#of course I knew of this plane crash because it's often mentioned as a positive example of group managment in a survival situation

[stoertebeker]

Slept like shit which might have to do with the fact I'm actually NOT over La sociedad de la nieve

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Max 2.0

post-Max. Because the car is the best place to deal with crises of being and pseudo-bad grammar ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max)

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

Out of her bed and halfway down the hall before she opened her eyes, she stopped by the couch, realizing she had no idea why she was out of bed. Vague notions of her gun crossed her mind but then she heard a knock. Wavering for another moment or two in full-on sleep mode, she shook her head lightly, tried to pry her eyes open, then regretted it, eyelids stuck together, burning, dry; another knock.

She wondering in passing how long he’d been out there but finally summoning the brain power to move her legs again, she made it to the door. Peering out at him through the peephole, she yawned, then unlocked the door, pulling it open, squinting at the glaring hall light, “you okay?”

Now, he’d known she would probably be asleep, had to be asleep given it was nearly 1am, but that didn’t stop him from being surprised by her pillow-creased face and unfocused eyes, “yeah, um, I’m now realizing this was stupid. You’re asleep. I should be asleep. I’m sorry.” Not turning away, however, hoping if he stood there long enough, she’d invite him in, “I’m sorry.”

Scully knew him like no other and stepping aside, “come on in.”

He did, leaving shoes and coat on, standing, filling, overwhelming the area he stood in, doorframe small behind him, “thanks.” Folding arms, not in that annoyed way of hers but in the ‘I’m trying to hold in a yawn so I will stupidly think that crossing them will keep it from rising to the surface’. It did not work and Mulder sighed, apologizing again, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just … I can’t stop thinking about Max and the plane and just … he was me, Scully, and that’s bothering me more than I thought it would.”

“Would you like some tea?”

Reaching out, he touched her hand, the one not tucked under her elbow, proceeding to play with her knuckles, the hem of her sleeve, twisting the thermal fabric between his fingers, “I was actually wondering if maybe you’d like to go for a drive with me?”

It had been over a month since their Tennessee drive but the memories were clear and nodding, she gave him a small smile before extracting herself from his fingers, “just let me go grab a coat.” Disappearing, then reappearing quickly, she had one of his zipped sweatshirts over her shoulders, thick socks firmly in place and feet shoved in soled slippers, “ready.”

“Do you steal all my clothes?”

“Only the good ones.”

Soon in the car, they were off, quiet between them broken a minute later, “your car’s clean.”

“It happens.”

“Not often.”

Shrugging, he turned right, then left, the left again, the city night passing by them in an unnoticed blur. He seemed to have a destination in mind and asking if he did, Mulder told her, “no. I just want to get out of the city and I know this is the fastest way.”

“Understood.”

Because it was late and dark and she was tired and loose-limbed, she folded her legs under, folded hands in her lap.

She baited the hook to see if he’d bite.

He did, his hand sliding across the center irritation of a console, fingers wedging once again in the fold between bended knee and adjacent thigh. He knew she’d done it on purpose.

Neither cared.

The connection made them both feel better and Mulder, squeezing her leg lightly, “sorry I don’t have a moonroof for you.”

“It’s cloudy anyways and there’s no moon, so I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Thanks.”

She gave it awhile, the pair of them well out of the city lights, darkness prevailing before, “you’re not like Max. I mean, you are, but not in the ways you’re dwelling on.”

“But I am like him.”

“We’re all Max in our own ways. I mean, we have passions and hopes and problems and dreams but some of us fixate on them to the point where it’s their only hope, their only passion and it becomes their biggest problem.”

He moved to pull his hand away but she grabbed it, holding tight, as he spoke, “I am the poster boy now that he’s gone, Scully. I am Max 2.0.”

Twisting, she refolded her legs so they both vee’d in his direction, able to look at him better that way, turn to see him easier. Putting his hand back between her knees, she moved to hold his lower arm, firmly, trying to get her point across with words as well as tactile pressure, “if you were anything like Max, obsession-wise, I’d be long gone. You have passion, Mulder, he had fixation. There’s a vast difference.”

“Not that vast.”

“There is in my mind. Max wouldn’t be here right now, taking a midnight drive with his … partner,” that was an odd hesitation she wasn’t expecting, “he’d be in his trailer, trying to decode the conspiracies of the universe.”

“The Gunmen are probably doing that as we speak.”

“But Langley also cooks a mean prime rib, Byers plays Majhong on Friday nights with a group of semi-normal people, Frohike crochets blankets for the Veterans Hospital and has a 22-year old penpal in Denmark. These people have other interests. From what we saw and heard about Max, while he was a very nice man, he didn’t do any of that.”

“You know about the crocheting?”

“Have you seen the granny-square afghan on my couch? The one you like to snuggle with when you’re tired and don’t want to drive home? That’s Frohike’s handiwork from last Christmas.”

Suddenly, the world didn’t seem quite so down on him after all but he still felt something he couldn’t shake. Ignoring that, however, for the moment, he scoffed, “he’s never made me a blanket, that yarn-wielding bastard.”

“I’ll drop a hint next time I see him.” Feeling the tension leaving him slowly, Scully began moving her left hand up his arm, around the back, to lightly rub the underside of his bicep, other hand splayed around his wrist. It was an unconscious thing at first, then, noticing it, she decided she liked it and stayed. “Do you think there’s any hot chocolate out here in the sticks?”

Looking at the houses still visible from the road they were on, more spaced apart than a few minutes ago but still numerous, “you’ve been living in the city too long if you think this is the sticks.”

“You call it the city; I call it a severe lack of 24-hour dining possibilities with hot chocolate necessities.”

“You’re wordy today. Did you snack on a dictionary before going to bed?”

“Is that your polite way of telling me to quit mouthing off?”

And now her mouth was foremost on his mind.

Dammit.

“I have M&Ms in the glove compartment. Is that a good enough compromise?”

Retrieving the candy post-haste, she popped one in her mouth, then offered him one, “sugar?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Both chewing, Scully returned to her previous position, “peanut. I approve.”

Continuing on, they covered all kinds of light subjects, music, family, things they visited often but both always enjoyed, especially hearing about the antics of Scully’s extended family, brothers, cousin, bevy of nieces and nephews. After one exuberant story about Sam, second oldest of the bunch, Mulder wiped his eyes, tears of laughter blurring his vision, “how did you land all these people? I mean, you have the cast of some off-beat comedy show and I’ve got my mother.”

He hadn’t meant to bring the atmosphere down and Scully didn’t want to keep it there but she had to tell him, in words he apparently didn’t hear the first seven times she told him, “you realize my mother has adopted you right? I mean, there may not be paperwork but there’s pie. Also, just to let you know, do you remember when you were asking me about my mom’s dentist appointment, about her infected tooth last week?”

“Yeah?”

“I had no idea she was having any issues but I pretended to know because, good Lord, Mulder, you knew about it and I didn’t.” Giving him that look that made his smile return, “does that tell you anything about the level of your acceptance into my family?”

“I mean,” looking almost sheepish, “she called to talk to you and I answered and we just …”

Patting his shoulder, “it’s okay, Mulder. My mother can love you more than me occasionally. I don’t mind.”

His eyebrow went up, about to bring down the grammar hammer on her, hard, “you love me? I had no idea. When did this happen? Was it after I introduced you to the Conundrum or, ooh, I bet is was around the time you were trapped with me in Alaska. That tiny room? Checking for murderous prehistoric alien worms?”

Total confusion all over her face, “What?”

“You said occasionally, your mother loved me more than you. So, I deduce that you love me most of the time and now I’m trying to figure out when that all started.”

Fuck.

Oh, hell, why not just play along?

“I’m pretty sure it was when you were about to head into the hospital with Modell: looking up at me with that camera on your head, Kevlar all tight, panicked look in your eye.”

Wait … was she humoring him? He was treading into the unknown now, not sure if he should keep going, “um … what?”

Her laughter bounced around the interior of the car, a happy sound, a light sound he hadn’t heard in awhile, “nervous, Mr. Mulder?”

Smiling himself finally, “just … left-field line drive came in a little faster than I expected.”

“Are we back to baseball again?”

He was going to crash the car in the next two minutes if this kept up, “I think we should just drive in silence for a minute. My brain did something and just … give me a minute.”

Fuck again.

She was pretty sure with one joke, two follow-ups and a mention of baseball, she’d quite possibly changed the course of their relationship in ways she had no understanding of. Silence nerve-wracking, she fumbled for words, “I’m just glad the two of you get along so well. It’ll make things easier.”

She’d never felt atmosphere shift like it did in that moment, the air hardening between them. Mulder looked at her, any trace of humor gone from his face, “make what easier?”

“If … if something happens to me. I’ll feel better knowing … you’d … have each other, I guess.”

Mulder steered roughly to the left, blew through a stop sign, then pulled them into a large, dark parking lot, a high school if Scully read the sign correctly as Mulder raced past. Hitting the breaks, he threw the car into park, got out and slammed the door, leaving Scully stunned. She hadn’t meant to make it sound as harsh as it did and sighing, she opened her own door, zipping up her sweatshirt as she did so. He’d turned the headlights off so the only light was from a parking lot fluorescents fifteen feet away. Coming around the front of the car, she tugged on his arm, “hey, look at me, please?”

“Have you given up already?”

With a genuine scoff in his direction, “I don’t give up on anything. What the hell kind of question is that?”

“You said when something happens to you.”

“No, I said if.” Taking him by the arms, she turned him around until his back was to the car, “will you sit down?”

“Why?”

“So I can look at you, and not up your nose, when I talk.”

He conceded, sitting down on the bumper, “nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Yes, I know.” Coming in closer, she forced her way between his knees, “but I learned from you to plan for all eventualities. I have a prepacked suitcase for when you ring my doorbell at 5am telling me we leave in 20 minutes. I have $500 cash in my purse and another $500 in my carry-on for emergencies …”

“Bail money for me?”

“Some of it, yes.” Continuing, “I now prepare for all things, even if there isn’t a chance in hell they’re going to happen. You forced me to learn that and I have and that’s all my comment was. I will be fine,” moving her palms to his face, thinning fingers, delicate steel hands against his cheeks, covering his ears as she tilted his head up to look at her, “but I feel better knowing mom has you and you have mom. You became friends with her while I was missing. I haven’t been forcing you together to create some superficial bond to make my never going to happen, non-impending doom easier to accept. She invites you for pie. You arrive and eat pie. You go home with leftover pie. I have nothing to do with that but I’m glad it happens.”

By now, his hands were on her wrists, eyes glued to her, closing as she leaned in, mirroring that accursed hospital hallway not that long ago. Once her forehead touched his, she whispered, “you are not Max. You have so many people here who love you and need you and you have so much to offer them back and you do. That’s the difference between you and Max. He searched for himself. You search for me, Mulder. You search,” kissing his forehead, then quickly his mouth, “for me.”

Then she wrapped her arms around him and felt his go around her waist. Hugging him tightly, she let the world disappear, sinking against him, warm, solid, against her.

“Who knew this much angst could come from a misplaced modifier?”

“We know now. Never let it happen again.”

With a chuckle, he shifted his head, talking into her shoulder, “Modell? Really?”

She just hugged him tighter, staying quiet against him as he held her close.

&&&&&&&&&&

They may have stayed like that for two minutes. It may have been ten. Regardless, eventually, Scully had to whisper into Mulder’s neck, where her mouth had landed earlier when she turned her head, “Mulder?”

Just as quietly, “yeah?”

“Can you take me home to bed, please?”

“Should I comment on the structure of that sentence as well or just be quiet?”

Giving another kiss to his neck, she pushed back off of him, sly grin, “just take me home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

&&&&&&&&

After a quiet goodnight/good morning at her bedroom door, he wandered to the living room, taking up residence on her couch, 3am sleepy as his head hit the spare pillow and his mind was finally calm.

[kittybellestark]

Falling Apart At The Seams

Hey so this is the bio dad Tony fic I was working on !! 

Thank you so much to @peter-is-a-bean @superherotiger @thedumbestavenger @marvelous-1015 and @himaboroshi736 for helping me pick out a title !! I really appreciate the help and all the different opinions !

Summary: Tony was Iron Man and yet he was weak. He should have been able to pull it together, to find his child and raise them. It should have been easy, to be a good father. Yet he can’t bring himself to look for them, he doesn’t even know the sex. It was all his fault. He should have been stronger, better.

TW: PTSD, mention of Rape, Rape/Non-Con elements (no actual described rape), self victim shaming, alcohol, drugings

Read on AO3 Part 1/5

Tony had been kidnapped many times in his life.

It was old hat. Get kidnapped, sit and wait, find out the motive, what the ransom may be. Sit and wait some more. Eventually get released or found. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Of course there were a few kidnappings where Tony was underestimated just enough that he was able to sneak away, but that didn’t happen too often. Lucky for him, he was small enough to get out of tight situations, and smart enough to trick his captors.

But then it happened.

Mid 2000. He was at some party. Happy and Rhodey were there too. Tony had a little too much to drink and found an opportunity to leave with this girl, Mary, without his friends noticing. She was beautiful and smart, quick-witted and fun. Her eyes were a striking blue and hair golden brown. 

Tony shouldn’t have left with her. 

When he had woken up next, in bed, naked, it wasn’t much of a surprise. Sure, he couldn’t remember anything that transpired after he left the party and Mary had given him a drink, but that’s normal, really. Tony didn’t enjoy waking up with no memories but he did it to himself. 

What surprised him though, was that he was tied down to the bed. And Mary wasn’t actually a nice person, at all. She had wanted a child, and had found out her husband was infertile. Apparently he was not aware that he couldn’t have kids, but Mary felt that Tony looked close enough to him. 

It was January of 2001 when Tony was finally released. Mary was confident enough that she wouldn’t lose the child and that keeping Tony around was a waste of time. So after months of being chained down Tony was finally free. 

Tony was far too skinny, and he couldn’t help shaking, not unlike a chihuahua. He tried stepping back into his roll of CEO and pretending everything was normal and fine. He had built this sort of a reputation for himself hadn’t he? 

The world was more than aware that he was taken, that he wasn’t being held for ransom. It didn’t stop the rumours that he was on a bender, or in rehab though. Obie had stepped in as acting CEO and the world went on without him. But it’s not like he could really tell anyone what happened. He was a man, no one would believe it. He was Tony Stark, playboy extraordinaire, everyone would say he was asking for it.

And now there was a child in the mix. A child he didn’t want. A child he had no choice to help create. He couldn’t be responsible for that. Not when every time he thought about it he’d had such horrible panic attacks that Rhodey had thought he was having a heart attack. They were so bad he’d completely dissociate, or vomit, or pass out. Tony couldn’t deal with a child, he never wanted one, and certainly not one that he was forced to help create.

There was no reality where Tony could tell people what happened to him. Nothing that he could really do. Mary never came asking for child support, or wanting another child. So Tony was grateful. He hoped that the child was well taken care of. That it didn’t inherit it’s mother’s crazy, and that the father was a good person. Tony didn’t feel good about leaving the child in Mary’s care, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was too much for him. 

As years went on Tony learned not to flinch at a persons touch. Of course when Afghanistan happened and all the progress he made in the years of his freedom vanished. He hated being touched, he hated being handed things. Parties were not a place he wanted to be and being left alone in a room with only one other person was enough to send it spiraling.

Tony lived with the overwhelming guilt of knowing he abandoned his child. He would try to talk himself up, search up Mary, find the kid and take it. But as soon as he was in front of the computer, with the search bar open and keyboard cursor blinking, his brain would take him right back. Back to the bed he was chained to and the woman with wild eyes overtop of him, laughing while he sobbed.

He wanted to care about the kid. Wanted to want the kid, but there was nothing. While Tony knows it deep in his heart Mary should not be a mother, he knows that he could never, ever be a father. There was a child out there, that he knew about and Tony was terrified of them, of knowing who they are, of looking at them and seeing Mary. Tony wouldn’t be a good father, not when he can’t even think about his kid. 

As Tony had to teach himself how to cope with things again, trying to be normal, he found himself in a relationship with Pepper. Holding hands and kisses and hugs were mostly okay. Pepper was more than happy for the relationship to move as slow as it had been. She was really expecting things to be more rushed from the get-go. Tony was taking baby-steps. He couldn’t overwhelm himself, not with Pepper.

Sometime after Ultron- after Tony nearly ruined the world- did he actually confide in Pepper. He didn’t plan to tell her anything. Tony didn’t ever have plans on saying a single word to anyone. He wouldn’t have said anything, if it wasn’t for some viral video of Spider-Man holding a little girl and telling her about how his babysitter had raped him too. Hearing Spider-Man say those words Tony knew he needed to tell Pepper.

Pepper cried. A lot. So did Tony. They were in their living room, sitting on the couch, a blanket over Pepper’s lap and an box of tissues in-between them as they sat face to face. Tony told her everything; the party, the alcohol, the way Mary smelled, being tied to the bed, hating himself more because of those months, being kept there even after there was a positive pregnancy test, how there was a child out there Tony could never face. Pepper cried as she held Tony, fingers curled in his hair reassuring him none of it was ever his fault. He never wanted to be taken, to be raped, and to have a child. She didn’t blame him for not wanting the kid, for not being able to think about them without spiraling completely. She told him he wasn’t selfish for trying to protect himself.

After that Spider-Man became Tony’s new obsession. Tony built him a better suit and watched video after video. Eventually he was able to find out Spider-Man’s identity and helped cover all of Spider-Man’s traps. 

What surprised Tony the most was that Spider-Man was a kid. His name was Peter Parker, he was 14 years old and top of his class at Midtown. He lived with his aunt, May Parker. His uncle, Ben, was murdered in front of him, and his parents, Diane and Jacob Parker died in a plane crash when he was 6. Previous to 2007 there were no files on any of the Parker’s, no tax files, no bank accounts or government ID’s. They were a mystery, but Tony didn’t really see the need to push much farther in the past. By the looks of all the FBI documentation, it was more than likely for their own safety. It was strange though, how the FBI was the one to deal with the case against Steven (Skip) Wescott, and they did it discreetly. Sexual assault cases in New York City were rarely ever dealt with by the FBI.

Now Tony needed to find a reason to approach Spider-Man. He didn’t really know whether it would be better to approach Peter as himself or as the masked vigilante. Tony just wanted to thank the teen. Sure Peter didn’t do very much, not really technically to help Tony. But hearing him talk to the girl, it helped him talk to Pepper. If a 14 year old can do it, so can Tony Stark. And it wasn’t like Tony was going to broadcast it to the world, he just told his long-term partner. People could believe a babysitter hurting doing such horrible things to a child, but they wouldn’t believe Tony. 

So he needed to thank Peter. Not because he was grateful that a child went through the same things Tony did, but because he was willing to share. Spider-Man didn’t even care that there were camera’s on him, his focus was on comforting that little girl. Who knows how many people he helped, Tony could only hope it was more than just him.

Peter was 15 before Tony finally built up the nerve to approach him. He was just a kid, who had bad things happen to him, and was now helping others. So what if Tony was scared to see him?  Tony just needed the perfect cover story. And he needed to make sure the new spider suit would keep Peter safe. That’s all. Don’t approach until you know that everything is perfect.

Tony was in the Parker apartment. That was fine. May Parker was very nice. Surprised that Tony Stark was at her door, but then suddenly not surprised that it was about Peter. She was a lovely woman, invited him in and told some stories from when Peter was younger. 

The panic that started to set in as the time ticked on before Peter arrived back from school was starting to eat at Tony. He could feel his stomach twisting and throat starting to burn. Maybe he should have had Happy come up with him. He was okay. Tony was in control. 

Finally Peter arrived before Tony was able to make some cheap excuse about an emergency at SI. Seeing Peter was difficult. This was Tony’s first time since 2000 where he willingly put himself in a situation with a child. 

Tony might actually throw up.

Peter had bright brown eye’s, nearly golden in colour and dark brown hair. Of course Tony had seen the government picture of Peter and school photos, but now it was a lot. Peter was a real person and Tony was not prepared for this. 

“I was just talking to your aunt about the internship you applied for. With the September Foundation. Youngest candidate to ever apply, and also the most qualified. So I wanted to come and meet you personally, Mr. Parker. You mind if we talk?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, of course.”

Tony couldn’t believe the starry-eyed wonder that Peter had. The wide-eyed innocence. How could this kid who has seen so much tragedy be able to look like nothing horrible has ever happened? It didn’t make much sense. 

Peter led Tony to his bedroom, and Tony maintained his space by the door. It said a lot to him, how Peter was okay with having an older man in his room, yet Tony couldn’t really handle being alone with anyone for long periods of time.

“I’m going to cut to the chase. You’re Spider-Man right? I’m not here to harass you about it or anything. I’ve covered you’re tracks for you, actually. Deleted some CCTV footage, made sure no connection existed. Also made you a new suit, it’s got all the bells and whistles.”

And there was the distrust. The squinted eyes, locked jaw and crossed arms that screamed that Peter was uncomfortable and that he did not believe this offer. Peter looked much older now, all signs of youthful innocence gone, now just a cagey-tired kid who didn’t know what to do. Tony tried to make himself appear smaller, less grandios, he knows that’s what he would like. 

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. You inadvertently helped me out, I’m just repaying the debt.”

Peter hummed and paced the room. Tony tried to make sure that if Peter wanted to leave, the door wasn’t completely blocked off.

“Mr. Stark, I never applied for any September Foundation internship thing. It doesn’t even let you try and apply if you aren’t of age. This clearly won’t look like an actual internship, May will see right through it. There is obviously something else you aren’t telling me.”

Smart kid. Already aware of the holes in Tony’s plan. Willing to call him out. Tony liked him, for a teen vigilante. That’s all. Arms length and everything.

“You’ll come to the tower twice a week. I’ve talked to Nat, she saw your hand-to-hand combat. It’s alright, but sloppy. She’s going to make sure you can protect yourself.”

It took a moment before Peter made up his mind. He even turned his back to Tony to move the clearly home made computer on his desk. What a big sign of trust! To allow an older man into his room and then turn his back, Tony couldn’t imagine being okay with doing the same thing with any woman other than Pepper.

“Sure,” Peter nodded, “Yeah, with the Black Widow? I’d be a fool not to accept that, she’s pretty awesome.”

Tony couldn’t help but laughing. He nodded his head towards the Iron-Man poster on the wall, “Clearly not as great as Iron Man.”

Peter laughed. His smile lit up the whole room.

“It’s not like I ever thought you’d be in my room, Mr. Stark. They’re coming down as soon as you leave.”

“No, no you can’t now that I’ve seen them. I’ll fire you if you take them down.”

“I’ll quit first.”

Peter was a quick learner. He also wormed his way in to the Avenger’s lives. It surprised Tony, how Peter was only ever suppose train with Nat twice a week, now he had lab days and would show up sporadically. The teen had inserted himself into everyone’s lives and he fit. Spider-Man was safer out on the streets and the Avenger’s were more than happy to help Peter however they could.

Tony was blown away from how smart Peter was. There were only a handful of times where Bruce and Tony had to slow down and explain things to Peter. It was far more common that Peter would beat them to the answer, or simplify things, and even correct their mistakes.  

“You know, if I wasn’t there went you went missing back in 2000 I’d think Peter was your kid.”

Rhodey laughed and clapped Tony on the back, and that was it. Suddenly Tony couldn’t breathe. His wrists were bleeding and the metal of the bedframe was creaking. His eyes were swollen from the constant tears the never seemed to stop streaming down his face. Mary was sitting beside him, her hands on the beginning of a growing stomach. She just wanted to make it through the second trimester before Tony was allowed to go. Her eyes were far too bright and unhinged.

“Tony, Tones, you’re okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Peter is an August baby. He’s August. Not April. The dates don’t line up. It’s fine. He’s the son of Diane and Jacob Parker.”

Tony was leaning over, knees to his chest, hands flat on the floor. He’s touching the floor, not a dirty old mattress. Not handcuffs or a bedframe. Just the cool, hardwood flooring. 

“Tones, what are you talking about? Are you trying to tell me you have a kid out there?”

So Tony told him. Everything. How he left the party, what happened during all those months. Tony talked about how he discovered Spider-Man, and how he just wanted to thank Peter for sharing his story, because it helped. He wanted to make sure Peter was safe, and this was the only way Tony knew how to re-pay him.

Months went on and it felt like a constant balance of ‘this is too much, I am not enough,’ for Tony. With Rhodey knowing what happened, it helped a little bit. Tony didn’t feel like he was always suffocating in guilt. Of course it didn’t stop Tony from feeling like he was drowning all the time, from the memories of what happened, but he could share his guilt with Rhodey and Pepper, and it helped a little. 

Actually it helped a lot. Whenever the team would call Peter ‘Stark Junior’ as a joke. Or when Thor came back and saw Peter immediately dubbing him as ‘Stark-Son.’ Rhodey and Pepper were incredible at talking him down from the edges of his panic attacks. Having people- his people- know what happened helped a lot more than Tony ever thought they would. They believed him. Rhodey and Pepper believed him when he said he didn’t want anything to happen, that he hadn’t asked for it. They didn’t tell him it was his fault or push him to find the mystery kid, but instead they listened. It helped. 

Tony didn’t ever think he could get to this point in his life. Not after 2000. He didn’t think he would be able to trust so many people, or talk to about everything. It was nice, to feel some semblance of normal. Not that anything could be considered normal, but learning not to keel over from the weight of everything made it feel more normal. Spiraling at the sight of blue eyes or being near women and seeing children on the streets was not normal.

But Peter in Tony’s lab was normal. And so was Peter in the communal kitchen, his head in the cupboards looking for a snack. It was so normal it ached. Tony hated that he could have this mentor-mentee relationship with Peter and he couldn’t even handle the thought of his own child.

“Hey, you’re no ostrich, get your head out of the metaphorical sand, food is on it’s way up right now.”

“Bad analogy, Mr. Stark, I would have gone with the hand in the cookie jar thing. Y’know because food. It was the obvious one.”

Peter pulled his head out of cupboards a lop-sided smile lighting up his eyes. Even after knowing Peter for nearly a year, Tony was still blown away by Peter’s optimism, and his snark. 

“Right, yes, my apologies for not choosing the right analogy. Next time I’ll use the right one.” 

The smile on Peter’s face dropped. He looked over to the elevator, his head shaking. “No, no, no. That’s not food, I’m sorry Mr. Stark.”

The elevator doors opened and there stood May Parker with an FBI agent. Neither of them seemed very happy, which definitely wasn’t good. Tony had made sure that there was no way Peter could get in trouble for being Spider-Man, and there was no way the government would find out that are one in the same. Tony did everything right, didn’t he? Peter should have been safe. Everything should be fine.

Taglist: dm/ send an ask to be added !

@peter-is-a-bean @friendshapedcastiel @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee @parkersjiggle @7peternotparker7 @thatonecrackheadshipper @kevinthewoman @faline4you @lynxshinon @narutoyaoifan @pastelwheeler @thecrazymarvelfan @bonjour-gays @thebestqueenoftheworld

Temp Taglist:

@marvelous-1015 @himaboroshi736

[spartanguard]

even death won’t part us now (1/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires' strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

rated M | AO3 | 1.2k words

A/N: So this story has been in the works for quite some time and been through numerous variations. I was originally going to do it for @cssns last year, but couldn’t get it to work. When things got going for this year’s event, @kmomof4 asked if I’d give it another shot and...it clicked this time! It’s been fun to work on (and see how many Hamilton references I can squeeze in). Hopefully you all enjoy it!

thank you to @thesschesthair for that GORGEOUSSS banner!! she’s made some incredible pieces for this and I can’t wait for you all to see them! and thank you to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl for looking this over!

for your listening pleasure

part one—overture

There's a lot of romanticizing when it comes to vampires. The eternal youth, the perfect looks and body, the heightened senses—all are excellent perks. 

But no one mentions the absolute mania when a vampire is new. Suddenly, everything is brighter, sharper, clearer, louder, smellier, more detailed than before, and it's a sensory overload—it's impossible to hear your own racing thoughts over the cacophony of everything else. 

So you try to run, but that's a whole other revelation—where to run when you never tire? When adrenaline is pumping so hard that it would probably be easy to scale a skyscraper? (At least it would be quiet up there, right?) And when your new instincts are telling you to find people—to find food—but the thought of being near all those scents and sounds is enough to turn your stomach and make you lose your last meal as a human. 

(Except you already did that—when you somehow managed to fight back against the asshole who turned you and accidentally shoved him into the jagged point of the wood that used to be your dresser and watched him bleed out in front of you until nothing was left but gore and dust.)

Which brings you back to running, but it doesn’t take you far—not until you’re crashing into a pair of arms that are far too strong (inhumanly so) and are somehow connected to a pair of unnaturally blue eyes that you briefly drown in so deep that nothing else about this individual registers. And the whole thing is so surreal you wonder if it’s even real, or just a mania-induced hallucination.

Regardless, you somehow end up at the doorstep of who might be the nicest people who have ever walked the earth (and they’ve walked it for quite a while, and people probably isn’t the best description, not anymore) and memories of your ocean-eyed savior get pushed to the back of your mind. Because, in case you hadn’t figured it out yet, this couple confirms what your wildest thoughts were telling you:

You’re a vampire now.

Welcome to eternity.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

2005

Killian Jones let out a completely unnecessary sigh as he watched the door close behind the fledgling. Honestly, he was lucky he got there when he did; any later, and the newbie would have likely gone full mad, risking not only the safety of any mortals nearby, but also exposure of their world. 

That, and Gold probably would have killed him. For real this time. (It had been threatened often enough that it was likely empty, but after nearly 250 years, Killian knew what the beast was capable of—what had put him in this position in the first place—and therefore knew not to write off the possibility completely.)

It had been a fairly routine assignment: take out Walsh, one of the most conniving members of the Coroza coven with a penchant for turning his mortal girlfriends, and take out said girlfriend if he had turned her.

Killian hadn’t managed to get there in time to prevent the transition—Walsh’s paramour, one Emma Swan, apparently didn’t want to be found—and by the time he’d arrived on the scene, the freshly-turned vampire had already managed to kill the idiot, but was in shock.

He caught her in the alley behind the apartment building; despite their hysteria, new vampires are relatively weak compared to elder statesmen like him, so it wasn’t hard to subdue her.

And he should have ended her right there. He had a blade on him; it would have been incredibly easy to put it through her heart and let her wither away.

But there was something in those bright green eyes of hers—something behind the fear and anger and madness—that made him stop. It was familiar, but like a long ago memory; he couldn’t place it, but it was enough for him to second guess her elimination.

He couldn’t bring her back to Aurum, though. He’d spent too many years working his ways up the ladder to be accused of succumbing to a pretty face and disobeying direct orders from Gold. If he could hide her, though…

He knew a couple from Coroza who lived not far away. Despite being on different sides of this rivalry, he knew them to be respectable, and wouldn’t turn away a new vampire in need of some stability.

It was hard to tell if Emma was aware of it, but he quickly scooped her up and ran the few blocks to the Nolan’s Hell’s Kitchen townhouse, depositing the girl on the front stoop, buzzing the doorbell, then dashing off across the street as fast as possible (the blink of an eye to the average mortal). He was deep in the shadows of an alley when he saw the door open, Emma guided in, and then both the door and the case were closed. 

Which only left one thing: what to tell Gold. Outright lying wouldn’t work; but perhaps a white one would cover it. 

That was what he went with when he returned to the man’s penthouse in Chelsea. “It’s all taken care of, Mr. Gold,” he’d assured his boss—a rather reptilian man he’d long ago started referring to as “Crocodile” in his head and had somehow managed not to slip in the ensuing centuries. 

“Fantastic; always good to hear, Mr. Jones,” Gold said, rising from his throne-like chair in his office. “I know that it’s a bit soon, but I do have another assignment for you, if you’re amenable,” he continued. (It was a bit sadistic for Gold to act as if Killian had any choice in the matter; it was nigh impossible to go against an order from your sire, though Killian had long ago figured out how to work the system—and Gold’s typical vagueness—in his favor; this order might be too direct for that, though.) “It’s in England, and I want you to go tend to some business of mine. It might take a while. I don’t trust anyone else to handle this; please go and be my representation.”

“Of course, sir,” he answered respectfully, having figured out how to hide the resentment in his voice many decades ago.

“Splendid. I’ll see to it that your affairs here are tended to in the meantime. Enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Not an hour later, he was at LaGuardia (because apparently Gold was too much a cheapskate to pay for him to fly direct out of JFK), in line with luggage, passport, prosthetic hand, and one-way ticket to London. One perk to never sleeping was that taking a red-eye flight didn’t affect him much; but that didn’t make getting through security any less painful—thus, the false hand rather than his preferred hook. (Also annoying: having a layover in Chicago—in the opposite direction, seriously; he should have paid himself.)

He at least let himself zone out once they were off the ground at O’Hare; he didn’t actually sleep but he could at least rest. 

He let the sounds of the plane lull him into something of a hypnotic state, but one thing persisted in his mind’s eye: those green eyes, and whatever it was that sucked him in. 

(They would do that often over the next several years.)

It wasn’t until he was lumbering up the jetway at Heathrow that he realized what it was: the look one got after being left alone. It’d been years since he’d seen it, but it used to stare back at him in his own reflection. (Which, as the polished metal of the luggage carousel reminded him, he hadn’t seen in centuries.)

Hopefully, she wouldn’t have that anymore. Too bad he couldn’t (ever) say the same.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! short intro, but longer chapters from here. tagging some peeps (let me know if you want on/off the list!)  @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​

[kittinsrkillers]

So I'm a die-hard wonder woman fan, and I'll be honest, I'm super not into all these internet edge lords hating on WW84.

It came out yesterday my dudes, you can not feasibly have a fully fleshed out opinion on it yet.

Give it a few more days, talk to a few people about what they thought about it, I guarantee that you will view it much more positively.

That is, of course, if the conversation had isn't actively trying to tear it down.

This is made mostly in response to all the reviews that didn't understand either or both of the film's villains and about the magical McGuffin involved.

Actual spoilers below (it's where I start really complaining)

Now what I said above also applies to me, but I did spend several hours analyzing the movie with friends and family so there is that.

I'm going to be talking about things I've seen and how I think those opinions are one dimensional

1) Barbara did need to be in the movie and/or her storyline dragged

I think this is mostly clouded by the iffy cgi when Barbra becomes Cheetah, because her storyline actively parallels Diana's. Max Lord is not the antagonist to Diana but to Wonder Woman, Barbra is Diana's “antagonist”. She gives up her kindness to gain power and Diana gives up her power, her ability to help other, to gain Steve. Diana relinquishes her wish but we never have any confirmation Barbra does the same despite knowing it will only hurt her. One is willing to see the truth of their world, while the other let their desires consume them.

2) Max Lord doesn't have any clear motivations

Most of the complaints I’ve seen of this don’t understand how he could let things get so bad, as if people don’t dig their heels in and refuse to change plans when things go wrong every day. He is already shown to fall into that with his cooperation, he falls into sunk cost fallacy so easily, his greed blinds him to the cost of his actions, he just needs a little more power and then his son will be proud of him, he will be respected, just a little more, and then things go wrong so he needs just a little more power to fix them and the cycle repeats.

3) The villains' didn’t do anything that bad, they shouldn't of been vilified

They didn’t and they weren’t. I have seen posts addressing this but I’ll do so too, to be inclusive. The villains’ were just regular people blinded by the injustices of the world till they too became part of the problem

Max Lord wanted to be respected and successful so he “cheating” others like he felt life had cheated him.

Barbra was trampled on by people her whole life, so when she got power she trampled on others too. Though hers is harder to talk about because the dream stone stole her warmth and empathy, she no longer cared for other people the way she once used to.

Then they were “forgiven”, able to grow past their mistakes to try and be better.

4) Steve was forced into the movie and he didn’t add anything

This is where my personal opinions really start to show up because I personally don’t think that that was really Steve. I think he was Diana’s memory of Steve, the Steve she wished for.

But before I get into that, if you pay attention to Steve's timeline then he’s just come off major character development and is now more idealistic, he trusts in Diana's judgement and his already strong moral code, he doesn't even consider that Diana could lose because he’s already seen her fight a literal god of war. He has already made sacrifices for the good of mankind, he can and will do so again.

The next bit is connected to my “Steve is a memory come to life” theory so I’ll include it here.

Diana only knew Steve for like a week why is he the one thing she wished for

How could Steve fly a 1980′s jet

Diana left Themyscira for mankind, she attached to Steve so hard because he is one of if not her first love. He was the catalyst for her leaving her home, possibly forever, he was her connection to mankind, so she fixated on him. She is also much older than a human and has a much longer lifespan, theoretically, it could mean she views time as much less important, she can grieve over her dead boyfriend for decades because she will be alive for millennia's.

We do not hear the specifics of Diana’s wish. We do not know the wording used, thus we could hand wave away a lot of the weird bits about Steve. Diana first meets Steve when his plane crashes and she last sees him when he detonates the aircraft full of poison gas. He introduces himself as a pilot, but the lasso of truth compels his to divulge that he is a spy, the rest of the movie focuses more on his ability to spy than his ability to pilot, and with seventy years of nostalgia, Diana , who knew Steve for a week, likely only came to know Steve truly through the rose-tinted stories of his old friends and family. Thus, when he is returned to her, he is her perfect, idealized Steve. The one who she admired for his ability to fly.

Of course, I’m sure there is just as much, if not more evidence to indicate something else entirely, but it’s only been a single day since I saw the movie.

5) It is campy, cartoonish, and less impactful than the first movie

Being campy and cartoonish does not make it less valuable. What does cartoonish mean in this context? Does it mean childish? Does it mean silly or simplistic? Does it mean better actualized through animated film? Because this is a comic book movie. A Wonder Woman comic book movie to boot. It will be hopeful and inspiring, about an incredibly powerful, mythical woman who helps humans by inspiring them to be better. Though a crude comparison, she can be likened to a “Girl Superman” though the tone of the two heroes is drastically different.

I genuinely don’t know why people are criticizing the themes and message this movie is trying to make. People keep throwing around words like heavy and deep about the first movie because it talks about mankind's willingness to hurt others to achieve their own petty goals, as if this movie isn’t exploring how mankind will hurt themselves in their own misguided desire for what they don’t have, how their greedy desires will only hurt themselves and others.

Is it because this one doesn't have a war in it?

I’m getting petty now so I’ll only cover one more thing.

6) A lot of the plot is just handwaved away and we’re just supposed to believe things

This is particularly used regarded the dream stone, it wasn’t explicitly explained and the god that made it is only vaguely mentioned. This applies to all the magic and mythical elements of the movie. Magic and gods are often portrayed as based in belief. Wonder Woman has unwavering belief, belief in people, gods, truth, justice, forgiveness, honor. In return people believe in her. This belief is the main force behind the magic involved in the movie.

We the audience believe in this universe created -> this universe has gods in it capable of incredible feats of magic -> these gods do not always approve of or care for humans -> these gods do not necessarily force humans to participate in what they hold domain over -> A god of lies and deceit made a wish granting stone -> the stone shows the lies of human greed -> the lasso of truth is the embodiment of truth -> one is unable to lie in its hold -> one can “see the truth” in its hold -> the particle satellite thing was wished into working perfectly -> Now the particles “touch” all of mankind (though they can only understand Max Lord through their screens) -> The lasso of truth becomes part of the broadcast thus “holding” all of mankind -> all of mankind can mow see the truth (though the screens only show the magical golden light because they are machines without thoughts)

And though it does not matter if this fits into the DCEU timeline, by all of the other movies, 30 to 35 years have passed, it was a week of unexplained, but certainly not known to be magical, chaos when all of the rest of the justice league was either a child or simply not born yet.

I’m sorry for the crazy rant, but I feel like the internet is full of people who seek out reactions so I made this for people to read when they feel like WW84 is being clogged with negativity. You don’t need to give them the reaction, I already have.

(P.S. The Trump thing isn’t real, Max Lord is the 80′s archetype of the cooperate raider, I didn’t even make that possible connection till the bigots online with their ever present victim-complex started acting all offended)

[pinkanonwrites]

Road Trip

Hi everyone! This is my piece for the Haikyuu Creations ‘Home Sweet Home’ Collab event! If you want to check out the rest of these amazing writers, here’s the masterlist! I chose Hinata, of course!

"Are you sure you aren't forgetting anything?"

"Positive!"

"You have all those souvenirs you bought for Natsu?"

"In the trunk!"

"Toothbrush?"

"In my suitcase!"

"... Volleyball?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Shouyou laughed as he loaded your shiny suitcase into the back of your small car, wedging it in alongside his own travel-battered one. "I'm gonna meet up with whoever else is in town for a game, of course we'll need a volleyball!"

"I'm sure Tanaka would have one to spare. Or a dozen." As he clambered behind the wheel you leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Do you really think they're gonna like me?"

You and Hinata had taken many first steps together up until this point, but first time meeting the family for the holidays? That was a big one. Of course Shouyou was optimistic, as per usual, but you couldn't help the twisting anxiety that coiled around in your gut. 

It certainly didn't help that you had nearly a 4 hour drive there to let your nervousness fester. Delightful.

"Of course they'll like you! Kageyama likes you!"

"That's a bold claim, Sho."

As the car revved to life he gave you another one of those sun-blinding smiles that turned your knees to jelly in the best possible way.

"Trust me, he does! And mom and Natsu will love you too, I promise."

Despite your nerves you couldn't help but smile back. It was one of Hinata's greatest talents not volleyball-related, his ability to drive the worry from your mind with a few choice words and a well-placed grin.

"Now, what's on the radio for today, DJ?"

You rolled your eyes and plugged the AUX cord into your headphone jack. "Well, no podcasts, because if you crash the car while having a laughing fit I swear to God I will haunt you for the rest of your days."

Shouyou chose only to respond to your veiled threat by sticking out his tongue and making a fart sound at you, laughing when you did it back. As you aimlessly scrolled through your music and Shouyou pulled out onto the main road, your mind wandered. Funny how sticking your tongues out at each other had gone from something so mundane, so childish, to something that had made you innumerably happy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first time you met Shouyou the two of you were seated across from each other in a crowded airport, air thick with tension and irritation by hour four of your plane's six hour delay. You had done your best to keep yourself calm, headphones firmly over your ears and doing your absolute damndest to keep the frustration from boiling over.

 You were exhausted. 

You were sore.

You wanted to go home 

And across from you, on the opposite bench, a grown-ass man was making faces at you.

He was sitting with a duffel bag tucked between his legs and every so often, when you weren't looking, you could swear he was sticking his tongue out at you. Like a child.

You did your best to ignore him, huffing softly as you stated down at your phone screen. But you could see him, out of the corner of your eye, still moving about, still pulling ridiculous faces. With a tank you tugged both headphones out of your ears, irritation bubbling over into a boil.

"Just what are you trying to-?"

Before you could even finish your sentence you were cut off by a loud giggling over your shoulder. A little boy was standing on the seat behind you, peering over the backrest of the bench. As his mother suddenly tugged him away the redhead smiled and waved, watching them walk off until they were out of sight. Then, with his chin tucked in embarrassment, Hinata Shouyou turned his attention back to you and gave you that blinding, megawatt smile.

"Sorry!"

And, well, how could you not fall a bit in love with him right then and there? 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Blue slugbug, no backs!"

"Hey! Keep your eyes on the road, dummy!" You laughed and grabbed Shouyou's fist, pushing his hand back onto the steering wheel. He reached out to bump you again as soon as you pulled your hand away, giggling all the while. "How much longer?"

"Two and a half hours."

"Ughhhh…" Slumping dramatically back into your seat, you peered at him from the corner of your eye. "Do you remember when we first met?"

"Uwah! Don't remind me! You were so scary…"

"Scary?!"

"Your eyebrows we're all scrunched and I thought you were gonna yell at me! That was scary!" His expression betrayed his fake-terrified tone, and you could tell he was struggling to hide his grin. "You can take a nap if you want! It'll be like the plane."

"Stooooop, it's so embarrassing! I told you not to mention that!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If nearly snapping at the handsome stranger (who had quickly and eagerly introduced himself to you as Hinata) hadn't been uncomfortable enough, you had gone from chatting casually with him during your layover to being squished next to him in the window seat of the plane for another 3 hours more.

Not that you minded that much. Like you said, he was handsome, and wonderfully easy to talk to. You had just been angling for a nice nap for the duration of your flight, and now it felt way too vulnerable. What if you snored? What if you drooled all over yourself?

"Want some pretzels?"

Hinata quickly pulled your attention back with a rustle of a plastic bag. Nodding, you stifled a yawn and helped yourself to a handful in hopes that having something to munch on would stave off your exhaustion.

"Thanks."

"No problem!"

You crunched down on a pretzel, praying your eyelids weren't drooping as much as they felt like they were.

"So what happened after you lost your wallet?"

"Oh! Well, I was moping around for a bit, but it ended up being okay! I ran into the Grand King- he's on the national Argentina team and we knew each other in high school and he was crazy strong, like bwaaaaahh, and he said that he was in Rio for practice…"

Despite his excitability Hinata had a deceptively soothing voice, and as he rambled you couldn't help but let your eyes slide shut for just a moment, focusing all your attention on the pitches and dips in his storytelling. Had anyone ever told him what a nice voice he had? He smelled nice too, kinda spicy and warm like cinnamon…

"Umm, sorry, are you awake? We just landed."

What.

What.

You snapped to attention, disoriented. You had just closed your eyes for a second, just a second, and now the flight was over? You rubbed your cheek that had been pressed against soft warmth for the duration of the flight, the indent of a fabric seam pushed into your skin.

You'd fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay! It's okay! I was probably talking a bunch anyway, right?"

"No! I wanted to listen! You just have a really nice voice!"

Oops. Well, at least now you both seemed flustered. Hinata's cheeks were glowing, and he was fumbling over his response as he pulled on the cuffs of his jacket. Damnit, how could he be so cute?

"Here, let me get your bag for you."

He insisted on hauling your carry-on off the plane for you, juggling it and his duffel with ease as you stepped into the breezeway. People filtered out around the two of you as you awkwardly took your carry-on from him.

"Thank you so much."

"No problem! Hope you can get home without any more delays."

 In just a few moments you'd be headed off your separate ways, disappearing into Tokyo. You'd probably never meet again.

"Hah, yeah I hope so. It was nice meeting you."

"You too!... I, uh, it was fun!"

9.3 million people, and one you, and one Hinata Shouyou. He turned the slightest bit, about to step off into the crowd. Your mouth made the call for you before your brain could catch up.

"Do you wanna get a coffee with me?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Wakey wakey, sleepyhead."

Shouyou's hand was resting on top of your head, gently wiggling you back and forth. Your pathetic attempts to swat him off and sit yourself back upright were met only with another peal of his cheery laughter.

"How much longer?"

"About twenty minutes! I wanna show you some cool places on the way there!"

"Sorry I slept the whole time, Sho."

"Don't worry! There wasn't much but traffic. And some sick guitar solos."

You chuckled, pulling the mirror down to adjust your sleep-tousled hair. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Shouyou looking at you, and you were ready to wheel on him and stick your tongue out again.

But he wasn't making faces at you this time. No, instead he was just watching, face soft with an expression of incredible, incredible fondness.

"I love you, Shouyou."

You couldn't leave him completely off the hook. And besides, he always turned a brilliant shade of red whenever you told him so directly. This time was no different, heat blooming up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears.

"I love you too!... Uwahh, Kageyama's gonna see me all red now! You did that on purpose!"

"Maybe.~"

"So mean!"

He quickly turned his attention back to the lazy country roads you were rolling through, excitedly pointing out familiar shops and hangouts from his high school years, faintest hints of red still high on his cheeks. You just watched him fondly, his brilliantly bright expressions, his eager, almost nervous tone.

Yeah, you didn't have any reason to be worried. After all, it was exciting to finally be meeting the other people who love Hinata just as much as you did.

[dontcare77ghj]

Sandwiched

 Steve x reader x Peggy

Note: in this fic Peggy was given the same serum as Steve, the two were involved before they were both frozen in the same plane crash. Also, mentions of homophobia and racism (Fuck those people), just a few mentions of some assholes.

Masterlist     Sleep Series Masterlist     Halloween/Supernatural Masterlist

Dating two people from the 1940’s wasn’t something everyone in 2019 could say. Steve and Peggy were everything you could want in a relationship though. They had gorgeous souls, they loved humanity and they cared far too much. They were your match in every way.

When they woke up in this decade Fury had asked you to help them adjust into their new lives. It was almost inevitable when you fell for the two of them. The shock of the century was when they admitted they fell for you.

You easily fit into the relationship, Steve and Peggy often said it was because they were subconsciously waiting for you, and you couldn’t be happier. The three of you shared many traits but the one the everyone noticed was how you wanted to help. Now of course you couldn’t save everyone and there were people in this world who made it their goal to hurt those around them, but you all still tried. Though sometimes when all else failed the three of you comforted each other.

Out of the three of you Steve took things the most to heart. He liked saving people, he like defending the little guy and stopping the bully, you and Peggy knew he always gave his all but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. It doesn’t matter if you put your heart, soul and body into something, sometimes things just happen, and you can’t control it.

Steve had been out of the country for a few months now. After finding Bucky and finding out what they did to him all these years, Steve snapped. He wanted revenge for his friend, he wanted to make sure that HYDRA never hurt anyone else ever again.

In his quest to stop HYDRA, HYDRA began to retaliate. They began more experiments, attempted decimate towns and tried to ruin the lives of anyone they could. For the first time in months, Steve was coming home for a while.

A recent mission had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. Innocent lives had been lost and he had been fruitless in his attempts to save them. Fury seeing Steve’s rapidly deteriorating mental state, especially after the last mission, had sent him home.

The fact he reportedly put up no argument, really alerted you and Peggy as to what kind of condition your boyfriend was in.

Currently, you and Peggy were waiting, anxiously, in the hanger for Steve’s jet to land.

“Stop pacing.” Peggy said in her strong accent. “You’re making me feel anxious.” She complained, crossing her arms.

“I can’t help it.” You told her, turning sharply to face the brunette. “You heard him on the phone last night.”

“Yes, he sounded absolutely dreadful.” She pointed out, reaching her hand towards you to pull you into her. “But we are going to fix that.”

“We don’t even the extent of the state he’s in. What if we can’t help him?” You asked, biting your lower lip in worry. Peggy leaned down and gently pressed her lips to your making you stop biting your own to kiss the woman back.

“We will work it out. Together. Like we always do.” Peggy assured as you pulled away. Before either of you could say another word, the hanger creaked open and the loud sound of a quinjet arriving reached the pair of your ears.

The two of you watched as Steve’s team left the jet first, all of them appearing tired and a few maybe even injured, until Steve finally appeared. He was clearly exhausted, both mentally and physically, his face looked gaunt, his entire body was hunched over and he appeared ready to drop at any minute.

You and Peggy rushed over to the man and each wrapped an arm around his waist, attempting to support him. Though Peggy was probably doing more of the work with her super soldier strength, you still attempted to help the exhausted blonde.

Steve didn’t say anything as you helped him into the bedroom. The three of you sat on the bed with Steve in between you and Peggy. It was after a few minutes of silences, that Steve finally spoke.

“I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t help anyone.” He muttered, not looking away from the ceiling. He’d been staring blankly at it since you brought him up. “All I wanted to do was to help.”

“We know, Stevie.” Peggy murmured, placing a kiss onto his shoulder. “But there wasn’t anything you could do.”

“You can’t control these things, Stevie.” You told him, shifting to look up at him. “You went out there with honorable intentions, but these people aren’t honorable people.”

“They are pure evil.” Peggy added. Steve looked down between the two of you and nodded his head minorly.

“I just wanted to help.” He repeated, shifting so he was laying down rather than sitting. Steve did not release his grip on the two of you, so you were forced to follow his actions. He held you tightly to his chest as you both laid with him.

You and Peggy would switch off on saying soothing things to the brooding man and drawing soothing shapes on his chest, until he fell asleep with the two of you crushed to his chest.

“He’s still going to be blaming himself in the morning.” You whispered long after Steve had fallen asleep.

“I know.” Peggy said, reaching across his large chest to grab your hand. “But we will ensure he does not feel like this for long.” She added, giving your hand a comforting squeeze.

“I love you, Peg.” You said, kissing her hand before settling down on Steve’s chest. She leaned over and kissed your forehead gently and then Steve’s chest.

“I love you too, Y/N.” The two of you fell asleep with Steve’s arms tightly wrapped around your waists and yours around his shoulders. A comforting position.

Peggy took a lot to heart. She was passionate, she made changes and she did things. She liked to change things, make people see where they could fix things and make their own life changes.

Back in the 40’s there were a lot of bigoted people. People who expected her to act like other ladies of the decade. Didn’t appreciate how she took charge. Didn’t think she could fight or should for that matter. The fact she was bisexual was not something to brag about in her day either.

When she woke up 70 years later with Steve by her side, she thought things would’ve changed. Women were involved in the military and S.H.E.I.L.D, they took charge and sexuality was often an open thing. She and Steve were told they’d won the war, but no-one told them they were still fighting a war.

Bigotry had not died with the turn of the century. There were still plenty of people who thought women were weak, the LGBT+ community was wrong, and that people of different ethnicities were bad people.

Peggy actively spoke out against those people and would give long opinionated lectures to them and the moronic masses surrounding them. Unfortunately for Peggy, these people were so locked in their one-track thoughts they couldn’t see how they were wrong, and they wouldn’t believe that they could be wrong for once in their miserable lives.

Peggy had volunteered to speak at an LGBT+ event. She had a whole speech planed about being who you are, that it shouldn’t matter to anyone what your sexual preference or gender was and that you should always feel safe in whatever type of relationship you were in.

One narrow minded, foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach who had to interrupt her before she’d even really started. Of course, Peggy had told him where to go and where he was wrong, but she was still fuming at his attempt to belittle her and the people she was speaking to.

She had come home practically breathing fire, vile words about the heinous man falling out of her mouth as easily as she breathed.

“And then he had the nerve to say I was greedy and selfish for being bisexual and for being polyamorous.” She ranted, pacing the length of the room. You and Steve sat on the bed watching the woman pace furiously. “Who the bloody hell does he think he is?”

“He’s no-one.” You assured, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her. “He’s just another nameless, faceless, asshole who thinks things no-one cares about.”

“But that’s the thing, N/N, he’s not faceless. Not this time. I saw him, I had to look at him as he shouted these vile things to not just me but those kids there.” She sighed, placing her hands on yours.

“And they were all able to see what a coward that man was.” Steve said, moving over to stand behind her. The two of you wrapped your arms around Peggy who went limp at the comforting touch the two of you gave her.

“The man is scum, Peg.” You murmured into her ear as you played with the ends of her hair. “People will come to realize how wrong he is one day.”

“But you were so strong today.” Steve added, kissing the top of her head. “You showed him what was what and all those kids saw how strong you are.”

Peggy didn’t say anything. She just relaxed further into the tight grip you held her in. Steve maneuvered the two of you over to the bed and laid the three of you onto the soft sheets.

Peggy lay sandwiched in yours and Steve’s arms and let out a few shuddering breathes as she attempted to quell her anger. You and Steve ran your fingers through her hair, played with her fingers and just let her know you where there for the woman.

“I love you.” Peggy murmured after several minutes. “Thank you.” She whispered, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath.

“Love you too, Peg.” You said, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Stevie.” You added, taking his hand in yours.

“I love both my best girls.” Steve told you, squeezing your hand and throwing his arm across the two of your waists. Within seconds Peggy was fast asleep, held in Steve’s and your warm embrace.

Out of the three of you, you opened your heart the most. Steve and Peggy could see this as a positive thing at times, after all, you’d opened your heart to the two of them and easily accepted them into your life. Though, there was a downside to wearing your heart on your sleeve.

Your parents hadn’t said anything when you came out as bisexual. They did stir a little when you declared S.H.E.I.L.D. had hired you. Their reaction to you joining The Avengers initiative was mostly the same. They had caused a bit of a fuss when you’d announced you were in a polyamorous relationship, but when they found out you were in a poly relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter.

“They are dangerous, Y/N. We kept quiet when you said you were joining The Avengers, but this is ridiculous.” Your mother sighed, narrowing her eyes at you.

“I recall you saying I was going to get killed but sure, let’s say you kept your mouths shut.” You said, rolling your eyes at the two in front of you.

“Y/N L/N, this is not a joking matter.” Your father scolded. “You are getting yourself involved with some dangerous people. People who are older than us for God’s sake.”

“Physically they are my age. I know you can’t see past the numbers but they are the right people for me. Is it the age that makes you bulk or the fact involved with a man and a woman?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Maybe it’s both.” You mother said, standing from the table you were all sat at. “Y/N you are going down a dangerous path. You are constantly risking your life and your ‘love life’, if you can even call it that, is perverted.” 

“We would have been fine if you had just stuck to being bisexual, but this is too much. You are in a polyamorous relationship with Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, with your lifestyle you are going to die an early death and when you do, we believe you will be going to hell.” Your father added, standing next your mother and taking her hand.

“We can help you darling.” Your mother said, giving you a sickly sweet smile. “Leave that team and end your perverted relationship and we can help you.”

“No.” You exclaimed, jumping from the table. “Fuck that. I will not be given an ultimatum, and not by the two of you. I love my job, I save the world for Thor’ s sake, I love my friendships and most of all I love Steve and Peggy. I will not leave any of them.” You snapped, slamming your hands on the table and glaring at them.

“Then neither of us want to see or contact you again.” Your father said, pulling your mother into his side. “Get out of our house and never darken our doorstep again. You are not our daughter.”

“Good.” You snarled and stormed out of the house. You jumped into your car and drove furiously back to the base. Your anger prevented you from bursting into tears, but it hurt that they had treated you like that.

Once you got back to the compound you moved as quickly as you could back to your room without drawing attention to yourself. Making it to the floor you shared with Steve and Peggy, the dam finally broke.

You sat on the couch and began to sob. You couldn’t breath. You couldn’t think. All you could hear was the sob of your own sobs and your parents echoing words.

Arms wrapping around your shoulders made you jump in surprise and you snapped your eyes to see your brunette girlfriend looking at you worriedly.

“Shh darling, it’s alright. You’re okay.” She said, pulling you in closer. 

“They don’t want me.” You cried, burying your face in her shoulder. “They told me I was disgusting and they never want to see me again.”

“Your parents?” She asked, running her fingers through your hair. You nodded tried to stop the tears streaming down your face. “They don’t deserve you, darling.”

“No, they don’t.” Steve said, sitting behind you and pulling you and Peggy onto his lap. “It’s their loss, doll.”

Steve and Peggy held you tightly, reassuring you of their own love for you. After several minutes of sobbing, your tears dried up and your breathing began to become rhythmic. 

“I love you. I love the two of you.” You said, sleepily leaning up to kiss Steve’s jaw and Peggy’s cheek. Laying your head on Peggy’s shoulder you began to fall asleep. A loving position.

With the three of you, comfort involved soothing words, gentle touches and laying sandwiched between the other two. You showed your comfort in physical ways and it was what worked for the three of you.

Taglist;

@piper-koko-barnes-rogers     @skeletoresinthebasement      @hopingforbarnes  

Show your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/Message me comments, ideas, pairings or if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Coming soon;

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Steve x reader x Bucky

Bucky x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Natasha

Natasha x reader x Sam

Steve x reader x Sam x Bucky

Steve x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Bucky x Clint

[cottagecorewhore420]

One Broken Headphone

A fluffy, WLW, protective girlfriend short <3 ~ 2500 words <3

I hope you enjoy reading it! Please lmk what you think :)

tw: brief mention of physical assault

Corrine had gone downstairs to get the delivery- which thank gods, she was starving. If Marcie didn’t get crab ragoon in her stomach within the next five minutes, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be held liable for any damages incurred.

Right as she was starting to fantasize about the fried piece of heaven her girlfriend was currently tasked with obtaining, a huge clap of thunder shook the apartment.

Philly, the large and skittish cat who Corrine had adopted off the street a year ago, mewled pitifully before a dart of white crossed the room. Apparently, it seemed as if Philly was scared of thunderstorms, if her current location of under-the-loveseat was any indication.

Way too often in Marcie’s past had people called her a bleeding-heart, but even now, when obviously the cat was beyond safe from the storm, she felt a jolt in her chest at the poor, scared, little baby.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I promise-,” she dropped down to her knees, and slowly began crawling over to the couch, moving slowly and purposefully as to avoid scaring the cat any further. She had only just started being trusted by the animal, and she didn’t want to backtrack any progress, especially since she knew how scared Philly was right now.

She received a meow as she continued closer- which, really, was better than nothing.

As another clap of thunder resounded outside, she idly worried about Corrine, but considering Corrine was a fully functioning human adult, and Philly was an anti-social terrified cat, her loyalties at the moment were a little more inclined to making sure the latter was okay. She started moving towards her again, and in doing so heard a crunch underneath her left knee- looking down, disheartened, she saw the broken right earbud of Corrine’s headphones she used on her laptop.

Before she had time to wallow in the fact that she had just broken her girlfriend’s headphones, Philly yowled and jumped from her position under the couch into Marcie’s lap, covering up the now-useless wires with her copious fur.

The cat was obviously really scared of the onslaught of rain outside, and Marcie’s bleeding heart beat again in sympathy for the poor cat, who assuredly had endured these kinds of storms by herself on the streets before Corrine found her.

With that sad thought, she mournfully began petting the fat feline in her lap, talking softly to her, trying to steel herself to telling Corrine that she had broken her earbuds.

~

“Corrine, I’m so sorry! I just, I- the thunder started, and I watched Philly dart under the couch, and she was so scared of the storm, and I knelt down to talk to her, and I heard a crack- it- I’m- I’ll buy you a new pair, I promise, I’m really sorry!”

All of this was said through a rush of words and teary eyes, the avalanche of apology hitting her as soon as Corrine walked back into the living room with their food.

Marcie looked near tears, sitting on the floor looking dejectedly up at Corrine’s standing-form, and yet, despite her obvious upset, she wouldn’t stop petting and comforting the cat that had been the cause of- well, what was Marcie upset about?

“Wait- I’m confused. What happened?”

Marcie thrusted the pair of earbuds at her, the right one’s speaker pitfully haning out of the in-ear part, obviously broken.

Looking down at the misty-eyed woman, who felt obviously horrible about breaking some old pair of headphones, because she had been trying to comfort a cat- who was even NOW, while upset, more obviously invested in the wellbeing of a cat who wasn’t even hers, Corrine was struck with the thought of “oh, fuck- I love her.”

“Hey, hey, Marcie, it’s okay, I promise.” She set the bags of food on the coffee table, and leaned down to sit next to Philly and her girlfriend.

“First and foremost, I’m glad you were up here to comfort Philly- she’s always reacted really badly to storms. I actually found her right after one, when she was meowing behind the dumpster out back.”

She could see the anguish that caused Marcie, to think of the sweet if not slightly-anti-social cat as sad and lonely.

“Secondly, I have had to headphones for I-don’t-even-know how long, baby. Seriously. I have like three others like that anyways somewhere in my room.”

Marcie looked up from where she had been resolutely staring at Philly’s back, seemingly studying the calico coloration in an attempt to not look up to Corrine.

“Also, honestly, that’s my fault, I’m the one who has a habit of sitting on the floor and then leaving stuff- I promise that’s not the first thing of mine that’s been broken because of me being forgetful.”

“Thirdly, I’m not mad, or upset, or secretly resentful- okay? I promise. I do not care about those headphones. They’re just an object, sweet pea.”

They lapsed into a terse silence, both petting Philly who was purring loudly at the attention, before Marcie spoke up.

“I- ahem. Um.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat, tearing her hand and eyes away from Philly and looking out to the balcony, looking through the window at the storm.

She focused on the sheets of rain as she steadied herself. “My last girlfriend- I accidently broke her- I broke her laptop charger one day. Like, the cable insulator part. I didn’t mean to! She had asked me to plug in her computer, but it wouldn’t attach, so I had taken it out and went to put it back in, and I guess the insulation maybe was unraveling or something, which wasn’t good, cuz it just snapped…”

Corrine was only idly stroking her cats’ fur now, staring at Marcie’s turned-away face, studying the obvious tension.

“She freaked out. She started yelling at me, and saying that I…” Marcie seemed to steal herself, looking out to the balcony intently, as if she was staring down the rain in a battle of wills. “She was saying how I was a complete fuck up, and she didn’t know why she even bothers with me. And that I owed her a new charger, and then she- ahem.”

There was a growing pit of dread in Corrine’s stomach, but she could see that this was something important to discuss if they wanted to build a long lasting, strong relationship. She needed to show Marcie she was safe, now, and protected. And it seemed Marcie needed to heal from this, too.

“She got really pissed, and she had gotten laid off earlier that week. That’s why her computer needed to be plugged in, she had been looking at jobs online for so long. She was just really, really stressed, and then I think I just was the thing that- “

“Baby,” Anne stopped stroking Philly, who seemed wholly unbothered now that the thunder had turned to just heavy rain. The calico got up and walked off elsewhere, apparently content with the amount of attention she had been bestowed. “Why are you excusing her?”

Anne reached out to grab Marcie’s hand, and when she did, Marcie’s head whipped around from her watch point, out to the balcony- there was tears welling up in her eyes, and her nose was bright red. “She hit me. Not just once, but like. A couple of times. She was really stressed, and she just- she started screaming and hitting me and she was so mad, and I- “she started sobbing, and lunged into Anne’s waiting arms, where Anne started comforting her, whispering similar platitudes to the ones Marcie had coaxed Philly with earlier.

“Baby, shh, it’s ok. I am so sorry that ever happened to you- that’s not right. I don’t care if her whole family died in a plane crash and then she got fired and stubbed all her toes. That is no excuse to ever hit you, Marsha Braun.” The serious tone coming from her usually-jovial girlfriend, along with her given name, made Marcie pull back and look into Anne’s eyes, seeming to search for something.

Anne sat there, idly reminded of when her uncle and she would wait patiently in the woods for the baby deer to approach.

Whatever Marcie was searching for, she apparently needed to find. When it seems she was satisfied, Marcie lunged forward again, but to hug Anne, locking her arms around her neck and pressing a kiss into the woman’s juncture between shoulder and neck.

“I was so scared when it happened, Annie.”

Anne’s heart cracked at hearing that, the words reverberated within her, sounding hollow. Marcie was such an abundantly kind, generous, loving person. The idea that anyone could do something such as strike her, multiple times, for doing nothing more than trying to do a favor- it made a fire boil in her veins.

“I’m so so sorry, kitten. I will never, ever, let you feel like that again.” And she meant it. Anne may not look intimidating, but her 12 years of Judo and ample weapons training said otherwise. She had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to those she cared about, and Marcie quickly was entering that realm, despite the two of them only having dated for going-on five months.

“I like that.” The words were soft, breathed into her neck.

“What?” Circles and nonsensical patterns were drawn on Marcie’s back, in comforting sweeps.

“Kitten. I like that- “Here, she yawned widely, also into Anne’s neck. “I like that a lot.”

“Tired?”

“I’m sorry- we haven’t even eaten yet and I know you’re hungry and we haven’t seen each other in days-“

“Baby, kitten, shh- I am hungry, so I’ll go ahead and eat my half while you take a short nap next to me on the couch, hmm? That way you get some beauty sleep, not that you need it-“

Marcie gave a shy grin.

“-and I get to eat my General Tso’s and watch whatever show I want, without having to battle somebody over Kitchen Nightmares or Hotel Hell. And, of course, I get to be next to the prettiest woman in the world while doing so.”

“I love you.”

Holyshitholyshitholyshit- They hadn’t said that yet. They were going tragically slow, and then she just says that! Marcie just said that! Anne’s heart constricted slightly, and she could practically hear the concerto playing in her brain, a cacophony of emotions.

“I love you too, Marcie.”

~

“Y’know… sometimes I worry it was my fault. She did it more than just the one time. I didn’t leave right away. I just- she had made me feel really really bad about myself. Like she was right, that nobody would want to put up with me. She only slapped me around a few more times-“

A few more times too many thought Anne darkly, listening as Marcie spoke, her voice projecting upwards into the blackness of their bedroom. She was laying on her back, looking to the ceiling, sidled up next to Anne.

“But… the last time, she had slapped me around and then was really pissed and she threw something at Benji. And I just- I felt so bad for my poor boy. He did nothing to deserve that, and I couldn’t let him stay there any more. It didn’t hurt him, thank god, but I left that night.”

Benji. The huge golden retriever that Macie loved; the one she had to put down a few weeks before she and Anne met.

She had only known about the dog through pictures and stories, but she knew he was Marcie’s childhood dog, and she had had him all the way up through college. She had loved Benji so much.

Anne was filled with aches in her soul- anger, brittle and sharp at Marcie’s ex. Rounded, hollow pain for Benji, who was gone. A resounding ache, pointed, for Marcie’s hurt. She didn’t know what else to say, so she said all she could think.

“I’m happy you left.”

“Yeah… me too.”

As they drifted into silence, Anne said a silent prayer, sent up to a golden retriever named Benji, in thanks for protecting her now-girlfriend from herself, when she hadn’t been there to do so.

She hoped the old dog would have liked her- she certainly liked his owner.

[eliotquillon]

mark walden and politics in h.i.v.e

as you probably all know by now (thanks to the j.k rowling fiasco), art and politics are inherently linked; whether it’s intentional or not, it’s difficult to extricate an author’s beliefs from the way they manifist in literature. and with that in mind, let’s talk about politics in h.i.v.e.

h.i.v.e is a series that has never exactly shied away from criticising the politics of the year each book was published in, and you can probably see this best in the character of matt ronson, who is the most obvious stand in for mitt romney that i’ve ever seen in my entire life. romney was running against obama in the 2012 election, and, coincidentally enough, matt ronson appears in deadlock, which was published in 2013 (and almost certainly written during 2012). in case you’ve repressed the events of deadlock (which i wouldn’t blame you for lmao), ronson’s a senior member of the disciples - he’s actually head of an entire cell - and is running for president in order to secure the disciples’ control over the united states. it’s not exactly subtle imagery. it’s definitely the boldest walden gets in terms of critiquing the state of late 00s-early 2010s politics, and is also the example that i think is easiest to pick up on, because of how similar ronson and romney’s names are, and how in-your-face the whole scene is. i mean, otto leaves ronson to die in a plane pre-programmed to crash in the middle of the ocean because when raven tells him that a bullet would’ve been quicker, his response is, quote, “too quick.” for further proof, if you check walden’s twitter, he’s pretty positive towards obama on the whole, which i imagine is why he decided to kill off obama’s presidential challenger.

but that’s not the first time politics gets infused in h.i.v.e. the first time - the one that actually serves as the catalyst for, well, everything - is otto deposing the prime minister by making him moon the nation on live television. book 1 was published in 2006; this was when tony blair was prime minister in the uk. if you’re unfamiliar with uk politics, blair is pretty harshly criticised on both sides of the political spectrum for his role in the iraq war/the 2008 financial crash (although he resigned and appointed gordon brown as his successor in 2007), and the fact that he created ‘new labour’, a movement which pushed the predominantly working class, leftist labour party further towards the ‘moderate centre’ in an attempt to capture more of the middle class vote as opposed to labour’s traditional post-industrial ‘northern heartlands’. the prime minister that otto deposes is blair, or at least a stand in for him; i’ll give proof below.

the important thing is that otto decides to get rid of the prime minister because st. sebastian’s is closing down, and st. sebastian’s is closing down because of the prime minister’s childcare reforms that result in, quote, “the restructuring of local childcare provision.” whether or not st. sebastian being closed would’ve been an overal net positive or not is debatable (otto mentions that the building was starting to become “genuinely unsafe”), but if you don’t know much about blair, he was BIG on restructuring, especially in london, where st sebastian’s is located, and something in particular that blair was fond of was giving more powers to local councils (essentially, shifting the uk to more of a federal system than a centralised one). you’ve probably already guessed, but yep, the letter that announces st. sebastian’s is closing comes from the local council. it’s also mentioned that the childcare reforms have “the prime minister’s personal backing”, and, yep, childcare budgets and early years spending increased exponentially under blair (he even renamed the department of education to the department of children, schools, and families, which was promptly renamed AGAIN once labour left office, but that’s a rant for another day). there’s also the fact that otto goes to brighton for the prime minister’s party conference - this is where the labour party conference is held, whereas the conservative party conference alternates between birmingham and manchester. finally, in zero hour (published in 2010) it’s mentioned that the prime minister resigned and that his party lost in the next general election - this is exactly what happened to blair and new labour after the financial crash. of course, this evidence is very circumstantial, but i don’t think that this is a coincidence, and, anyway, i struggle to see how walden could’ve been more explicit in implying that this is blair without facing parental backlash.

now onto the political commentary; i’ve already mentioned how everyone hates blair, and walden is no exception. the statement that otto makes the prime minister is absolutely damning. it’s too long for me to copy and paste the entire thing (i say, when this post is going to be ridiculously long anyway), but here are some highlights: “we hold you and your families in nothing but the deepest contempt”, “i don’t think that we get enough credit for having to put up with your constant whining”, “half of you can barely read or write, and the way the education system’s going, that’s not going to change any time soon”, “we don’t care” “all we care about is power and money”, “shut your mouths and cut the moaning, because we don’t give a monkey’s.” i think it’s pretty safe to say that this is not exactly positive. personally, i think that the “moaning” and “whining” walden refers to here is a reference to the anti-war protests about the us/uk invasion of iraq, and there were complaints about the scrapping of grammar schools/“dumbing down” of the GCSE qualifications (regardless of whether or not that was intentional) across the board for years both before and after blair got into power. but whichever way you look at it, this is not a glowing representation of blair. and if you look on walden’s twitter (again), he tends to retweet a lot from michael rosen and owen jones, both prominent labour members who are very staunchly anti blair and anti ‘new labour’.

also, while searching walden’s twitter for blair references, i also came across this 2019 tweet:

where, as you can see, he shares an anecdote about how his old house used to be next to an army range and that his neighbour told him that military helicopters were often “flown by a 21 year old with a hangover”. and, like, i’m not saying that that’s the inspiration for 13 year old laura being able to hack a military base so she could spy on her classmates, but i’m totally saying that.

anyway, there’s one more political figure i want to cover here, and that’s duncan cavendish, aka the prime minister in zero hour. anyway: duncan cavendish is former conservative prime minister david cameron (notice the identical initials). i did actually ask walden about this on twitter, and he said he ‘couldn’t possibly comment’, which imo most likely means that he’s unable to confirm because of contractual reasons. but anyway: zero hour was published in 2010, the year of the election which put the conservatives (for clarity’s sake, i’m going to be referring to them as tories for the rest of this post) back into power for the first time in 13 years (albeit in a coalition with the centrist libdem party), meaning that it was written in 2009 when cameron was party leader, and after the 2008 crash. i don’t think walden knew for sure that cameron would come to power (after all, in zero hour it’s stated that cavendish’s party won by a landslide, whereas the actual 2010 election resulted in ‘hung parliament’), but it wasn’t exactly a hard guess to make that labour would lose after the events of 2007/8 and their record in iraq.

something that particularly sticks out to me is cavendish thanking nero for switching him from the polfi stream to the alpha stream - in real life, cameron has an a level in economics, and studied philosophy, politics, and economics at oxford and his father is also a stockbroker, all aspects which certainly scream polfi to me. personally, i think this was a dig at cameron’s fairly elitist background, and the fact that he’s historically been seen as an opportunist rather than a real leader. also, cameron was once approached in the former soviet union by two men he suspected were KGB agents trying to recruit him, and i’m not saying that walden used this connection when linking cavendish to pietor furan and the disciples, but....yeah. there’s also the fact that nero references cavendish’s academic record of going to an elite boys’ school being fudged, and, yeah, cameron attended eton (he also got suspended for smoking cannabis, which is just. a lot to think about for a man who helped push through legislation that further penalised cannabis users). again, on twitter walden has been extremely outspoken against the tories in general, specifically about brexit, the referendum for which occurred under cameron’s government. also walden kind of predicted the future: in zero hour, cavendish is blackmailed by nero into resigning. in real life, cameron resigned the whip (left both his post and the tory party as an MP) in 2016 after the uk voted to leave the eu. obviously that’s not proof of anything but it just makes me laugh.

those are the specific figures - now let’s talk more about walden’s general ideologies. he’s very anti-gun on twitter, and this obviously links to wing and his refusal to wield guns/shoot people; wing’s arguably the most staunchly moral character in the series, which i don’t think is a coincidence. walden bashed mass surveillance by having otto abhor (and later destroy) echelon; echelon is actually a real international government project that was originally designed for military surveillance but later branched out into greater mass surveillance (also, fun fact! i only live about an hour’s drive from an echelon radome base, so i hope my mi5 agent is enjoying this post). we see walden criticise mass surveillance again with the existence of the artemis project (and also the disciples’ use of facial recognition software), and while i have no idea whether or not that’s real, i think everyone knows that there are multiple international coalitions devoted to gathering and sharing data on world citizens (google the nine eyes partnership if you want to give yourself a bit of a crisis). walden has reposted a picture that says ‘make orwell fiction again’ on twitter, so it’s pretty clear where he stands on that. in general, walden is left wing, and that shows in his books - while i’ve corroborated all of my assumptions here with evidence i found on walden’s twitter, i came to most of these conclusions on my own just from reading the source material.

and this is why i’m only 90% joking when i talk about walden lagging behind on book 9 because there’s so many different things he needs to satirize. the global stage has changed dramatically since deadlock’s publication, and if walden’s passionate about critiquing those in power, he’s got a lot of content to choose from - trump, obviously, but also boris johnson and theresa may over on this side of the pond (and he really, really hates johnson). h.i.v.e as a story is inherently political, and not just because of the more obvious “morally grey villains” trope. walden uses his fictional world to critique the real-life authority figures in control, and does so while keeping it subtle enough so as to not tip off most casual readers. overall, it’s pretty impressive.

[elizabeth-234]

The Supplejack

Summary of the story:  Peter Parker has been alone his whole freshman year but finds hope when Stark Industries announces a science competition. The prize? An internship with Tony Stark.

Hi all. Thank you for being patient on this one. I haven't been at my best recently and writing has taken the brunt of that. In saying that I hope you all doing well and enjoy this one.

I'm also working on my other story "A Night She won't Soon Forget" and that should be posted sometime next week!

Previous Chapter Fifteen: He Returns

Chapter Sixteen: Civil War

Peter reclined back onto the towel. Sand moved under his body to accommodate the shifting in weight as he changed positions. He closed his eyes and listened to the people talking over the waves lapping at the shore. More sand underneath his head siphoned down creating a gritty pillow for his head.

He exhaled.

Flash and Julia were talking to his side. Their soft tones were loud enough to guess Flash had done something irritating and Julia was, in her way, telling him off. He couldn’t hear their specific words but he smirked at a cry of dismay from his friend over something Julia said. Their laughter washed over him along with the general sounds of a beach. It was good to have them close.

He smiled.

They were upstate for the weekend at one of Frank’s mom’s cottages. The home, bigger than any house let alone cottage had the right to be, was hidden away in the Finger Lake Region. It was beautiful country surrounded by hills and vast trees, all miles from the city. Peter couldn’t tear his gaze away from the farms and forests they passed to get to their little oasis. He didn’t ask for specifics when Frank invited them and sitting on the beach with everyone he was glad he didn’t let himself turn down the offer. It was nice to just be for a moment.

Their whole team came out plus Flash, Estee, and Ned in celebration of their runner-up status for the conference. He hadn’t thought there was anything to celebrate but his team had been overjoyed at the announcement. The group chat overflowing with all sorts of ecstatic messages and memes.

The celebration had to be put on hold because of the fast approaching end of school. Finals took over their thoughts for the time and everything else was waylaid. Frank and Monica were graduating so their schedules were filled along with the addition of making sure they were ready for the fall. He and Julia tried to help as best as they could but school bogged down their own schedules as well.

Peter expected everyone to separate in a natural way with all of these factors and was dismayed, as well as pleased, the group chat never extinguished. There wasn’t a day where someone didn’t text something, whether it was Frank talking about one of his games or Julia making sure they were all doing okay for the week. Those small connections were enough to get him through finals and not thinking about what happened.

Summer arrived with the abruptness of the last ring of school bell and finish of finals. One minute the world was on your shoulders and the next it didn’t matter how long you went without sleep to study for the history final. The average was a 59 percent and Peter scraped by with a 65. At least he’d aced all his other finals. Those acted as a buffer when May asked him about the results.

The hot season had been… different than what he was used to. There wasn’t any other way he could describe it. Instead of the long walks alone, waiting for May to get home from work by reading or working ahead on homework for the upcoming year Peter was familiar with, this year Peter had friends.  And they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The whole group of them stuck together as much as they could even after the presentation. Julia met him at the library more times than he could count. Although she didn’t have homework the two of them, and sometimes Flash accompanying her, would read there. More often than not they would then go no a fieldtrip around the city, finding new spots and ice-cream places they had all never been before. Sometimes Frank and Monica would join them on their escapades.

It was glorious.

And it was exhausting.

He hoped they wouldn’t change when fall was ushered in with the start of school and life began again.

Only two more weeks until the date back.

Logically, he knew it wouldn’t be the same but the thought of starting out his sophomore year the same way his freshman year began was unbearable. It had to be different. He suspected, good or bad, that nothing would quite be the same again. But he was also different.

Peter thought about everything that happened – everything he went through – and realized how much had changed. It was a chilling reflection. The depths of evolution he went through in the past year alone. He’d been lost in the sea of grief as school began and it wasn’t until a white flag, in this case a piece of paper hanging outside of the office, waved that something shifted. Of course, he was resistant to it and avoided the signup sheet simultaneously afraid and yearning for what signing his name could bring.

From there it all tumbled accumulating into even greater changes than Peter ever dreamt possible. Ned was steadfast in his offer of friendship. Cafeteria lunches became commonplace when Peter didn’t feel comfortable before. He’d even begun to enter into the debates Mike held at the table earning approving glances from Midge and Jaimik.

In the midst of all this Peter won the internship. Him. Peter Parker. The freak no one liked. The one who felt best in a safe place instead of in the bustling halls of school was interning at Stark Industries with some of the smartest people he’d ever met.

He remembered wishing he could be like the people who walked into the building like it was any other day; not stopping to stare at the intricate planes and panels leading up to the clouds. While Peter often ran late and didn’t have time to stop and stare, he found the building had become a safe place to him. His seat by the window was always empty and waiting for him and besides it was a cabinet full of snacks Julia would share. Lab five and its occupant were beginning to be as familiar and his talks with Friday never failed to make his day.

Thinking of lab five made his chest tighten. Something he always felt when Mr. Stark was mentioned somehow. He wondered what would have happened if everything had gone differently.

If Peter explained.

If he’d stood up for himself and made Mr. Stark listen.

What would Ben have said about it all? How would he react to his nephew forgetting to his speech about courage and shyness? In actuality, Peter had no doubt Ben would’ve stormed into Stark Tower and gave Mr. Stark a piece of his mind. Ben’s approach would be direct and the results would be swift, he was sure of that much. But that was something Peter couldn’t do.

He respected Mr. Stark too much to try and push himself into the man’s life. There was a list of things left unsaid but maybe it was for the best. At least now the man attributed the faults to something Peter did instead of who Peter was. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another rejection of himself again. Especially not from Mr. Stark.

Peter shook his head on the towel and ignored the sounds around him as long as he could.

All of these incited the changes in himself. He was still Peter but at the same time he was something more. He had friends and family. People he could contemplate opening up to. Topics he was passionate about. A job doing something he excelled at. They all were apart of him now when a year ago he could never have dreamed of any of it. And he felt so lucky to be able to think that; to be laying there on the beach as his friends surrounded him.

And that was that.

Julia squealed and began laughing. She stood up in a hurry, spraying sand onto her towel and Peter’s face. He sat up, covering his face with his hands to block the sun while trying to spit out the offending grit in his mouth.

“What was that?” He found Julia soaking and Flash holding a bottle full of liquid.

“You stand back, Flash” She yelled. He smiled and progressed further toward her. Peter scrambled onto his feet at the deranged grin Flash sent him. Julia’s hands were up to provide a barrier in front of her. Her head moved back and forth between the two of them.

“Oh, no you don’t. Peter, I’m warning you.” He stepped toward her. “Flash, you’ve corrupted him!”

Flash moved forward after a nod from Peter. Julia darted backward but Peter blocked her exit. Flash raised the bottle again and flipped it over but Julia was too fast. The water ended up dripping into his hair and down his face. At least the sand from before was washed away.

His bangs flattened onto his forehead and he coughed to get the liquid out. Flash and Julia’s laughter ignited further at the sour face he was making. Her arm was over Flash’s shoulder and the two huddled together as he wiped the hair from his eyes.

“So funny.” He frowned when they continued to laugh. Their eyes crinkled and he couldn’t help but smile in response. Peter stepped toward them and shook his head. Water sprayed over the two, provoking protests. They followed him as he ran to the dock, dodging their attempts to throw the last of the water on him.

Frank stepped out of the house and onto the porch. His yells of encouragement were followed by the sounds of his steps as he ran toward them.

“Yeah, fight it out!”

The planks of the dock shook under each step forward. They all backed up, not wanting to get in the way until they realized they were stuck between the dock and water with nowhere to go.

“No!” They yelled united under a common enemy fast approaching. Frank continued to yell. His eyes bulged out and Peter could almost imagine his tongue leaving his mouth and dangling over the side of his face. At the last moment he extended his arms out on either side of his body and jumping forward. He dragged the three of them up and over the water until they crashed into the waves.

Peter swam back to the beach. Sand squished through his toes as water pooled in his bathing suit before dripping down his legs. He stood at the precipice of the water watching as the tide moved back and forth, over and away from his feet. In the corner of his vision he could spy Frank pushing Julia into the water again at the edge of the dock. Her raised voice filled with mirth so at odds with her normal quiet tones. It seemed everyone was able to let loose on their weekend trip.

He turned his back on the shore and made his way to his towel. Monica and Estee had arrived while they were swimming. They smiled as he approached.

“Cold?” She asked snickering at the shivers running down his arms. Peter nodded and sat down careful to keep his sand encrusted feet off the towel. He watched the others continue to swim around. Their laughter punctuated the splashes as they jumped off the dock.

Monica moved over and sat next to him. Her head rested on top of her knees tucked against her chest.

“Peter?” She said in a quiet tone. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or when a good time to talk would be but I wanted you to know I’m really proud of our team. I could tell you thought we blamed you for the place we got but the thought never crossed my mind. You know?”

Peter swallowed and turned to face her. She stared straight at the lake but there was an openness in her face.

“I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “How did you know?”

This time she did look over at him with a soft smile. There wasn’t an ounce of blame there. Peter shifted on the towel.

“I think I know you by now Peter. Plus, I would’ve felt the same if I was… you know.”



The tightness knotted in his chest in response and he did his best not to remember Mr. Stark’s parting words. Instead he focused on his teammate. It was her senior year and college was around the corner for her. He wondered what she would do now that both of her internships were done and her life was just beginning. She was sure of what she wanted that there was no doubt she would do something great. There was no reason for her to lie because he knew she would have no trouble saying her mind. Peter looked over and was grateful now for that straightforwardness. It let him accept her words and feel the knot loosen.

“Thank you.” He said.

She leaned over and put a hand around his shoulder, drawing them together.

The sun was setting behind a row of trees on the other side of the lake. Clouds lingered in the sky creating specks of purple and black overlaid on the fire palate in the sky. Frank, Flash, and Julia finally crawled out of the water and onto the shore all shivering and prune-skinned from the water. They plopped down on the towels and started digging into their bags to grab the snacks they brought down from the cottage.  

Peter accepted a handful of grapes. Everyone laughed and talked as they dried off. Two more weeks until school and in that moment, Peter would’ve given everything to stay on that lake; somewhere in upstate New York with his friends.

-

“How’s the Yaesu doing?” Barry asked from his spot in the doorway.

Peter looked up from behind a pair of magnifying goggles. Barry’s features were distorted under the pair of goggles but he smiled at the way Peter was almost bouncing off the seat as he nodded.

“I think it’s done.” He said.

Barry entered the room and Peter shoved everything over to the side of the desk so he could move the radio over to where his boss was standing. Barry whistled as he inspected the new parts all secured in their right place.  He tinkered around with a few of the disks but then stepped back.

“This is great, Peter. I’m glad you talked me into those extra hours, though your old manager is missing out on one good barista. She’s a beauty. With your finishing of that I think you deserve the rest of the day off.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest; to say he needed the distraction, but Barry was already waving him off.

“No worries. You’ve been working so much and I know you want some time before school. I’ve got the shop covered here.”


At least he was kicking Peter out in the nicest way possible but he wasn’t sure what he would do now. Frank and Monica had moved into their dorms the weekend before. Frank was out of state on a football scholarship. The pictures they sent of their cramped rooms did not inspire excitement about Peter’s own future prospects. Their small updates while sporadic allowed everyone in their team to stay connected.

Flash and Julia were doing something together which had surprised Peter but everyone else didn’t share his reaction. Monica said he should have seen it coming and on reflection Peter realized they had spent a large amount of time together at the cottage. He thought it was cute they were friends. Julia brought a sort of calm to Flash whose energy otherwise had too many directions to go to. Under the other’s influence Peter noticed the focused energy in Flash and a rise in confidence in Julia.

Ned was Ned. The boy texted Peter if he wanted to hang out today citing movies they could watch but with this unexpected freedom so early in the day Peter just wanted to spend time by himself.

There was nothing wrong with that, he reassured himself and ignore the guilty feeling of not texting his friend back. Spending time with yourself was important. Balance was key and while their upstate vacation was fun he returned home tired. After all he thought of by the lake, all the changes he’d undergone, he wasn’t a completely new person. He was still Peter Parker and sometimes he needed to be with himself.

Peter went into the back to grab his stuff. He spotted Barry on his way to the door in the front. The man was leaning against the counter, arms crossed on the glass case with his eyes trained on the small TV set up by the register. One red Converse rested on the other.

“Barry?” Peter spoke trying to gain the attention of his boss but the man didn’t respond. He said his name again with the same lack of response. The news murmured in the back and Peter walked around the counter, curious to see what was monopolizing his boss’s attention.  

The camera was shaking. Blurry images focused and unfocused on the screen amidst dirt and chaos thrown into the air. The trembling stopped; the camera focused and everything seemed to pause.

Peter’s breath lodged, trapped and turning stagnant, in his chest. The camera was stationary but what it captured was made all the more violent by this unnatural stop in motion. The outside world was silent, trapped in the spell the recorded world wove spinning regardless of its effects in brash action. Metal screamed on impact. Dust and debris streamed across the sky and Peter’s eyes tried to follow every movement in anticipation.

The first thing his eyes zoomed in on was the blue suit. Hadn’t he seen it on the TV only a month ago with that stranger? Captain America stood center screen, facing away and gesturing wide to someone he couldn’t see. His back tensed. Muscles rippled under the taught fabric facing them. His dropped for a moment. The helmet with dipped out of sight before his back straightened again. His shoulders square and spine tall. Then he brought his arm up and lunged forward.

Something hit the ground.

Red and gold caught his eye.

Peter gripped the edge of the counter as blue hit the red suit, sending the cement cracking under the pressure. Why was he? How could Captain America attack… his fellow Avenger? His friend?

His knees threatened to buckle as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

Captain America and Iron Man. In battle.

Beyond those two frontal figures other superheroes were fighting. Using their powers against each other. Not against a villain or some common enemy. No, they were fighting amongst themselves.  

Captain America stood above Iron Man. His feet near the man’s head. Cement cracked in a grotesque halo around his head. The building behind them was on fire.

In the back of his mind Peter wondered how this was being recorded and broadcasted onto the TV. All those thoughts were stripped away when Mr. Stark, no, Iron Man, launched off the ground, toward the other man.

Their fight began in earnest. There were no more pauses, nothing to say there was any hesitancy left in either figure. The colors clashed on screen and a restless itching invaded his muscles and into his blood cells. He needed to do something. To run or distract or… something. But he didn’t know where to go or what to do. Would he be welcomed? The most sickening prospect is he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything either way. Not in comparison to all of the special people already there.  

Still, despite reaffirming these thoughts there remained the urge to run there and help Mr. Stark in any way he could.

Regardless of not being wanted or needed.

“Look at that there. Who would have thought good old Captain America would engage like that?”



Peter focused on the screen again. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck at the realization they were at a different location than before. The walls were dark and condensed the vision of the cameras making him feel claustrophobic.  

Iron Man was standing apart from a figure shrouded in the shadows. The famous shield, the one Peter dreamed of holding as a child, was cast to the side. Scratches marred the star on the front. Captain America stepped out from his place by the wall with a frown. He said something as he looked Iron Man up and down. A faint, pleading look replaced his otherwise dour expression.

Punches were thrown and explosives detonated in the cramped quarters so quickly it was difficult to keep track of everything. Peter lost sight of Iron Man for a moment and his heart clenched until the faint glow of the arc reactor appeared from inside the dust cloud.

Peter couldn’t think of him as Mr. Stark in that suit. His name refused to surface in Peter’s mind with all the metal incasing him, protecting him. It created this distance and it would hurt too much to think of that as Mr. Stark fighting.

The shield was in his hands.

Everything was in slow motion. The itching grew and Peter needed to run, to scream, to stop it but he was helpless. Captain America brought the shield over his head. His knees were on either side of Iron Man’s chest. The shield came down and slammed, stopped in time by Iron Man’s hands. The shield came up again, higher than the previous time, and it was flying down.

His heart stopped. Iron Man’s hands weren’t enough to stop the energy behind the assault.  Captain America stared down. Iron Man gazed upward, pain and a sort of grime acceptance in his eyes.

The shield came down faster than he could follow, the stars and stripes blurred by the motion. The results were confirmed with the denting of the red armor. The arc reactor fractured. Glass cracked and allowed the light to slip through the gaps.

The two men stared at each other. Their broken and torn up armor added unspoken meaning to the betrayed faces they wore. Iron Man’s helmet came off and it was the first time he wasn’t realized to see Mr. Stark’s face. Before that moment there was still a doubt and hope it would’ve been someone else or empty. But no, Mr. Stark gasped for air while his hands clawed against his chest.

Those wide eyes and desperate movements were the last to appear before the TV went black.  Peter was frozen. He was stuck in the fraught moment that had ended too soon and not soon enough on screen. The one he knew Mr. Stark was still living.

Barry said something. His eyes searched Peter’s face but he couldn’t look away from the screen now filled with headlines and news anchors. His boss moved around the counter and clapped him on the shoulder with another word Peter missed. He moved to the back of the store leaving Peter alone.

The person on screen was speculating about the possibilities of meaning this could mean for the Avengers and greater world. Their lips hurried through the broadcast but it was obvious they didn’t know what was happening.  

One particular sentence caught his attention.

“…and, of course, Tony Stark also under the alias, Iron Man, was on scene. While we don’t know exactly what caused this rift between the group it is clear his motivations and actions are far from scrutiny given past indiscretions…”

His hands clenched at his sides at the smirk on the reporter. The tighter he squeezed the deeper his nails bit into the flesh of his palms. It was just like those people staring in the hallways of the Tower. Their faces all pressed against the glass to catch a glimpse and speculate about their boss. The news was the same. The amount of times Mr. Stark had joked about what they wrote about him was sickening.

Who were they that they had the right to say that? How was that fair?

Peter squeezed his hands harder, pushing his knuckles into the glass on the counter before storming out of the building. He didn’t call out a goodbye to Barry or clock out of work. It didn’t matter.

The wind swept through his hair and a chill descended onto his skin as he walked out. On pilot he steered through the crowds of people without making eye contact. His thoughts were miles away but his feet began the way to his apartment without prompting.

He couldn’t help the tendril of worry curled in his stomach. It nested there and created a pit stuck like an anchor weighing down his body and thoughts. Mr. Stark had to be okay. He was Iron Man after all and the man had faced much worse. He’d always come out ahead every other time.

That was the defining difference though. Mr. Stark had faced worse enemies before but Captain American wasn’t an enemy to Peter’s knowledge. While Mr. Stark didn’t talk about the Avengers often and Peter didn’t want to pry, it was a kind word he spoke when he did. Peter never dreamed there would be discord in the world-famous group. They were the Avengers and to all outward appearances they were colleagues and friends. Everyone’s aimed weapons. The scowls and grimaces. All the fighting in the back. All of it aimed at a teammate.

He thought of Julia, Frank, and Monica and shivered. Would they turn on each other given the chance? Peter shook his head at the wayward nature his thoughts were taking. He had to focus on what was happening now.  

Mr. Stark’s eyes and his hands holding onto his chest would be burned into his mind. The image of fissured glass and metal replayed over and over. Peter wasn’t sure if he could remember to breath normally.

-

The subway ride passed by without notice as his thoughts whirled around in his head. Somehow Peter made it back to his room ensconced in the familiar warmth of his blanket. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped to obliviate everything. For a selfish instant, all he wanted was to forget about the afternoon and all the baggage that came loaded with it. He should’ve helped. It was like there was this voice in the back of his mind that knew in some other universe he would have been strong enough to help in some way. It wasn’t to be. He was here in his apartment under the covers in his bed. He was hiding from his aunt and her questions. He was hiding from himself and the disappointment he felt about it all.

Peter’s phone rested against the pillow to his side. He ignored all the incoming text messages from his friends and instead scrolled through every social media and news outlet he could think of trying to get a crumb of new information. There were videos breaking down every scene of the footage released like a movie trailer. Everything was conjecture.

There was one option to find the truth.

Shaking hands dialed the contact and with minimal thought to convince himself out of this course of action, Peter pressed call. The lone sound that filled the air was the rings followed by Mr. Stark’s voicemail. The man’s voice, gentle and teasing, took Peter’s breath away. He hadn’t heard it in so long and yet it felt like yesterday. He remembered the story Pepper told him of how she forced him to set up the voicemail on his number.

“You know who it is. You’re trying to call me so I’m supposed to say leave a number but don’t. I’ll find you.” He could hear the phone being put down and Mr. Stark walking away while talking to his partner. “Are you happy now, Pepper?” He said and they both laughed.

She told Peter over dinner one night how stubborn the man was. How even though he was quick to right his wrongs, change came difficult for him, including, apparently, a new voicemail. The man had griped from across the table but winked at Peter when he insisted in defending Mr. Stark’s honor and told Pepper he was the same way. He glanced up under his lashes when he spoke, confident for the first time that night, to see their eyes soften as they gazed at him.  

He scowled at the memory and let the phone fall screen first onto his mattress before turning toward the wall. Peter tucked the blanket higher over his head and wished he had the courage to leave a voicemail, or to call one more time so he could hear their laughter again.

His stomach throbbed as he thought about his internship. He spent so many hours in the Tower over forged metal and takeout boxes with the man. All the time he agonized over if he should be there and listing everyway he wasn’t good enough when it would’ve been, not easy because nothing was that easy, but worth it to forget about all that. How strange and how worth it would his internship have been if Peter had just accepted he was wanted there? At the time he rationalized he was doing everyone a favor. He was saving them from disappointment but maybe he was saving himself the potential hurt. Peter thought of his promise to himself to try and be happy and he realized maybe this was a part of it.

Osborn and his curled smile were the crux of this. The injection of that man into his life had closed off doors he was only beginning to see were available to him. If only he’d never gone to Oscorp.

It was no use thinking like that but his mind kept circling around the two men well into the morning. Nothing fruitful came of it and he was left with shadows darkening his eyes.

May tried to grab his attention. She loaded up his plate with toast and strawberries but Peter pushed it around. His homework beckoned him from his desk but as he sat there, Peter found his eyes wandering to the fire escape and beyond.

His feet pounded against the sidewalk as his walk turned into a run. Despite the screaming in his muscles and the pressure building in his lungs he continued forward, urged by the lack of thought his action was providing. He was so focused on his body he didn’t have to think about Mr. Stark and why he was fighting with Captain America. Self-reflective thoughts were shoved down by the sound of his harsh breaths and for the moment Peter was running.

And it was heaven.

Thank you!

Taglist: @whatisthou @demi-starzak @warmwithafewfrostymoments

Next Chapter Seventeen: Reflections and Realizations

[deathliken]

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞𝚖: 𝚎𝚡𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎

THE THEMES: corrupted holier than thou guilds / world orders that are way too sketchy and crave eternal war / vampire secret societies and adjacent politics / ouroboros of greed and pride / who’s the real monster ? / the power of blood.

CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of child grooming / mental & emotional abuse and indoctrination, wars and politics ( it’s vampire politics, but you never know ), discrimination of both supernatural creatures by humans / humans by supernatural creatures, demonization and dehumanization, death and mercy kills, manipulation and mind games.

as always please do not steal anything / take inspiration from here, any mention of other IDV characters is just purely casual and there’s no obligation to abide to every word i say, i’m just a writer who rambles a lot ;;

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚙: a forsaken youth whose blood traces ancient priests and aristocrats just like his whole being is painted in grays and whites and reds, whose honorable father disappeared under mysterious circumstances when he was too young to remember and whose lovely mother’s health was so quickly deteriorating because of a mysterious abyssal disease ━he ended up leaving his home in order to live with the old family friend and trusted figure of jerry carl, as lastly wished by aesop’s mother herself before passing away. the known veteran, member of the most influential guild of supernatural hunters of the Allegiance of Countries known as The Order, raised the child himself by imbuing the guild’s creed and his own hatred towards supernatural creatures, for he had seen the great potential that laid within the pale child ━especially when it came to both his rare blood and his affinity with the supernatural as aesop has always shown as a child the ability to see spirits and perceive the presence of supernatural creatures as clearly as he could so easily admire the traces of stars on a night sky, things most hunters and humans can't do and that of course try to compensate for with their techniques. memories of his past prior leaving with jerry are hazy at best, but all that remained as vivid as ever was his mother’s tired smile ━and the harp demanded to come with him in the new place he was supposed to call home. as he bloomed into adulthood, he became a model of what a diligent exorcist had always been supposed to be: a living weapon for The Order to take pride of and use, a terror for creatures haunting and decimating humanity to fear, developing his blood bait at a spectacularly young age and successfully adapt it to his own natural gifts ━and when jerry died ( by aesop’s hands himself who so heartlessly shot the agonizing mentor who nighly was turning into a rabid ghoul ), aesop simply took over the mentor's duties and position as The Order’s mortician much to the higher planes’ glee. but perhaps it was indeed because of jerry not being around anymore to manipulate his deadly creation and the curiosity he harbored deep within the indoctrinated diligence ━or perhaps it was because of said deadly creation showing signs of hesitation and true mercy when sparing a rogue vampire he was supposed to eradicate from its hideout not that far from one of the province’s towns━ the pale exorcist had started  to realize that some things didn’t add up, that some things he’s never questioned just because he grew up in it and knew nothing more about than an eerie sensation hitting him down his spine every now and then had actually some gruesome, macabre obscenities in its womb.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚜:   not much is really known about its birth, a history as clouded by fog as the birth of the world and the first great wars in the eternal darkness ━considered the greatest armed force within the Allegiance of Countries, The Order is involved deeply in the politics and matters of those states requiring their presence, judgement and interventions. its structure as well is a mystery, with orders impossible to defy coming from the high council manifesting only in so - called times of need, and the serious to everyday matters under the strict control of the high summoners and the very running strength of The Order: the exorcists ━often presenting themselves solo or in groups of two / three members, with each one specializing in several arts from contact to more intellect - focused studies and often ending up with one becoming their main field alongside their signature blood baits. blood baits are the most known technique every adept of The Order needs to learn to access to if they want to be able to be considered full part of The Order, created by the blood of the exorcist imbued in special items which then create a symbiotic bond with the exorcist meant to last until the exorcist passes away ━or at least as long as every month exorcists will respect the requirement of participating to blood donations which is said to be the only way to renew the bond with the blood bait and to create to create supplementary hunger baits for creatures like vampires, ghouls,  wendigos / skinwalkers, werewolves, demons of various kinds ( any creature that feeds on blood or flesh, pretty much ) ; it takes several years for a blood bait to start to develop and a great number of standard exorcists never truly manage to reach its fullest potential, and each blood bait is different from one another and cannot be passed on from exorcist to another. aesop’s blood bait, ‘ embalm ’, is contained in the mortician cosmetic box the exorcist is seen always carrying along, and when opened it takes the shape of an elaborate coffin. the casket itself is able to summon a lifelike replica of himself or someone else he’s able to replicate, powered by his own blood and consequently maneuverable by him like a life sized puppet.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛: no self righteous claim is ever backed by equally pure true intentions, and The Order is no exception ━as their extremism has been known to know no ends just like their pride and greed, their desire to acquire more power and more riches causing them to indeed thread with the very creatures they claim of despising and creating the most complex and extensive blood trafficking ring that still to this day has never been truly caught or dismantled. they claim it’s in order to infiltrate and create ways to mine the greatest menace from the inside, but greed and hunger for more and more just roars louder within the darkest abysses. truth be told, so much of the ancient beliefs of The Order has been tressed in lies at some point in the darkest centuries and only those at the very top are well aware of it ━of how the blood baits do not need to be ‘ renewed ’ every month, of how blood in the supplementary hunger baits either comes from some unfortunate corpse or animals and all that blood taken away from the loyal and blinded exorcists gets actually sold to the great holders of the status quo known as the vampire aristocracy who so much want to hold their eons - old power just as much as their enemy and ‘ partners ’ want to steal it all from them ; they’re blueblood, old money after all ( the Bloodline above them all ), indifferent if not unbothered by the lower folk and creatures whose diatribes and feral rages act as more of a nuisance they’d like to get rid of before anything too out of hand can ever hope to happen. and in that, The Order’s strict beliefs just come quite handy ━especially considering the infighting between factions within the great clans of blood and how each clan dares using The Order to ' take care ' of dissidents that might menace the thin ice between two great forces, creating and manipulating several situations in order to trigger their intervention. and some members of the order itself ━or rather, those who are well suspicious but aren't aware of how things run deep in the highest spheres nor speak━ do not really hold any sympathy nor desire to be seen as the vampires' attack dog , for them it's just a temporary alliance given by the blood trafficking ring bc this way they get information about the enemy and ways to fully plot a mass extermination, usually dissidents in the order just ' disappear mysteriously '. it kinda works like a cold war born from an even ancient war leaving no trust between one another and ruination at each step in an equilibrium that truly doesn’t exist and is as much of a lie as everything else, with these subtle jabs at one another in higher spheres being covered by the loudness of both the hungerous creatures inhabiting the land and the facade of fanaticism of The Order ; both sides are driven by their own most selfish and most obscure desire and cravings that only seem to be amplified dangerously the more time passes, both sides want nothing but their status quo to reign and be maintained for their own interests to keep being fulfilled forevermore: The Order wanting for the extermination of all supernatural ‘ for the sake of humanity’s safety ’, the power and the riches ━and the Bloodline ( among other so - called allies ) to stay ontop of the social and power ladder and have endless pools of blood for them to feast on while all of the world would crash and burn in a new apocalypse allowing them to rewrite everything as their image and ideal. ( but maybe there’s more, creatures of lingering abyss playing chess with the living in their most maddening boredom, hiding underneath dormant churches ━who knew. )

[emotionally-imbruised]

In the world of Accidentally in Love, what would Harry and Y/N’s first time having sex be like?

Oh god. It’s been a TIME since I’ve written smut so bare with me, but here we go

Accidentally In Love: I Just Had Sex.

It’s the middle of a random weekday afternoon. Harry’s dead asleep beside you with his arm draped over your centre, and his head nestled into the crook of your neck as soft puffs of air leave his slightly open mouth with each breath he takes. It’s a sight you still can’t believe you get to see and experience now that the two of you are finally together but is also one you’ve become way too greedy over and hate even the thought of someone else being able to be with him this way.

Moments like this have become a common occurrence between the two of you. However, they’ve seemingly been happening less and less with just how busy Harry’s schedule is. Just after Christmas… when you really just started letting it sink in that you now have a romantic relationship with this man, he jetted off to Japan. For about a month. And that put a little bit of a halt on everything.

It sucked yeah, but you knew it was coming. It was something you’d known about before either of you knew of the feelings the other had because Harry told you just out of friendly conversation. Well that, and Gemma had mentioned it once or twice.

So, when the time came for Harry to leave LA again like he so often does, he stayed with you at your apartment for the first time since becoming a thing — but nothing happened.

The two of you curled up in your bed to watch a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine before eventually deciding to call it a night seeing as Harry’s flight was rather early the next morning. He insisted he’d just call a driver to take him to the airport, but you insisted that you driving him to LAX for 6am was really not an inconvenience; even though it was really hard moving from your position of being cuddled up against his bare chest once his alarm started going off.

His time in Japan surprisingly flew by though. The two of you FaceTimed nearly every day, where he’d tell you how his day was going, and you’d explain all the details of how you spent yours. It was tough connecting with the different time zones, but you both somehow made it work.

When his birthday came around, he tried his best to convince you to fly to him and spend it together. His offer was very tempting with just the thought of being able to see him in person again, and although he tried to bribe you with a paid-for flight there and back… you ultimately declined.

It felt awkward to you letting Harry pay for something so expensive and even though you considered just buying the plane ticket yourself to visit a place you’ve never been, you settled on just not taking the week off work and saved yourself from Gemma’s teasing of how whipped you already were just for wanting to go.

However, you regretted your decision after he told you about how much fun he had as well as after seeing the pictures and videos of him drunkenly singing karaoke with Bobby and Karamo from Queer Eye (aka. two of the only five other men you can trust in life other than Harry) at a bar. But, you got over it quickly and indulged yourself back into your work, and before you knew it, Harry was back.

He hasn’t been back for long by any means, and the worst part of it all is that his time in LA is short seeing as he is needed to fly off to London to finish up some things regarding his new album. He spent the entire morning at the studio finalizing some things before coming over to your apartment to spend some time with you, which ended up with the two of you napping together and watching some more Brooklyn Nine-Nine… Not the most exciting thing ever, you know. But it’s not necessarily something you’d want to change either.

You glance over to your right and mindlessly reach up to start massaging your fingertips through his curls, gasping slightly when he moans in contentment at the gesture. His eyes flutter open as soon as you instinctively move your hand away as a small pout starts forming on his lips. “Why’d yeh stop?”

“I didn’t think you were awake,” you respond as you lean yourself up on your elbows to look at him better, just as he lets out a dramatic huff. “Ok drama queen, what’s got you so salty now?”

“I-,” he starts and pauses before sitting up in a position similar to yours so that he is face to face with you. “I just want to stay like this to stay here with you. I know I don’t fly home until tomorrow evening, but damn it feels like I just got back.”

“You’re telling me.” He looks at you curiously as you say this and you move your hand to push some his hair out of his face before letting your eyes fall back to his. “I feel you just got back too, and it sucks not knowing how long you’re going to be away in London for.”

“Yeah, but at least you’ve agreed to actually come to see me this time around. Even though you still didn’t let me pay for the ticket.”

“Why would I let you pay for my flight when I can pay for it myself?” You challenge, and he scoffs. “Besides, I’m really starting to miss your mum and Gem. This trip is really just for me to see them, I hope you know.”

“Hey!”

“And you of course,” you tell him with a smirk before leaning forward to place a quick peck on his lips. “We’re still going to go to the George Michael museum, right?”

“Only if you can fit me into your oh so busy schedule while you’re there,” he replies and grins widely before leaning in to attach his lips to yours once again. The kiss is much deeper and slower this time, leaving you needing to catch your breath once he eventually decides to pull away; taking a moment to gently press his forehead against yours before speaking up again. “S’gonna suck leaving you again when we really haven’t had much time to do anything. Promise you won’t find someone more exciting than me to keep you company while I’m away.”

“Find someone who could out diva you? Impossible.”

“Good,” he says with a smirk before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss. You respond by leaning forward and gently nudging him to lay back down. He picks up on what you’re doing instantly, letting his hand slither it’s way down your side and gripping your left thigh so he can swing your leg over his middle, and that you’re left straddling his waist.

You smirk against his lips seeing as this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself in a similar predicament to this one with him and can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your mouth when you accidentally rub your core against him, and soft breath escapes his mouth. “What is with you and this exact position hmm?”

“Seeing you on top just does something to me I guess,” he states before gripping onto your thighs again, and flipping you over so that your back is against the mattress while he looms over top of you. He leans down to start attacking your collarbone with multiple kisses, sucks, and nibbles before slowly leaving a trail up your neck until he finishes at your jaw, and finally crashing his lips against yours again.

You’re fully aware that the involuntary moan that leaves your mouth as he does this and is aware of how it springs something inside of him with the way you can feel his prick hardening against the inner part of your leg. He shifts slightly, and that’s when you can feel just how big he is — not being able to keep yourself from gasping at an entirely new feeling.

“H.” You breathe out hungrily and let your hands move down to the waistband of his track pants. However, what you think is a gesture that would urge him on actually cause him to halt what he’s doing and pull away from you slightly.

“Uhm… you didn’t want to, did you?” He awkwardly mumbles as he so clearly has a blush burning its way across his cheeks. Your heart swells at how flustered he’s getting because if there’s one thing you know about Harry, it’s that he’d never force you into something you didn’t want to do regardless of how badly he wanted it. But this? Fuck, you needed this.

“Hey,” you speak up as you place your hand under his chin and move it, so he doesn’t have the choice but to look at you again. “I want to more than anything… I don’t think I have any condoms though, it-it’s been a while.”

He can’t help the smirk that plays on his lips as you say this and tries his best not feel so smug at the thought of you not sleeping with anyone for at least a good bit of time before getting involved with him. It gives him a sense of pride and excitement in knowing that he’ll be the one to make you feel good from now on. “I have one in my wallet.”

“Oh, so you planned this?” You ask jokingly as he reaches over to grab his wallet off of your bedside table. “I should’ve known, you’re pretty much prepared for everything.”

“Shut up,” he groans and sends you a wink before opening up the wallet to search for the piece of rubber that resides there. A small shiny glint of a silver wrapping catches your eye, and you quickly reach over to rip it out of the wallet and dangle it in front of his face.

“Looking for this?” You question cheekily but gasp when Harry suddenly snatches it from your fingers and moves to rip open the packing with his teeth.

“Yup.”

You don’t have much time to react before he has the two of you engulfed in another heated makeout session, and can feel yourself getting riled up. He moves his hand down to the hem of your shirt and begins lifting it up over your head. The condom wrapper scratches against your skin as it pokes out from Harry’s grip and leaves a tingling trail all the way up to your side in its wake.

Harry removes his lips from yours for a quick moment to entirely remove your t-shirt, finding himself smirking as he sees your nipples perk once they come in contact with the cold air that fills your bedroom. He then moves down to the waistband of the pajama shorts you wear and wastes no time in pulling them down your legs to remove them altogether.

“No underwear.” He says more as a statement to himself before crawling back above you and kissing you again. You sense yourself becoming lost by the feeling of his bare chest pressed against yours as you continue making out that you don’t notice how he subtly removes the rings that always reside on his left hand before he’s pushing a finger inside of you without warning.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp against his lips as your back arches off the mattress a little bit as he decides to add another finger. His movements remain steady as his digits start moving in and out of you at a steady pace that sends tingles all throughout your body. You weren’t kidding when you told him it’d been a while since you last had sex, and with the way he has his thumb presses hard circles over your clit while his pointer and middle finger hit you in all the right places for a few minutes… you know you might not last much longer; feeling an inevitable bubble forming in the pit of your stomach. “H-Harry, I’m gonna-.”

“Not yet love,” he tells you softly while placing kisses along your jaw, and starts moving his fingers at a much slower, agonizing pace.

“You're cruel.” Your words come out more like a whine, and this causes him to smirk as he places more kisses upon your collarbone, before moving up his right hand to massage at your left breast. He left his rings on that hand, and the coolness of the metal adds to the feeling, oh him squeezing at the fleshy part of your chest.

His movements resume steadily for a moment before he moves onto the other boob with his mouth. His body rubs against you as he leans over to give your left breast some needed attention and has to shift slightly, that’s when you can really feel him. Your eyes struggle to stay open, but even with their fluttering you’re still able to make out this particular feeling to be the large bulge in Harry’s track pants that are pressed against your thigh — and that’s when an idea springs to your mind.

Harry remains occupied, so you decide to remove one hand that is tangled in his curls, down his chest and stomach, and right into the waistband of his pants where you can grip onto him. You’re a little surprised at just how big he is, but don’t let that phase you as your hand slides up and down his length a few times; making sure to spread the pre-cum that’s gathered at his tip.

“Mmm, getting impatient are we?” He mumbles against your skin as his lips trail back towards your mouth.

“Don’t act like you want to put this off any longer either, Styles,” you snap and earn a chuckle from him.

“You’re right, I really don’t.” He gives you an arrogant wink before retracting his hand away from your throbbing core and moving his now soaking wet fingers towards his mouth — never breaking eye contact as he sucks them dry. With another smirk as you let out an impatient sigh, he grabs the condom that has fallen onto the mattress beside you and begins taking it out.

“H?” You speak up while watching him and bite down onto your bottom lip just as he removes the rubber from its package. He stays silent as he looks over to you and lets his eyes roam you a little bit. “I- uh, I’ve been taking the pill…”

You swear there’s a childlike glint of excitement that flashes over his eyes as you tell him this, and a huge grin is soon stretching its way across his lips. He looks down at the condom and chuckles before tossing it back onto the bedside table. “Won’t be needing that then.”

He shifts his position up onto his knees with his legs positioned at the inner parts of your thighs, and you sit up to quickly help with ridding him of his pants. Once all clothing is gone, you can’t help the way your eyes widen as his hardened cock sticks out and you take in his entire length. He watches you smugly before leaning forward to catch your lips in another alluring kiss and starts sliding himself into your burning centre; creating a new sensation that earns gasps from both of you.

“Shit Y/N,” he groans as he slowly continues pushing himself further up into you. “Yer so tight love feels so good.”

All you’re able to do is moan in response at the burning, yet the extremely pleasurable feeling of him so deep inside of you. Once he’s situated, he begins with slow thrusts… but finds himself not being able to maintain that pace with how good you feel around him and the want- no, need to speed this up a bit grows.

The sound of Gina’s and Boyle’s voices sassing each other can quietly be heard from the tv that is still on from the other side of the room, but it’s soon drowned out by yours and Harry’s moans, as well as the sound of his skin coming in contact with yours over and over again. His thrusts are fast, and he continuously hits your g-spot with ease, and it’s making you feel so damn good. Harry can tell how you’re feeling by the way your hands are tangled in his curls again, and he knows that he’s getting you close to your edge, feeling himself not being too far behind.

Each thrust pushes you closer to the orgasm you’re both craving, and just as Harry seemingly thrusts even deeper inside of you while rubbing his thumb in circles over your sensitive clit… you finally get there. You moan his name and arch your back as that bubble you felt in your stomach earlier bursts, sending you right over the edge into orgasmic bliss. His movements begin slowing as you clench around him and trigger that same feeling for him to experience as well.

“Fuck Y/N,” he breathes out, and soon enough you can feel the warm spurts of his cum filling you up. His thrusts become much sloppier as he comes down from his high and sends you a smile once he comes back to his senses, leaning down to capture his lips against yours one last time.

You flinch slightly as he moves away and slowly pulls out before flopping onto the mattress right next to you. No words are exchanged as the two of you lay there trying to catch your breath, and it’ll probably stay that way until one of you know what to say to the other after something so intimate.

It doesn’t take much for you to notice the feeling of his release slowly trickling its way out of you, but try to ignore it as you close your eyes and work on steadying your heart rate. Another moment passes, and soon enough, Harry is shifting from his spot beside you, and you open your eyes again to see him leaning on his elbow while looking at you with a stupid boyish grin.

“What?” You ask and move your hand up to push back some of the matted curls stuck to his forehead.

“You know that song, I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island and Akon?”

You instantly scowl and let your hand fall back down onto the pillow beside your head as your boyfriend is overcome by a severe laughing fit. “Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” he says between laughs and has to take a breath before continue. “Was just thinking about that song and how maybe we should call Gemma to tell her what just happened.”

“Harry!” You gasp loudly, and he falls back onto the mattress cackling. You watch him cry laugh for a second before reaching for the pillow you’re resting on and sitting up so you can use it to gently smack his shoulder with. “That’s not even funny!”

“Maybe not,” he replies and wipes away some of the tears leaving his eyes, before reaching out to grab your wrist so he can prevent you from hitting him with the pillow again. “But your reaction absolutely was.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you state as you let go of the pillow and he sits up as well. “There is no way in hell that we’re telling my best friend- your sister about anything that just happened. We’re not telling anyone for that matter.”

“Yes dear,” he responds as his laughing fades into soft chuckles, and he reaches out to push a stray piece of hair back behind your ear. You try your best to keep a pout planted on your lips as he does this, but there’s no use when he leans over to place a soft peck on your mouth, and you instantly melt at his touch. “Think we could do that at least once more before I leave tomorrow though?”

A small laugh leaves your mouth, and you have to look away as he just sits there grinning at you. “Maybe if you don’t annoy me too much.”

[storiesnobodyreads]

Dreams In The Sky

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Story: Your work requires that you fly across the country a lot, but you’re not the only one who travels often. After a long day, you nod off in an airplane seat when the plane hasn’t even taken off yet, and you wake up to meet Steve Rogers, the one and only Captain America.

A/N: so i was sitting on a plane and just sort of imaged how amazing it would be to meet captain america there. so here u go (word count = 3k)

“Alright, I’m getting on the plane now so I’m hanging up,” you informed your co-worker as you treaded up the stairs, people going on holidays in palm tree shirts drumming around you. Your co-worker had been bombarding you with last-minute questions about your recent project, which freaked you out more than anything. You’d have to present your project to a board of wealthy billionaires that might turn your dreams into reality.

“I just have one last detail—” argued your co-worker.

“I’m hanging up,” you repeated loudly, doing so as you strolled past the captain and steward smiling politely at you. “Good morning,” you greeted them, stifling a yawn. You had been working on your project for the past months, non-stop, practically eighteen hours a day. The amount of sleep you’d been getting had been shockingly low, and it was starting to get the better of you. Your friends had convinced you to at least get some hours of sleep during the flight. You knew they were right. There was nothing you could do to improve your project now and you could answer every single potential question. The best preparation that was left was to sleep.

You found your seat, relieved to find that the two seats next to you were still empty so that you could settle in ease. Thudding down by the window, you fasted your belt and plugged in your earphones. Even though you usually weren’t great at sleeping in planes, exhaustion was coming over you in waves of warm blankets. With your calm sleep music in your ears, you desperately tried to keep your eyes open to see the safety instructions, but your eyelids were so heavy.

Faster than you’d like to admit, you surrendered to the almighty power of sleep.

You woke up, feeling like it was only seconds later, with an awful pain in your neck. A little bit of drool dripped from the corner of your mouth that you became painfully aware of; and suddenly you became even more extremely aware of your position.

You were sleeping on the shoulder of the stranger next to you, fucking drooling on them.

Faster than a bee’s sting, your neck snapped up and you jolted fully awake. “I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed. Embarrassment flew through you, your cheeks instantly flushing bright red, thinking you’d rather die than have this happen—

Your eyes fell on the stranger by your side, a tall, handsome man with blonde hair and a healthy beard, with broad shoulders that looked so comfortable to fall asleep on that you temporarily stopped feeling guilt because damn, anyone could fall asleep on those shoulders. His eyes were bright blue and oozed kindly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he studied your horrified reaction.

And then you realised something worse.

Much, much worse.

This was Captain America.

“It’s okay,” said Steve Rogers softly, keeping his voice down for the sake of the other passengers.

“I’m so sorry,” you repeated, voice high-pitched. “I’m very tired and I really—shit, I’m sorry, this is super awkward—”

He chuckled and firmly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, truly,” he said. “I really don’t mind.”

“It’s just that these past couple of months have been very hard and I haven’t slept a lot and this was the first chance I had to shut off my phone and I just fell asleep—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Captain America insisted. “I’m happy that you got an hour of sleep.”

You stared at him. Of course, you’d heard the stories about how gorgeous and breath-taking he was, and of course you’d heard the rumours about what a kind gentleman he was, but never had you thought they would be this true. “But you’re Captain America,” you stammered panicked.

He cocked up one eyebrow. “My name is Steve.” He held out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. “And you are?”

“Y/N.” You shook his hand. His hands were large and surprisingly soft. Warm.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled. His smile was almost warmer than his hands.

“You, too.” Could he sense that you’d had a severe celebrity crush on him ever since you learned about his existence? Did he know that he was your hero and you had dreamed about meeting him one day? Did he realise that this was the worst possible way to meet a superhero?

But his eyes were sparkling brightly and he looked amused, not an ounce of negativity to be detected. He looked so happy that it brought a grin to your face. Because hey, you were sitting next to Steve Rogers.

“So why are you flying to New York?” asked Steve. You didn’t quite understand why’d he want to keep the conversation going, but then it occurred to you that he probably just didn’t want you to fall asleep on him again.

“Um, I have a presentation,” you replied sheepishly. “It’s this—um, project I’ve been working on. I’m an engineer.”

“Really?” Steve appeared interested. “That’s cool. My friend Tony is an engineer.”

You blinked. “You mean Tony Stark?”

Steve nodded with a sigh. “Yes, I mean Iron Man. I’m actually going to see him now. That’s why I’m flying to New York.” Making you feel stupid that you hadn’t countered the question as to what his business in New York was.

“Right.” You told yourself to behave. Be fucking polite, you scolded yourself internally. You have already drooled on this man. “Why are you coming from Miami?”

“I was on a holiday,” Steve told you cheerfully, immediately plucking his phone from his pocket to show you pictures. Now that he mentioned it, he was looking beautifully tanned. Steve showed a photograph with him and another man standing shirtless on the beach, both beaming like idiots, not having a care in the world. “That’s my friend Scott. We’d both never been. He stayed a week longer together with his daughter Cassie, I promised to help out Tony.”

“Looks great,” you laughed, almost taken aback by how carefree Captain America seemed. He’d always appeared as this serious, brooding character with the issues of the world at mind. A holiday to Miami must have been good for him. “Sure must’ve been a temperature difference compared to being frozen in ice.”

Immediately after saying the words, you wanted to drop through the floor of the plane and plummet to your death. “Sorr—”

But Steve was laughing. It was a good sound. “True, true.”

After that, the conversation was suddenly flowing smoothly. You managed to put your awkwardness out of the way, realising that you could impossibly get yourself in a worse situation than you already had. When the stewards came to bring you food and drinks, you sipped coffee together and shared what you and he didn’t like. It was amazing that you found so much to talk about together. When the food was gone, you unanimously decided to start binging Friends. Unfortunately, your small television screen malfunctioned and even though Steve mocked you for being a so-called engineer, you couldn’t get the screen to work again. You called him popsicle as a curse word and he laughed so loudly that he received vicious glares from other passengers.

Steve then offered to share headphones and look at his screen together. It was cute, even you could see that. However, the screen was rather hard to see with the sunlight reflecting in an unlucky way. You had to dangle your neck in an unnatural angle, aching your muscles.

Steve immediately noted your discomfort. “Oh, you can put your head on my shoulder, if you want,” he suggested softly.

“What?” you glared at him, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You already slept on me for an hour,” Steve elaborated quickly. “I’m sure this won’t be any weirder.”

You felt urged to decline, but then moved your head and felt the pain in your neck, and told yourself that it indeed wasn’t that bad. Therefore, you nodded. “Okay.” You placed your head carefully on his shoulder, hoping to decrease the weight of your heavy skull.

You could feel Steve roll his eyes. “Lie down already,” he insisted with a chuckle, wriggling out his arm to wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer.

Fuck, he was comfortable. Like a warm pillow and blanket embracing you in one, holding you in a protecting shield where no negative emotion could be experienced. You felt one hundred percent at ease in Steve Roger’s arms. And for the first time those months, you didn’t worry endlessly about your project and the presentation.

*****

The only reason you woke up was because the plane had landed. Steve was softly shaking you awake. “Y/N, we’re here,” he whispered in your ear.

Really? Again??

“I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, shooting upright.

Steve shook his head. “I thought we covered this. I don’t mind you sleeping on me.” His own words made him laugh. “You look cute when you’re asleep.”

His words flustered you. “Well, you look cute when you’re awake,” you countered.

He grinned. “Thanks, doll.”

Suddenly, your eyes widened. “My presentation.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“My presentation is in an hour,” you remembered, since the times had been drilled into your brain. Stress that had abandoned you during the flight now came crashing back in. “I still have to prepare and change my outfit and make sure my presentation can be attached to the big screens and I don’t know if--” you were rambling as you were gathering your stuff.

You were already standing, and Steve immediately jumped up to match your height, or, better said, towering over you. You couldn’t get passed him just yet, even though panic was racing through you and you wanted to get to your presentation as fast as possible.

Steve noticed the flares of panic in your eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“How do you know?” you squeaked.

“Because you are incredibly intelligent,” he answered without hesitation. “Every word you say oozes cleverness. You speak so easily, so confidently. And it doesn’t hurt that your first impression is great. You look like someone who’s loyal, who can be trusted, and who will work hard. The board will love you and everything you say will be listened to.”

You stared at Captain America, who was holding a patriotic speech for your sake, and you could feel your heart swell. “Thank you,” you breathed out. You didn’t know whether he knew that this was exactly what you needed to hear to give yourself a confidence boost.

He stepped out of the aisle to let you pass. “You got this, doll.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you smiled. In a burst of adrenalin, you lunged forward to give him a hug, your bag clumsily banging into the chairs. “I got this.”

“You got this!” Steve called after you as you made your way to the presentation.

*****

Steve was bummed. He’d met the cutest girl. He’d spotted her sleeping against the window, knowing that his seat was by her side, sitting down by the girl that embodied cuteness, and didn’t protest when her unconscious self snuggled up to him. And awake, she was even cuter. Mind-blowing smart. And funny. And beautiful.

But when they’d landed, she’d remembered the reason why she’d been tired in the first place, and had gotten stressed and ran away from him. He hadn’t even asked for your number. No way to get into contact with you again.

Miserable, even though he’d been so cheerful after returning from his week-long holiday with Ant-man in Miami, he shrugged into his leather jacket and called a cab. Tony had offered to send a limo to drive him, but Steve had kindly refused. That’s how he ended up sitting sulking in the back of a cab while being forced to listen to high-volume rap music thinking about a girl he’d sat beside for only a couple of hours.

Of course, Sam and Bucky were there standing out on the porch in front of the Stark Tower, anticipating Steve’s return.

“Look at you, all tanned!” Bucky exclaimed once Steve had paid the driver and fetched his suitcase from the trunk. “Wearing a shirt with goddamn palm trees!”

Sam clapped his friend on the back. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve never been frozen in the ice for seventy years, that’s how fresh you look.”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Steve laughed. “I take it you guys have missed me.”

Bucky shrugged, waving his metal hand dismissively. “It’s not you, I just don’t want to be left alone with this asshole for a week.”

Sam proceeded to punch Bucky against his flesh shoulder. “Next time we’ll absolutely come with you, man,” said Sam. “Must’ve been lots of pretty girls out there in Miami. Scott probably wasn’t fun to party with, though.”

“We didn’t party much, no,” Steve agreed. As the three men sauntered toward the building, Steve decided to confide in his friends. “There was this one girl I met on the plane, though. Her name’s Y/N.”

“Oh, Y/N, huh?” Bucky whooped. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Nice, man!” Sam smirked. “Get her number?”

Steve dropped his shoulders. “No... She had to hurry for a presentation and left before I could ask.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky and Sam said simultaneously.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed in sharply. “It was so weird, we really had this connection, you know. I hope I see her again someday.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, clearly expressing how Steve was a ridiculous hopeless romantic. By then, the three men had arrived in the hallway of the Stark Tower. Steve dropped his suitcase and opened his mouth to continue talking about you, when Tony came sprinting down the stairs. Tony, in full suit, sweat trickling down his forehead as he jumped the final steps, pointed at the three men.

“You’re not wearing the suits I had prepared for you!” Tony exclaimed.

Bucky spoke up, “Steve just got back, Tony, and we--”

“No time for excuses,” Tony interrupted the Winter Soldier, wiping sweat away with the back of his hand. “I had the time wrong and we have to be at the hotel in ten minutes. So chop chop, mother--”

Steve’s reaction was fast, knowing Tony would only get more stressed by the second, “If we don’t have to change outfits, we’ll come with you right now.”

Tony’s face lit up. “Great! Good to have you back, Rogers. Missed your face this week. Tell me all about Miami after the presentations from the wannabe world-changers.” Tony gestured for Steve to leave his suitcase for was it was and then ushered the three men back out the building. “Let’s go!”

*****

Steve was still sulking about the lost love of his life and Bucky, Sam and Tony continued to make fun of him for it. “If it’s really faith like you claim it is, you will find her back,” Bucky suddenly promised him seriously as Tony parked the car in front of an ancient-looking hotel.

“Absolutely, Steve,” Sam agreed, “You’re our golden boy. Luck is not the biggest part of your life so maybe you’ve always had bad luck so that you could be lucky this one time so that you could get lucky this one time--” he nudged Bucky in the ribs, winking exaggeratedly, “--if you know what I mean?”

The men jumped out of the car and ran through security. Amusing that the security guards didn’t even dare ask for identification when Iron Man, Captain America, the Winter Soldier and the Falcon came jogging past. “Happy!” Tony yelled, spotting the man impatiently waiting for them to arrive. “Where do we go?”

Happy Hogan screamed back: “Upstairs and to the left!”

The four men sprinted up the stairs and soon got pointed to their assigned seats. Tony had a special position at the front row, as he was one of the main investors for these young people presenting their research ideas. Steve, Bucky and Sam sat somewhere in the back, purely present to amuse Tony and give advise when necessary.

“We’re really just here to tell the rich folks what we think is cool,” Sam whispered. “Like, which stupid ideas they should give money to. Turning their little dreams into reality.”

“Pretty sure they have better ideas than you,” Bucky butted in.

Sam scoffed, “Don’t think so, you don’t know my brain.”

Steve had his eyes on the stage, where a young man was adjusting his glasses as his sweaty hands trembled holding his little paper with notes. He looked incredibly nervous, reminding Steve of how nerve-wrecked Y/N had been on the plane before for her presentation. If only he could see her again and tell her everything was going to be okay.

The man’s presentation finished in what seemed like a very long hour. Tony asked a couple of questions that the man didn’t have an answer to, after which the jury dismissed him. Several presenters followed, some more interesting than the others, some more capable of answering questions from the audience than others. It took two hours already and the men were starting to grow tired.

At some point Bucky had determinedly set his metal arm on the armrest of Sam’s chair. “Will you move your arm, Barnes?” Sam had hissed.

“No,” Bucky had chimed, after which the two men had bickered back and forth for quite a while. Steve still had his eyes on the stage. An inexplicable glimmer of hope was burning in his chest and he simply couldn’t look away.

The next woman stepped onto the stage and she took Steve’s breath away. The blinding sparkle in her eyes, the way that stunning dress hugged the curves of her body, how confident she took her position behind the microphone and smiled over the audience. Confident as hell, ready to conquer the world.

Steve’s jaw dropped. It was the girl from the plane.

She took a deep breath. And spoke.

Steve’s jaw, if possible, dropped even further. Because goddamn, she was killing it. Her ideas were absolutely brilliant. At some point during her presentation, Tony turned around and mouthed, while pointing at her, “She’s great!”

Steve was nodding vigorously. “Hell yeah, she is.”

Y/N’s eyes, while slamming the last lines of her speech, convincing basically everyone in the building to throw all their money at her project, darted up to the balcony where Tony Stark was seated. Steve tried to make himself small, noting that she was looking in his direction, because he had no intention to distract her. However, as soon as Y/N glanced up, her gaze fell upon the Captain, and her jaw dropped.

Steve, in an awkward automatic gesture, gave her a thumbs-up.

Tony asked a question. She swallowed with difficulty and replied smoothly, thank the lord. Tony nodded, as if she’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “Alright, folks, that was it. We’ll be discussing amongst ourselves now, and if we’re interested, we’ll find you. Good job, everyone.”

Applause erupted from the audience and Y/N did a quick bow before rushing off stage.

Tony was swirling around to his friends, saying, “Well, what do you guys think? I’d say the last one was the--”

Steve jumped up. “Sorry, Tony. I have to go.”

*****

Jesus fucking christ, you were cursing in your head, was this for real? Had you just spotted Steve Rogers sitting behind Tony Stark, a man you were trying so hard to impress intellectually and a man you had developed a bizarrely huge crush on over the past few hours. You had been afraid you’d never see him again, and here he was, watching the most important presentation of your life, and judging you for it. What would he say to Tony Stark about you? Would he even recognise you from the plane?

Your mind clouded with more worries than you already had, doubts about your presentation blinding you as you stumbled through the crowd trying to find your seat. All the other presenters were chatting amongst themselves, visibly nervous, same as you. Except you had the pressure of knowing Steve Rogers resting upon your shoulders. What if Steve had told Tony about how tired and a little baby you had been?

“Y/N!” you heard your name. A voice you’d know anywhere.

You spun around, and suddenly all the nerves vanished like snow in the sun. “Steve!”

The man came jogging over in all his glory, still in the same palm tree shirt that he’d worn on the plane. A wide smile was plastered on his pretty face, and before you knew what he was doing, he was wrapping you in a large hug. “You did so great! I’m so happy to see you! I didn’t know you were presenting here! You were amazing!”

The compliments flew off his tongue so easily it made you blush, and you slung your arms around his neck. He was so buff and warm and, well, thicc, and it felt amazing to hug him. To seriously hold Captain America in your arms. “Thank you! Wow, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Steve then let you go, making your body scream at the loss of warmth. “Me either,” he confessed, unable to quit smiling. “I’m so happy we found each other again. Must’ve been faith.”

You nodded, “It must’ve been.”

From the corner of his eye, Steve could spot Tony and Happy strolling toward you, as well as several other investors that were eying you with interest, and he knew that he wasn’t going to hold your presence for long. You had business to attend to. A strong, independent woman, and with realising that his heart swelled. “Y/N, I really want to see you again. We can’t keep leaving it up to faith, you know. She might grow tired of us.”

You were nodding so heavily you feared your neck might snap. “Absolutely,” you agreed. “We can’t lose each other again. How big are the odds we’ll run in to each other in this world?”

“So small,” Steve confirmed, holding his fingers a hair apart. “So, would you, um, can I maybe have your number?”

A wild wave of enthusiasm and disbelief overwhelmed you. Who’d known that by dreaming in the sky your actual dreams might come true by falling asleep on Captain America? “Yes! Yes, of course.” You accepted his phone and put in your number. “Maybe we could--” you started.

You were interrupted by Tony Stark tapping on your shoulder. “Miss Y/L/N, I’d like to talk to--Steve?” Tony Stark seemed surprised to find his friend talking to you. Seeing Steve’s expression, he connected the dots. “OH! This is--oh. Wow. Well, Steve, I didn’t know you had such good taste in women. I can leave you guys alone for a minute--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Steve stopped him quickly. He’d noted the other investors approaching and wanted nothing more than for you to work together with the best of the best, Stark Industries and Tony himself. “You do you. Y/N, I’ll call you.”

Your smile was so wide your cheeks started hurting. This must be the best day of your life. “Please do, popsicle.”

Tony Stark erupted in laughter. “Oh, god, you two are made for each other. Now get out of here, popsicle, we have business to attend to.”

*****

@patzammit​ // @bookgirlunicorn​ // @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ // @followyourbucky​ // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980​ // @gaybroadwayloser​ // @fuckthatfeeling​ // @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​ // @daughterofthenight117​

[ahouseoflies]

The Best Films of 2019, Part VI

Yes, I know that it’s almost March. Thanks for taking the ride. GREAT MOVIES

22. Apollo 11 (Todd Douglas Miller)- To disrespect this movie is to disrespect the moon landing itself so... I do like listening to the Walter Cronkite snippets about "the burdens and dreams of all mankind" and smirking at the idiots who talk about "back when people just read the news without editorializing." 21. Waves (Trey Edward Shults)- I could have done with five fewer shots of people holding each other, and the foreshadowing could be more subtle, but, man, Shults takes some huge swings here, for a more powerful effect than either of his previous films had. It isn't often that a colorist gets a single card in the opening credits, but it makes sense for a film that stands out as much as this loud, woozy piece does. I don't think there's anything as present-tense this year as a character drunk-driving to Kanye West's "I Am a God." 20. Jojo Rabbit (Taika Waititi)- The dissenters of Jojo Rabbit have been pretty uniform in their negativity, and I think their stance has to do with not wanting to be told what to think or feel. (Putting "an anti-hate satire" on the poster has to fire up those haters.) This movie is not subtle or ambiguous, but you know what? Casablanca is a pretty didactic movie too. Let me back up from the C-word. For me, the film's emotional scenes are better than its comedic scenes, but in either form, Waititi directly engages with a ten-year-old in a way that neither romanticizes him nor condescends to him. That's such an imperfect, transformative age in a boy, and not enough movies are willing to wrestle with how ugly it can be. Roman Griffin Davis is pretty good, but he's spotted by sincere, compassionate performances by Thomasin McKenzie and Scarlett Johansson. It's possible that Johansson has never been better. I totally understand why someone with her sex symbol baggage would resist playing mothers; if I've done my homework, this is the first time she has done it, even though she's a parent in real life. But her maternal scenes here are heartbreaking in their patience, particularly in a scene for which her character "plays" herself and her absent husband. Besides uncorking a more vulnerable part of herself, Johansson nails the performative aspect of being a parent, resisting the urge to make everything a lesson but wanting so desperately to be a positive example for a kid who needs one. 19. Honeyland (Ljubomir Stefanov and Tamara Kotevska)- I greatly prefer the term "non-professional actor" or "first-time actor" to "non-actor" because it's only human nature to act differently when being filmed. The second even a camera filming a birthday party captures you, you start to perform. But in handmade stone houses in rural Macedonia, the subjects are true non-actors. They have no affect because, in all likelihood, they have not seen a movie before. So the way that Hatidze lived over the course of the three years of this project--with purpose, focus, and wisdom--seemed new to me. Honeyland is the gift that I always hope for from documentary and (especially) foreign documentary: a slice of life that I never knew I needed. 18. Under the Silver Lake (David Robert Mitchell)- Andrew Garfield's Sam spends a lot of time on his balcony surveying his apartment complex, staring at a topless woman in a way that recalls Marlowe in The Long Goodbye, one reference point among hundreds. Sometimes he watches through binoculars, sometimes he watches through blinds--blind imagery that shows up over and over again in a movie about voyeurism. Anyway, this neighbor keeps parrots, who we're told as kids can "talk." Not that the animals have any conscious intention with their mimicking, but they replicate what they hear or are taught. The words are signified without any signifiers, so it's hard to even classify the noises as speech. Maybe those noises are everything--a tie to our species that reveals impressive intelligence--but maybe they're nothing--a silly hope of a world that seems less alone. And that subjective interpretation of code is the clearest metaphor in an otherwise elliptical, bizarre, sprawling, sui generis film. It's messy alright. Some of the threads lead nowhere, but in a movie about order and chaos, that's obviously the point. The scene with The Songwriter--barely any of the characters have names--is over ten minutes and might not have any narrative consequence. But in the moment it's earth-shattering and urgent. And maybe I'm the obvious audience, but I'm not going to complain about anyone taking a dance break for "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" 17. 1917 (Sam Mendes)- Weirdly enough, a Lauryn Hill line kept bouncing around in my head as I was nervously tapping my foot: "It could all be so simple, / But you had to make it hard." This is a direct story told with impossible technical aptitude. 1917 isn't saying anything new, but have you ever seen a plane crash ten feet away from the camera forty-five minutes into an unbroken take? No offense, but do you remember when we were all impressed that Creed had a five-minute fight in one take? Blimey. 16. American Factory (Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert)- It's a rare documentary that makes its case so gracefully and so forcefully at the same time. The film ends so conclusively that it could be considered labor activism, but it's so fair that the union-busting schmucks are willing to joke around with the filmmakers without obfuscating at all. The obvious forebearer for this sort of boots-on-the-ground snapshot of American labor is Harlan County U.S.A., but American Factory is more staid and less concerned with setting because, you know, this could be anywhere.The Chairman is the best villain since Thanos, and as he looked back on his life while walking around his empty cabana, I had to squint a bit to make sure he wasn't purple.

15. Ad Astra (James Gray)- Ad Astra declares so that it can suggest. The opening crawl says that the near future is a "time of hope and conflict," but all we see is the conflict: the pirates on a borderless moon that we've ruined with Applebee'ses, the neglected wife leaving her ring on a table, the voiceover that declares, "I always wanted to be an astronaut...for all mankind and all." This film will take place in four parts--Earth, Moon, Mars, Neptune--and each part will offer unique obstacles to challenge our phlegmatic but confused hero. But all of that table-setting allows James Gray to explore. There's a scene in which the Roy character uses a belt to pull himself, one tug at a time, deeper into the unknown, and we see the action through the reflection in his helmet as we're watching his face. We're seeing through his eyes but at a remove, and in this moment we're watching him heave himself into emptiness, thinking that the more distant and lonely and absent he gets, the more of a man he becomes. We know that's not true, but we kind of think it is from the movies, and Ad Astra has a happy ending if only because it wants to disprove that notion. Lots of artistes talk about how they could, without compromise, make grand, big-budget entertainments if they only wanted to. James Gray did. 14. Ash Is Purest White (Jia Zhangke)- In a train on the way to her hometown, the protagonist Xiao casually tells a fellow passenger that she has seen a UFO. Although it comes up later in a sort of magic realism flourish, her statement seemed like a character moment for me. People who see UFOs are either guileless rubes or attention-seeking hucksters, and that's the dance of Tao Zhao's performance. Even after seeing the movie, I can't tell which one Xiao is. Often it changes in the course of a scene. The time when she shows the most agency, firing off her boyfriend's illegal gun to ward off his attackers, results in the time when she is the most helpless, being ordered around in jail. She might confess her ex-con status in a moment of vulnerability, then flake out at the next train stop in an attempt to seize her power back. (It's worth mentioning that there are lots of movies about flaky drifters who don't pay the tab, but few of them are about women.) Even the way that she holds her backpack--frontways--is street-smart and child-like at the same time. This is the second film that Jia has made with a triptych setting, (Mountains May Depart is slightly superior.) and he doesn't make the flash forwards obvious. He invites the performance's same sort of healthy confusion upon the viewer with the formal elements. I, for one, am willing to get probed by these foreign objects. 13. Toy Story 4 (Josh Cooley)- I questioned a late moment in the film, one of the plottier ones in which Woody goes back to save another toy one more laborious time. When I sighed, my wife reminded me, "He never leaves a toy behind." Toy Story 4 is a dazzling upgrade in the series from a visual standpoint, (I gasped again at Woody lying in a damp, sunny patch of concrete.) but it's more of a reminder of the consistent character development and weight that have been blanketing us for twenty-three years. Pixar isn't reinventing the wheel because it is the wheel. Sure, the characters are too numerous and separate now. I miss the OG's Rex and Hamm. But for one thing, that rogue's gallery makes it funnier when, say, Buttercup pops up with a joke out of nowhere. And the new characters, particularly Forky the Nihilist, are so lovable that I wouldn't know who to trade. Toy Story 4 is probably the worst of the franchise, but that franchise--especially when its subtext seems to be questioning people who want to stop intellectual property from evolving--might be the best we have. 12. Clemency (Chinonye Chukwu)- In discussing the aftermath of an execution, Alfre Woodard's warden character Bernadine mentions the mother who will claim a prisoner's body, who will follow through with plans for burial. And I realized, to be honest, that I had never thought about how executed bodies are claimed and laid to rest, though obviously those sad practicalities persist. This whole film is a reminder of the numerous costs that arise from a system that is out of time and out of reason. To that end, every character is fully drawn with empathy. For example, the assistant warden, which could have been a nothing part, has ambitions and fears that give him an arc that shades the protagonist. The Richard Schiff and Wendell Pierce characters make the film about the compromised promises of retirement, but the assistant warden is there to tug us back into law enforcement. Neon ended up putting this movie on the awards circuit back burner, but Aldis Hodge deserves the world. Although the film piles on one indignity too many for my taste, drifting into miserableism, Hodge's performance has a rare possessive quality. Catatonic in his most crestfallen moments and antic when he clings to hope, Hodge drags the audience along with him. The character is quiet, but every word counts. 11. The Farewell (Lulu Wang)- I was not been more thoroughly charmed all year, especially by Awkwafina, who is a revelation in a tricky role. There are a few scenes that get comedic effect through repetition, and it's telling that the subtitles stop by the third or fourth run-through of a line. The movie assumes you're smart, which goes even further than its piercing emotion. Shout-out to Mr. Li, who made me crack up every time I saw him. The elderly sort-of-boyfriend is such a common figure in real life, but I'm not sure I've ever seen that character type on screen. I'm not sure I've seen any of this on-screen, and that's the reason the film exists.

10. Avengers: End Game (Joe Russo and Anthony Russo)- For a guy who grew up in the '30s, Captain America is pretty cool with gay people. 9. Gloria (Sebastian Lelio)- I saw Lelio's original Gloria, the one that he's remaking here, and it didn't do much for me, even though it hit some of the same beats as this one. I wonder what the difference could be...do you think the total commitment of one of the greatest actresses in the world matters? Lelio documents who this woman is to her children, to her mother, to her ex-husband, to her lover, to her co-workers, and it's by tracking the tiny compromises of those relationships that the viewer gets to see the fully realized her. The cyclical editing of those pieces--sing a disco song to herself in the car, rinse, repeat--ends up lulling the viewer into his role of seeing the complete Gloria. It ends up being a fun, absorbing process. I yelled out loud at Turturro for disrespecting my girl. Moore, who is in every scene, sells us on these different versions of the character through complete control of her instrument. She lets headphones slump along her body at work. She kneels down toward a street performer in a more maternal way than she ever presents with her actual daughter. She sits cross-legged with her best friend, as if they're little girls. I won't spoil what she does at the end, when she is at her most empowered. 8. Midsommar (Ari Aster)- I love this movie, but, boy, is it a friendship killer if you recommend it to the wrong person. Whether you liked Hereditary or not is a good predictor for your taste, but I think Ari Aster's follow-up is much better: Whereas the unpredictability of Hereditary makes the mysticism of its final fourth seem like a leap that you either accept or don't, Midsommar is driving so hard in one direction that its dread is even more pronounced. (The prologue is so masterfully deliberate and gloomy that it takes a long time for the film to get back to those depths.) For comparison's sake again, Aster was painting in the colors of hysteria and fractured relationships before, but the new film seems much more biting and vital in the way it depicts modern men and women. I'm thinking of the way Dani excuses herself at the risk of compromising her safety or rationalizes her boyfriend's forgetting her birthday with "Well, I didn't remind him." All of the characters become victims of a misinformed, selfish brand of multicultural tolerance that makes them rationalize evil instead of speaking up, and that acceptance serves the plot way better than the average horror movie's running up the stairs instead of out the door. For his part, Christian, who seems sympathetic at first, takes ideas, drugs, and even women for himself with impunity. (It's important that he's an anthropology student, and it's more important that his name is Christian.) When he colonizes his Black friend's thesis topic, it might seem like a tipping point, but he was one step ahead in using rules and approval for his purposes. None of the Americans bother to stop him, but that doesn't mean that no one stops him. 7. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick)- "The sun shines on good and evil the same." In the baggy second hour of what might be Terrence Malick's most direct and linear film, martyr Franz Jagerstatter tosses off that line with grace and aplomb, at a time when most of us would have neither to spare. His captors are confused when he denies that his conscientious objection will make any difference in the war or when he doubts that he is more morally evolved than his countrymen. His refusal to pledge an oath to Hitler is a state with no outcome in mind, which the results-obsessed Nazis cannot understand. In that way he is the perfect Malickian hero, which means he is the perfect Heideggerian hero: a man who sees all planes of existence as equal--or at least equally unknowable to him. As a farmer, Franz observes and acts upon cycles, but he is smaller than Nature and the communion he finds with God there. So when he's torn from his family and daily life to be stuck in a prison, he is separated from that concord further and further. The key, however, is that he is no more or less powerful than before, and that knowledge is what gives him transcendental perspective. He is indifferent in the way that only a saint can be. Of course, what I'm describing also makes for a passive protagonist, which is why the cross-cutting to his wife Fani is so effective. She is the one who has to shoulder the burden of his ideals, and Valerie Pachner's stolid performance sells that sacrifice. The overall balance comes from the jagged but precise editing, and the production is all the more impressive for retaining the Malick style despite the absence of most of his regular collaborators. (This is the first time since The Thin Red Line that he hasn't worked with Jack Fisk, but there the production design is, crafting a 1940 Austrian town out of nothing and building a network of water symbolism that I don't understand yet.) In fact, the whirling steadicam and the avoidance of artificial light have more of a thematic purpose than ever if "the sun shines on good and evil all the same." Perhaps the greatest achievement of this film about unjust war is that it made me pray for Donald Trump today. Because if I want to be like Franz Jagerstatter, then I have to believe the light of God shines on him too. 6. Knives Out (Rian Johnson)- A third of the way into this imaginative, absorbing whodunit, I started to talk myself into the surface pleasures of cinema. "So what if it doesn't have much to say; look at these stars going for it with this spicy dialogue and these gleeful twists." Then the subtext asserts itself through a radiant Ana de Armas, and the subtext becomes the text in the final shot. Knives Out is the best of all worlds. Rian Johnson might be the first filmmaker for whom a Star Wars movie ends up being a footnote. 5. Everybody Knows (Asghar Farhadi)- There's a photograph hanging in the library (yes, the stately library) of the patrician family of my childhood best friend, and I'm in that picture. There I am, dressed a bit sloppier than everyone else, near the edge of the frame. Because I was there, as usual, and because they are kind. Everybody Knows is about one of those family friend outsiders, perhaps in a way that no other movie has been. When it's at its best, it's about what those marginal figures can and can't say, can and can't do. The film dips into soap opera territory, but only to sell its message of how secrets beget other secrets. For me, it's another Farhadi hit of approachable, modest conflict that bakes itself into an experience. 4. Marriage Story (Noah Baumbach)- The best divorce movie ever made--by the guy who wrote and directed the former belt holder of the best divorce movie ever made. These luminous lead performances aren't just about saying cutting, hurtful things or reacting to their child's preference for the other parent (or at least the other parent's toys). They're about the internal devastation of realizing you can never take back something you've said. Driver and Johansson each get a chance to sink into one of those moments, and they're joined by a head-tilting, blustery Laura Dern, who gets a Virgin Mary speech that won her an Oscar. And there are jokes! Underrated aspect of the movie: The son is kind of a dipshit. I like that he just hates math and wants to eat candy, as opposed to the cute prodigies we've seen before in this type of movie. They're fighting over a kid only a parent could love. INSTANT CLASSICS

3. Uncut Gems (Josh Safdie and Benny Safdie)- Howard the jeweler lives somewhere in upstate New York, but he has an apartment in the city. It's an apartment that is close enough for him to cab over to his mistress who lives there, but it's far enough away that his family wouldn't bother popping in for a visit. That sort of gap is present throughout Uncut Gems: Family members act differently in the Diamond District than they do at seder, and we first see Howard from the literally vulnerable inside of a colonoscopy, not the animated brio of his tightrope-walking exterior. Of course, the gem of the title is the ultimate division: something pure that the characters are searching for, untouched by the process that Howard, by definition, does. And the film is about how little he can abide by purity. Until now, The Gambler (1974) was probably the best film of this type, a snapshot of a cursed man who seems to be gambling with forces way beyond the game in question. But Uncut Gems is more pathological, more authentic, more intense, and more decisively realized. By focusing more on character than the Safdie Brothers' other work, it offers a unique depiction of compulsive behavior and implicates the audience in rooting for Howard's (technically unrealistic) parlay. By doubling down on his bets or re-uniting with his girlfriend, Howard thinks that he can reinvent himself and start anew. But like the legacy of the Chosen People the film depicts, like the lines on all of these great New York faces, some things are permanent.

2. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese)- "It's what it is." You wouldn't blame someone if he saw the logline and lineup of The Irishman and expected GoodFellas. In fact, this one quotes Scorsese's signature film continually. Instead of slicing onions with a razorblade, old convicts pitch bocce balls. Instead of tracking sumptuously through the Copa, Scorsese's camera wanders through a nursing home. Instead of pistol-whipping Karen's neighbor for getting handsy, our protagonist curb-stomps a grocery owner for shoving his daughter. But there's a GoodFellas staple that is missing. The first fourth of that crime saga closes as Young Henry, played by Christopher Serrone, gets rewarded for staying mum in court. All of his partners in crime cheer him, and he is told that he learned a valuable lesson (in protecting the family and subverting the law). Then we cut to Adult Henry, played by Ray Liotta now, because Young Henry has learned everything he has to know. The Irishman has no such moment of elevation or revelation. Frank is, crucially, played by Robert De Niro over the course of decades because his fall from grace--if there ever was grace--is too imperceptible for any before-and-after divide. The lessons that he learns are just as corrupting as what Henry discovers: Power comes from insularity. Having power means you don't have to prove it. Organized crime, organized labor, and the political process are all the same thing. A code is all a man has, but all codes have limits. However, Frank's corruption, the selling of his soul, doesn't even bring an Asian-inspired chiffonier or a Janice Rossi sidepiece. Frank doesn't get rich; he jams his hands into a plastic ice bucket at the bar next to his couch. He doesn't get powerful; he has to kill because Russell is too prominent to be in the same town as a hit. He doesn't get glory; even a celebration held in his honor is just an excuse for more influential men to do business. Frank is a tool, and he is trapped in a fruitless silence, at best an accessory at meetings. (De Niro is doing quoting of his own. There's a lot of Jackie Brown's Louis in his shrugs and smirks.) As boisterous as Scorsese's films can be, he also knows how to use silence. Robbie Robertson's score is weak, but luckily the film goes without for long stretches, including a suspenseful car ride that begins with a treacherous hug and ends with a malignant secret. The best performance comes from Joe Pesci, probably because his stolid stillness matches the overall atmosphere. Of course, the quietest moments correlate to the loneliest moments: Frank touring a cemetery or sitting with a door half-cracked to a complicit viewer. It's the silence of deliberate toil. Like the mobster ripping up carpet in the lake house, Scorsese is on his hands and knees destroying his own myths.

1. Parasite (Bong Joon-ho)- Parasite is Bong Joon-Ho's masterpiece because it distills the worldview and passions that he previously flirted with into a condensed but elaborate statement. In the same way that Mean Streets is perfectly good but feels like a rehearsal for the slow boil of encircling gangster life in GoodFellas. In the same way that Hitchcock played with the impotent everyman voyeur in a confined setting but didn't perfect it until Rear Window. Like the examples above, Parasite, a true ensemble, is a case of the subtext becoming text. Back in his native country and language, working more or less with realism, Bong is free to take aim at class in a more direct but still wacky way. In all of its crowd provocation--there's so much pleasure in just a suspenseful winding down stairs--the film is destined to be a foreign film gateway drug. But really it just makes we want to take a half-star off my Snowpiercer review since I know Bong can do better now.

[ofwizardsandmen]

CHRISTMAS SERIES 

Keyword being ‘supposed’

This is definitely not how Enzo Saint-Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

Characters: Enzo Saint-Pierre, Minah Delacroix, Tara Lee, Mark Yang. Mentions of other minor characters.

Word count: 3,6k

“I can’t believe them” Enzo Saint-Pierre huffed as he flopped on the pink velvet sofa, arms falling limp at his sides and his phone slipping from his hand before falling over a cushion.

Across the room, Enzo’s business partner and close friend, Minah Delacroix, stopped wrapping her brother’s Christmas gift for a short moment and took notice of his sour expression and the way his eyes glared at the device with resentment.

It was the day before Christmas and the friends had been chatting about pointless topics for nearly two hours now. Although the company’s premises had been closed for a few days now,  Enzo had forgotten some important documents in his security box and just happened to come across his business partner hiding in her office wrapping gifts and writing cards. For the past weeks, It had been difficult to even see Minah because apparently she was juggling all her duties as a Delacroix, attending parties, planning her own Christmas festivities and buying gifts for her endless list of family members, friends, and business network. Of course, Sienna, her ever-efficient assistant, had been really helpful —Enzo had already received a beautiful set of gold cufflinks with his family crest coat of arms carved by goblins, earlier that day, for example—, but Minah still had some last-minute tasks to fulfill, which explained why they had been chitchatting as she went on with the ever boring task of dictating Christmas messages to her Quick Quotes Quill and wrapping Christmas gifts in an old fashioned way.

Only a few minutes ago laughter filled the room. The friends had been talking about their holiday plans until a call interrupted Enzo from pocking fun at Minah’s choice of words to describe what she would be wearing that night for her one on one Christmas celebrations.

“What happened?” MInah asked. She knew Enzo was never the type to react negatively, choosing to remain blissfully —and even annoyingly— positive even at critical times (a behavior that had almost caused her to attempt murder several times the past year), so his expression made her raise one of her perfect brows. Minah carefully placed Suho’s state of the art quidditch glasses on the table (one of her husband’s most recent tech inventions) and leaned back on the chair.

“Nothing” Enzo deadpanned, but the scowl on his forehead told otherwise.

“Oh, come on, Enzo. The only time I saw you frown like this was when we were invited to the Olivier’s fashion show” Minah walked across the office and took the empty spot beside her friend, sitting cross-legged.  “And even then you looked slightly entertained”

“Would you blame me? Maude poured champagne on her hideous white dress. It was hilarious” Enzo smirked playfully at the memory. It never failed to amuse him.

“Then, what’s wrong? Minah insisted, her voice too sweet for Enzo not to detect concern filtering through her tone.

“Just my ever enchanting family,” The man said with a sigh “Cancelling dinner plans at the very last minute because their businesses are more important… businesses being a euphemism for affairs.”

It had never been a secret for Minah that Enzo’s parents’ only kept their marriage to protect their individual interests. Minah and Enzo had bumped with his dad lounging on yachts in the Mediterranean, with entourages of women younger than herself, during their business trips to the south of France and Italy. His mother, on the other hand, had been having an affair with a magizoology researcher for some years now and she never missed the opportunity to run away with him to some exotic place. Of course, Enzo never told her that, Minah had found out everything about it through her uncle, Jerome, who granted was not one to spread gossip but had accidentally spilled the beans when they crossed paths with Madame Huang at a gala from the International Dragon Foundation.  

“What?” Minah gaped at that. Enzo had been talking about his plans with his parents for nearly a month and he seemed quite excited about it given the fact he didn’t get to spend time with them very often. It had made Minah question how lonely and in need of love Enzo seemed to be, but she hadn’t said anything about it. Instead, she had witnessed him planing every detail for their Christmas dinner with minute attention. He had bought handmade Italian glasses and hired the executive chef of the trendiest restaurant in London for the occasion. Hell, he had even got her aunt Adelaine to design him a suit although she was as busy as a bee. “I’m so sorry about it. I know you were looking forward to spending time with your parents”

“Nah. It’s ok. It was too good to be true” He attempted to laugh it off, but Minah knew that for some odd reason, Enzo still held some type of respect and affection for his parents. She was still unable to understand his fixation on spending time with them, but she figured out that the situation was far from being “ok”.

“No, it is not. They should’ve canceled before so you could make some arrangements and plan something else” She said scowling and slightly raising her voice.

“I will be fine, Minah. I am going to crash any of the parties I was invited to or drop by to visit some friends” He said, putting emphasis on the last word and winking at Minah afterward.

“No, that doesn’t sound right” Minah protested “Why don’t you come and stay with me and Sungjae. We didn’t really plan anything special” Only once she had already made the offer, Minah realized the mistake she had committed by inviting someone to spend Christmas Eve with her and her husband, without even asking Sungjae first.

“I had no idea you were into threesomes, Min” Enzo joked, eyes flickering in pretended surprise.

Minah slapped his arm playfully. “Don’t be ridiculous! Haven’t you told me  he third party is always supposed to be a stranger?”

They both laughed at that, but Enzo became serious once again, moving on the sofa to look at Minah in the eyes.

“I really appreciate your offer, but I am pretty sure Sungjae won’t be exactly thrilled to have me there,” He said seriously.

“Oh no, Sungjae is in his Christmas mood, I’m sure he really wouldn’t mind” That last part was a blatant lie, Minah could only imagine Sungjae’s reaction and it was far from what she had described, but Enzo didn’t need to know that.

“Ha. As if” Enzo rolled eyes. “Minah, you’re newlyweds. I seriously appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to feel any better if I have to spend Christmas Eve at your place, knowing that you would very much rather be fucking with your husband than hosting unwanted guests.”

“Wow, what a charmer” Minah replied with a trace of sarcasm. She couldn’t deny that Enzo was completely right, but she was still convinced that she needed to insist. “But Enzo… Christmas has always been about unannounced guests. From day one, that is the whole purpose of the holiday. I mean, take the Wise Men, they just called in unannounced.”

“They brought gold, Minah, of course, Mary and Joseph didn’t mind” Enzo switched his position on the sofa scoffing.

“But still-“ Minah started, but her speech was interrupted before she could say another word.

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to give up Christmas sex only because of me” Enzo stated with a grin, causing Minah to huff “No, but seriously. I’m going to be perfectly fine, Min. I always have a plan B.” The male moved to pat Minah’s hand brotherly “Thanks for caring so much though.”

“Just wanted to give you a Christmas gift” Minah said, a pout forming slightly.

“You already got me these” Enzo said pointing at his wrists, showing off the cufflinks Sienna had delivered to his apartment that morning “Plus, you know I’m not expecting any Christmas miracle or present, Minnie. I’ve been a bad boy all year long” Enzo shrugged, winking for an added effect. “We all know I’d never make it to Santa’s nice list.

________

When Enzo showed up at Tara’s porch, she could barely hide the disappointed look on her face. Although she knew very well that Mark couldn’t make it home for Christmas this year, for some stupid reason she had been expecting it to be him. But then again, why would Mark even ring the bell of their own home? Tara thought to herself that the unreasonable hope she had been harboring inside was clouding her judgment and she felt like facepalming herself.

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me” Cladded in the most Christmas cliched outfit Tara had ever seen him wear, Enzo smiled widely at her. He didn’t seem the least bit offended by Tara’s reaction, which made her feel even worse and instinctively step to the side for him to walk in.  

“I’m sorry, dear.” Tara tiptoed to kiss Enzo’s cheek and give him a quick hug “You just caught me off guard. I thought you were supposed to be home with your parents.”

“Keyword being ‘supposed’” Enzo said, handing Tara what seemed to be a present, wrapped in a silly paper with red-nosed female reindeers wearing hot-pink bows. “As per usual they canceled on me, so I supposed my best friend could use some company” He made a pause to take a brief look around “…Not to mention I could bestow some much needed Christmas spirit in this house.” He added once he realized the house was almost empty, which of course was to be expected given the fact Tara had just moved in there a few weeks ago. Yet, there was something truly depressing about it all. There was no tree, no decorations. Not the least sign of the joyful season.

“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t planning anything special, I was expecting tonight to be just me and the Ghost of Christmas Past” Tara joked, noticing the pitiful look on Enzo’s face.

“I thought Mark would be here, that’s why I dressed down” he attempted to mask the question with a ridiculous joke, but Tara’s expression fell anyhow.

“He’s just busy. Apparently, a group is not enough work, so his company planned this whole “supergroup” project and if I haven’t lost track of the date, he must be stuck somewhere between Dallas and Miami right now” Tara forced a smile  “But it’s ok.”  She took a deep breath that suggested she wasn’t particularly ok. She then went on “I know how important his career is and how hard he’s worked for it, so I’m fine”

“I can’t believe you didn’t think of telling me about it, T. I seriously thought Mark was coming home tonight. If I had known-“

“If you had known, you would’ve tried o drag me to some crazy orgy in Las Vegas or Rome and I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly what my Christmas spirit dictates me to do,” Tara said with an insincere laugh that made her best friend frown. “Ok, no, it’s just that you seemed so excited to spend time with your parents, I didn’t want to ruin it with my whining.”

“I’m almost offended you think that way, T.” Enzo clicked his tongue reprovingly before sneaking an arm around Tara’s shoulders. “You should’ve told me and we could’ve figured out an escapade to wherever Mark is and surprise him.” Enzo’s eyes lit up as though an idea had suddenly crossed his mind. “In fact, I think we’re still on time for that. Let’s go see Mark, we can Apparate and scare him off. Or we could scare the CEO of his company-“

“We are not going to Apparate in another continent just for Mark to spend his night performing for thousand of crazy women who fantasize about him-“ Tara stopped mid-sentence when she realized the bitterness in her words. “I-“ she let out a sigh, letting realization kick in.

“Wow” Enzo let out a deep breath before going on. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Neither did I” Tara admitted, looking down at her shoes as though she were looking at them for the very first time. “I just-“

“You’re just a human, T. You would like to have Mark all for yourself sometimes, wouldn’t you?”  Enzo placed both of his hands on each side of Tara’s arms, making her look up.  She hesitated for a second, but then she nodded “And it’s understandable.”

“I would never change the fact Mark is who he is, but sometimes…” Tara trailed off.

“Sometimes you should just let him know the way you feel” Enzo replied simply.

________

Four hours later and after bending several wizarding laws and abusing of their personal connections at the Ministry of Magic, Enzo and Tara dodge a group of overly excited teenagers in Perry Street. As per usual, the street is busy and decorated in a close simulation of a cheerful winter wonderland. There are several muggle tourists taking pictures outside the iconic Carrie Bradshaw’s Apartment, but there’s also a growing crowd of young females in the intersection with the 10th. Tara feels her heart pound violently against his chest and Enzo seems to hear it as well judging by the supportive way he laces his fingers with hers.

“Everybody is gonna be ecstatic to see you” Enzo says vehemently, pulling Tara to give her a one-armed hug

But it seems that Enzo is mistaken when Taeyong, Johnny, and Doyoung open the door of the 79th 10th street, looking nothing less than confused.

“What are you even doing here?” Doyoung scowls in puzzlement and asks, looking at Tara as though her presence as equally unexpected as it was unwelcomed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in London?” Yuta joins the other three, panic evident in his voice.

“Keyword being ‘supposed’,” Tara swallows as she stares at the group with a frown.

“Oh God, what’s wrong with everybody today?” Enzo’s upper lip curls up in disgust “Can’t you at least pretend you’re somewhat happy to see us?”

“Is this about to take an unexpected plot twist that shifts this happy Christmas reunion from romance to horror, because I would appreciate it if you just told me if Mark is cheating on me with someone behind that door instead of giving me all these grievous looks”

“Gosh, no, this is definitely not about that” Johnny steps forward, his tall frame towering over Tara. “We’re very happy to see you, but-” He claims vehemently as he offers her a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite accomplish its purpose.

“It’s just that…” Taeyong manages to interrupt “Mark is not here”

“What?”

“He left at dawn” Yuta explains “He wanted to surprise you, but apparently missed the obvious fact you’d want to do exactly the same.”

Before the news can actually down on them, Enzo turns to Tara with rounded eyes and an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry… this was a terrible-”

“It’s ok. We can still make it back to London on time” Tara says, biting the inside of her cheek.

The suggestion makes Taeyong raise a brow skeptically, but Doyoung doesn’t even bother hiding his exasperation.

“Sorry to break it up to you but the flight to London will take you at least 11 hours” he points out, eyes rolling almost involuntarily.

“Not to mention you won’t possibly be able to book a ticket on Christmas Eve” Someone else objects, peeking through the open door.

“Oh, no, Don’t worry, we have connections” Enzo laughs, brushing the comments off with his signature overconfidence “it’ll take us 3 hours tops”

___________

The 14 hours it took Mark Yang to land in London are probably the most anxiety-inducing hours in his life. Considering he gets to spend most of his time on planes with the bunch of dorks his group mates are, that’s saying a lot. But the flight delay, the terrible weather conditions and the overly sensitive travelers trying to make it home for Christmas are the perfect recipe for disaster.

To complete the already disastrous scenario, Mark’s phone decided Christmas Eve was the perfect time of the year to act up and die on him, so by the time he made it out of the airport, he had to gather all his self-control not to snap at an elderly couple who stole the cab he had hailed. And when he finally managed to get in a taxi and everything seemed like it could finally work, the traffic jam and questionable driving style of the driver —who seemed to be lacking in festive spirit and cussed at everybody who tried to get past them— delayed his arrival two additional hours.

When Mark steps into his 19th-century residence in Kensington, where Tara and he had moved in after their engagement, he’s surprised to recognize he still finds the place oddly unfamiliar. It probably is the little time he has spent in it or the heavy Christmas decorations adorning pretty much every inch of surface, but he can’t help but feel an immense amount of guilt. This was supposed to be his and Tara’s first Christmas together after getting engaged and he truly wanted it to be special, but in between his group and solo promotions, multiple interviews and upcoming projects, he had been less than a stellar fiancé.

It’s snowing outside and it’s so cold his teeth start chattering as he makes his way in, the nostalgic scent of pine and sandalwood mingled with that of gingerbread filling his nostrils.  Tara has never been particularly into Christmas so the fact everything looks so pristine and festive makes Mark wonder how lonely she had been feeling. Feeling guilt shot through his body once again, Mark’s first instinct is to rush to their room upstairs, but when he slams the door open hoping to wake up Tara, he finds out an empty bed. Sure, Tara had made sure new bed linens graced their bed and to place a bottle of champagne on the side table, but there are no traces of Tara.

Mark tours the house simultaneously looking for his fiancée and discovering how big it is, he finds freshly baked gingerbread cookies in the kitchen and watermelon cut in the perfect shape of stars and his heart clenches painfully. He wishes he could’ve prepared something for Tara other than a lame necklace from Tiffany’s.

The man finally walks into their living room and stops in his tracks as he notices two figures curled up on the burgundy couch. It takes Mark a few seconds to recognize the chiseled features of Enzo Saint Pierre, but what he notices right away is the way his arms are firmly wrapped around Tara and her head resting on his shoulder. Mark stands there not knowing what to do next. He could wake them up, but Tara looks like an angel when she’s sleeping, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. And even if Enzo can be annoying sometimes, he is pretty sure there’s some reasonable explanation as to why he is sleeping in his home on Christmas Eve.

Mark is about to turn around to find a cover for them when Tara faintly calls his name.

“You’re home” she says groggily, eyes half-open

“T…” Mark mutters, not sure of what to say.

“Am I dreaming?” Tara asks and Mark laughs at that.

“No, I’m home,” he says walking up to her.

“We were waiting for you” Tara whispers. She doesn’t move and her voice is barely audible over the sound of logs blazing the fireplace.

“Doesn’t look like it” Mark jokes, taking the empty spot beside Tara and resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Mark Yang,” Enzo speaks, eyes still closed. “We’re just tired after a six-hour round up to New York City, so if you appreciate your life, you better let us sleep.” Enzo moves bit tightening his hold on Tara and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You did what…?” Mark asks in disbelief. But what sounded like a truly obnoxious lie from Enzo ends up being confirmed by a nod of Tara’s head.

“Enzo thought it’d be a good idea to surprise you, but when we got there the guys told us you were on your way here” Tara chuckles a bit although the actual experience was not as nearly as amusing as the memory is “Poor Taeyong, I’ve never seen him panic so badly, he was pale when he saw us.”

The three of them burst into laughter, but silence follows afterward. Enzo falls back to sleep, Tara drowsily reaches for her fiancé’s hand and Mark looks completely lost in his own wold. And it can’t be otherwise. Even in the simplest of the situations, it appears to Mark that Tara’s existence is the manifestation of every beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed in life and no words would ever be enough for him to describe the wholesome feeling he gets just by staring at her.

“I’m sorry,” He finally breaks the silence, after minutes of looking at her wordlessly. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long” he adds as he pulls her hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her knuckles.

Tara hums something incompressible and then untangles herself from Enzo, moving to straddle Mark and giving him a passionate kiss that takes him completely off guard, but he responds to with the same fervor. He holds her waist, pulling her closer to him and preventing her from moving. It seems like a lifetime since he last kissed her, so he doesn’t let go off her easily.

When they pull away minutes later, gasping for air, they look at each other amused.

Tara holds her boyfriend’s face with both hands and giggles happily. “Merry Christmas, Mark”

“Merry Christmas, my love” Mark is about to dive in for another kiss when Enzo lets out a groan.

“This is not how I was supposed to spend Christmas Eve, you two” he complains throwing a cushion at them.

“Keyword being supposed” Tara repeats once again, before pulling Mark in for yet another kiss.

It is definitely not how Enzo Saint Pierre was supposed to spend Christmas Eve.

***

[hunterdeuling]

Hoping this helps non-Quilters understand the logic of quilter this amazingly well written piece from a judge. I laughed and laughed and hope you will also.

A speech given at a conference on quilting (Quilt Canada 2010) by Allan Fradsham, a criminal court judge in Calgary, Alberta, where the conference was held.

Here's the text. It's long but amusing, and so worth a read:

“When, some years ago, Gloria told me that she was going to build upon her years of sewing experience, and take up "quilting", I thought she was telling me that she was going to take up a new hobby or a new craft. I was completely oblivious to the fact that what she was really announcing was that she was taking up membership in a tightly knit (if you'll pardon the expression) group of individuals whose loyalty to one another makes motorcycle gang members seem uncommitted, and whose passion for quilting activities makes members of cults look positively disinterested. As is the case with many spouses, I was completely unaware that there existed this parallel universe called quilting.

However, to be completely unaware of a world-wide sub-culture operating right under our noses and in our homes is a bit obtuse even for husbands. But there it is, and here you are. And, most oddly, here I am. You might wonder how all this came to pass; I know I certainly do.

I cannot now identify what was the first clue I detected indicating that Gloria had entered the fabric world equivalent of Harry Potter's Hogwarts. It might have been the appearance of the fabric. Bundles of fabric, mounds of fabric, piles of fabric, towering stacks of fabric. Fabric on bolts, and stacks of small squares of fabric tied up in pretty ribbons (I later learned these were "fat quarters" which to this day sounds to me like a term out of Robin Hood). The stuff just kept coming into the house as thought it were endless waves crashing onto a beach. And then, just like the waves, the most amazing thing happened: it would simply disappear. It was as though the walls of the house simply absorbed it. Metres and metres (or as men of my generation would say, yards and yards) of fabric would come into the house. It would arrive in Gloria's arms when she returned from a shopping excursion. It would arrive in the post stuffed in postal packs so full that they were only kept together by packing tape (these overstuffed Priority Packs are the equivalent of me trying to fit into pants I wore in law school). These packages would arrive having been shipped from unheard of towns and villages in far away provinces or states or overseas countries (I am convinced the internet's primary activity is not to be found in pornography; that is just a ruse, the internet's real function is to facilitate the trafficking and distribution of fabric). Wherever we went, be it in Canada, the U.S., Europe, wherever there was a collection of more than three houses, Gloria would find a quilt shop from which she would pluck some prize from some bin with the enthusiasm and unerring eye of an archaeologist finding a new species of dinosaur.

And of course, the reason that there are quilt shops everywhere is because there are quilters everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. A few years ago, Gloria had been visiting her sister-in-law in Kelowna. While there, she found and purchased a Featherweight sewing machine. I understand that making such a find is a matter of such joy that it may eventually attract government taxation. When it came time to fly back to Calgary, Gloria worried about what the people at airport security would have to say when she tried to take the machine onto the plane. She need not have been concerned. Now, airport security takes pride in preventing me from carrying onto a plane a small squirt of toothpaste left in a rolled up toothpaste tube if the tube in which it is lodged did at some point in the distant past, contain a prohibited amount of toothpaste. My spot of toothpaste is a national security threat. However, when it came time for Gloria to go through security with the Featherweight, which is made of metal and has needles in secret compartments, airport security came to a standstill. Why? Were they about to confiscate the machine, and detain the person who dared to try to board with it? Of course not. They gathered around it in awe and admiration, asking Gloria questions about where she had found it, and expressing admiration for her good fortune in finding it. And why did Gloria get such warm treatment when I am shunned for trying to maintain some degree of oral hygiene? Well, the answer is obvious; the assembled airport security staff were all quilters, complete with the secret handshake.

Maybe I should have twigged to what was happening when the washing of all this fabric led to having to replace our washing machine, which was clearly not designed for such industrial use. Now, let me pause here. I understand that there is an intense debate within your world about whether or not fabrics should be washed upon purchase. I do not wish to be caught in any cross-fire between the two camps, for all I know, as an outsider, I may not be authorized to even know of the controversy. I do suspect that if men were making the decision, quilting would involve lot less fabric washing and a lot more beer drinking.

I did eventually discover where all the fabric went. It went into drawers, cupboards, shelves, and, eventually it completely filled up a closet, which took up one full wall in Gloria's newly built "sewing room". What we now call Gloria's "sewing room", we used to call "the basement".

I have discovered that one of the art forms mastered by quilters is the ability to purchase container loads of fabric, conceal it in the house, and camouflage the purchase so that it slips right under the nose of the unsuspecting spouse. As a loving and obedient spouse, I have on many occasions found myself in quilt stores where I serve two useful functions: I can reach bolts of fabric stored on top shelves; and I can carry numerous bolts of fabric to a cutting table. However, I have also started to listen to what is said in quilting stores, and one day, in a little quilting shop in the heart of Alberta farming country, I heard something that made it clear to me that quilters are so clever and, dare I say, devious, that there is really no sport for them in fooling we naive husbands. Gloria had decided to buy some fabric (which is similar to saying that Gloria had decided to breathe), and had gone to the till to pay for it. Upon running through Gloria's charge card, the clerk quietly said, "Now, when you get your credit card statement, don't be alarmed when you see an entry for our local feed store. We run our charges under that name so that if a husband looks at the credit card statements, he will think that the entry is just something he bought at the feed store for the farm". That sort of financial shell game would make Goldman Sachs proud. I knew at that moment that there had been a major and probably irrevocable shift in the world's power structure. I concede it is basically over for the non-quilting husband.

As you have been told, I sit as a criminal law judge, and as such I often find myself sitting on drug trials, or issuing search warrants in relation to drug investigations. I must say that the more I learned about the quilting world, the more I started to see similarities between that world and the drug world. It has caused me some concern.

We all interpret events from our own perspectives using the lessons we have learned through life. When I saw the extent to which Gloria's collection of fabric was growing, I began to worry. In the law relating to drugs, the amount of a drug one has in one's possession is an important factor in determining the purpose for which the person has the drug. For example, if a person is in possession of crack cocaine (to use a drug with an addictive power equivalent to fabric), one look at the amount of crack the person possessed. If the amount exceeds the amount one would realistically possess for personal use, then one may reasonably draw the inference that the purpose of the possession is not personal use, but, rather, it is for the purpose of trafficking the drug. So, you can imagine what I thought when I saw Gloria's collection of fabric grow to a point where she readily admitted that she could never use all that fabric in several lifetimes. I reluctantly concluded that I was married to a very high-level fabric trafficker. Mind you, in order to qualify as a trafficker, one does have to part with fabric, and I see very little evidence of that happening.

In fact, the more I thought about the parallels between the quilting culture and the drug culture, the clearer the similarities became. Consider the jargon. I have learned that this vast collection of fabric, which is stored in our house, is a "stash". Well, drug dealers speak of their "stash" of drugs. Gloria speaks of doing "piece" work. In the drug world there are often people who bring together the crack cocaine dealer and the buyer; think of a real estate agent, but not as well dressed, through perhaps somewhat less annoying. Those people speak of breaking off a "piece" of crack as payment for bringing the parties together. Sounds to me like a type of "piece work". Those who transport drugs are often called "mules"; I have frequently heard Gloria refer to me as her mule when I am in a quilt store carrying stacks of fabric bolts (or did she says I was stubborn as a mule?). Well, it was something about mules. And I should think that this whole conference is a testimony to the addictive qualities of quilting.

In my role as a Sherpa, I have accompanied Gloria on various quilting expeditions, and I have been impressed by many things. One is, as I have mentioned, that no matter where one goes, there will be a quilt store. The proliferation of quilt shops makes Starbucks outlets seem scarce. One day Gloria led me into a hardware store, which seemed odd to me, that is until I discovered that, as I walked towards the back of the store, the store had become a quilt shop. The metamorphosis was extraordinary, and very crafty (if you will pardon the pun). At that moment, I knew how Alice felt as she followed that rabbit down the rabbit hole. Suddenly, one was in a different universe.

Another thing I have learned is that the operators of quilt shops have great business acumen. In one of Gloria's favourite shops, upon entry I am greeted by name and offered a cup of coffee. If the grandson is with us, he is allowed to choose a book to take home. It is all so friendly that I don't even notice that I cannot see over the growing pile of fabric bolts which fill my arms. I wish that my doctor did such a good job of distracting me when it is time to do a prostate exam.

I have learned that quilting is both international in scope and generous in spirit. I have learned that quilters are quick to assist those in need, and that they have always been prepared to stand up for what is right. For example, I think of Civil War quilts, which often conveyed messages about the Underground railway for slaves escaping to Canada. I think of the One Million Pillowcase Challenge, and the Quilts of Valour project. At one point, I thought of suggesting the creation of an organization akin to "Doctors Without Borders", but decided that an organization called "Quilts Without Borders" would indeed be illogical.

And of course, there are the resultant quilts. We have quilts throughout the house. They adorn beds, chesterfields, the backs of chairs. They are stacked on shelves, they are stored in drawers, they are shoved under beds, they are hung on walls. There is even one on the ceiling of the sunroom. They compete for any space not taken up with the fabric, which will eventually result in more quilts. I live in a cornucopia, which disgorges quilts instead of produce. I have decided that quilts are the zucchini of crafts. But who can complain? Quilt seriously, each one is a work of art, and an instant family treasure. While family members and friends are delighted to receive them, I churlishly begrudge seeing them go out the door.

Though I tease Gloria about the all-consuming nature of her obsession, I am constantly amazed at the skill necessary to create those works of art. I stand in awe as I watch her do the mathematics necessary to give effect to (or correct) a pattern. When she quilts, she combines the skill of an engineer, a draughtsman, a seamstress, and an artist. Her sewing machines require her to have, as she does, advanced computer and mechanical skills. She knows her sewing machines as well as any Hell's Angel knows his Harley. She uses measuring and cutting tools and grids, which would challenge the talents of the best land surveyors.

A

Gloria and I very much appreciate your warm hospitality this evening.

In closing, the hotel management has asked me to remind you that those found cutting up the table cloths for quilting fabric will have their rotary cutters confiscated and forfeited to the Crown.”