Matthew, the two of them now on tentative friendly terms. Matthew occasionally still threatens the vampire with death should he ever hurt Alfred, but they occur less and less.

Matthew had sighed and explained that Alfred and their father had a falling out while they were still in high school. Their father had always been invested in the supernatural and it had put a strain on his and Alfred’s relationship, as their father wanted so desperately for Alfred to believe, but the boy wouldn’t. It was what had driven Alfred to go far away for college and separate himself from his family.

Alfred had stormed out of the hotel room and no matter how much Ludwig pleaded, he didn’t return until the next morning.

Despite Alfred’s begging, Matthew ignored him and set up the date for them to meet their father, which is why the trio is sitting at the back of an old-fashioned diner at an ungodly hour. There are still a few patrons at the diner nonetheless, sitting at the counter and sipping coffee-- probably truck drivers taking a break from the road-- so they have relative privacy while they wait for their dad to come.

“I really don’t think Ludwig should be here,” Matthew mumbles, sitting across from Alfred and Ludwig and slurping a vanilla milkshake, “He’ll flip out. Do you really want to start shit with dad after not seeing him for years?”

“If Arthur has a problem with my boyfriend then he can ‘bugger off’,” Alfred retorts in a faux-British accent, a mockery of their father, Ludwig has learned since first hearing about Arthur.

“Why should I bugger off?” A crisp, real British voice says from behind them.

Ludwig watches as Arthur comes and fills the seat besides Matthew. Up close, Ludwig can see the the brother’s resemblance to their father; they have the same long, straight nose and similar jaw-lines. Aside from that, Ludwig assumes the twins probably looked more like their mother.

He tries not to stare at the massive, fuzzy, caterpillar eyebrows that rest above Arthur’s stern green eyes that bore into his (nonexistent) soul.

“Who is this?” The Brit asks, ignoring his children in favor of scrutinizing the vampire sitting with them. To any average person, Ludwig could fit in as a regular human. To an experienced supernatural hunter like the Arthur Kirkland, it is clear that he’s an other, with prominent blue veins that show under too-pale skin; the way he breathes unevenly, like it doesn’t come naturally.

Alfred’s arm wraps snugly around Ludwig’s bicep and his boyfriend squeezes it protectively. “This is my boyfriend, Ludwig. Not that it’s any of your business,” He says in a cool voice.

Matthew makes a noise in the back of his throat, and the vampire would feel sympathetic for him, if he didn’t feel very hostile towards Arthur himself. What is with this family and their anti-vampire feelings?

Oh, right. They’re hunters.

“Boyfriend?” Arthur sounds surprised, though not because his son is dating a vampire (Ludwig thinks, a bit jealously, that perhaps he’s not the first supernatural being Alfred’s dated?) “When did this happen?”

“Probably during one of the many years you were absent.”

Arthur flushes and his glare is turned back at Ludwig, “How do you know it’s not just using you? One day it’ll turn on you, Alfred. It’s best if we take it out back and end it there.”

Alfred opens his mouth to speak, visibly angry, but Ludwig grabs his boyfriend's hand and squeezes. Alfred looks at him curiously, but Ludwig just smiles at him before turning his attention back to Arthur.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, Mr. Kirkland, nor are you wrong in your fears; I understand that vampires have a bad reputation with humans,” Ludwig pauses, trying to find his confidence to continue. One look at Alfred and it’s back again, “I would never hurt Alfred. He is my sun, my breath. He has reminded me what it is like to be human again. Even if things stop working between us, I would still never harm him. I love him.”

Ludwig finishes his speech, certain that if he were still truly human, he’d be blushing up a storm.

Alfred sniffles besides him and Ludwig leans over to peck his cheek.

“I love you, too, Luddy.” Alfred says, eyes watery and a dopey smile on his face.

Arthur clears his throat and the trio looks back at him. “Yes, well, if you do harm my boy--”

“Dad, don’t worry, I’ve already threatened Ludwig.” Matthew chimes in, thankfully saving Ludwig from yet another death threat.

Arthur clears his throat again, this time from embarrassment, “Yes, good lad.”

The waitress chooses this time to come over, and the four of them order another round of milkshakes. The family still has a lot of catching up to do, but at least the “meet-the-father” talk wasn’t nearly as bad as Ludwig thought it would be.

#gerame #aph germany #aph america #aph england #aph canada #ace family #vampire au

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wanderinguterus1 · 4 years ago

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Economy Class

“Deserve is a bullshit term. None of us deserves anything. We get what we get.” -Brit Bennett

I once read an article in which a researcher detailed a human behavioral study conducted on airplanes - particularly, among economy class passengers. On some planes, economy class passengers have to pass through the first class area before getting to their (inferior) seats. The study found that on these planes, negative behaviors increased. For example, arguing with flight attendants and fighting with other passengers - all significantly higher in economy class if first class seats were present. The researcher landed on this theory: seeing first class patrons - with their roomy seats, individual arm rests, and ample leg room - made economy class passengers like they were being treated unfairly. In other words, when people are forced to witness drastic inequality, their mindset shifts in a negative direction.

Teaching in a private school, I am often reminded of that article. A few days ago, after third period, I made my way around the classroom, sanitizing the students’ desks. In the beginning of the year, I delegated this job to students, but over time, I realized doing it myself was easier than overseeing reckless 14-year-olds with sanitizer bottles, fearing they would spray a friend in the face or drop the sanitizer on someone’s computer. The label on the bottle warned: “Attention: Can Cause Blindness.” I decided not to take my chances with teenage boys.

I had an hour until my next class arrived, so I sat down at my computer and began flipping through quizzes and recording grades. The soft tapping of the keyboard drastically contrasted with the sounds of hyper ninth graders who had filled the room a few minutes ago. I was enjoying the silence when a former student came by to visit.

“Hi Ariel!”

“Hi Ms. Long.”

Since I had taught her as an 8th grader, I remembered her as a tiny, overly nervous 13- year-old. Now a senior, Ariel moved with confidence, sitting in the desk to my right and straightening the quizzes I had graded and discarded haphazardly.

“Are these To Kill a Mockingbird quizzes?” she asked, looking over the students’ answers.

“Yes.”

“I hated that book.”

I shook my head and sighed. Pulling my mask down to take a quick sip of coffee, I resisted the urge to rebuke her for her bad taste.

“My sister got into Yale,” she announced.

“That’s awesome,” I responded tentatively. Ariel, an average student, had a genius sister. I wondered how Ariel felt about her sister’s acceptance into the Ivy league, although it couldn’t have been too unexpected. Caitlin had been winning academic awards since she was in middle school and had spent the previous summer shadowing a world-renowned journalist.

“Yeah, and I got a full ride to FSU.”

“Wow! I’m so proud of you! I bet your parents are so happy!”

“Yeah, but since it’s not really fair that they don’t have to pay for my college, and Caitlin’s tuition is like 40 thousand a year, they are going to give me the equivalent of that in cash every year to make it even.”

I stared at her, wondering if I had actually heard her correctly. And wishing someone had taught her to “read the room.” Did she just imply the injustice of a full ride? And admit that her parents would be giving her, an 18-year old, forty thousand dollars in cash? To make things FAIR?

Obliviously, she continued, “I’ll probably be able to buy a house as soon as I graduate college.”

Suddenly, I had a realization: being a teacher in a private school was like sitting in the first row of economy class with the first class section in clear view. Every day. For eternity.

I’m not jealous because I want a bigger house or a nicer car or a boat; I just want a baby. One baby. Forty-something thousand dollars stands in the way of my husband and I adopting or trying IVF, but here sits an 18 year-old who will be gifted that amount of money each year for the next four years of her life. She would be able to buy four babies by the time she's 21.

I think of money in terms of babies now. For example, I heard that a Pokemon card sold on eBay yesterday for 500,000 dollars. Instead of dollars, I imagined that Japanese cartoon character being traded for twelve and a half babies.

Don't get me wrong; I understand that compared to so many, I lead a privileged life. I come from a two-parent, middle class home, and I’ve never known what it’s like to suffer from racial discrimination. If I lived in a less developed country, I would be comparing myself to very different types of people: women who sit outside for hours every day, rain or shine, selling vegetables for next to nothing; taxi drivers who work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, just to be able to feed their families. These people don't spend time writing autobiographical essays about how flawed the system is. Even though I understand these truths, I can't help but feel, at times, that I've been shafted.

Two years ago, I lay naked save for the papery hospital gown, in a cold pre-operation room. Hooked up to an IV, I waited on my doctor to arrive and remove the twelve fibroid tumors he had found during my ultrasound. Luis stood by the bed, holding my hand and telling me about the infamous Star Wars holiday special of 1978 in an effort to distract me.

“It actually had Wookie porn in it. Wookie porn. What were they thinking? Chewbacca’s father just groans for like ten minutes straight. It's known as one of the worst films to ever air on television.”

The surgery, an abdominal myomectomy, consisted of cutting open the abdomen in order to remove the tumors. After a year of trying to have a baby and failing, this was our first expensive problem-solving attempt.

On the other side of the curtain, a nurse greeted her patient. “Good morning! What are we having today?”

The voice of a man replied, “It’s a girl.”

“How exciting, is it your first?”

“No,” his female counterpart answered with a chuckle.

I tried to focus on Luis’s Star Wars story, but I kept thinking about the happy couple, leaving later that day with their brand new baby girl all wrapped up in her soft, pink blanket, smelling like cookies after they’ve been dipped in milk. I would leave with nothing but a cleaner uterus and a fat hospital bill.

Moments later, a surgeon arrived, nodded his head to us and continued to the other side of the curtain. I heard him ask, “Ok, so C-section and tubal ligation today, right?”

I almost laughed out loud. So my body was about to be cut open to make it a welcoming home for a fetus while my roommate’s doctor would be rearranging her organs to do the opposite.

I hear the sounds of a table wheeling around and the clanking of instruments. “Do you have a name picked out?”

“Yes, her name is going to be Seven.”

“That’s unique.”

“Well, she’s number seven. I have had six kids in ten years. So yeah, I'm ready to get the tubes tied.”

I looked at Luis indignantly. Seven children in ten years!? I'd been diligently tracking my temperature in order to perfectly time our “lovemaking,” doing headstands after sex, and eating vegan cheese, and this girl is popping out babies every other year. How can two women’s bodies be so utterly different? Luis widened his eyes as if to say, “Well? Do you really want seven children?”

My husband had a way of reframing any depressing situation. When we visited friends who lived in houses much nicer and more expensive than ours, he said things like, “I didn't really like their shower head,” or “I wouldn’t want to live that far away from the city.” Whereas I was seriously considering asking my hospital roommate if she wanted someone to take Seven off her hands, he was probably just thanking the universe that he wasn’t going home this afternoon to a house full of seven kids. On a plane, he would probably find a way to prefer his tiny, middle seat in the back row near the bathrooms to the luxurious first class experience. “Economy people are more friendly than rich people,” he might say.

Before the surgery, I had asked the doctor multiple times how long I would be in recovery, but he would only respond with, “Everyone is different.”

Well, in my mind that translated to two or three days of bedrest, because I rarely use more than three sick days in a school year. Unfortunately, my superior immune system had nothing to do with post-surgery pain, and for seven days afterwards, I was confined to the couch, unable to stand up straight or move more than a few feet without stopping, and in serious pain when my abs contracted. Any time I sneezed, coughed, or tried to flip myself over, it felt like someone was using a straight razor to open my stomach as if it were an Amazon box.

After an entire week of lying on the couch and taking opioids every five hours, I went back to work, still a bit hunched over and rather pale. And on the eighth day, I had to go back to the doctor for a post-op appointment so the bandage could be removed and the healing process be judged.

The bandage - about six inches wide five inches thick, had been placed right on my underwear line. I had already tried to remove it a little myself, just out of curiosity, but I didn’t get very far because it felt like it had been super-glued to the most sensitive area of my body. No one had warned me to shave completely before surgery.

In the car on the way to the appointment, I worried about the removal process and, not wanting to experience more pain, asked Luis, “The doctor probably has something to put on this to make it come off easily, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” he said, sounding doubtful. This should have been a signal to me. Luis, being a man, knows how men think. He knew, but didn’t want to break it to me, that there was no way a doctor has ever concerned himself with how painful a bandage removal process would be.

Choosing to be naively optimistic, I decided to trust in the kindness of medical professionals; surely they wouldn’t put me through more pain after so recently having had my abdomen cut open. However, once I was lying on the examination table, naked from the waist down, feet up in the stirrups, doubts started to creep in. As the now familiar ultrasound wand moved around inside my body, Dr. Edwards crowed on about how clear and devoid of fibroids my uterus looked.

Ok, surgery was successful, fibroids are gone, good job, thank you, now please get this thing out of me. When the ultrasound finally ended, he asked, “Do you want to remove the bandage or do you want me to?”

I hesitated, because that question implied that there was no procedure involved... that any random Joe off the street could just stroll in with normal people hands and just rip off this thing with no training whatsoever. My wheels were turning... So... you aren’t going to like, put some kind of magic lotion on me first?

Unfortunately, magic lotion only existed in my fantasies. In reality, surgery proved just a portion of the pain I would endure before it was actually over.

I began to remove the bandage, deciding I would rather be my own executioner. I picked the top part until my fingernails could get underneath, and started to tug. The skin rose as I pulled- it had been eight days since its placement and the glue didn't seem to have weakened at all. How was that possible? If humans are smart enough to design SuperBandage, aren’t we also advanced enough to create anti-adhesive?

When I got to the lower half of the bandage, which was on top of hair, things went downhill quickly. Removing it felt like getting a bikini wax - which I’ve only tried once and chickened out halfway through.

Eventually, I conceded. I couldn’t willingly put myself through the torture. “Can I just do it later, at home? In the bathtub?” I pleaded.

The doctor gave me a puzzled look, as if he didn’t understand the question. “I need to see if your scar is healing.”

“I’ll send you a picture. I swear.”

He chuckled, but I wasn’t kidding. I have never hated anyone more than I hated him in that moment. I bet he had never endured a bikini wax. He probably winced when his wife plucked his eyebrows. I made a mental note to give him a horrible Yelp review.

I refused to continue, so Dr. Edwards took over: he pulled and the nurse pushed the skin down as he went across - yes, pushing right below my stitches. I have never felt such excruciating pain in my entire life; it was like being stabbed with a hundred tiny needles on a part of my body that was only meant to be touched with loving hands. At one point, I instinctively grabbed the doctor’s arm, forcing him to stop. Staring at the bandage, which was only halfway removed, I cursed all men, including Luis. Why didn’t anyone tell me to shave? Why didn’t they give me anesthesia for this?

When the torture finally ended, Dr. Edwards looked at me with amusement in his eyes, and asked, “You ok?” as if I had been overly dramatic. I decided that I would never, ever, forgive him. Public Service Announcement for Women: Shave before any abdominal surgeries. And never settle for a male doctor if a female one is available.

I often wondered why I was putting myself though so much pain to bring a new life into the world. Was the desire to have children an evolutionary curse? Growing up, I never questioned whether or not it would happen because that’s what women are meant to do, right? What is a woman if not a mother? At least that’s what all the women I knew growing up led me to believe. Receiving the hospital bill in the mail a few weeks later prompted me to further question this desire. If I hadn’t cared about being a mother, Luis and I could have used the surgery money to take a trip to our dream destination - South Africa - flying first class.

Sometimes, when I’m lying naked from the waist down with my feet in stirrups, I think about my early 30s, when eggs and fertile windows were blissfully far from my mind. Unfettered by thoughts of motherhood, I concerned myself with traveling as much as possible.

Reading Walden had convinced me that staring at a computer screen all day was no way to live. Thoreau had inspired me to work with my hands, to get outside, to “suck the marrow” out of life. So after six years of teaching, I quit my job and departed alone on a plane to New Zealand. Although I had never even set foot on a farm before, I planned to volunteer on various organic farms as a way to connect with the natural world. The research I had conducted for this adventure amounted to about one hour’s worth of googling.

Since I had lived in a country where I didn’t speak nor read the language for three years, I craved traveling without a language barrier. My inferior sense of direction often weakened my resolve for adventure, so I needed a place where, at the very least, I could read the street signs. My first stop was a dairy farm in Opotiki. I pronounced this as if the last two syllables were “tea- key” as in tiki bar. The bus driver couldn’t understand me; he said he had never heard of such a place.

After some discussion and help from the internet, he dropped me off at the bus stop in “Ah-PO-Tah-key,” where a 20-something-year-old French guy named Clement stood smoking a cigarette. He had been sent by the dairy farmer to pick me up and seemed bored by the task.

Getting off of the bus, I must have looked a bit like Elle Woods showing up for her first day at Harvard. I wore skinny jeans, pink Uggs, and a tie-dyed sweatshirt. Clement had on overalls smeared with a brown substance, work boots, and a look that said, “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”

“Hi!” I exclaimed, eager to make a companion after a long solo flight and bus ride.

Clement lifted his chin in greeting and pointed to an old, faded black Honda Civic.

I stuffed my backpack into the trunk, and headed for the passenger seat, after an awkward moment with Clement in which I realized that the right side of the car was actually the driver’s side.

Undeterred by Clement’s apathy towards me, I asked, “How has it been, working on the farm?”

“Lot of cow sheet,” he responded, in a thick French accent.

He then reached for the radio and turned the music up to a decibel that prevented me from responding. Maybe my expectations for companionship had been a bit high.

The drive to the farm consisted of Clement driving about 20 miles over the speed limit on tiny, winding dirt roads, and me closing my eyes and holding tightly to the sides of my seat with both hands. At some point, I felt the urge to vomit, but I just laid my head back and practiced yoga breathing. Clement did not seem to notice.

By some miracle, we arrived at the farm without incident, where I met John, an older man who owned a little red house on seven acres. He explained that Clement and I would be sharing the spare room, meant for volunteers, and he showed me where my overalls and work boots rested.

“Be ready to go at four a.m. I’ll have yogurt and granola ready for breakfast,” he said, handing me an empty water canteen. “Tonight, before you go to sleep, you need to fill this with boiling water and put it under your blankets. It's going to get cold in your room.”

Cold didn’t adequately describe the sleeping quarters. Until it was time for bed, Clement, John and I had been lounging in the cozy, carpeted living room near the fireplace. However, around nine pm, when we moved to the back bedrooms, the wood floors felt like ice on my bare feet. I retrieved a sweatshirt, a scarf, a pair of gloves, and two pairs of socks from my suitcase and put them all on. The temperature must have been around forty degrees, because I could actually see my breath in the darkness. Sleeping proved difficult; every hour, I put on another piece of clothing from my suitcase, eventually looking like the pigeon lady in Home Alone. The canteen was only big enough to heat up one body part and remained warm for just half the night. Throughout all of my tossing, turning, and the unzipping and zipping of my backpack, Clement slept peacefully in normal pajamas. At four a.m., when the rooster started crowing, I wanted to weep. I yearned for my warm Tel Aviv apartment, central heating, and my teaching job, which suddenly felt like a white collar position.

I snuggled deeper into my bed, hoping to enjoy the blankets for a few more minutes, until I saw Clement pop out of bed and don his overalls. Refusing to be the weakling that he probably expected me to be, I followed his lead.

“Did you bring a hat?” John asked, when I entered the kitchen.

“No. Why?” I asked, thinking if I had a hat, I probably would have worn it to bed last night.

“Some of the cows have lice and you could catch it.”

I eagerly accepted the hat John proffered.

Clement and I ate our yogurt in silence - not surprising for him, but I was just too cold and tired to care.

John led us to the barn after breakfast, where we would be milking the cows. When I walked through the doors, my hand instinctively covered my nose: the smell - similar to a Port- O-Potty at the end of a crowded, weekend-long music festival - attacked me. John and Clement, unaffected by the stench, chuckled at my reaction.

“Better than the smell of cars in the city,” John said, smiling.

I wasn’t convinced.

Now it was time to learn how to milk a cow. In my imaginings of this moment, I would sit on a cute step stool, a sweet little cow would trot up to me, and I would gently tug on her teats, squirting milk into a tin bucket below. I would repeat this a few times, and a day’s work would be done.

In reality, John owned about 200 cows. The barn housed 50 stalls into which the first herd of cows were guided; each stood so that her butt faced into the shed. John handed me one of many thick, black hoses that hung from the ceiling. At the end of the hose was a steel device with four suction cups; I needed to attach the suction cups to the cow’s teats. The three of us would walk up and down the stalls, eventually connecting the suction cups to all fifty cows, and then John would turn on the machine.

For the first set of cows, this went pretty smoothly; according to John, these were the “old gals” who were used to the process. But when the younger cows were led into the stalls, they seemed less than thrilled. I watched in horror as one of them furiously kicked her hind legs, trying to escape the suction cups. John ran over to her, adeptly tying each of her legs to the stall. What happened next was both horrifying and impressive. I remember learning about how vultures can vomit on demand; it's one of their defenses when threatened. Well, apparently cows have a similar skillset. The moment John finished tying up the second leg, that cow shot projectile diarrhea right onto his chest.

I managed to get through the morning milking - which took two hours total - without trauma. I felt victorious but exhausted; I longed to go inside and take a nap.

“Meet me back out here at noon,” John said, after the barn had been cleaned.

I wondered why we would need to come back to the barn so soon. Clement delighted in informing me that the cows were milked twice a day.

Eventually, Clement, John and I fell into a routine, and for two whole weeks, I milked cows (twice a day) without contracting lice or getting kicked in the face. I even learned some tricks for sleeping in 40 degree temperatures, like taking a scalding hot shower right before bedtime, throwing on clothes as quickly as possible, then running straight to the bed, where I had previously placed the hot water canteen.

When I look back on my New Zealand adventure, I marvel at my resilience. How I just trudged out to the barn in those big rubber work boots at four a.m. and kept talking to Clement even though he only responded in grunts. And even though I’m older now, and slightly less malleable, I’m still managing. Every day I go to school and greet those first class passengers without displaying any “negative behaviors.” (I still welcome Ariel when she comes to visit me.) And I’m going to keep tracking my ovulation and putting away money for adoption, at least for another two or three years. And if we are relegated to fly in economy class on a plane full of first class passengers for the rest of our lives, at least Luis will be there to remind me that first class isn’t all that great anyway.

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justanotherprowrestlingblog · 7 years ago

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NXT Takeover:Philadelphia and Royal Rumble 2018 Review

Well it looks like i’m back..and i’ll be back for more review (or other stuff when i feel like i need to write about something) So let’s not waste time and see how Takeover:Philadelphia and the Rumble went

NXT Takeover Philadelphia:

NXT Tag Team Championship: Authors of Pain vs Undisputed Era:

Personally I would have never opened the show with this bout, because I wasn't expecting anything from it and because it wasn't the right match to start things off. They could have swapped this with Ohno-Dream and have a better opener. Sluggish and slow match even tho some spots were good, AOP keep getting better and better while Fish and O'Reilly probably are the best tag team in WWE right now with the Usos. Weird finish because I though Undisputed Era would go over but not like this and with like this I mean in a clean way. Main roster is closing in for Paul Ellering's Boys and SAnitY is waiting for the two Brits.[**1/2] Kassius Ohno vs The Velveteen Dream:

Another really solid Match for Velveteen dream who is someone still a bit green on the ring, while ohno is a 19 year old veteran who could make a good match even with a ladder. Velveteen dream is probably the best character right now at NXT and it's really working well because you can notice how much they are investing in Him and in his character. The match and a few botches here and there but honestly they didn't ruin the match at all. Good win for the former Tough Enough Participant who is destined to do great things on NXT.[***] NXT Women's Championship: Ember Moon vs Shayna Baszler:

Easily the worst match of the night. Slow, sluggish, not well booked and the result wasn't the one I was looking for, because I thought they wanted to have Shayna destroy and conquer anyone on NXT after the good performance for the MYC but she lost with a schoolboy and Ember kept the title. I like how they want to build Ember as a character but at the same time I still think she won't keep the title for a Long time(Kairi is waiting) [**]

Extreme Rules: Adam Cole vs Aleister Black:

I had a good hype for this match because i thought it could possibily steal the show but it only kinda did. Not a fan of the first minutes of it but it picked up the rythm and both guys went in hard and showed us a couple of really good spots, like the doubles knees on the announcers table or the death valley driver on the back of the chair. O'reilly and Fish Interference was predictable while i wasn't expecting Sanity to Help Black during the match. Black got the win and now he's probably the new #1 contender for the NXT Title at the WrestleMania weekend Takeover, unless they have other plans for the main event. Easily the second best match of the night [***1/2]

NXT Championship: Johnny Gargano vs Andrade Cien Almas:

Let's start that you HAVE to watch this match, because if you don't, probably you're not a real wrestling fan (unless you don't have time to watch it and probably you've got something better to do). Personally this is what i want from any match that goes last in a wrestling event card. It was really perfect: it had a good storyline, good wrestling, good timing and it wasn't predictable at all, because at times i thought both could won the match. Gargano is probably one of the best worker in the business and Almas is litteraly very underrated by the fans and i'm so glad they gave him the NXT Title. I also loved how they involved Candice LeRae, Johnny's wife, in the match so he could help his husband to preveil Zelina (really love her character) from interfereinging in the match. Almas picks up the win with a perfect Hanging Hammerlock DDT from the top rope. I was expecting Ciampa to interfere in the match but his return happened at the end of the match, and even tho it makes a lot of sense for him to ruin his ex partner moment, i personally didn't like how he returned, only because they could have done so much more and make it better, but still i can't wait for the ex D.I.Y Showdown, while Almas will probably face Black soon for the title. Five Star and MOTY Candidate.[*****]

Takeover Event: It Wasn't the best TakeOver event i ever saw, but it wasn't the worst, because we had a solid match between Dream and Ohno, a good extreme rules and a perfect main event. The Tag Team Match and the women's title match felt very average but not as bad as some matches we see on the main roster. The Next Takeover could be huge with some potential match and the new addictions of Ricochet, War Machine and my man EC3. [7]

Royal Rumble:

WWE Championship Handicap match: AJ Styles vs Sami Zayn&Kevin Owens:

They decided to open the show with the WWE Title Match, which in my honest opinion, wasn't a good choice, because while watching it i felt that it wasn't the right match to hype the crowd after a pretty boring 2 hours pre-show(which i won't cover because i honestly don't have much to say about it). The Match was fine but i didn't liked how it was booked, because the finish clearly made Zayn and Owens look really stupid, but to be honest it's not the first time they make heels look very stupid (it won't be the first time i say this in the review). Styles got the W with a Roll-up to end a match who started really flat and started getting better in the last minutes but the finish killed the momentum of the match. [***]

2 out of 3 Falls SD Live Tag Team Championship: Usos vs Shelton Benjamin&Chad Gable:

This match or the Raw Tag Team Title Match could have been the opener and it would have been a better choice based on the kind of match these two team put on. The match was really fun untill the first finish, which personally felt really weird because usually in this kind of matches, heels get the first fall, the babyface get the second one and the decider goes either to one of them based on the storyline they are telling. In this case, Gable and Benjamin tried to be smart but instead they looked really stupid because Benjamin ate the decisive pin after a roll up, who killed a really solid match so far. Personally i would have given Gable&Benjamin the titles but i guess the SD Creative has other plans for the belts and i smell the beginning of a new chapter of the Usos vs Harper&Rowan rivalry.[***1/4]

Men's Royal Rumble:

Who would have thought that they would place the Men's Rumble in the middle of the card? Honestly it wasn't a smart choice, even tho i understand why it wasn't the main event, but at least it could have been after the other tag team match or even before the women's one. It wasn't perfect but it was for sure very fun, especially in the last part. The NXT Guys, Shane Helms and Rey Mysterio were all unxpected surprise and i'm really happy for Mysterio, even tho i'm not his biggest fan. The finish was awesome, not just because the right wrestler won, but because they kept teasing us and made us believe both could get the win and the wrestlemania main event. Nakamura win is the right choice for because because a SD Live Superstar needed to win the Rumble and this is the best way to get a Nakamura-Styles match for the WWE Title at WrestleMania. Also Guys like Roman or Cena don't need the Rumble to get the main event of WrestleMania, because they can earn it in other ways. Not a WONDERFUL (read that in Broken Matt Hardy voice) Rumble, but possibily the best one since the time Undertaker won, which if i remember correctly, was at the 2007 edition of the Royal Rumble.[****]

Raw Tag Team Championship: The Bar vs Seth Rollins & Jason Jordan

Easily the worst match on the main card, not because it sucked, but because it was very flat and they didn't much to deliver a great match, possibly because they worked the rumble before the match, which is a bit stupid if you ask me. The Bar got their titles back and i hope this won't end up with Rollins facing Jordan at WrestleMania. Please WWE, don't waste Rollins in this kind of match. I also wonder who will be the next tag team champs, because i don't think Sheamus e Cesaro won't have a long title reign. [**]

Universal Championship 3 way: Brock Lesnar vs Kane vs Braun Strowman:

It was the match it should have been: short but intense and chaotic. I wasn't expecting a five star rated match but not even a minus five star one. Braun looked like a beast, Brock won and Kane ate the pin as expected. Nothing more to add.[**1/2]

Women's Royal Rumble:

As it was the first one, WWE decided to honour their former stars so they picked more legends instead of more NXT girls for the match. For some of us, it was a good idea, for some of us it was a bad idea. I'm staying in the middle here, because part of me liked to see all those great girls i used to watch wrestle while i was younger, but at the same time i kinda wanted to see in the rumble wrestlers like the Iconic Duo or Nikki Cross. Personally they should have found a good mix between NXT and legends, but i won't complain too much. Instead i will complain on the last four, because personally i felt it was better to have Sasha eliminate Bayley and then let her challenge asuka for the win instead having the former Kana wrestle the Bella Twins. The right girl won but then Ronda Rousey came out...now, i like and always will like Ronda, loved her in UFC even tho her last fights were pretty terrible and her UFC career ended really on a bad note, but her debut seemed like WWE wanted her to steal the spotylight from Asuka and the other girls, the one who made history competing in the first ever Women's Royal Rumble. It felt like “Hey we can't compete with the SuperBowl Buzz so let's send out Ronda to steal some buzz and media coverage” I'm still interested to see how Ronda will do in the squared circle and who will face her at Mania. Going back to match analysis, the match was fine, not as good as the men's rumble but i enjoyed it. I'd say entertaining in some aspects (even more than the men's one), but booking wise there are a few thing they could have done better (like Dana Brooke eliminating Kairi Sane from the Rumble. That made no sense) [***1/2]

The event: good start for the WWE's 2018 PPV year. A Good Rumble PPV who didn't have a MOTY candidate like Takeover:Philly, but it was overall a really good and entertaining PPV who delivered, gifted us some really historic moments and for once it didn't felt like a normal mediocre WWE PPV, like a lot last year's PPVs that felt like a little better Raw or SDLive episode. Good start for the Road to WrestleMania *points at the Mania sign*[7.25]

#nxt takeover philly #Royal Rumble #women's royal rumble #men's royal rumble #AJ Styles #Asuka #Ronda Rousey #shinsuke nakamura #johnny gargano #andrade cien almas #adam cole #aleister black

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goldenshowerrequiem · 7 years ago

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Ooh, I got tagged by @shsl-gangster to do a thing. Looks like it’s time to post something about myself rather than a JoJo meme for once.

Rules: Bold those statements that are true for you (but I’m probably gonna be all extra and add more info). Tag 9 people you’d like to know better. APPEARANCE I am 5′7″ or taller (damnit I’m like 5′6.5″) I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo (nope, that shit terrifies me) I have blond hair (dark blond now, used to be lighter) I have brown eyes (I don’t even know what colour my eyes are, sort of greenish-grey I guess?) I have short hair (eh, kinda average length for a dude) My abs are at least somewhat defined ( I wish, getting there tho. I can dream) I have or have had braces. PERSONALITY I love meeting people People tell me that I’m funny (sarcastically most of the time) Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me (it depends on the problem but I like to think I’ve been helpful on a number of occasions) I enjoy physical challenges (I held my breath for like 2 minutes once out of water, proudest achievement of my life) I enjoy mental challenges I’m playfully rude with people I know well (I’m far meaner to my friends than anyone else, but it’s a mutual thing) I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it There’s something I’d change about my personality (I’d love to not be lazy) ABILITY I can sing well I can play an instrument I can do over 30 push-ups without stopping (Had to check before answering this one) I’m a fast runner I can draw well (I really wish I could but I’m too lazy/busy to try at the moment) I have a good memory I’m good at doing math in my head (no clue if I’m better than average at this or not) I can’t hold my breath underwater for over a minute I have beaten at least 2 people on arm wrestling (I think so at least) I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch (I’m not exactly great at it but I enjoy cooking) I know how to throw a proper punch (I’d like to think so, but I’m sure a martial artist would tell me otherwise)

HOBBIES I enjoy playing sports (only some sports tho, swimming being my favourite) I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else I’ve learned a new song in the past week I work out at least once a week I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months (ngl I hate running) I have drawn something in the past month I enjoy writing (kinda? I guess. I like writing a lot about my favourite series online but I’m more of a thinker and a talker than a writer) FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION (idk for this one, but I definitely like getting involved in them) I do or have done martial arts (a long time ago)

EXPERIENCE I have had my first kiss (It’ll happen someday... hopefully) I have had alcohol (like twice) I have scored the winning goal in sports game (I mean I probably have at least once but I don’t remember) I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting (again, I probably have but I don’t remember) I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxi (like once but It wasn’t even a proper taxi ride) I have been in the hospital or ER in the past years (general anaesthetic is fun) I have beaten a video game in one day (too many) I have visited another country (went to the Netherlands once, loved it) I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts (don’t really have a favourite band) RELATIONSHIPS I’m in a relationship I have a crush on a celebrity I have a crush on someone I know I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationship (I mean I was kinda in a relationship once but not really) I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year I have had feelings for a friend

(people have told me that I might be “aromantic” before, but idk. Most people on here probably know a lot more about that kind of stuff than I do)

MY LIFE I have at least one person I consider a best friend I live close to my school (HA, I wish) My parents are still together I have at least one sibling I lived in the United States (I’m a Brit) There’s snow right now where I live (not the Scottish kind of Brit) I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone I have at least 15 CDs (don’t own any) I share my room with someone RANDOM SHIT I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie (well this is oddly specific) I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce (sorry French people but I really struggle with your names (and language in general)) I have dyed my hair I’m listening to a song on repeat right now I have punched someone in the last week (not seriously tho) I know someone who has gone to jail I have broken a bone (I have lucked my way through life so far, hopefully this will continue to be the case) I know what I want to do with my life (at least for the next few years) I have eaten a waffle today (I’d love to eat a waffle but I’m being tested for a wheat allergy at the moment and it’s hell) I speak at least 2 languages (I got a B in GCSE German, that’s about as close to speaking another language as I get) I have made a new friend in the past year (a bunch of ‘em)

This made me realise that I really haven’t said much about myself on this blog. I probably should. I’m 17 years old, male, straight, and I like JoJo (as you probably know), The Elder Scrolls (I’m a huge nerd for this one), Dragon Ball, Danganronpa, Pokemon, Halo, Mount and Blade and a bunch of other games/anime. Other than that, I’m into science (particularly microbiology, zoology and food science) and history (especially ancient history and Mesoamerican history). Not much more to say that I can think of. Feel free to message or ask me about anything.

Anyway, this is the part where I tag people. I won’t be able to tag 9, but I’ll tag a few. Don’t feel obliged to do it or anything. @diavolo-senpai (my first follower) @badlydrawnjojo2star (my favourite art blog, all of your art is super awesome and it really shows that you both love and understand best JoJo) @lupus-lunarem (my biggest fan, thanks for all the support!) @dayferismad @machacapigeon @shitty-yama (other rad people who I appreciate). Oh, and if you want a... cleaner version of this template, you should probably get it from @shsl-gangster . Thanks again for the tag!

#now back to making poor-quality JoJo memes

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hogwartselementumrp · 7 years ago

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Mel who plays Rhea who is still not to be confused with Rea who used to play Mel, I look forward to the great potential of Gabrielle and, although I could highlight it a lot more in this acceptance, let’s just say we should all be excited and not make you wait any longer.

Two notes we had already discussed, worth noting here for others and for reminders when the bio is posted, FC Jennifer Morrison, and that the canon timeline that has her as 8 in GoF and 11 in DH would have her as just turned 41 in August of 2027 so her age is a year off.

Out of Character Information

Name/Alias: Mel

Preferred Pronoun: she/her

Age: 20

Timezone: GMT +4 I think

Activity Level: while I do have a lot of schoolwork, I’ve still managed to come on and complete replies, and I should still be able to do that in the future.

Original Character Information:

Desired Character: Gabrielle Delacour

Face Claim: Brit Marling - While Brit looks young for a 42 year old, the harry potter wikia claims that Veelas “ appear to be young”, and while Gabrielle is only a quarter Veela, Fleur’s ancestry is quite emphasized in the books and leads me to believe that it is a big part of Fleur as a character, and therefore, as a part of Gabrielle as well.

Character’s Sexuality: Bisexual

Why do you believe this will be a good character in this specific roleplay? Gabrielle can provide a knowledge that is more specific than that of what foreigners might know. While there is information in the British Wizarding World about the wizarding wars as of late, there is still not an in depth amount of knowledge being circulated, which is something Gabrielle can provide for this new generation who is now facing war themselves. I also believe that, while Gabrielle would have joined the Order if or when the war came, the actuality of her daughter possibly being in danger would hold her back.

Gabrielle Delacour is 42 years old, a water elemental, now works as a novelist and a part-time professor at the university, and is formerly from Beauxbatons.

❝I want to write a novel about silence. The things people don’t say.

↳ MAGIC

As a means to utilize the fact that the brains of children was malleable, the Delacours decided that private lessons for both of their daughters was important in the development of their magical abilities. This early education led Gabrielle to be particularly attentive to her magic and treating it as a muscle to be tended to, rather than as a separate being needed to be tamed. Gabrielle was quite average in her natural affinity, but this early education helped to make her a higher-than-average student; so long as she continued to practice. The fact that the Delacour girls attended a Wizarding school that possessed no stigma around elemental abilities, that Gabrielle did not feel the same pressure as those who might have attended Hogwarts as water elementals, and could develop her affinity to it without judgement.

↳ BACKSTORY

Gabrielle had been born far away from the dangers of the English Wizarding community and its rise and falls of blood purists through the ages, and would have never been highly involved with them were it not for her sister becoming Beauxbatons’ champion in the Triwizard Tournament and Gabrielle had not been saved by Harry Potter when Fleur couldn’t reach her. One might think that the war itself was the pivotal moment in Gabrielle’s life: and it might have been. However, it was the erasure of her sister’s experience that changed the youngest Delacour’s path. While remaining studious in her magical learning, her focus increasingly shifted to the war as time went on, and began to gather objects from those who’d participated in it that, while not wanting to destroy these objects, also didn’t want to keep them.

When she’d reached her university years, Gabrielle had amassed not only a large collection of objects of the past, but knowledge as well. Her first two years of university were spent in training for the auror department in France, thinking that was her place for so long that when she went through her first year and found in it something lacking, she pushed through another year, hoping that the passion she’d once held for such a position might be reignited somehow. She switched to the ‘Lettres’ program of her university. Her new program gave her a new sense of belonging, and learned so much that the way she viewed and studied the world was vastly different than how she’d done so before. She became, if at all possible, even more inquisitive.

The idea came as an accident. She’d been riding the train to England to visit her sister when she’d witnessed this young girl sitting by herself, shoulders slumped forward while she leaned against the wall of the cart as if she was hiding herself away. That is, until her mother came back to sit with her and demanded she sit like a proper lady. But the previous scene sparked an idea that prompted her to write out what she’d seen, and would then develop as time went by. Gabrielle worked on her novel throughout university, not knowing how it would end or what it would become, but feeling it was required of her to keep writing. By her third year of her new program –fifth year of university–, Gabrielle was querying agents to represent her and her novel. Once she landed an agent, it took another year before her book was published, but the pride she felt when her book hit the shelf was something else. This book would be the start of a new chapter in her own life, but also the start of a series.

Another milestone in her life came in the form of a daughter when she was twenty-four. Gabrielle had always been in love with the idea of love, and had had a few flings here and there, but nothing that ever truly felt right. At the age of twenty-three, Gabrielle met the man she thought would be the love of her life. He’d approached her while she was working on her second book of the series in a cafe in Hogsmeade, and it ‘all went downhill from there’, as he would have said. She thought him quite charming and endearing, and they were married within a year, much to her parents’ dismay. They could see how happy he made her, but they felt it was much too soon, despite her father giving his blessing. She found out she was pregnant not long after their honeymoon, and a few months later, gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Her daughter would make her so happy that the divorce that came six years later didn’t make her as unhappy as it might have– of course, another factor was that he’d been unable to take anything from her once he’d been proven of having cheated on her, which, had stung greatly, but the later result of the divorce agreement and the fact that she would have full-custody of her daughter made up for it.

Gabrielle and her daughter, Madeleine, moved to Calais on their own from that moment on until three years later, when Harry Potter’s daughter was sent to live with them while she attended Beauxbatons. While Lily was older than Madeleine, the two got along as siblings did, and she quickly became integrated into their little family that, when she was to go back to Hogwarts five years later, it felt as though a piece was missing.

Gabrielle heard of the tensions that were rising in the British Wizarding World from the gossip she overheard; tensions that were all too alike to those she’d witnessed before the Second Wizarding War. The Delacour girl wanted to see her sister and do what she could for her sister’s second country, but her daughter and her daughter’s safety kept her away for as long as she could… until the death of Harry Potter. His death changed things in the country across the English channel, and while she still hesitated, Madeleine made the choice for them to move there by announcing she’d been accepted to attend Hogwarts university. As a means to keep an eye on her daughter, Gabrielle decided to apply for a job at the university teaching Muggle History classes.

↳ PERSONALITY TRAITS

» {+ positives} curious, resourceful, creative

» {- negatives} hesitant, over-protective, blunt

↳ BASICS

» blood status: ¼ veela

» elemental power: earth

» affinity level: average + studious

» date of birth: Agust 2nd, 1985

» wand: 10-inch, hornbeam, veela hair

» faceclaim: brit marling

GABRIELLE DELACOUR IS PLAYED BY MEL

Sample para: Here is an old app of mine, but feel free to let me know if you’d prefer a sample para specifically for Gabrielle.

#accepted

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