#since I’ve always followed like ten billion people

[cerealmonster15]

I only just realized recently a good chunk of my og twst mutuals i don’t SEE around as much :[

[sylvielauffeydottir]

Hello, it is I, your friendly neighborhood historian. I am ready to lose followers for this post, but I have two masters degrees in history and one of my focuses has been middle eastern area studies. Furthermore, I’ve been tired of watching the world be reduced to pithy little infographics, and I believe there is no point to my education if I don’t put it to good use. Finally, I am ethnically Asheknazi Jewish. This does not color my opinion in this post — I am in support of either a one or two state solution for Israel and Palestine, depending on the factors determined by the Palestinian Authority, and the Israeli Government does not speak for me. I hate Netanyahu. A lot. With that said, my family was slaughtered at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I have stood in front of that memorial wall at the Holocaust memorial in DC for my great uncle Simon and my great uncle Louis and cried as I lit a candle. Louis was a rabbi, and he preached mitzvot and tolerance. He died anyway. 

There’s a great many things I want to say about what is happening in the Middle East right now, but let’s start with some facts. 

In early May, there were talks of a coalition government that might have put together (among other parties, the Knesset is absolutely gigantic and usually has about 11-13 political parties at once) the Yesh Atid, a center-left party, and the United Arab List, a Palestinian party. For the first time, Palestinians would have been members of the Israeli government in their own right. And what happened, all of the sudden? A war broke out. A war that, amazingly, seemed to shield Benjamin Netanyahu from criminal prosecution, despite the fact that he has been under investigation for corruption for some time now and the only thing that is stopping a real investigation is the fact that he is Prime Minister.

Funny how that happened. 

There’s a second thing people ought to know, and it is about Hamas. I’ve found it really disturbing to see people defending Hamas on a world stage because, whether or not people want to believe it, Hamas is a terrorist organization. I’m sorry, but it is. Those are the facts. I’m not being a right wing extremist or even a Republican or whatever else or want to lob at me here. I’m a liberal historian with some facts. They are a terrorist organization, and they don’t care if their people die. 

Here’s what you need to know: 

There are two governments for the occupied Palestinian territories in the West Bank and Gaza. In April 2021, Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas postponed planned elections. He said it was because of a dispute amid Israeli-annexed East Jerusalum. He is 85 years old, and his Fatah Party is losing power to Hamas. Everyone knows that. Palestinians know that. 

Here’s the thing about Hamas: they might be terrorists, but aren’t idiots. They understand that they have a frustrated population filled with people who have been brutalized by their neighbors. And they also understand that Israel has something called the iron dome defense system, which means that if you throw a rocket at it, it probably won’t kill anyone (though there have been people in Israel who died, including Holocaust survivors). Israel will, however, retaliate, and when they do, they will kill Palestinian civilians. On a world stage, this looks horrible. The death toll, because Palestinians don’t have the same defense system, is always skewed. Should the Israeli government do that? No. It’s morally repugnant. It’s wrong. It’s unfair. It’s hurting people without the capability to defend themselves. But is Hamas counting on them to for the propaganda? Yeah. Absolutely. They’re literally willing to kill their other people for it.

You know why this works for Hamas? They know that Israel will respond anyway, despite the moral concerns. And if you’re curious why, you can read some books on the matter (Six Days of War by Michael Oren; The Yom Kippur War by Abraham Rabinovich; Rise and Kill First by Ronen Bergmen; Antisemitism by Deborah Lipstadt; and Israel: A Concise History of a Nation Reborn by Daniel Gordis). The TL;DR, if you aren’t interested in homework, is that Israel believes they have no choice but to defend themselves against what they consider ‘hostile powers.’ And it’s almost entirely to do with the Holocaust. It’s a little David v Goliath. It is, dare I say, complicated.

I’m barely scratching the surface here. 

(We won’t get into this in this post, though if you want to DM me for details, it might be worth knowing that Iran funds Hamas and basically supplies them with all of their weapons, and part of the reason the United States has been so reluctant to engage with this conflict is that Iran is currently in Vienna trying to restore its nuclear deal with western powers. The USA cannot afford to piss off Iran right now, and therefore cannot afford to aggravative Hamas and also needs to rely on Israel to destroy Irani nuclear facilities if the deal goes south. So, you know, there is that).

There are some people who will tell you that criticism of the Israel government is antisemitic. They are almost entirely members of the right wing, evangelical community, and they don’t speak for the Jewish community. The majority of Jewish people and Jewish Americans in particular are criticizing the Israeli government right now. The majority of Jewish people in the diaspora and in Israel support Palestinian rights and are speaking out about it. And actually, when they talk about it, they are putting themselves in great danger to do so. Because it really isn’t safe to be visibly Jewish right now. People may not want to listen to Jews when they speak about antisemitism or may want to believe that antisemitism ‘isn’t real’ because ‘the Holocaust is over’ but that is absolutely untrue. In 2019, antisemitic hate crimes in the United States reached a high we have never seen before. I remember that, because I was living in London, and I was super scared for my family at the time. Since then, that number has increased by nearly 400% in the last ten days. If you don’t believe me, have some articles about it (one, two, three, four, and five, to name a few). 

I live in New York City, where a man was beaten in Time Square while attending a Free Palestine rally and wearing a kippah. I’m sorry, but being visibly Jewish near a pro-Palestine rally? That was enough to have a bunch of people just start beating on him? I made a previous post detailing how there are Jews being attacked all over the world, and there is a very good timeline of recent hate crimes against Jews that you can find right here. These are Jews, by the way, who have nothing to do with Israel or Palestine. They are Americans or Europeans or Canadians who are living their lives. In some cases, they are at pro-Palestine rallies and they are trying to help, but they just look visibly Jewish.  God Forbid we are the wrong ethnicity for your rally, even if we agree.

This is really serious. There are people calling for the death of all Jews. There are people calling for another Holocaust. 

There are 14 million Jews in the world. 14 million. Of 7.6 billion. And you think it isn’t a problem the way people treat us?

Anyway (aside from, you know, compassion), why does this matter? This matters because stuff like this deters Jews who want to be part of the pro-Palestine movement because they are literally scared for their safety. I said this before, and I will say it again: Zionism was, historically speaking, a very unpopular opinion. It was only widespread antisemitic violence (you know, the Holocaust) that made Jews believe there was a necessity for a Jewish state. Honestly, it wasn’t until the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting that I supported it the abstract idea too.

I grew up in New York City, I am a liberal Jew, and I believe in the rights of marginalized and oppressed people to self-determine worldwide. Growing up, I also fit the profile of what many scholars describe as the self hating Jew, because I believed that, in order to justify myself in American liberal society, I had to hate Israel, and I had to be anti-Zionist by default, even if I didn’t always understand what ‘Zionism’ meant in abstract. Well, I am 27 years old now with two masters degrees in history, and here is what Zionism means to me: I hate the Israeli government. They do not speak for me. But I am not anti-Zionist. I believe in the necessity for a Jewish state — a state where all Jews are welcome, regardless of their background, regardless of their nationality. 

There needs to be a place where Jews, an ethnic minority who are unwelcome in nearly every state in the world, have a place where they are free from persecution — a place where they feel protected. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that place being the place where Jews are ethnically indigenous to. Because believe it or not, whether it is inconvenient, Jews are indigenous to the land of Israel. I’ve addressed this in this post.

With that said, that doesn’t mean you can kick the Palestinian people out. They are also indigenous to that land, which is addressed in the same post, if you don’t trust me. 

What is incredible to me is that Zionism is defined, by the Oxford English Dixtionary, as “A movement [that called originally for] the reestablishment of a Jewish nationhood in Palestine, and [since 1948] the development of the State of Israel.” Whether we agree with this or not, there were early disagreements about the location of a ‘Jewish state,’ and some, like Maurice de Hirsch, believed it ought to be located in South America, for example. Others believed it should be located in Africa. The point is that the original plans for the Jewish state were about safety. The plan changed because Jews wanted to return to their homeland, the largest project of decolonization and indigenous reclamation ever to be undertaken by an indigenous group. Whether you want to hear that or not, it is true. Read a book or two. Then you might know what I mean.

When people say this is a complicated issue, they aren’t being facetious. They aren’t trying to obfuscate the point. They often aren’t even trying to defend the Israeli government, because I certainly am not — I think they are abhorrent. But there is no future in the Middle East if the Israelis and Palestinians don’t form a state that has an equal right of return and recognizes both of their indigenousness, and that will never happen if people can’t stop throwing vitriolic rhetoric around.  Is the Israeli Government bad? Yes. Are Israeli citizens bad? Largely, no. They want to defend their families, and they want to defend their people. This is basically the same as the fact that Palestinian people aren’t bad, though Hamas often is. And for the love of god, stop defending terrorist organizations. Just stop. They kill their own people for their own power and for their own benefit. 

And yes, one more time, the Israeli government is so, so, so wrong. But god, think about your words, and think about how you are enabling Nazis. The rhetoric the left is using is hurting Jews. I am afraid to leave my house. I’m afraid to identify as Jewish on tumblr. I’m afraid for my family, afraid for my friends. People I know are afraid for me. 

It’s 2021. I am not my great uncle. I cried for him, but I shouldn’t have to die like him. 

Words have consequences. Language has consequences. And genuinely, I do not think everyone is a bad person, so think about what you are putting into the world, because you’d be surprised how often you are doing a Nazi a favor or two. 

Is that really what you want? To do a Nazi a favor or two? I don’t think that you do. I hope you don’t, at least.

That’s all. You know, five thousand words later. But uh, think a little. Please. 

[muffinlance]

"please feed the author don't poke the author"

*Grins in Challenge Accepted*

Okay, so you know how Zuko has this whole honor complex mixed with daddy issues? Well, what if he didn’t…? And in another universe he instead had something WAY STRANGER? Like, if instead of being obsessed with regaining his honor he was obsessed with tracking down unknown spirits because he literally believes the spirits have it out for him personally?

Cuz’ everyone knows Zuko has the worst luck, but what if his whole life he grew up seeing glimpses of spirits no one’s ever heard about before Zuko’s life royally screws up? Zuko’s having a good time firebending? He sees the tail end of some spooky spirits for half a second and suddenly BOOM! The next day Azula starts trashing Zuko around by lighting BLUE FREAKING FIRE! Zuko reading a nice letter from his cousin Lu Ten on the warfront? Next thing you know he hears dwindling laughter, and the following week BAM Lu Ten is DEAD and uncle Iroh has disappeared from the face of the Earth! The few hours before he and Azula present themselves to Fire Lord Azulon in their white robes? Yeah, he could have SWORN he saw something else staring at the mirror behind him smiling like a maniac, and now the Fire Lord’s dead and his mom has mysteriously vanished too!!!

Like he’s totally a diehard, reckless spirit conspiracy nut, and he’s totally obsessed on proving what would amount to be a Spirit world version of the Illuminati set on making his life miserable? And everyone in the Royal Court would be completely embarrassed and blow him off, but to Zuko it just makes perfect SENSE! Everything he tries to do in life goes unreasonably wrong, and if there’s millions of people in the Avatar world, then wouldn’t it be possible there might be BILLIONS/TRILLIONS of Spirit beings they haven’t even discovered yet some of which are DEFINETELY out to get him!?!? RIGHT?!? He just can’t prove it. Yet…

So when Zuko finally does get banished to go find the Avatar and regain his honor he’s like.

Screw it.

Screw the Avatar.

Screw this stupid war.

I’m going to prove this conspiracy ON MY OWN!!!

Next thing you know he’s traveling around the world investigating Spirit tale cases, making frenemies with Wan Shi Tong in his library (cuz’ why wouldn’t a knowledge seeking Spirit Owl not be cynically interested in this human being’s futile quest for knowledge?), and trying really hard NOT to get entangled with this monk kid named Aang and his friends who somehow always end up destroying Zuko’s hard-earned evidence DAMMIT!!!!

At least the cabbage merchant still believes him…

Welcome to the world of Avatar: The Spirit Files, and the regaling tales of Prince Zuko the Spirit Seeker! THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE!!!!

*Plays Theme Music*

Sokka Scully finds all this VERY suspicious, are spirits even real?

Aang: I was frozen for 100 years! I survived because a spirit merged with my soul a millennia ago and I've been reincarnating ever since!

Sokka: Allegedly.

Katara: You got kidnapped into the spirit world last week, Sokka.

Sokka: Allegedly.

[jawabear]

1 of 10 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Not my GIF (look at this man...)

A/N: so here’s that Bucky fic I’ve been talking about. This took me too long to write but I like it? I’m absolutely loving Falcon and The Winter Soldier! I’ve mentioned this before but Bucky Barnes is my all time favourite fictional character. This is set before the events of episode one but maybe like a week or so before. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, tfatws spoilers, Bucky being awkward, nightmares, therapy, Bucky isn’t as smooth as he was in the 40s but he’s still cute

Summary: Bucky has ten contacts in his phone. One of which belongs the the girl he feels he has been searching for for 106 long years.

The times in which he found himself now were more than confusing. But that was the best way Bucky could think to describe them. For him though it seemed a lot worse than for others. For others, they had a gap of five years missing. For Bucky, he had far more than that.

From 1943 to 2023 there was a lot missing. He remembered it however. He remembered everything. The good, the bad, and the horrifying. What was meant by missing was that it wasn’t him who was living. He had missed out on living between those years. He had missed out on everything. And he knew, like the billions of others, he would never get those years back.

But now he was a civilian. Working to make amends from his past after being given a pardon. However, settling into his new easy life was proving far from that. It had been a few months now since the whole ordeal with saving the blipped half of humanity, Bucky included, and it had been a few months now since Steve went back in time and started a new life leaving him and Sam behind.

Sam. Right.

Sam was an avenger. More so than Bucky could ever be. So he was off doing his avenging work while Steve’s shield gathered dust in a wardrobe somewhere he was sure. Sam didn’t have it in him to take up the mantle of Captain America. He felt the shield belonged to someone else. It was Steve’s. It only ever could be.

More often than perhaps Bucky would like, he would get texts from Sam. Asking him how he was and telling him about missions he was going on. Bucky never replied. He didn’t know how to half the time and he didn’t want to.

He didn’t know how he was. He didn’t know if he was okay. He was forced to go see a therapist but all he did was lie to her.

“Have you had any nightmares recently?” She would ask him.

Bucky would think back to the night before their meeting and all the others as well. Each night he’d have to be faced with the horrors of his past. Every mission he carried out. Every person he carelessly killed.

“No” he would answer. And it wasn’t like he was wrong in his answer. The things he saw in his sleep were not nightmares they were memories. The nightmarish horrors he was were his reality, so when he said no in response to her question, he found it difficult to be accused of lying.

There were few things he could agree with her about. But the one thing he could see eye to eye with her about was the fact he was alone.

Sure, he had Sam. But only when Bucky wanted to acknowledge him which had not been often as of recently. And as his therapist so kindly pointed out he only had ten contacts on his phone. But in his defence, he still wasn’t used to the whole world of mobile communications and internet. So his phone was basically redundant to him. His mind was still in the 1940s where you’d find a date, what would now be classed as, the old fashioned way. By looking in person and talking. Not just texting or swiping left or right on an app.

Granted, Bucky did try his hand in online dating but it was far too much for him. It wasn’t only hard for him to figure out but also he saw too much of people he didn’t even know. The openness of the internet was something that was mind boggling to him. So that was thrown out of the window pretty quickly.

But what his therapist had failed to note was one name in his contacts. The name of his neighbour and quite possibly the one he wanted to end his loneliness with.

Back in his time, when he didn’t just have the looks of someone in their 20s, Bucky was in fact quite popular and good with the ladies. But the ladies, he found, of this new age were completely different to the ones of his time. Not that there was a problem, he just knew that he couldn’t used the same moves now as what he could back then.

He met (Y/N), his neighbour, as he was first moving in. After coming back, loosing Steve and getting a pardon, Bucky thought it be best to try and start a new. He did that by moving back to his old home of Brooklyn. His old apartment was obviously gone and with little money to his name he couldn’t afford the one that replaced it. It was far to big for him anyway. But he managed to find a smaller more affordable one and he much preferred it. If not only for the quieter location then the others in the building too.

(Y/N) was the first person he spoke too when back in Brooklyn. She was sweet and kind when introducing herself. She offered to help him move in but he really didn’t have that much stuff to use in making his new apartment more homely. And he had no food either. So (Y/N) did the neighbourly thing and invited him in for some food. A meal of sorts although she didn’t have much food either at the time. Even so, it was nice for him to be in company for once. And it was such warm company. They didn’t speak about much but he learnt a few things about her.

And now, on most Thursday evenings, he’ll find himself with her in her apartment eating a meal, sometimes she’ll cook, sometimes they’ll order take out, but he enjoys it regardless.

It was clear from the offset that she knew who he was. He frantically explained to her that he wasn’t what he used to be anymore and explained the terms of his pardon and how he’s making amends. But he needn’t have waste his breath on it. She didn’t seem to care about it. About who he used to be. She told him that she doesn’t live in peoples pasts and that she wanted to get to know him for who he is, not who he was. Those words meant a great deal to him. And from that moment on he had fallen for her.

Bucky sighed as he dragged himself up the stairs to his floor. He desperately wished there was some way of getting out of these therapy sessions. But he was tied to them. He couldn’t stop going to them even though he wanted too. But there, it wasn’t really like he had anything better to do. Nothing but either sitting at home in silence or walking around busy streets constantly looking over his shoulder. Those were his only other options.

As he walked to his apparent at the end of the hallway (Y/N)’s door opened and she walked out dressed for the outdoors, it was getting cold so it was smart of her to be wearing a warm coat. “(Y/N)” he called gently to her. She lifted her head after locking her door and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi James” She said, she always called him James rather than Bucky. He didn’t know why but he didn’t exactly mind. “How was your session today?” She had memorised the times at which he went to his therapy sessions. She probably knew he schedule better than he did.

Bucky shrugged “the usual” he told her making her laugh a little.

“That bad huh?”

“I guess” he said scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m heading to the store to get some food if you wanted to talk on the way? Don’t feel you have to”

“No, that sounds good” he tried to smile but it was a little awkward, but she didn’t seem to say anything and just motioned her head for him to follow.

The shop wasn’t too far away so it was a quick walk. Bucky wasn’t the talkative type, not really anyway. Especially not to someone he didn’t like. And Dr Raynor was someone who he didn’t like. He was sure that deep down she was a lovely person but he didn’t like the fact she was insistent in getting him to admit his feelings. Although that was her job.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the store “so what happened?” (Y/N) asked as she picked up a basket.

“Just the usual...she asked me if I had a nightmare-“

“Did you?” Bucky didn’t answer and just looked away from her. “James, you know that it’s her job to help you. And it’s in your best interest to let her”

“I know...but at the same time...I don’t see the point. These things are mandatory. So if I don’t want to go then I don’t see it being helpful”

“I can understand that” her eyes flicking between two boxes of cereal as she inwardly decried in which one to get, but her indecisive nature got the better of her so she opted to get both. Her indecisiveness, Bucky thought, was incredibly cute. It linked in with her kindness, on their Thursday evening meals together it takes ages just to decide what to have. “But still,” she continued, Bucky following her like a lost puppy “like you said, it’s mandatory. And there are people who would love to be in your position. Getting therapy I mean. So you should at least make the most of it while you can”

“I mean...yeah. I guess. But...I don’t know I just...well it’s easier to talk to someone like you then it is to talk to her” (Y/N) smiled at little at this as she finished putting on the last few items before making her way to the till.

Neither of them said much else. Expect for (Y/N) making light conversation with the cashier as she paid although both (Y/N) and Bucky knew that the cashier really didn’t want to be there. Luckily it didn’t take long for (Y/N) to bag her items and pay for them before they were both leaving the store.

It had gotten colder outside then when they left originally. (Y/N) shivered and pulled her coat around her a little more before they both began walking back to their apartment building.

“So what is it about me that makes you find it easier to talk?” She asked, she brushed her hair from her face as a sudden gust of wind blew it out of place when she turned to look at him.

“Well...” he muttered shoving his hands into his pockets “for one, you don’t sit there with a passive aggressive notebook ready to write shit about me” this made her laugh a little, she always found it funny when he’d talk about this notebook Dr Raynor had. She didn’t really know why he hated it so much, and she knew she shouldn’t have found it funny but he never stopped her from laughing about it, in fact often times he would join in thereby encouraging her.

“Yes, that is something better I guess. Although, I’m sure I could find a notebook if you wanted” she teased.

“Oh god. Please don’t” He said holding back a smile.

“Anything else?” She asked him.

Bucky thought for a moment. There were many things about her that made it easier for him to talk to her, but he couldn’t list them all. For one, that would be embarrassing, and two he didn’t think he’d have the breath to do it. “Well-“

He was cut off when he saw (Y/N)’s smile fall and her pace began to slow right down to a stop. Bucky stopped and looked at her “everything okay?” He asked her, his voice full of concern.

She turned sharply to the side so she was facing the road “y-yeah..” she stuttered nervously “just...my ex is walking this way and I really don’t want him to see me”

Bucky felt a strange feeling inside him. He didn’t even know she had been in a relationship. It must’ve been a recent thing right? Unless it was a really bad break up in the past, or this guy had done something to her to prompt her being so on edge. Bucky turned to try and scope out this guy but he didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. So he reached over to her and pulled up her hood on her hoodie that she wore under her coat and pulled her into his side so that her face was hidden from view.

“Tell me when he’s gone” Bucky muttered to her. She nodded her head and let him walk her along the path, she kept her eye on the path ahead as best she could while still covering her face. But she was now more focused on two things, his arm around her and his wonderful smell. Never did she think she’d ever get this close to him. She never thought he’d let her, but here she was attached to his side with his arm wrapped around her, holding her protectively against him.

And his smell. It was just as comforting as she dreamed it would be. A mix of his cologne and what she could only describe as Him. All she wanted to do now was to just melt into his strong and warm embrace and just stay there forever.

In all her daydreaming she didn’t notice that her ex had long since walked by and they had reached the entrance to their apartment building and she didn’t tell him he could let go or that it was safe for her to walk properly.

Bucky came to a stop and slowly slipped his arm from her “I mean...I take it he’s gone now right?” He said a little nervously. (Y/N) stood up straight and pushed the hood from her head and nodded quickly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Yes, right. Sorry. Yes. He’s gone. I um...I just wanted to make sure he didn’t suddenly turn around you know? That’s all” she said in an unconvincing tone. But Bucky himself was too flustered to actually care that she was flustered as well.

“Of course, that’s smart. Well we made it back” he said stepping up to the door and pushing it open for her. She nodded and thank you and quickly hopped inside the building, Bucky following after her.

The walk up the stairs was an awkward silence. They felt like teenagers after their first ever date. Who says something first? What do they even say? Luckily for them, this wasn’t a first date, and they weren’t teenagers. They were fully grown, mature adults. But that doesn’t mean adults can’t get flustered in the presence of their crush...right?

After what felt like hours, but was more like five painstaking minuets, they finally got to their floor and walked down the hall, both briefly forgetting that they lived right next to each other.

(Y/N) stopped at her door and placed her bag of food on the floor to fish out her keys from her pocket. “Uh...you want to come in?” She asked whilst fiddling around in her pocket to find the keys. “I know it’s not Thursday but we didn’t really talk as much as usual...” her voice seemed to trail off as she finally found her keys and put them in the key hole before unlocking the door. “You don’t have too..”

“I’d...like to...” he said in a soft voice with a gentle smile to try and put her at ease even though he too was freaking out inside. She smiled back and picked up her bag before walking inside her apartment, he did too.

They both made their way into her small kitchen and he made himself at home by sitting in his usual seat at her white kitchen table and she began to unpack the shopping “Do you want me to help?” He asked her as he went to stand up but she waved off his offer.

“No no, it’s fine. There’s only a few bits anyway” she told him as she began to pack each item away in its rightful place.

“So uh...” Bucky began quietly as he scraped his metal finger again the wood table. “This ex of yours...what’s the story there?”

Bucky was a little cautious of his words. He didn’t want to say anything to hurt or offend her but at the same time he wanted to know what about the guy made her so on edge earlier.

“Oh uh...” she muttered as she pulled two cups from her cupboard.

“You don’t need to tell me if you want want to. Sorry..”

“It’s fine” she assured him “nothing really happened I guess. It was just a bad break up. He didn’t really take it well and for a few weeks after that he just kept texting me and trying to call me. He came round to my place too to try and get me back. He never did know how to take no for an answer. But about a month ago he finally got the message and stopped all contact with me. Seeing him today...I was just worried that he’d try it all again”

“He sounds like a real asshole” Bucky said flatly making her laugh a little as she went about making some tea for the both of them. “But in his defence, if I lost a girl like you, I’d struggle with taking no for an answer as well”

(Y/N) let out a nervous laugh and almost dropped his tea cup from the shock of his comment but she was a little more used to his flirtatious nature that would sometimes make an appearance when they were in her apartment. After he told her about his boyish charms back in the 40s she noticed how he would often slip back into that era. It was cute to say the least.

She set down his tea in front of him and he flashed her a “thank you” smile before wrapping his fingers around it.

There was a brief silence in the room. She was greatly over thinking is earlier comment. But so was he. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. He meant it though. But what if he had pushed the limit a little too far?

“What was the other reason?” She asked him, her finger nail scratching again the tea cup trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.

“Huh?” He questioned looking over the table to her.

“Earlier. You were going to give me another reason why I’m easier to talk to. What was it?”

Bucky’s muscles tensed as his fingers gripped the tea cup handle as he stared into the black tea she had made for him. “If I’m being honest...” he began slowly “I think...there are too many reasons why I find talking to you easier. But I guess one is that you don’t do it because you have to or it’s your job to. You do it out of kindness. And it’s...easier to talk to someone who’s listening because they want to. And yes, I get that Dr Raynor probably does want to help me but I also know that at the end of the day, it’s all for a pay check. But with you...you do it because you want to. Or at least...I think you want to”

“I do want to, James. I’ll always be around to ask if you’re okay. And to make you okay when you’re not. I care about you...”

“And...I care about you. Another reason I prefer talking to you is because...I like you...a lot. I just think you’re the most beautiful woman, and you have such a sweet and caring nature and a good heart that is wasted on me. But I can’t help but like you...” he couldn’t really believe he just said what he did. He wasn’t mean to tell her that. It was meant to stay a secret within him into the end of time. But there was a shift in atmosphere that just made it all slip out.

“You...you like me?” She asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah...” he said. There was a little more confidence in his voice as he admitted his feelings towards her.

“I like you too..” she too held a little more confidence in her voice as she admitted her returned feelings. It felt...good. Especially since she knew he returned the feelings she had harboured for him since they met.

She stood abruptly and held her hand out to him. He looked at it and looked up at her again before taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet and a little close to her.

He smirked a little as he looked down at her “you want me to kiss you or something?” He said almost proudly.

“Yes..” she said “but first...I want to know something”

“What do you want to know?” He asked her. She squeezed his hand and dragged him out of her kitchen.

She lead him to her bedroom and noticed the worried expression on his face when he looked at her bed. This was what she wanted to know.

“You don’t have a bed in your apartment...” She told him quietly. (Y/N) turned her body so she was facing him completely, he cautiously lifted his hands to settle on her waist.

“I know...” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Bucky paused but he felt safe enough to give her an honest answer “I...I’m...scared. Of them”

“What is it about a bed that scares you?” She whispered, her fingers gently trailing down his cheeks. Bucky didn’t answer right away, for one he was to busy focusing of the beautiful touch of her hands, and for another, he didn’t really know the answer to her question. But he could take a guess.

“Because I...I don’t think I’ve slept in one since 1943. And I...after everything I’ve done...I don’t deserve to lie in such luxury...” his voice was quiet and barely audible, had it not been for the close proximity they were in, she probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“James...” she laid her forehead against his and he instinctively griped her waist a little tighter. The comfort and warmth she was bringing him was something he didn’t want to loose. She was someone he didn’t want to loose. He felt safer with no one but her. For once he actually felt...okay. But he felt he was holding her too tightly, but if he was she was wasn’t willing to tell him that.

“You know that you have no reason to be afraid. You are changing. You are becoming a good man. You do deserve to live in luxury, even if that starts with sleeping in a proper bed. Maybe it is scary for you...but...if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you face it”

“Please...” he whispered with a nod before pressing his lips to hers.

05/04/21

Taglist: @lunaserenade @phoenixhalliwell @slytherin4ever

[mellowswriting]

Home

pairing || Marcus Pike x fem!Reader

summary || Welcome home, Baby Pike! Sneak peeks of Marcus Pike being the best father and husband in the world.

words || 3,985

warnings || pregnancy and labor (no graphic detail), allusions to sex, BABY DADDY MARCUS PIKE Y’ALL, a somewhat physical altercation (Between Marcus and a stranger), fluff, mentions of breastfeeding, referenced breeding kink

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

You never expect your life to change on a Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon. In fact, you expected it to change three days prior on your due date, but Baby Pike decided that they wanted to make their entrance into the world a total surprise to everyone. After a morning full of what you thought were Braxton Hicks contractions, your water broke right in the middle of the living room. A small surprised yelp came from you, one that had Marcus scrambling from the kitchen to your side in an instant.

“Honey, what is it? Are you okay?” He asked, his eyebrows pinched together in worry.

“Yeah.” You said breathily, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, my water just broke.”

“What?” Marcus whispered and you watched as the realization broke across his face. He immediately held you at your forearms and eased you back to sit on the couch, a smile slowly growing on his face as he knelt in front of you. “Okay.”

“Oh my god, Marcus.” You stared at him, eyes wide, hands rubbing your belly almost absentmindedly. “Marcus, we’re having a baby.”

“Holy shit, we’re having a baby!” Marcus cried out excitedly and you couldn’t help but pull him forward to give him a kiss, one he eagerly reciprocated before pulling back suddenly. “I have to call Dr. Weston!”

At first, you had been pretty worried about how Marcus was going to handle your labor - the man could barely handle it when you had a headache, for god’s sake. But to your surprise, he shouldered the role of birthing partner with a calm demeanor. Firm and steadfast, Marcus let you drape your arms over his shoulders to support yourself through some particularly rough contractions, his voice low and reassuring as he met each of your fears with steady encouragement.

It really shouldn’t have surprised you, in hindsight.

Marcus practically ran after Dr. Weston to scrub up with her, intent on helping catch his little one ever since she brought it up and you confirmed that it was okay over and over; he never wanted to overstep, especially during such a serious, life-changing moment. His excitement was a beacon through your pain and exhaustion and frustration.

The last few pushes were rough. You were exhausted, everything hurt, and you were just over it. You were over all of it, and you wanted that damn baby out and you wanted to fucking sleep. Marcus could tell, his eyebrows pulled together in worry, but the second he stood from between your legs to return to your side, you gritted out that if he didn’t stay right there and help bring his child into the world, you would kill him yourself.

Understandable, but not your proudest moment.

With a dozen more pushes and the encouragement of both Dr. Weston and your fiancé, a shrill cry pierced the room, followed immediately by your fiancé’s amazed whispers of “Oh my god, oh my god”. Your little one was lifted up to your chest by Marcus’s sure hands.

“He’s so perfect.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and barely audible over his wails, tears of pain and exhaustion and joy falling once more as you cradled the perfect little baby against your chest. You laughed wetly and looked up at Marcus, your tears mirrored on his face, and you couldn’t help but say, “I told you he was a boy!”

“You were right.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair before gazing back at his son and laying his gloved hand on his back. He didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears and neither did you. “You were so right. He’s so beautiful.”

After you and your son were both cleaned up and settled and one extremely personal visit from the hospital’s lactation consultant, you laid in the hospital bed with little Oliver held at your breast. The tiny baby was just as exhausted as you were it seemed, his eyes fluttering shut as he suckled. Marcus paced by the bedside, his phone cradled to his ear as he spoke to his parents.

“Yeah, she was amazing. You and Dad can come by once she gets some sleep, they’re both pretty tired.” Marcus kept his voice low even though he knew you weren’t asleep, trying to let you at least rest for a little bit. “Oh, he’s perfect. Seven pounds, eight ounces. Twenty inches long. He’s got a head full of hair, just like I did.”

The pride and happiness in his voice made you smile despite the exhaustion and soreness that radiated through your body. Marcus sat next to you once his call was over, resting his head on your arm as he gazed at you.

“Thank you.” Marcus whispered. His eyes were shining with more tears and an appreciation that took your breath away. “You have given me everything I’ve ever wanted and I just… thank you.”

“No, thank you.” You chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry I threatened to kill you.”

Marcus shrugged, an amused smile on his face. “I don’t blame you.”

You puckered your lips in a silent request for a kiss, something Marcus gave without hesitation. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marcus gave you another kiss before leaning back in his seat, content to sit and watch the miracle that was his life. “Get some sleep, my love.”

---------

The first weeks at home with your little boy only confirmed the suspicions you had since the moment you met Marcus Pike - he was an amazing father. Beyond that, he was an amazing partner. Despite your insistence that he didn't need to, Marcus took it upon himself to bring you a glass of water and anything else you could possibly need every time you nursed. A pillow to prop up your feet, a book to read, the remote to pick a show to watch. Only when he was sure there was nothing more he could do, Marcus would sit next to you, happy to just enjoy the moment together.

A lot of promises were made, way back in the beginning of your pregnancy, a few of which you didn't even remember at first. But Marcus did, and that man followed through. Each time a tiny wail would echo through your home past ten o’clock at night, Marcus tossed back the blankets and was out of bed before you could even sit up all the way. Sometimes he would deliver a little bundle of hungry baby to your arms and then whisk him away back to his bed once his belly was full. Other times you would hear Marcus over the baby monitor as he hummed and sang and whispered to his son as he changed his diaper and rocked him back to sleep.

“Thank you. You’ve given me so much, I… thank you.” He murmured into your shoulder as he settled into bed behind you one night, having just put Oliver into his bed. “I love you so much and I promise you, I will give you the entire damn world.”

“You already have.” You whispered as you turned to kiss him.

---------

Somehow time managed to drag and fly by at the same time, the days, weeks, and months morphing together. Oliver grew like a weed, sleeping well and eating more than you thought he could even hold in his little belly. Every milestone he hit made pride swell inside you both. Watching Marcus interact with Oliver took your breath away more often than not. The second you passed Oliver off into his father's capable hands, Marcus was cooing at him, lifting him up in the air to see that gummy smile and hear that high peal of giggles each time Marcus gently jostled him about.

Going out in public with Oliver had a tendency to be nerve wracking, especially those first few times. But your worries about germs and public diaper changes quickly gave way to the fear and frustration that came from complete and utter strangers. It was the last thing you expected to be a problem and maybe that was naive of you, but holy shit. How many people thought it was perfectly acceptable to just harass parents while they’re out with their babies?

Too fucking many.

Oliver, on the other hand, loved going to stores, although the rhythmic swaying as he snuggled into either you or Marcus in his ring sling almost always had him knocked out within the first fifteen minutes. One second, those big brown eyes were taking in the bright lights and the next, he was conked out with his little cheek squished in the most adorable way.

He was snoozing against your chest as you perused the ice cream aisle, Marcus trailing a couple feet behind you with the cart as you both tried to pick out some flavors. You were so focused on the billions of choices in the freezer in front of you that you didn’t even notice the way the other man in the aisle was eyeing you.

“How old?” He asked, motioning to Oliver.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. All of the questions, god were you over it, but you weren't trying to cause a scene in the middle of the ice cream aisle. “Uh, four months.”

“Congratulations!” The man said and before you could fully process what was happening in front of you, he was reaching a hand out seeming to… touch your baby, what the hell did this guy think he’s doing!? You twisted away on instinct as both of hands came up to cover Oliver protectively, but before you could find your voice from under your shock to give that man a piece of your mind, Marcus swiftly stepped between you and grasped the man’s wrist.

In all your years of knowing Marcus, you had never seen his face so stoney. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth, his eyes alight with anger, and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed at this fierce and protective side of your fiancé you had never seen before. Marcus didn’t say anything - the punishing grip he had on his wrist was enough to have him murmuring an apology and backing off. His face didn’t soften until he looked at you, his hand settling over yours on Oliver’s back as if he had to reassure himself that his son was still cradled safely between you.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asked.

You still couldn’t find your voice, though this time it was stuck behind a lump of admiration and appreciation and desire because holy shit. Watching Marcus shift from his usual goofy, loving self to someone who would readily and easily break the wrist of a man who had the audacity to try to touch you or your child… it stoked something deep in your belly, some fundamental, basic urge that made you crave him.

“C’mon, we don’t need ice cream. We need to go home.” You said, grabbing him by his forearm and dragging him back to the cart.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Marcus’s voice was full of worry. “I acted like a caveman and it was ridiculous, I shouldn’t have -”

You cut him off with a kiss, leaning up on your tiptoes to firmly press your lips against his with your hand at the side of his neck. It pulled a surprised sound from Marcus but he gladly reciprocated, his hand finding your hip by habit.

“We aren’t going home because I’m mad, Marcus.” You whispered almost conspiratorially before jokingly covering the side of Oliver’s head, as if to keep him from hearing you. “We’re going home because I need you to fuck me.”

Marcus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but a playful grin followed immediately after and he immediately grabbed the cart in one hand and intertwined his fingers with yours in the other. The shopping trip was only half successful grocery-wise, but in the end it was worth it to be able to drag him into bed and show him just how much you appreciated that protective side of him.

---------

The last thing Marcus wanted to do was go back to work. Walking out the door and leaving you and Oliver at home had been damn near impossible, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He had used every second of his paternity leave and if he tried to weasel out of going back into the office, he was pretty sure he would get fired.

That first day was the worst. Marcus knew better than to call or text you constantly, but he missed being able to just see you and Oliver whenever he wanted. So instead, he checked his phone constantly, glancing over and over again just in case he received a text from you. Every now and then his phone would chime and it made him grin with each and every picture or small update you sent him. The little reminders of what he had waiting for him are what got him through the day.

Each week that passed, the wait for the clock to chime five o’clock became easier. His passion for his job reignited once he was steadily working again and his life felt so much more full than he ever thought it could be. He had a job he loved with an amazing team and a family at home that he cherished. It choked him up if he thought about it all too much, how he endured heartache after heartache, all the while thinking he would never actually get the life he envisioned for himself.

It made coming home to you and his son that much sweeter. Each evening played out by the same pattern; Marcus would plant a kiss to your lips and then Oliver’s head as he scooped him up to snuggle him, inquiring about how your day was and intent on hearing every silly little detail of whatever you got up to that day. A satisfied little smile found his face as just how full and happy his life was.

Bedtime routine was something Marcus excelled at; if there was a competition for getting a baby settled into their bed, he would win first place every damn time. You were jealous, there were no two ways about it. Yes, you could get Oliver down for the night just fine, but there was just something about the calming air Marcus carried about him that had the little one’s eyes fluttering shut.

You claimed that he was magic, but Marcus was sure it was just his boring office stories that knocked his son out.

Weekends were something special to Marcus. He loved the lazy mornings where he didn’t have to heave himself out of bed and creep around to get ready for work without waking the baby. Being able to instead appreciate how pretty you looked lost in your dreams and wake you with soft kisses was a gift he appreciated even before your family had grown.

Except now he got the added pleasantry of scooping up Oliver when he woke and bringing him into the big bed for you to feed him before Marcus could make him laugh that adorable laugh by popping up from behind the sheet he held in front of his face. Those cozy moments were his happy place, the fuel that got him through long days and sleepless nights.

Since the weekend brought all three of you together for the entire day, Marcus had taken a liking to offering to gather up Oliver after he had a full belly so you could have some time for yourself. It left him in awe just how much you did for your family, how hard you worked to keep the fires burning at home, and he wanted you to keep your fire burning within as well. The soft sounds of music and the perfumey smells of your bath products coming from under the bathroom door always made him smile, little Oliver curled against his chest. It was a win-win all the way - you got to relax without the immediate responsibility of childcare hanging over your head and Marcus got to bond with his kiddo.

Afterwards, Marcus would always bring the three of you together for some quality family time. Whether it was a simple walk through the neighborhood to the park a few streets away or a simple picnic in the backyard, Marcus loved getting to see you and Oliver bathed in sunlight, both of you cracking up as you tickled him while he tried to wiggle from your grasp. Oliver always ended up asleep at the end of the entire ordeal, exhausted from all of the fun and action, and Marcus always volunteered to carry him home, even when he had the empty stroller in front of him.

---------

You woke up feeling beyond well-rested. The heaviness that often plagued your eyelids had eased completely, leaving your eyes opening easily to blink against the sunlight peeking through the window. The sheets next to you were rumpled and cold and you shot upright on instinct. When you fell asleep, both Marcus and Oliver had been curled up with you, your son safe between both of his parents as he snored lightly. He wasn’t feeling well, a small fever and a case of the sniffles making him more clingy than usual, and neither you or Marcus could deny the puppy-dog eyes he gave from the foot of your bed when he toddled into your bedroom from his own.

The sound of Sunday morning cartoons eased the worry that prickled down your spine. With a quick stretch and a low groan, you tossed back the blankets and quickly made your way into the living room, and the sight that met you brought a small smile to your face. Both of your boys were still in their pajamas, a colorful pile of crayons between them where they lay on the floor as they scribbled away in a shared coloring book, the cartoons on the television entirely forgotten as father and son created yet another masterpiece sure to end up on the refrigerator with the half a dozen others. It took a moment for you to catch Marcus’s eye and he smiled at you in greeting before leaning closer to Oliver to whisper, “Guess who’s awake?”

Oliver’s head immediately snapped up to look around and he scrambled to his feet the second he saw you standing in the doorway. “Mama, mama, mama!”

“Good morning, little man!” You greeted as you scooped him off of his feet, his arms wrapping around your neck and tightening with a dramatic groan. You settled him on your hip and brushed his wild hair from his face. “Feeling better?”

“Better!” Oliver exclaimed, nodding so fast it made even you dizzy.

“I’m glad, baby.” You ruffled his hair, chuckling at his dismayed response of ducking away from your hand and wiggling from your grasp. His little feet took off running the second they touched the carpet, but your arms weren’t empty for long. No, Marcus stepped right into them and wrapped you in a warm hug, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“We decided to let you sleep in.” Marcus said, his chest rumbling against you as you relaxed into his embrace. “His fever is gone, has been since around 7:30.”

“Good, I was worried we’d have to take him to the pediatrician.” You murmured before leaning up to kiss him soft and slow, breaking away at the sound of a pan hitting the floor in the kitchen. “Sounds like someone’s trying to make breakfast again.”

“Better get in there before he spills flour all over the floor again.” Marcus chuckled, giving your ass a quick pat as he followed the sounds of destruction.

Once Oliver had gobbled down a bowl of cereal and you had a cup of coffee to sip on, all three of you settled on the floor to finish up the drawing that Oliver insisted he needed both of his parent’s help for. He was all too happy to slap it on the refrigerator under one of his letter magnets before scampering off to drag all of his toys out for the first of many times. Marcus plopped down on the couch next to you, situating himself so he could lay his head in your lap.

Those pretty brown eyes of his fluttered shut with a pleased hum as you began running your hands through his hair, the untamed curls fluffy and soft between your fingers. He winced slightly at the familiar sound of Oliver’s toy chest dumping over in his room and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, I was thinking…” Marcus murmured, sleepiness returning to his voice under the relaxation your talented hands brought him.

“Don’t hurt yourself in the process.” You teased.

A pout formed on Marcus’s face and you leaned down to kiss his put out lower lip so he would continue. “I was thinking we could talk about if you want to do all of this again.”

“All of what?” You asked, your brain still booting up from sleep. Your fingers paused in his hair when it clicked. “Do you mean another baby?”

“Yeah.” Marcus’s voice was soft, quiet, as if he was fearing rejection.

“That’s ironic, actually.” You said with a small laugh. “I was thinking about asking you if you wanted to have another baby.”

“What?” Marcus sat up to face you, hope and excitement bright in his eyes. “Really?”

“Of course,” You shrugged as you reached out for his hand, your thumb swiping back and forth over his knuckles. “Ollie is gonna be in preschool soon and I think three-ish years is a good gap for siblings. He really would make such a great big brother. Besides, I already told you I wanted a full house. Wait, we would definitely have to find a new house. Shit. I didn’t even think of that. Maybe we should just -”

Marcus’s lips crashed against yours, effectively cutting off the worried words that were about to spill from you in a rush. The kiss was messy and broken up by the huge smile Marcus wore. “We can start looking now. That way we’ll have a new house by the time I get you pregnant again.”

A shiver rocked down your spine at his words, at how excited he was at the prospect of having your belly swell with his baby again. Marcus pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed, the both of you just breathing in the moment of electricity. “Are you really ready to do this?”

“Hell yes,” Marcus said with an eager laugh, his voice lowering as he continued. “And this time I’ll know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll know I’m filling you up, getting you nice and round with my baby again.”

“Fuck, Marcus.” You whimpered, that familiar heat pooling in your belly.

“Just you wait until tonight, sweetheart.” Mischief was plain on his face, his bottom lip momentarily captured between his teeth as he gripped your chin in a gentle, yet firm hold. “I can’t wait to get you pregnant again.”

With that lewd thought, Marcus gave you another firm kiss before leaving you there on the couch to make another cup of coffee, probably to give you both the space to cool off. With a loud sigh, you leaned heavily into the cushions unable to contain the grin you wore. How lucky were you? An amazing husband who doubled as an amazing father to your sweet, happy little boy. Two thriving careers. And even more plans for your family’s future. Soon your son hopped his way back into the living room, insisting you and Marcus come see the tower he made with his blocks. Hand in hand, the two of you listened as Oliver explained his creation, happiness and hope hovering in the air around you.

[alloftheimaginess]

Let me

Another part to what I’m calling my comfort song series. The song I was listening to while writing this is called Anchor by Novo Amor

"Wow. Under different circumstances, this would be totally awesome" Clint says as we look out of the window of the ship when we get to 2014 and I look around as he lands.

I follow them as we start the walk towards the mountains and I take in the scenery "you know it's kind of weird" I say.

"What's weird?" Clint asks.

"This is the year that I found out I had powers. So twelve year old me is currently somewhere blowing up a section of the public library" I say a smile on my face and they laugh.

"And we are on our way to find a twelve year old who blew up a section of the library without weapons" Nat says.

"I was so scared. I thought I was going to prison" I say.

"And look how much you've grown since then" Clint says.

"I know. It's crazy. But I have you two and Laura to thank for taking me in and showing me that I have nothing to be afraid of, that I should embrace who I am. I almost felt like I met Charles Xavier" I say and he smiles at me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close and I wrap my arm around his waist as we walk towards the mountains.

We start to climb the mountain and Natasha let’s put a huff "I bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain" she says.

"Technically, he's not a raccoon, you know" Clint says.

"Technically he is" I say.

"Whatever. He eats garbage" she says and I laugh.

"Welcome" a voice says when we reach the top and Clint and Natasha pull their weapons out and my hands start to glow as we turn around and there's a floating man.

"Natasha, daughter of Ivan, Clint, son of Edith and Yn, daughter of Dn" he says.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Consider me a guide. To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone" he says.

"Oh, good. You tell us where it is. Then we'll be on our way" Natasha says.

"Ah, liebchen. If only it were that easy" he says leading us to a cliff and I look over getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"What you seek lies in front of you as does what you fear" he says.

"The stone is down there" Natasha say also looking over.

"For one of you. For the other two in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul" he says.

"What?" I ask, my power going out as I mentally repeat what he just said and Nat leads me to a log and she sits me down and I look at them.

"A soul for a soul? He wants one of us to die?" I ask and she nods.

"Yeah I think he does" she says and I shake my head.

"No" I say.

"That can't be right. Why? What? Who thinks of this stuff?" I ask and she rubs my back as we sit in silence.

"How's it going?" Clint asks the guy chucking as he walks over to us.

"Jesus. Maybe he's making this shit up" he says.

"No. I don't think so" Nat says.

"Why because he knows your Daddy's name?" He asks.

"I didn't even know my dads name" I whisper.

"Thanos left here with the stone, without his daughter. It's not a coincidence" Nat says.

"Yeah" he says.

"Whatever it takes" Nat says.

"Whatever it takes" he says and Nat stands up.

"Tasha what are you doing?" I ask.

"If we don't get that stone, billions of people stay dead" she says rubbing my cheek and she smiles at me and I stand up as she turns to Clint.

"Then I guess we both know who it's gotta be" he says.

"I guess we do" Natasha says.

"What? No. What are you guys talking about?" I ask my voice cracking.

"Yn this doesn't concern you" Nat says.

"Yes it does, you're obviously trying to sacrifice yourselves and expect me to just sit here quietly" I say.

"Because you aren't going to do anything so go sit on the log while we work this out" he says and he grabs Natasha's hand and she squeezes it.

"I'm starting to think we mean different people here, Natasha" he says.

"Duh" I say and they both look at me.

"Stop, please just stop. Can we think about this for a second?" I cry.

"For the last five years I've been trying to do one thing. Get to right here, that's all it's been about bringing everybody back. You guys I have to do this" she says holding her hand out to me and I stare at it.

"Oh, don't you get all decent on me now" he says and she grabs my hand.

"What, you think I wanna do it? I'm trying to save your both of your lives, you idiot" she says looking at him.

"Yeah, well, I don't want you to, because I-Natasha, you know what I've done. You know what I've become" Clint says.

"I don't judge people on their worst mistakes" she says.

"Maybe you should" he says.

"You didn't" she says.

"Just because of your past choices doesn't mean you guys have to die to make up for it" I sob and they look at me.

"Yn please just let me do this" Clint says and I shake my head pulling my hand away from Natasha.

"I'm not about to stand here and listen to you guys go back and forth over which one of you is going to die" I say.

"I agree with Yn" Natasha says and he sighs.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" He asks and she smiles.

"Okay. You win" he says smiling and knocks Natasha to the ground and I jump from the sudden attack.

"Tell my family I love them" he says holding her down and she flips them over so he's on his back and she's standing up.

"You tell them yourself" she says electrocuting him and she runs towards the cliff and he gets up and shoots an explosive arrow knocking her down and I glare at them and they both freeze in place.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" I ask and I walk in front of them.

"I'm not about to let you do this. Clint you have a family who loves you and Natasha you deserve to live, you deserve to be happy. Who cares if you made mistakes you are the only person who I know who is truly worth a redemption. Neither of you have to make up for your crimes because you've done it ten fold already, you are the most amazing people I know and I know a lot of people" I say backing towards the cliff.

"Yn stop" Clint says trying to grab me but he can't and I shake my head and I close my eyes and when I open them they are white.

"Yn" Natasha says.

"No" I say sending them flying back and the vines from the cracks wrap around them.

"I'm not letting either of you die when you deserve so much" I say.

"Yn calm down and think this through. You haven't even lived your life. You're only twenty one years old" Clint says and I nod.

"Which is perfect because I don't have roots, I don't have lifelong friendships, a family. I'm on my own and always have been. I'm not letting you guys kill yourself and not even consider me an option, I'm an adult. I'm going to do it, I’m going to do it for you and the billions of people that didn’t get the choice that I have" I say closing my eyes again and I picture all of the avengers and I send a messages to them.

"You guys have been my family since the first time I met you. I was only twelve and struggling with my powers but you guys took me in and you helped me and I couldn't have asked for a better family but none of you deserve to die. You guys are the avengers. Thank you for everything ever single one of you have done for me, for a girl who was given up and forgetting about none of you will ever really know how much that meant to me. I love you all so much"

"Yn get out of our head and knock it off. You aren't about to kill yourself" Natasha says.

"Yes I am" I say.

"I love you guys" I say and I take a step back and I hear Natasha scream for me as I fall.

"Where's Yn. We got her message?" Steve asks as soon as they all meet back up.

"She used her powers against us. One of us we're supposed to die to get the stone and Clint and I were going back and forth and we got close and she froze us in place and we couldn't do anything but watch. She was only a kid" she cries and Clint pulls her into his arms as the rest of them look on in sorrow.

“Did everyone get their stone?" she asks looking up, a new fire in her eye.

"Yes" Tony says, a silence falling over the group as they realize they have lost the girl that was like a daughter to them.

"Then let's do this" she says walking off.

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 9 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: Your first night at Frankies, yearning mostly . . . no hanky panky! (yet 👀)

Warnings: Talk of abuse, talk of death of loved ones

W/C: 2.2k

Spotify

Part 1 Part 10

Frankie was buzzing with adrenaline as he drove you and Manny back to the restaurant. His hand hurt slightly, but he couldn’t stop think about how damn goodit felt to punch Kurt in the face, how when he heard the fear in your voice, everything turned red. How it took everything not to crush the vermin under his boot. But, he would unpack those feelings later, preferably over a case of beer with the boys. They, of all people, would understand.

You got out of the truck to say goodbye to Manny, and Frankie didn’t miss how you rubbed your lower back, how even from where he sat, he could see the ring of a bruise blossoming around your wrist.

“Sorry that took so long,” you said, climbing back into the truck. Frankie glanced at the clock on the dash – barely five minutes had passed. “Are you completely sure it’s okay I stay with you?”

“I want you to stay,” Frankie said. “Please, don’t get it in your head that you’re an inconvenience. I know you well enough by now to see that’s exactly where you’re heading.”

You laughed weakly. “I hate that you’re right,” you said, “I’m just not used to having extra help.” Frankie nodded, and waited for you to continue. “For a second in there, before you and Manny came in . . .I was terrified. I forgot I wasn’t alone and I – thank you, for what you did in there. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come in when you did.”

You slumped back in your seat and closed your eyes.

“I think this whole thing got rid of my hangover, though,” you joked.

“You’re young enough that you can bounce back quickly from hangovers,” Frankie said, taking the obvious hint for a change in the subject.

“Please, you’re barely older than me,” you said. “You’re like, what? Thirty?”

“Thirty-two,” Frankie corrected.

“Oh my apologies, you’re ancient,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Frankie grinned and shook his head. It amazed him how easily you could still make a joke, despite everything you had been through today alone.

It was almost sunset when he pulled up to his home. Golden light splayed across your features, making you glow. Stunning. The thought was in Frankie’s mind before he could stop it. You turned to smile at him.

“Nice gnomes,” you said gesturing to the dozens of gnomes of varying sizes that were scattered around Frankie’s front garden. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced.

“Thanks. My Abuelo used to give me one every Christmas, right up until he died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” you said your voice sincere, “I know how hard that is.”

Frankie shrugged, not wanting to talk about how after his Abuelo died, he made himself sick with grief. Instead, he chose to share something happier. “He used to hide things in them, since they’re all hollow. Sometimes it would be candy, or money. Once he hid my first iPod in one.”

“Sounds like he was a cool dude,” you said and Frankie nodded.

“He was the coolest,” Frankie agreed.

You were quiet for a few moments, holding your arms across your chest. The toll of the day was written plainly on your face, weariness lending itself to the dark circles under your eyes, to the way your shoulders curled inwards. Without thinking about it, Frankie wrapped his arms around you. You leant into the hug, burying your face into his neck. He rubbed your back gently, careful to avoid the spot he knew you were still hurting. You stood like that for a while, warmth leeching into him, and when you finally pulled away, you were almost quick enough to hide your damp eyes.

“Wanna go in?” Frankie asked, already feeling colder without you. He wanted to tug you back, hold you to him and not let go. You nodded, still not looking directly at him.

Inside, the house was cool and dark. Frankie tugged his cap off and placed it on a hook by the door, running a hand through his curls to fluff them up. He was suddenly more self-conscious than he had ever been before. He very rarely brought women back here, and when he did, he never liked them as much as he liked you.

He tried to imagine what you were thinking – were you grossed out at his unwashed breakfast plate sitting in the sink? Was the number of photos of family and friends that hung up on the walls and sat framed on every surface excessive? He didn’t remember seeing any photos like that at your apartment. But then, he also hadn’t been looking.

“It’s uh, not much,” he said rubbing the back of his neck.

“It suits you,” you said. Was it a compliment? Frankie wasn’t sure, until you continued. “Like, at first, it seems a little understated, but the more I look the more I see how you it all is.” You wandered over to a shelf stuffed with books and records, most of them coming from his old room at his parents when they had cleaned out their home a few years back.

“Tell me to fuck off if I’m being nosy,” you said, tilting your head to read the spines. Most of the books were well loved classics – stuff that Frankie had read over and over until the covers became loose and pages began to fall out.

“Just don’t search the drawers in my bedroom, that’s where I keep all my vintage Playboys and a spare bag of mushrooms.”

You snorted with laughter and turned to face him properly. Your eyes were still puffy and red, but no longer teary. Frankie counted that as a victory. “You always struck me as more of an acid guy. Just like you’re striking me as a fan of Thai food?”

“Big fan, actually.”

“Excellent, I know this great place that delivers, I’ll pay.” When Frankie opens his mouth to protest, you hold a hand up silencing him. “Please, let me pay. I owe you big time for doing this, all of this, for me.”

Frankie eventually conceded, sensing that you were infinitely more stubborn than him. Thai food was ordered and delivered, the scent of the panang curry made Frankie’s mouth water. You sat across from him at the table, eyeing him. It took a few moment for Frankie to realise you had put one of his albums on – Erykah Badu, he quickly identified.

“Can I ask you something?” you said after swallowing a mouthful of pad Thai.

“Anything,” he said. Just don’t ask me how long I’ve wanted to fuck you.

“What’d you mean today, when you said it’s not my fault?”

Frankie wasn’t expecting that. “Well, all that stuff Kurt did – like trying to kill himself, that’s not your fault.” You shrugged, clearly unconvinced, so Frankie ploughed on. “It’s just a form of emotional manipulation. Do you remember Benny, the guy your friend went home with last night? His sister, Eve, kind of went through something similar. Her partner would threaten to hurt himself and her if she tried to leave. It wasn’t until she ended up in hospital that she told Benny and Will what was happening.”

You looked horrified. “Is she okay?”

Frankie made a wavering motion in the air with his hand. “Some – most days are better than others. She moved to Portland, met a really nice lady, they’re getting married in the summer.”

“Good for her,” you murmured.

“But like I said, it’s not your fault. None of it is. He’s the one to blame, if he tries anything. He’s in control of his actions, you aren’t.” Frankie’s voice was firm, and he refused to look away from you as he spoke. He needed, more than anything, for you to understand that.

The next few hours passed quietly, sitting next to each other on his worn couch, Netflix half forgotten while you drifted in and out of sleep. Eventually, when the sky turned from black to grey to pink, Frankie showed you the spare room and gave you some privacy, knowing you probably needed some time to yourself after the gruelling day. He knew that sometimes all a person needed was some time alone to process. He sat on the couch and pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket.

Andi, the waitress, had given him her number, followed by three x’s and a winky face. Once, Frankie would have opened his messenger app and texted her, asking her out. But now. . . he found he wasn’t at all interested. He crumpled the paper and threw it in the trash.

~*~

How long is too long to spend in someone else’s shower? Five minutes? Ten? Until the hot water runs out? Vanilla and honey body wash? Oh, shit that smells delicious.

You kept your thoughts light, avoiding the darkness that brewed in the forefront of your mind. You felt like you were going through a billion crisis’s, so instead of focusing on any, you decided to focus on none.

You thought back to Frankie’s intense gaze as he spoke to you at dinner, how incredibly sexy it had been. You were shocked you could think something like that after the day you’d had, but the thoughts had entered unwelcome into your mind. You tucked them away for later, when you weren’t so close to him and wouldn’t feel burning shame if you looked at him.

Stepping out of the shower, you took a deep breath and decided to truly inspect the . . . damage that was done today. Your wrist was already bruising and ached slightly when you thought too much about it. You faced your back to the mirror and twisted, grimacing at the sight of the damage Kurt had caused. Your lower back, like your wrist, was bruised black and purple. You quickly wrapped a towel around yourself, hiding the damage.

Deep breath, Spud, you’re stronger than you think.

Your grandfathers voice echoed in your ears. It was what he would say to you whenever you were hurt – just fallen out of a tree and fractured your ankle, sliced your finger open cutting onions, sobbing because the boy you had convinced yourself was your soulmate at fifteen just dumped you the day after you lost your virginity to him, it was always your grandfathers voice saying those words. Your heart ached with missing him.

The room Frankie had showed you was more of a home gym with a bed shoved into the corner than anything else. There was still a scattering of things that were undeniably Frankie in the room: a pile of old boots with holes in the canvas, a greasy looking toolbox, a poster for the Brooklyn Nets with players that looked like they had wandered out of the 90s. You didn’t know much about basketball but decided to at least keep an eye on when the Nets lost so you could rag on Frankie about it.

You grabbed your bags, assessing what Manny had grabbed. God, he’s good, you thought, realising he had packed you everything you needed. You dressed and grabbed your phone, breathing a sigh of relief when it was free of messages from Kurt. You typed out a quick message to Manny.

You are truly the most amazing friend anyone can ask for <3 thanks for packing my stuff.

Then, after a few moments, you sent one to Sara.

I broke up with Kurt, should I be sadder about it?

It was 7 in the morning, but within a minute your phone was buzzing with a call from her.

“Tell me you’re not lying to me,” her voice was hushed. You could hear her moving, a door clicking shut.

“I’m not lying. It’s done.” You laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. “It was a fucking nightmare to do though.”

“Spill, what happened? Are you okay?” Sara’s voice was louder now. You gave her the rundown of everything that had happened, from the lunchtime confession to the actual breakup to how you were now sleeping in Frankie’s spare room.

“Wait – Frankie? Benny’s friend?”

“Are you still with Benny?” This was different: Sara had a policy of one night only – anything more and she claimed they’d fall in love with her.

“Of course, he has a massive dick. But back to you missy, you’re staying with Frankie?”

You sighed. “Yeah, just until I get the keys to my new place.”

“Are you gonna fuck him?” Sara sounded hopeful.

“Oh, my god! No!”

“Aw, c’mon, rebound sex is good for the soul.”

“Maybe with strangers in seedy bars who have half a chance of giving me the clap. Not with someone I-”

“-Have a huge thing for. Please, I saw it the moment you spotted him at fight night. You’re so hung up on this guy and Benny says-”

“This conversation is over, it’s my bedtime. I love you and you’re wrong.” You hung up quickly, cheeks burning with the lie. Did you want to have sex with Frankie? Desperately. At the most inappropriate of times, like when you heard the rumble of his voice through the window at work, like when you caught a glimpse of his beautiful, unique side profile, like when you were alone and allowed your thoughts to wander to what could be under his jeans.

You sighed, frustrated with yourself and rolled onto your side. If you were braver, more sure that his attraction matched yours, you would have gone to his room, crawled into bed beside him, let whatever was meant to be, be. But right now, you weren’t brave. You felt like you had used up all your courage quota for the year in a single day, which was a ridiculous sentiment.

So instead of going to Frankie’s room, like the pulsing in your underwear desperately wanted you to, you closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209 @quica-quica-quica @pintsizemama @phoenix-of-loki

[onlyfreds]

TRP Prologue - Welcome to the Story of Y/N L/N

Summary: To others, being princess is living the dream. To Y/N, it’s a living nightmare. But, that was until the day that she received the letter that changed her life and met the people who love her for her true self.

Warning/s: use of the word “damn”

Series Masterlist

Anybody else would think that being the first-born Princess is literally living the dream.

Let me tell you, it’s not.

“Y/N, put down the book and head downstairs for the Family portrait.” My mother, Queen Ahnica, snapped as she entered my room.

I sighed, placing a bookmark on the page I was currently reading, “Do we honestly have to do this mother? We already did this last year.”

She glared at me, “Do you always have to ask? Now stop this nonsense and give them a smile when we get down. We don’t want the press giving a bad image, don’t we?”

I mentally rolled my eyes as I followed her out of the room, “Yes mother.”

We headed down to the lounge where the royal photographer, my father (King Michael), and my younger sister (Princess Christel) were waiting for us.

I sat down beside my sister, who gave me a sympathetic smile as she placed her hand on top of mine.

“Don’t worry.” She reassured, “This’ll all be over in a minute.”

And boy did that minute feel like an hour.

When we had finished, Clark, our chief of staff approached us.

“Your highnesses,” he greeted, giving a small bow, “There is someone wanting to see you.”

My mother and father exchanged a confused look, before we followed Clark into the guest lounge.

Standing there was a middle-aged woman, her hair in a tight bun and a stern but gentle look on her face.

“Good day Mr. and Mrs. L/N, or should I say your highnesses.” She said, giving a curtsy,

My father smiled, “Good day Ma’am. What assistance could we offer you?”

The woman chuckled, “My name is McGonagall and I’m just here to give your daughter, Princess Y/N, a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

I looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, “Me?”

My sister looked at me excitedly.

The woman nodded, handing me an envelope with the words, Princess Y/N L/N, Montenaro Palace.

Christel nudged my shoulder, “Go on, open it.” She encouraged.

I opened it and pulled out the letter inside.

Dear Mr/Ms. L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I looked up again at the woman, my parents were both stunned into silence, “Am I really going to learn magic?”

McGongall nodded, “Indeed dear, and at the best wizarding school Britain has to offer.”

“But magic isn’t real.” My mother interjected.

McGonagall brought out a thin, stick and with a small wave of her hand, bubbles erupted from it. She then pointed to a teacup on a nearby table, turning it into a teapot.

“So magic is real?” Christel asked in awe.

McGonagall nodded, “It is.”

I turned to my parents as I gave them a pleading look, “Please mum, dad. Can I go.”

My parents exchanged a silent argument before my father said, “You may go. But if this is some sort of scam. You will regret dragging my daughter into this.”

The woman nodded, “You will regret nothing your highness.”

She then turned to me, “I’ll be meeting up with you next week to get your school supplies.”

As soon as she left, my mother turned to my father, “How could you let her? She’s ten! She should be attending finishing school, not some sort of magic school with a bunch of idiots!”

My father sighed, “We’ve taught her everything that she could be taught in finishing school ever since she was five. She’ll be fine.”

--

When September first rolled around, McGonagall brought me to King’s Cross Station and she had instructed me how to board on to Platform 9 and 3/4. Thankfully, I was able to leave before my parents realized that I was wearing “normal” clothes. Because if they did, I would’ve received a full lecture about maintaining an image for the press.

To be honest, jeans and a shirt were a lot more comfortable than a corset and a gown.

At first, I thought it was absurd. But after seeing the serious look on her face, I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt and run into the barrier in between Platforms 9 and 10.

I closed my eyes, braced myself for impact. But a cold chill came over me before I heard the chatter of a lively crowd, I opened my eyes, seeing a red and black train with a sign that said, Hogwarts Express.

A hopped onto the train, looking for a spare compartment. I didn’t expect anyone to recognize me as the princess, and I wish they wouldn’t.

I found a compartment that was occupied by two identical looking gingers.

I gently knocked on the compartment door, sliding it open a bit before asking, “Excuse me, but is it okay if I sat here? Everywhere else was full.”

One of them nodded, “Of course you may. I’m George by the way.” He said, offering his hand with I shook, giving him a small smile.

He then nodded to the boy sitting opposite of him, “That’s my twin brother, Fred.”

Fred stared at me, his mouth slightly agape, “Bloody hell, you’re gorgeous.”

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up as Fred was snapped out of his trance by George laughing.

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, grinning sheepishly.

I giggled, “It’s fine.”

The three of us bonded over the train ride and became fast friends.

Despite the fact that Fred and George were identical twins, I had absolutely no trouble telling them apart, though something about Fred made my heart race a bit faster and the butterflies to rise up to my stomach.

--

It’s been three years since I first met the twins. I was now in my fourth year at Hogwarts.

Before I headed down to the Great Hall for Lunch, I adjusted the necklace I was wearing.

Once I arrived, I immediately slipped into the seat between the twins.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice, looking up from her book, “Where did you get that?”

I looked at her, slightly confused, “Where did I get what?”

“That necklace.”

I looked down and realized that I wasn’t able to hide my necklace in my blouse properly.

“My mum gave it to me.” I managed to stutter out.

“Why? What’s wrong with her necklace?” Ginny asked, “It seems alright to me.”

Everyone in our group was watching me and Hermione, obviously interested in the exchange.

“Well, it’s not just any necklace.” Hermione stated, “There’s only one necklace like that.”

Fred chuckled, “Hermione, I’m sure that necklace is one of billions.”

“No.” She insisted, “There is only one necklace like that and it belongs to the first-born princess of Montenaro.”

She stared at me intently, I could almost see the gears turning in her brain. Besides, she was called the “brightest witch of her age” for a reason.

“Oh Godric!” She gasped and I knew she had come to her conclusion, “What was your last name again?” She asked.

I sighed, “L/N.”

“How did I not notice it before?” She said, most likely to herself, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Hermione, not all of us are geniuses here. So, mind catching us up on what exactly makes sense?” Harry joked.

“The reason why Y/N has that necklace, even though it’s super rare, is because she is the first-born princess of Montenaro. She’s part of the L/N family, she’s basically royalty.” Hermione explained excitedly.

The group looked at me for confirmation.

“Is it true love?” Fred asked softly, “You’re a princess?”

I nodded, letting out a quiet, “yes.”

Everyone was dead silent; you would have thought that someone had just dropped dead in front of us.

Angelina was the first one to break the silence, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

I sighed, “I didn’t want you guys to treat me differently. Because when your royalty and others see you, all people can think about is: she’s the princess, she’s next in line for the throne. And being princess, I’m never free. Every decision is made for me, every word, every moved has to be supervised because there’s always some sort of protocol that’s against it. You guys love me and care about me not because I’m the princess. But because you see the real me. You don’t see me as ‘Princess Y/N’, you guys see me as just Y/N.”

I felt Fred hold my hand under the table as I continued, “Here, I am able to be myself, without having to worry about the damn rules or the press. That’s why I spend every holiday I could at the Burrow. Because I like being free. Because I’ve felt more at home there that when I’ve spent a portion of my life at the palace. That’s why I kept my identity a secret. I feared that when you guys learned the truth, you would treat me differently.”

Fred and George encased me in a “Weasley twin hug” as the former kissed the top of my head.

“We’ll always love you darling.” He whispered, “Whether you’re royalty or not.”

I smiled, “Really? You’re not mad that I kept all of this a secret?”

George chuckled, “Of course we’re not.”

“Fred’s right. To us, your being a princess is just a title, but what matters is the side of Y/N that you want to show us.” Ginny added.

I laughed as all of them wrapped me in a group hug, “What did I do to deserve friends like you guys.”

Fred laughed, running a hand through my hair, “What did we do to deserve being friends with an actual princess?”

“Way to ruin the moment, Freddie!”

“Did you have to bring it up now?”

The rest of the group chimed as they playfully scolded Fred.

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @gostupid-godumb @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff  @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @lunylovelovegood @thefallengodesse (Send a Message/Ask or fill out my taglist form if you want to be added!)

𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

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[buckysrighthanddoll]

Bad Guy

Pairing: Loki x enhanced!Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking, fluff, a lil angst, and some of the team realizing that Loki isn’t as bad as they thought he was

When you were left to babysit the God of Mischief, you weren’t phased in the slightest. Sure, there were some nerves involved; Loki was the self-proclaimed bad guy. He was the cause for countless deaths in the Battle of New York, he seemed to have minimal morals, and he had a particular distaste for humanity.

Thor brought him to earth--or Midgard, as they called it--so that Loki couldn’t wreak havoc on Asgard. He thought that his brother could use a fresh start. Loki claimed that he was sick of vying for more extraordinary things, which you believed was bullshit. This was Loki--his entire life was nothing but lies and tricks.

But, nevertheless, Tony agreed to keep him holed up in the tower. Loki was never to be alone, but that spelled bad news for anybody who wasn’t busy. More specifically, you; you weren’t the newest to the team, but you were the most humane Avenger who also had a lot of free time. You showed compassion beyond the other members, and therefore were a perfect fit for the job.

Loki mainly kept to himself. He was always in his room, but occasionally he snuck off to different areas of the compound. He always told someone beforehand, which made the team feel better, but the cameras were always kept trained on him.

The first time you were introduced to Loki, your enhanced eyes picked up on his aura. It was a dark indigo color, not too bright and not too dull. You sensed isolation and a looming sense of self-hatred. This was the first reason you took a liking to the prince. The indigo hue also meant that he was hyperaware of people’s intentions, especially the unspoken ones.

And the first time you watched over Loki, you sat in the living room with him and turned on some music while he read and you wrote. He hardly said a word, although you caught him staring at you occasionally. He would just smirk a little and look back down to his book, and you would furrow your eyebrows and continue writing.

You weren’t intimidated by Loki. No, you weren’t as powerful as him, but you could see things that others couldn’t. Auras were the easy part, but you also felt a person’s emotions (no matter how well they were hiding them), and you could sometimes hear a person’s thoughts and see their dreams.

At first, Loki saw you as weak and naive. How else could somebody be so open to dealing with him?

The next several times you watched over Loki, you found yourself getting more attached to him. The conversations weren’t deep, but they left your mind reeling. His head was hard to get into, but you still tried.

One night, Tony said to take over Sam’s shift while he went to a mission debriefing. You weren’t feeling well on a mental level, yet you agreed.

You got to Loki’s door and let Sam go, and then you knocked. Loki opened the door with a smug smirk, but it was quickly wiped away when he saw how you looked. Sweatpants and a hoodie weren’t exactly a rarity for you, but your eyes were red, and you had dark circles and messier-than-normal hair.

His eyebrows furrowed as he shifts his weight. “Can we just go lay outside or something?”

“Of course, love,” Loki responded. If you weren’t so preoccupied with dark thoughts, you’d have questioned the pet name. Loki snaps his fingers, and suddenly he’s out of his black suit and in a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He walked beside you to the roof, where the stars were shining as brightly as they could within New York’s light pollution. Loki remained silent as you laid your back against the cold concrete, and then he followed your actions.

“I’m sorry this isn’t our normal babysitting routine,” You said, laughing drily.

“Don’t apologize; this is quite relaxing,” He responded. You turned your head to face him, only to find that he was already looking at you. “Do you do this often? Look at the stars, I mean?”

“Only when I need perspective,” You shrugged.

“How so?”

You turned your head toward the sky, admiring the twinkling lights. “It’s easy to see the night sky as two-dimensional. It looks like someone covered the earth with a black piece of paper and poked holes in it to let the light through. But each one of those stars is millions of lightyears away. Billions, even. Humans could never even hope to travel to one of them or the solar systems that orbit.” You point out one of the stars--not that it mattered which one. “That star right there doesn’t give two shits about our problems. We are as indistinguishable to them as ants are to us. Sometimes I feel like the world is falling apart, but then I come up here, and I remember that the universe was fine without humans--and it will be fine without us once we go extinct.”

“You speak so beautifully,” Loki starts, sighing as he turns onto his side. “Your mind must be a terribly dark place.”

A scoff erupts from you, and then you’re looking at the god. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Not at all,” Loki says. “You’re always wearing a mask around the team--around me. But this is unadulterated emotion. It’s quite admirable.”

You didn’t notice it until now, but his aura has shifted. It was still a deep indigo blue, but it seemed as though his walls were let down. His emotions were more apparent than they had ever been, and his thoughts nearly screamed at you. He thought about your strength and resilience--how you’ve fought through more shit than many could handle. Yet, here you were, breathing and having philosophical conversations with a god from another world.

“You know,” You start, sitting up. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

“And you don’t see it?”

“I see what’s inside. I see so much self-hatred that you’ve turned yourself into the monster others believed you were.” A short pause ensues as you allow Loki to interpret what you’re saying. “You’re not a monster, Loki.”

“I’ve killed thousands of people. I’m the prophetical cause of Ragnarok. I’m--”

“A misunderstood being who found that his whole life was a lie, and therefore became what others said you were. That’s not a monster. That’s a mask.”

“You’ve been in my mind, haven’t you?” He smirked.

You laid back down, shoulder to shoulder with the man beside you. “Only just now. Your walls are damn near impenetrable.”

“Good,” He quips jokingly. Silence falls between you, and all you can hear is the traffic from the city that never sleeps. You both resume staring at the stars until you’ve fallen asleep, and Loki carries you inside.

As Loki exits the elevator, Steve is scared to see you limp in Loki’s arms. Nat is on the defense until she sees that you didn’t pass out or die--you were leaning into Loki, an arm propped against his chest and your head in the crook of his neck.

“Loki what the--”

“Shh,” Loki interjects, making Steve even more upset. Natasha places a hand on his shoulder as a warning to calm down, and the three of them witness you stir a bit in your slumber and bury yourself deeper into Loki’s grasp. “She fell asleep on the rooftop; I’m just putting her in her bed.”

Steve fails to find words as Loki quietly walks down the hallway to your room. Once he gets Friday to let him in, he sets you on the bed. You wake up momentarily, only to ask him to stay with you for a bit. He supposed twenty minutes wouldn’t hurt, so he crawled under the sheets and laid next to you.

The instant you felt Loki’s coolness, you cuddled right into him. Your head rested on his chest, and your arm went around his torso to hold him tighter. What Loki didn’t expect was how warm this made him feel. He rests his arm around you and brings you in even closer. The twenty minutes he had planned on spending with you turned into an overnight stay; he fell asleep with you in his arms.

From then on, you were the only one to watch Loki when the team needed it. You were kind of bummed out that you were taken off missions, but the serenity of watching him made it okay. You watched movies together, stayed in your rooms and talked for hours on end, cooked together, and took naps together.

You hated to say it, but you were falling for Loki. He was respectful, and he was slowly (but surely) growing to tolerate humans and treat them as if they weren’t beneath him.

Tony had announced he would be throwing a party for Natasha’s birthday. He was going all-out and using the entire party deck--four floors included. You showed up late due to a doctor’s appointment earlier on, so the party was lively, and everybody was intoxicated.

You had on a little black dress, and you put effort into your hair and makeup. This was Nat’s birthday, after all, and you respected her a lot. You stayed by the bar area when you arrived to catch up to everybody else’s level of inebriation.

Loki found you less than ten minutes later. There was a clear connection between the two of you, to the point that you had considered that he was listening for your thoughts. “You look amazing, love,” He said, taking a seat next to you.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” You quipped, watching as the bartender placed five shots on the bar for you.

“Those for some friends?”

“No, they’re for me,” You responded, taking one after another. “I gotta catch up to the crowd.”

Loki chuckles, but then it drops when he sees the liquor cascading down your throat as if it’s water. “Dear, perhaps you should pace yourself.”

You shrugged and ordered a few more shots, and then a mixed drink to sip on. “I’ll be fine, Loki,” You started. You picked up the cup and chugged it back, going against the initial plan of taking it slow. Within minutes, you’re feeling the alcohol’s effects. Your mind goes fuzzy, as do your senses, and the world around you feels lighter. You decided to stop at this level for now since everything was pleasant. The loud music enticed you, and as you looked around, you saw Natasha dancing with Wanda. “And that is my cue,” You smiled, standing up. You wobbled slightly, but quickly caught yourself and briskly walked over to your teammates.

“Took you long enough,” Wanda laughed as you started dancing with them. Little conversation followed that, mostly dancing and singing to the songs.

A slower song came on, and the three of you groaned as you stepped away from the dancing crowd. Natasha and Wanda’s faces hardened as they looked just past you, which immediately told you that Loki was approaching. You turned around as he got next to you, holding out his hand.

“Would you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?” He asked, his tone as elegant as ever. You smiled and nodded, grabbing on to his cold hand and letting him lead you a few feet over to the crowd’s edge. One of his hands settle at your waist, and yours goes to rest on his chest. He holds your other hand, and then the two of you are swaying to the beat. “They don’t like me, do they?” He asked.

You give a small smile. “It’s less that they don’t like you, and more that they don’t like you with me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them.”

“Why’s that?” You asked. Your eyebrows turn up slightly as you gaze up to him. Loki can’t help but think that you looked more beautiful than any goddess he had ever met.

“I’m the bad guy, remember?”

“That’s what people want you to be,” You remind him. He extends his arm to twirl you and then pull you close to him--chest to chest, face to face. “You aren’t a bad person. You put up a wall so that people can’t get close to you. When will you let them down, Loki?”

Loki looks like an angel with the aura surrounding him. It changed right in front of your eyes. Where it was once dark indigo, now it was a clear and bright red. It meant that he could overcome any obstacle and sincerely wanted to change his life for the better. It nearly took your breath away.

“Perhaps now would be a good time,” He whispered. His eyes danced from your eyes to your lips, giving a physical hint to something that you knew just from reading his thoughts. He leans down slightly to gauge your reaction; he finds you also leaning in slowly. Your lips meet somewhere in the middle, and you can just feel the energy that surrounded you both.

His lips, like the rest of his body, were cool to the touch. Yet, they welcomed the heat of your body, like two opposite ends of a magnet meeting. You slowed to a stop in your dance, focusing on the euphoria that a simple kiss brought you. Loki cups your cheek to pull you even closer. The kiss feels like it lasts years, but it was only a few seconds. Your eyes flutter open as you pull away, and a smile spreads across your face.

Nat and Wanda watch with dropped jaws from ten feet away. “I’m gonna kill him,” Wanda states.

“No, Wanda, look at her,” Nat says, directing her friend’s attention to you. “She’s smiling--she’s happy.”

“Maybe she’s faking it.”

“She isn’t faking it,” Natasha responds. “The look in her eyes gives it away. She loves him.” She adjusts her stance and focuses on Loki. “And look at Loki’s face. It has genuine emotion. It isn’t stoic; it isn’t sarcastic--he’s letting her in.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Why didn’t she tell us?”

“She knows that nobody else trusts him.”

You could hear the conversation despite their hushed words. It was one of the perks of your enhancements. Loki could hear their thoughts, too, which caused him to smile even more. “Would you like to go to bed?” Loki asks you. You nod your head and let him lead you away from the party, into the elevator, and down to the residence levels.

You take off your makeup and change into comfortable clothes, and Loki does the same. It was routine now to hop into the bed together and immediately hold each other. This time, though, when the movie is turned on, neither of you focus on the plot. You’re too wrapped up in each other, kissing whenever one of you felt like it, talking here and there, and just being absorbed into each other’s consciousness.

Loki was the proverbial bad guy. He had done horrible things in his past, and he had turned himself into a monster because his father had told him he was one. But Loki wasn’t bad at all; he was misunderstood, yes, but not evil. This was a man that you could spend all of your days with, and who wouldn’t drain you. He was not a monster. He could never be a monster.

[byunbaekby]

One Day (PM 01:27)

Pairing: Reader x ex!Doyoung Summary: You’ve never been able to let Doyoung go. He remains in your heart though you can’t erase him, your memories that you can’t let go of. He lives in your books, though you try to ignore his presence. And now, he stands before you to remind you of that time you’ve lost. Word Count: 2.6k Author’s Note: Please enjoy this t h i n g that I wrote at one in the morning because Replay (PM 01:27) came on, and I’ve always loved that song. I’ve always felt like, although it’s kind of disco-y and upbeat, it had a deeper sadder meaning. So here is my word vomit, inspired by one of my favorite NCT 127 songs :)

-

Your break-up wasn’t supposed to be a break up.

Initially, it was just a break.

Fresh out of college with your undergrads, drowning in debt and lacking in love, you told your boyfriend of three years, Kim Doyoung, that you needed a break. You had simply grown apart, and needed time to reprocess your relationship. Being the understanding man you knew him to be, he obliged.

You had expected it to last a week or two, maybe a month. But Doyoung had packed his necessities from your shared apartment and, with a kiss on your forehead, left for Taeyong's place, promising to be back whenever you needed. But he never came back.

You didn’t really know what it was that kept you from calling him.

Perhaps it was that you were a writer. Your head in the clouds and your emotions always running wild, you constantly overthought every single detail of your relationship. You would keep telling yourself you needed more time away. That time grew from days, to weeks, to months, until it had been over a year since the last time Doyoung pressed his chapped lips to your skin in a chaste kiss.

Perhaps it was that Doyoung, as a law student, was far too emotionless and had no qualms giving you your infinite space, even as your relationship silently disintegrated. He respected your space, told you to reach out to him when you were ready. But you had never been ready.

Perhaps it was just that in your time apart, the love faded. You both came to realize this.

-

I can't move an inch, I’m still here. Afterimages of you dig into me like vibrations. At the end of the scene of longing that always circles my head. I heard a familiar sound.

It’s been two years since the last time you set foot on Korean soil.

After your break-up with Doyoung, after you came to terms with the fact that you would never collect the courage to pick up the phone and tell him that you made a mistake, you left your home for greener pastures. In other words, the States.

You had minored in English Literature anyways, and felt that you had a greater chance to kickstart your career in a different country. In some ways, perhaps you needed to get away as well. Get away from the craziness of Korea, from the reminders of Doyoung and the life you once shared together that was no longer attainable.

It’s all a lie, for your heart has been in the same place all this time.

Though it’s only been a mere three hours since you’ve stepped off the plane, your luggage tucked away in your hotel room somewhere negligible in your mind, you remember why you never wanted to return. If not for the release of your first Korean novel, you would have never come back.

Because Doyoung is everywhere.

You see him as you turn the corner, thinking you catch a glimpse of that ugly old car he had always insisted on keeping.

You feel him as you walk down the crowded street bustling with people in the afternoon, clutching your hand tightly to prevent losing you.

You taste him as you walk past a bar the two of you used to frequent, alcohol on his lips as you tugged him home with giggles on your’s.

And now, as you stand at a crosswalk surrounded by tens of commuting passerbyers, your hands tucked into the pockets of your Burberry trench coat, you hear him.

“Y/N?”

Except you turn and discover that he is real.

-

Between the passing people, your melody scatters. Just like then, we're facing each other.

“So… How have you been?”

He is first to break the awkward silence. Your hands, cold from both the air conditioning and your trembling nerves, clutch tighter at your cup of tea. You can see it now. Just four years ago, in the comfortable phase of your relationship, you sat with him in the same cafe, in that corner over there and helplessly in love.

Now he offers a tight-lipped smile to you.

“Fine.”

“Seems like you’re doing more than fine. I… I’ve seen your name on the news. And writer’s lists, your work is doing really well.” You would have never thought that he’d seen your writing. It was all in English, a language you didn’t remember him being too proficient in.

“I guess,” is your response. To anyone, you would have sounded indifferent, uninterested in a conversation with your ex.

A pregnant silence grows between you. Now, it is not Doyoung who is emotionless and stone-faced, but you. He had always been the rock in your relationship—you were infinitely falling apart in emotion and he was always putting you back together. Now, you are stone cold and he is reaching out to you.

“You still don’t drink coffee.” No, you don’t. You had always despised it.

“And you still drink your cafe latte with caramel drizzle.” This brings a soft smile to his face, as if amused by the fact that you could still recall such memories from your mind. What he doesn’t know is that you had spent almost three years away from him trying to banish these thoughts from your mind. You didn’t want to remember, yet he forever remained like an echo in your brain.  

“Yeah,” Doyoung starts. “Some things don’t change after all.” Oh, but they do. Everything has changed, except perhaps your preference in drinks.

Another silence.

He looks healthy. He doesn’t look like a man who had been blindsighted and left in the dark by his long term girlfriend and lover. His face is more defined, no longer softened by the image of youth. Shoulders broadened. Hair done. He dons a suit, pricey as you can recall the brand. But he’s still Doyoung, the man you had been in love with since you laid eyes on him at eighteen years old.

“I’m a lawyer now.” You hadn’t even thought to ask him about his whereabouts. How rude, you scold yourself.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Finished law school a year ago. I didn’t really want to but… Taeyong encouraged me to finish what I already started. I work at Jaehyun’s dad’s firm now.”

“Oh. That’s… nice.”

You wonder fleetingly if you sound uninterested, because you’re not. It’s quite the opposite.

You’re amazed.

Unable to prevent the river of memories that hit you, you relish in it instead. Doyoung hunched over his books for hours; Doyoung stressing over his law school applications, even though you had assured him multiple times that he would be accepted with flying colors; Doyoung always debating with you over the simplest topics, and you laughing to tell him that he’d make the perfect lawyer, always so argumentative. The only time he hadn’t argued was when you told him to leave.

Another silence, except this time, it is you who breaks it.

“I’m proud of you.”

A softness falls over Doyoung’s eyes which are typically always so guarded.

“Thank you.”

-

Old memories, frozen times. Songs we listened to together. You and I, it's clear like it was yesterday.

“You hate it!”

“No… I never said that, baby.” You stare at him with narrowed eyes and a pout on your lips. The two of you are sitting on your bed in your PJs, it is nearly two in the morning. In his hands, your boyfriend holds the first draft of your first short story.

Though he tries to keep a straight face for half a second, he soon bursts into laughter, tilting his head back. With an indignant grunt you snatch the papers from him.

“You’d be a horrible lawyer, you’ve got horrible resolve,” you frown, clutching the papers close to your chest with a pout.

“Baby,” he says, remnants of his laugh from earlier still present in his voice. “It’s not poorly written.” As he speaks, you tuck the papers into the drawer of your nightstand and instead tuck yourself into his arms. “It’s just cliche, I mean, her parents are dead from a drunk driving car accident? She falls in love with a boy after they get paired for a project together? This is K-drama central.”

“It was the best I could do,” you mumble into his chest as he pulls you close in bed, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Thank you for your best.” Even when he is making fun of you, you feel the sincerity in his words. He never means to hurt you; that is Doyoung. He is brash and serious, sometimes too serious to the point where you don’t know when he’s joking, but he never means to cause you any pain. “But I know you’ll be better one day. And one day, I’ll read every single one of your books. I promise, and you know I’m a lawful man!”

One day. One day with Doyoung, you can see it already. “Yeah, one day when you’re the top lawyer at the firm and I’m a famous author.” You grin, tearing from his chest to shoot him a bright smile. “People will pay you billions to have you protect them, and I’ll be picking out stars for my first movie… Song Joongki will do.” This brings a giggle from your throat.

He presses his lips to your forehead, a trademark of his.

“Sounds like a plan, love. One day.”

-

We were so perfect and it hasn’t faded. I want to turn back time.

Though the two of you are standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by a bustling crowd of people and noise which never seems to cease, the silence is overwhelming.

It’s the same silence that lingered between you for years following your “break,” because neither of you were willing to smash it. Smash the wall between you, one that had been erected without either of your knowledge. The two of you have changed, have grown, have become adults. Yet it seems you are still both afraid.

He walks you to the crosswalk that you had earlier met at. As you are waiting for the light to turn green to allow your journey across the street, Doyoung produces something from inside his suit jacket.

It is your book, the first with its phonetics written in Korean, your mother tongue. It had only been released yesterday.

“I just finished reading this, on my lunch break, when I saw you.”

Does he know? Does he know that it is your story? A story of love, of the love that never asked but never ended. A question mark on the end of a seven year long story, never to have an ending? A couple that falls in love, falls apart, and moves on. Life doesn’t have happy endings, after all.

“You read it?” “Of course. I promised I’d read all your books.” The thought makes your heart lurch, but rather than lean away from him, it reaches out to him.

“Thank you for today. I know it was sudden, but thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to have coffee with me.. Miss famous author.” You look up to him and he has a slight smile curving on his lips.

“Any time, Doie.” The name catches him off guard, but he tightens his lips and smiles. You mirror it.

Yet another silence grows and you almost wish you could live the rest of your lifetime without ever thinking, writing, or experiencing that word ever again.

The look that Doyoung has on his face is stoic. You want him to say it, you know he has something unsaid. It almost feels as though he has dug it from within him after three years. You know it. Say it, you want to urge him in your head.

“Have a good life, Y/N.” It is a goodbye, a final closing on your story which had been left open-ended for so many years. The thought makes you want to cry. Just hours ago you had stepped off the plane, thinking that you were perfectly content in this new life you had grown without Kim Doyoung. Now, the thought of living without him causes your heart to tighten painfully.

“You too, Doyoung.”

The light turns green. You turn your back to him.

Like Doyoung had done at your request a number of years ago, you walk away.

-

Our hearts that connected one by one. Our hearts that beat toward each other. In this moment, we want the same dream.

You’ve counted twenty steps when you can’t walk any further. Frantically you turn around, and search for his disappearing head in the crowd of people.

No, you can’t allow him to walk away. Not again.

“Doyoung!” You yell, but he can’t hear you. The silence is deafening.

Though the light on the crosswalk has now turned red, you sprint across. You cannot lose sight of him, you cannot allow yourself to lose him once again.

“Doyoung!” Please.

You have found him. He is walking, his eyes to the ground and your book in his hands. You have to find it—the courage, the voice within you to call out to him.

You love him.

“Kim Doyoung!” He stops. He’s heard you.

Doyoung stops in his tracks and turns over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to walk away on the crosswalk back to your hotel and out of his life once again. But no, you were standing here before him with panting breaths and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” There, you have said it. You are sorry for letting go. You are sorry for allowing your relationship to dissipate into thin air and nothingness. You are sorry for running away, and for never being able to say it until now. “I love you, I love you so much. I’ve never stopped loving you. I tried to ignore it and pretend I didn’t, and pretend that I didn’t care when you never came back from Taeyong’s. I pretended I didn’t care when I threw out the stuff you left behind, I pretended it didn’t hurt me when I stepped on that plane.” Your tears are free-falling now, and suddenly you feel Doyoung’s large hands on your cheeks, cupping them as your book falls to the ground. How foolish you must look, crying in the middle of the day in the midst of the city, but you don’t care.

“I pretended that I didn’t miss you, I pretended my heart didn’t do a thousand and one flips when you called my name today, I pretended that everything would be okay eventually if I kept ignoring the fact that I couldn’t live without you, because I thought it would be okay one day.”

One day.

“But I don’t want that day to come. That day where I can live without you. I want our one day. The one day where I’m happy and you’re happy and we can live out our dreams that we’ve planned since we were stupid kids in love in college. The one day where we can be okay again... Doyoung, I want you. I want your one day and the rest of your days.” Your voice catches in your throat. To be able to admit aloud verbally, to both him and yourself, it makes you cry even harder.

You hadn’t noticed until now that your tears were matched by his. God, you love him so much.

“Okay,” Doyoung manages, voice low as his shaky breath touches your lips. “Today.”

Cause I just want to be, I just want to be loved.

[ineloqueent]

time enough

Gwilym Lee x Reader

synopsis: you’re stressed and Gwil’s busy, but he’s always got time for you.

warnings: descriptions of anxiety, mentions and description of a panic attack

word count: 1.5k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

It had been a rough morning.

Scratch that.

A rough day. A rough week? Month? Year?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t going well.

You were studying ceaselessly, because attempting to get a doctorate in history was not what one would call “a walk in the park.” In fact, it was quite the opposite. You felt as though you were running down a steep, steep slope, at the end of which lay a cold, dark lake, which you would have no choice but to swim across in order to climb the mountain on the other side, atop which the Ph.D. was being held captive by a dragon, like some fairytale princess.

Indeed, your Ph.D. seemed like a fairytale, because how you were ever going to finish earning it was beyond you. You’d been at this for years and years already, and it seemed as though there was no end in sight. However much you loved history and that which you were studying in particular, the process of getting such an advanced degree was an arduous one, and some days, you thought you’d never make it.

For instance, today, one week before the final exam of your entire university career, the sky was falling down upon you.

It was Friday, and you’d been studying for this exam since four Fridays ago, and you were going around in circles. It seemed impossible to memorise all of those people, and all of those dates, all of those fucking movements, though you were sure they’d been in your head before.

You needed to get out of your apartment. You’d opened the window, but the air had remained stuffy, and the sun which beat down heavily was of no help. You were tired, running on a combination of caffeine and nervous energy, your hands growing shakier by the minute.

The pen fell from your grip as you stood up, knocking your chair to the ground in your hurry.

Out, out, out, get out. The room was too small, the walls were up against you, and you were finding it difficult to breathe.

You threw on your shoes and fumbled for your house key, stumbling out the door and only just remembering to close it behind you, let alone lock it.

You needed to get this off of your mind, this endless loop of studying and writing papers and reading papers, and there was only one person capable of helping you.

You knew where the shoot was, and it wouldn’t take you long to get there by car, but you wanted— needed—  fresh air, and didn’t trust yourself to drive with your quivering hands, so you began to run.

You nearly got into a road accident numerous times, and angry shouts followed you everywhere you went, but you could only hear the wind rushing in your ears and the hard concrete beneath your shoes.

You ran all the way to set, and when you got there, you faced the inevitable obstacle of a barricade and the security guard reluctant to let you in. But then you spotted Gwilym.

For a moment, you held your breath, your knuckles turning white as they gripped the barricade.

You didn’t want to trouble him. And he was very obviously busy, going over the delivery of a particular line with his co-star, prior to the shoot which awaited them on the footpath by the road, where the cameras were stationed.

But then for what reason had you come all this way?

By no small amount of courage, you called out to Gwil.

He spun at the sound of your voice, just as an assistant touched his arm to get his attention concerning the start of the shoot.

Your stomach dropped to your toes. He hadn’t seen you.

There were tears in your eyes now, and you couldn’t stop them, couldn’t even wipe them away for your shaking hands, your shaky breaths.

He hadn’t seen you, and he was going to leave and you were going to stay here behind the barricade, tearful and panicky and embarrassed and ashamed.

There was commotion over by the camera crew, but then one voice, assured, firm, clear, cut through.

“If you’ll excuse me, please, that’s my girlfriend you’ve barred from the premises.”

You were sinking to the ground by the barricade, your chest contracting, your skin cold and clammy, and then Gwil was jumping the barricade and kneeling on the ground beside you.

“Gwil, we need to—”

He raised a hand, and the gesture silenced the assistant. It wasn’t an impolite gesture, simply one which asked respect of the recipient, and for Gwil’s reputation of going out of his way to help others, the assistant nodded and walked away.

You were dimly aware of Gwil’s fingers curling around your own. He didn’t get in your face, but he also didn’t shy away, frightened by the panic which wracked your body.

“Hey, love?”

You turned your head to find him looking at you, all soft eyes and even breaths, and there was a calmness in just looking at him.

“You’re going to be alright. This’ll be over in a little bit, and then we can talk and go anywhere and do anything you like, yes?”

He was being so gentle, so kind, and the ghost of a smile touched his lips when you nodded in response to his askance, so much that you almost nodded again, just to see him smile fully.

But your vision still blurred at the edges— green and purple and black— and you remembered, all of those people, and all of those dates, all of those fucking movements, all of those things you were never going to remember, and you gasped as the intake of air constricted your lungs.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Just breathe with me.”

His thumb traced a gentle line at the base of your palm, and then he began to count slowly.

“One, you— the only one who matters right now. Two, how many days it took me to fall in love with you. Three, the number of drinks I had before I mustered the confidence to talk to you. Four, how many times I tried to talk to you on the same night before I gave up. Five, the number of weeks I thought about asking you out before I actually did it.

“Six, the hour I arrived to pick you up that first time. Seven, the time I was actually supposed to pick you up, but I’d forgotten about daylight savings. Eight, the number of constellations I memorised to try and impress you on that first date. Nine, the number of constellations I forgot how to identify, but you looked so happy staring up at the stars, so I pretended I knew them.

“And, because I can’t count, ten million billion trillion, how many times I will tell you I love you, if it makes you even half as happy as the first time I told you.”

That soft smile had reappeared on his face, and the colours were returning to the world.

You noticed that Gwil had sat down beside you, not minding his costume, or the fact that the ground would dirty it beyond all repair.

“I’m so proud of you, you know that? This Ph.D. thing… I could never do it. But you…” Gwil exhaled, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, as though he truly could not believe how you managed. There was a great, unspoken respect in his words, and his confidence in you was far lovelier than anything else you had ever been given. “You work yourself too hard, beautiful. Breaks are good. We all need breaks.”

With a tenderness, he smoothed the hair from your forehead, and your breathing began to return to normal.

“Do you…” your voice hitched on the words, and Gwil was passing you a bottle of water he’d conjured from god knew where. You sipped a little, then handed it back to him.

“Slowly,” he said. “Take it easy.”

“Don’t you need a break from me, sometimes?”

His brow furrowed, but you kept talking.

“I mean, I turn up out of nowhere, and I— I— I ruin your day, the shoot, the—”

“Shh, love,” he touched your hand. “Breathe in and out. Slowly.” He then shook his head again. “You could turn up out of nowhere any day of the week, and I’d be over the moon to see you. And you haven’t ruined my day or the shoot or anything. I’m only sorry I wasn’t at home with you today.”

“But you’re busy and I—”

“I’ve got time enough, and all the time in the world for you.” He canted his head slightly, looking at you. “I think I should tell you, you are my world, and taking a break from the world would mean giving up on life, and while you’re here, there is no thought further from my mind.”

There were tears in your eyes again. But these were not tears of panic, of fear. Your heart swelled with happiness, with hope.

He kissed your hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, and held onto him until the light faded from the sky.

[thefoodwiththedood]

"At Her Side"

Here's another installment to the big, overarching story I've been doing with Hatou, Eobea, and Oesta! Chronicled here are the first few week's of Eobea's reign as Empress of Iridonia, and, parallel to that, Hatou's last few weeks in her service.

To see what events have led up to this story, you can also check out my other stories I’ve made so far: “Strategy,” “Rising Phoenix,” “Good Guys,” and "The Last Time I Saw My Father" Let me know what you think of this bit!

Characters: Hatou Koros, Empress Eobea Xovrada

Setting: 19 BBY, Iridonia

Word Count: ~2,500

“Eobea, it’s—”

She was looking out the window when I came in, her gaze cast over the thousands crowding outside the palace. When she turned to me, I couldn’t help but be silenced. It was as if one of the royal portraits had sprung from its frame; her coronation gown, all white silk and gold, shone bright as it reflected the setting sun. She was to be crowned, and she more than looked the part—the only thing that betrayed it was her eyes, still puffy from a day spent mourning. In her hands, she held the crown the great Xovrada had once worn. Her father’s crown. Her crown.

“It’s...almost time to begin.” I started again. Both our gazes fell to the crown. “I heard the royal goldsmith was up all night reshaping it for you. Does it fit?”

She let out a ragged breath. “I haven’t had the nerve to try it on yet. I just…” she trailed off, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. I joined her. “I can’t see myself ever being who—what he was. I don’t know if I can win them over like he did.” she sighed, turning the crown in her hands so it faced her. “I don’t know if this will ever fit.”

“It will.” I said, calling her attention back to me. “You were born to do this, Eobea. You’ve wanted this your whole life.”

“I have,” she rasped, “But...not like this.”

No response seemed sufficient for that. Instead, I wrapped my arm around her, and she all but melted into my shoulder. We stayed like that for a while, and I closed my eyes as I held her. I could almost feel that hers were still open, still fixed on the crowd outside. What she was thinking, I couldn’t have fathomed. “What are you going to say?”

“What I have to say,” she answered, “to cement myself as the rightful ruler. To quiet everyone’s fears about Palpatine. To protect my people. I just hope they’ll trust me.”

“This is a confusing time, Eobea. They’re scared. with time, they’ll grow to trust you.”

“And you?” she sat up, and our eyes met. “Do you trust me? Will you stay by my side?”

“Always. You have my word.”

Another pause. “Then,” she stood, smiling, if only a little, for the first time in days. “I have everything I need.”

With that, I followed her out. I was at her side at the ceremony, as she was crowned. I was at her side when she gave her coronation speech, when she made clear what her first act as Empress would be.

I was at her side when she saved Iridonia, and left the colonies to die.

. . .

“Her Highness, Empress Eobea of Iridonia, has the floor.”

As I announced her, she strode confidently to the podium in the great hall’s center. At her back stood her loyal entourage: advisors, dignitaries, allies from across Iridonia. Before her sat the Federation of Zabrak Colonies: delegates from all corners of Zabrak space, collectively representing tens of billions of people. Centuries ago, Xovrada had created this federation to promote peace and cooperation between Iridonia and her former colonies. Now, as far as these representatives saw it, it was every planet for itself. I was at her side, as always.

“It has come to my attention,” she began, her voice booming throughout the room, “that the members of this esteemed federation have taken issue with my strategy for dealing with the threats imposed by Emperor Palpatine. I have come to hear these issues in person, and—”

“Issues?” In a huff, the representative from Feldrona had shot to his feet, red in the face beneath his long, graying beard. “Your majesty, it’s far worse than an ‘issue’—pulling your forces back to Iridonia has left us defenseless, and we can’t help but fear a takeover is imminent. We haven’t the might to repel invaders ourselves; we need your help!”

“There will be no such takeover, representative,” she replied, her wavering confidence betraying her words, “I made clear in my address that any attack on my people would be met with swift and decisive retaliation, and I—”

“Ha! Of course you’d spring at the opportunity to protect Feldrona first” Now, it was the representative from Valrar’s scientific council, an old woman who may or may not have been a scientist herself. “What of Valrar, your highness? We produce no food for Iridonia, unlike those fishmongers—I suppose the natural wonders of our world are expendable, then?”

“Oh, forget your natural wonders, they’ve never turned a profit for anyone!” the Frithian representative countered. “If our Empress here is going to divert forces anywhere, I’ll make certain it’ll be to our mines!”

Eobea took a deep breath while they spoke. “My greatest priority is my people, representatives, and I intend to—”

“My people, for one, fully support your stance, Empress!” far in the back, a gaunt man in black robes stood, unmistakably representing Alderbathe. “We trust your judgement fully, and we wish you luck in vanquishing the scourge that is Sheev Palpatine!”

“You just want the Iridonians out of your business!” cried someone. “Cultist swine!” heckled another. From there, order broke down as the representatives haphazardly talked over each other. I could only watch as Eobea stood silently, her metal hand clenching into a fist.

“Rustibar won’t last a day against an Imperial invasion!!”

“Lorista is in too fragile a position for this—if the Rrult attack us, their blood and ours will be on your hands!”

“Namadii V must have a buyer for its technology, or our economy will collapse!”

“Empress,”

At the sound of this final voice, the cacophony quieted. The representative from Iridia slowly rose to their feet, directly opposing Eobea. I had seen them speak many times before; they were a renowned orator, one of my planet’s finest. “We are hardly a week into your reign, and already you have betrayed our trust. Your decision to protect only Iridonia, while simultaneously threatening Palpatine with a long and bloody engagement should he attack, will only serve to put our worlds in Imperial hands.''

“On the contrary.” Eobea said, her tone icy, “my strategy is working. My people support me. I—”

“Iridonia supports you—an Empress has a duty to all Zabraks, not just those she can see from her palace.” the representative’s voice rose, and I watched Eobea’s shoulders rise and fall with each new, seething breath. “This was the way of Xovrada, who first brought our worlds together. This was the way of Stotrau, who will go down in history as the defender of the Zabraks. I ask you, Empress Eobea: are you prepared to go down in history as their—”

“Enough!”

Eobea’s metal fist crashed down onto the podium, splintering its wooden top and silencing the room. Even I recoiled. In the moment, I remember wishing I could’ve calmed her down, but there was no stopping her. Not anymore. “I refuse to stand here,” she shouted, “and be lectured by you...you ingrates! After all that Stotrau—nay, all of my predecessors have done for your worlds, you still come to beg for aid, to proclaim how helpless you are? Our people were warriors once—we were explorers, conquerors! You’ve all grown soft in your security—cowards, all of you!”

No one spoke. Eobea returned her gaze to the still-standing Iridian representative. “Since some of you are so worried about what my legacy will be, allow me to be clear on that point. I will go down in history as nothing less than what I am: the one Zabrak who has stood undaunted in the face of this coming challenge, even while my fellows buried their heads in the sand and begged to be saved. I will be victorious—Iridonia will be victorious!” She paused, scanning the room. “Either support us as we fight, and join us in our victory...or stay out of our way.”

The Iridonians in the room cheered. The colonial representatives sank back to their seats. Instead of waiting for any further comment, Eobea stormed out, effectively adjourning the meeting. I followed her.

“Are you alright?” I said, matching her surprisingly brisk pace until, after a second, she stopped. “I didn’t think you...I mean, that was—”

“Unfortunate” she sighed, turning away from me. “I knew there’d be moments like this. Moments where I’d have to take charge. I don’t like to lose my temper, you know that. But still, that was…”

She crossed her arms. She was shivering. I moved closer, set my hands on her shoulders, reminded her wordlessly that she still had a friend in me. “What?” I whispered, “What was it?”

She chuckled as she turned to me. In spite of everything, she was smiling. “It was exhilarating.”

I was at her side, as I’d promised to be—but for the first time, that didn’t feel so comforting.

. . .

“Ready, Eobea?”

Instead of responding, she simply drew her sword and stood ready. I did the same.

She attacked first. Her blade lunged forward, just missing my head as I ducked left. She swung it back around, and I ducked right. I parried her third strike, then her fourth. She dipped, aiming for my legs, and I thrust my blade down to stop her. A pause. My turn.

I spun back, swinging my blade high, but she deflected as I brought it down. I recoiled, and she spun in turn, the momentum carrying her next strike. Our blades clashed, metal on metal again and again, but each of our defenses were solid. It only stopped when I ducked away, narrowly missing a sweep through where my neck would have been.

Coming up, my Zhaboka’s second blade caught her off-guard, and she stumbled. I seized the opportunity. Rushing her with my blade held forward, she held her guard, but still I pushed her back to the wall. Her sword was pressed to her throat, held there by my own. For a moment we stood silent, save for our heavy breaths. “And that,” I panted, “is your head.”

She smiled, her eyes darting away from mine. “Check again.”

Looking down, I saw her cybernetic arm at my side, a shining dagger sticking out from its wrist and poised to pierce my armor. I watched as, with a slight cocking of her hand, she withdrew the blade back into her forearm. “That’s new,��� I managed.

“I just had it installed yesterday.” I backed off, and she stepped away from the wall. “Between it and our little sparring sessions, I’m feeling confident,” she paused, smiling as the blade sprung forth, then disappeared again, “No Imperial assassin is going to sneak up on me.”

I swallowed. “You’re getting better every day we practice. You’ll be a formidable warrior in no time.”

“Thanks to you.” She smiled, tossing her sword aside as she turned back to face me. “You’ve been so sweet to me through this past month. I…” she paused, cupping my face in her hands, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. My dear champion…”

She kissed me. I didn’t push her away—how could I? I was hers. Her knight in shining armor. Her dear champion. This, at least, still felt right.

“Pardon the intrusion, your grace, I—” a voice from the door of the training hall spoke up, but was silenced the instant the speaker saw us. Not long ago, being caught like that would have spelt doom for us. Now, the aide I saw in the doorway seemed to tremble at the very thought of crossing his Empress. “I...I bring urgent news...from the war front…”

“I’m busy.” Eobea scowled, and I watched the aide’s trembling grow stronger. “Fine,” she said, releasing me. “Make it quick.”

The aide cleared his throat. “Y-yes, Highness. The campaign in the Vardoss system is finished; as you commanded, your forces have been recalled to Iridonia.”

“Good,” she replied. “That traitorous backwater has been a thorn in our side for far too long—I’ll enjoy watching the Vardossians and the Empire continue their squabbling alone.”

“I’m...afraid the moon is already under Imperial control, Highness. The Vardossian holdout has been...wiped out.”

“I see,” Eobea paused, shooting a glance back at me. We both knew my father, the High General, had been tasked with leading that campaign. “And...what casualties did our people suffer?”

The aide didn’t answer. He only looked over Eobea’s shoulder, at me. He must have known who I was.

“I asked you a question,” she repeated. “Answer. Now.”

With a shaky breath, the aide answered. “General Autugo Koros...he stayed on the moon, while the rest of your forces returned to Iridonia. He sought to rally the remaining Vardossian rebels against the Empire. He was...killed...when the Empire took Vardoss.”

. . .

“Hatou!”

Eobea found me soon enough—in truth, there weren’t many places I could retreat to but my own quarters. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be found just yet, but still, I didn’t protest when she joined me at the balcony. I could tell she wanted to say something, but the words weren’t coming to her. Instead, we simply looked out over Iridonia, the planet we had both lost our fathers for.

“I…I’m sorry, Hatou.'' she finally began, her now-infamous confidence nowhere to be found. For but a second, I thought that the Eobea I had known—the Eobea I had once fallen in love with—had come back to me. I was wrong. “I’m sorry that these things have to happen.”

Whatever I had expected her to say, that was not it. “What…” I stammered, “What about this had to happen, Eobea?”

She shook her head. “I thought you, of all people, would understand. Wars must be fought. Sacrifices must be made. Lives must be laid down, so that our people—” “And just what was my father to you, if not one of our people? What is Iridia, my home, to you?” I paused, holding back the tears welling in my eyes, “What am I to you?”

“You’re everything to me, you know that.” she took my hands, and I went silent. I didn’t know that, in fact. I was never sure of it, nor was I then. “Forget Iridia, Hatou. Forget your people. Your place is here, with me.”

My hearts sank. I pried my hands from hers, and backed away. “No.”

“You could rule by my side, Hatou! You and I can triumph over Palpatine together, I know we can!”

“No.”

“I need you”

I went quiet. This, if nothing else, I believed. “I love you, Eobea,” I finally said, “But I can’t be part of what you’re doing here...I can’t stay and watch you become...this.”

I walked past her. She didn’t move. “You said...you said you’d stay with me. You’d stay by my side.”

“Goodbye, Eobea.”

“You promised!”

I kept walking. There was nothing I could say. Not anymore.

“Hatou!”

I left her. She never went after me, but she never stopped calling for me either. It wasn’t until I left the palace that I stopped hearing her shout my name.

Maybe she was already gone. Maybe her mind could still be changed. Maybe she was always like this, and I’d been too blind to see it.

All I knew was that I wouldn’t stay at her side. I couldn’t.

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 7

Summary: y/n goes to therapy, is a confirmed hoodie stealer, and gets a pep talk from sam wilson and wanda maximoff

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma, me attempting to write a therapy session 

Word Count: 3850

A/N: so many things. 1) i’ve never been to therapy (even tho i desperately need it) so i’m solely basing that off of Freaky Friday with Lindsay Lohan. 2) i live for sleepy tropes and i hella indulged. 3) sorry not sorry

                                                         //////////

“Your projects are due next Monday. Have one partner email me who your group is working with, and no, Mr. Thompson, you can’t work with students from other periods. Class dismissed.”

“Want to work together?”

We had been going to class together for a month now, but it always seemed like Peter was surprised whenever he saw me sitting next to him. Maybe it wasn’t surprise...

“Yeah. When do you want to work on it?” I shoved my notes into my already disorderly backpack and slung it over my shoulders. It was starting to get colder in New York, but I was still wearing t-shirts and shorts (mostly because I could keep myself warm and also because I’m stubborn as hell).

“Thursday? Or do you want to start sooner than that?”

“No, I can do Thursday. Are you going to the compound this weekend?” It wasn’t more than a whisper, but I still checked who was around before asking. You can never be too careful.

“Yeah, May’s driving me up after school on Friday. Want a ride?”

I smiled. “That’d be nice.” People were slowly making their way out of the building to head home for the day, but I was heading to Manhattan.

“You going home?”

“No, I’m seeing my shrink. I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He turned right, I turned left, and I might have turned around and glanced back at him over my shoulder, just for a second.

But so did he.

/////////

Taylor’s office had a billion plants and as many windows in it. She always had a candle burning that smelled like clean laundry, and she liked to talk first whenever we met up. That’s why I liked her so much.

“Remember my crazy neighbor’s dog?” She was watering one of her plants when I walked in. “Guess who I accidentally ran over?”

“You ran over a dog?” I left my backpack by the door and grabbed my own watering can.

“No, not the dog. I ran over my neighbor while he was chasing after the dog.”

I laughed. “Like that’s much better.”

“Running over a dog is unforgivable, Y/N. A person is understandable.” We finished watering the plants then sat down at the huge floor-to-ceiling window that took up her back wall. Another reason I liked Taylor: I actually do stuff while I’m talking with her. It’s not like I’m sitting on a couch staring at her while I talk about my feelings, we’re on equal ground. The last couple visits I’ve worked on painting New York, but I haven’t made much progress because I’m a shit painter. “That’s not the point,” Taylor would say, “it’s all about going with it. Be a shit painter. Own it.” Yeah, we get along great.

“No more panic attacks since the first day.”

“Yeah? That’s great.” Unlike me, Taylor is a phenomenal painter. Her skyline had identifiable buildings. Mine had — I think one looks more like a tree than a building. (That’s one huge tree.) “Any nightmares?”

Oh. We’re going there today. “Just on bad days.”

“How often are the bad days?”

After the Blip and before Europe, my bad days went from every day to maybe once a week. Then Europe fucked me over. Now? I don’t know. “Whenever they feel like it.”

“C’mon, Y/N, you can do better than that.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “It’s not like it’s a cycle, like the moon or a period or our meetings. It’s sporadic, Taylor, and fucking exhausting.”

“Why? Why are the bad days so exhausting?”

I may or may not have angrily made a bird smash against a window in my painting. “Because I’m the only one who knows. Mom guesses, most of the time, but it’s like she’s still dancing around me. Dad sees it when he’s home, but he doesn’t know what to do. And—“ I almost said ‘and Peter.’ That would’ve been awkward. “And my friends make it better, but they’ve got their own shit to deal with, and I don’t want to dump any of my problems on them. And I know you’re going to say ‘Internalizing your pain is bad, Y/N,’ but it’s the only solution I can handle right now until I muster up the courage to actually talk to my mom again. I mean, last time I needed Jess by my side, how the hell am I going to handle it without her?”

“For starters, I’m proud of you for acknowledging the way to address the problem. And secondly, you don’t have to do it by yourself. I’ve actually been wanting to have another session with your parents, and now seems like as good of a time as any. Bring them around for your next session, and we’ll talk to them, together, about how you can get through bad days with their help. Okay?”

My lips quirked up, just a smidge. “Okay.”

“Now let’s talk about King T’Challa’s new suit, you can’t pretend you don’t have an opinion on it...”

///////

It was a bad day.

Which sucked, because it was also Thursday, and Peter was supposed to be over in half an hour to work on our project. And I was a mess.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom called from the living room. Her elementary school got out twenty minutes before Midtown, so she usually beat me home. “How was school?”

“It’s a bad day,” was all I said before I closed the door to my room. I didn’t slam it (not anymore) but I didn’t know anything else. I couldn’t tell if I wanted a nap, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to fly from rooftop to rooftop until I was too exhausted to come home; I didn’t know. Which sucked, because I’m the only one who could’ve told me the answer.

The was a light knock on my door. “Can I come in?” I didn’t respond, so Mom walked in. “Mind me asking why today was bad?” I still didn’t say anything, my face buried in my pillow. She sat at the edge of my bed, near my knees. “I can usually tell, you know.” It was a hushed voice that came out of her mouth - nothing like the loud and loving woman I’ve known almost my whole life. “You do a good job of trying to cover it up, but I can tell. Your shoulders are tenser than usual, and your eyebrows are crinkled together the second you step out of your room.” She sighed and put a hand on my back - her hands are always warm and usually smell like hand sanitizer from Bath and Body Works because she refuses to use the government-issued ones at school. “You dad and I have no idea what you went through while we were gone. We have no idea what you went through in Europe. But we’re here for you now, Y/N. You carry this weight around with you, and I just — I want you to know that you have people to share it with. Maybe not the weight itself, but the pain it’s causing you.” She removed her hand and set both of them in her lap. “I don’t know how to make the bad days better, so I need you to tell me when you’re ready. I’m here for you, baby.” She leaned down and kissed my head, then stood up and started walking toward the door.

When her hand was on the knob, I finally spoke up. “Thank you.” It was barely a grumble, but she heard it.

The door closed quietly, and I finally decided what I wanted to do.

Cry. I cried. For at least twenty minutes. I cried because of my abilities, I cried because I lost Jess as a mom, I cried because I went to Europe, I cried because Quentin Beck was an asshole that fucked up my mental state for probably the rest of my life, I cried because I killed a lot of people, I cried because now I was friends with Peter but at what cost?

He showed up, eventually. I heard him knock on the front door as I blew my nose. Mom, bless her soul, kept him distracted until I came out of my room myself. It took me another twenty minutes to finally convince myself to leave my room, and at that point I was too exhausted to keep myself warm anymore, so the cold breeze blowing through New York hit me in full force. I slipped a hoodie on, grabbed my backpack, and took a deep breath before opening the door.

Peter was sitting at the counter while Mom washed the dishes from breakfast this morning. She was back to talking loud, and he was listening with a smile on his face. My door closed and his eyes immediately darted to me. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Pete. Is it okay if we’re in the living room?”

Mom glanced between the two of us and tried to hide her little smile, but at least one of us caught it. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

He must’ve noticed my bloodshot eyes; he couldn’t stop staring. “Is that my hoodie?”

Shit. Is it? I glanced down at the Midtown Tech logo and remembered getting drenched at the compound after the sprinklers unexpectedly came on. Then Peter gave me his hoodie. “Shit, yeah, it is.” I pulled on the sleeves to take it off, but he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I have at least two more at home.” He pulled out his laptop and it was suddenly back to business. “Any ideas how we’re going to do this?”

We bounced ideas off of each other until we came to a rough draft, but it was getting later, and bad days always get worse at night.

“Shit, is it ten already?” Peter started gathering his things and stuffing them in his bag. “I told May I’d be home by ten, I hate being late.”

I pulled out my phone and sent May a quick text; we’ve had each other’s numbers since my first weekend at the compound. We lost track of time, he’s heading home now.

I figured. See you tomorrow :)

Peter stood up and started walking toward the door, and I followed him. I had spoken maybe twenty sentences the whole time (it’s a miracle we got this far in the project) but I couldn’t convince myself to say anything else before he left. And I wanted to. But I also wanted to cave in on myself — and we both know which option was winning that battle.

“Do you need a hug?” He basically had one foot out the door, but he turned around and asked me this.

“What?”

“Your heartbeat — it’s been off all day. And it still is right now, and — Do you need a hug?”

God, he was perfect. And I was so gone.

All I needed all day was a goddamn hug, and now he’s offering one, and tears started brimming in my eyes before I could even nod yes. He was so warm, and his voice flitted around in his chest, and I would’ve felt bad about getting tears on his shirt, except I didn’t care anymore. All I cared about was how the weight on my shoulders lifted when Peter Parker’s arms were wrapped around them.

“Are you going to be okay?” he mumbled in my hair. I only nodded again. “Okay.” He slowly loosened his grip, but not before he left a quick kiss on my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Another nod. “See you tomorrow.”

///////

Peter was going crazy. Since we hadn’t found any footage that could clear Spider-Man’s name without incriminating Peter he wasn’t allowed out as his alter-ego. And he was literally climbing the walls of the compound.

I was blowing gusts of air at him, trying to knock him down from the ceiling. We had officially finished our project only twenty minutes before, so I pulled up the EDITH footage from London, trying to think of how to clear Spider-Man’s name.

And then it hit me.

“Oh my god.” I ran to the computer and started typing away furiously. “I think I figured it out.”

He came back to the ground. “Figured what out?”

“We can just use the audio file from the video. Then your face doesn’t have to be in it at all.”

I found the file and played it over the speakers.

“EDITH! Turn off the drones.”

“Should I execute all cancellation protocols?”

“Yes, execute them all.”

It was perfect. Exactly what we needed.

“Peter.” I turned to him with a huge smile on my face. “This can save Spider-Man.”

“This can save Spider-Man,” he repeated. “Shit, Y/N, you just saved Spider-Man.” He wrapped his arms around me tightly and lifted me in the air, his laugh ringing in my ear. “I can still be Spider-Man!”

I laughed along with him. He set me down after a minute, but we were still standing unbelievably close together. One minuscule step forward and my lips would be on his. His heart beat jumped, and so did mine, but he didn’t pull away. Neither of us pulled away.

His tilted his head and kissed my cheek (which I still freaked out over) and then took a step back.

“We have to call Pepper and tell her.”

“Yeah, yeah.” FRIDAY started the call and Pepper was over the moon.

“We’ll get a press conference set up for tomorrow, and I’ll work on a statement. Peter,” this was the sternest I had ever heard her - even more serious than when she was talking to Morgan, “I know this is all good news, but you have to wait to be Spider-Man still. All of this press has to die down first before you can go out in the open again, okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Potts.”

“Okay. I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow.”

She hung up and Peter hugged me again. This one was way more subdued than the last one. “Thank you, Y/N,” he mumbled into my neck.

“You’re welcome, Pete.”

//////////

The press conference went well, according to Rhodey. “I think most of them were relieved to know Spider-Man’s not actually a murderer.” Everyone was dying to have Spider-Man come out and answer questions, but Pepper insisted no questions were being taken at that time, or ever.

MJ called Peter after the press conference was released to the public, and they talked for what felt like forever. The second he got the call I went to the training room: to distract myself or actually train, well, it doesn’t matter because both were done.

A simulation droid was about to “kill” me, but red magic tore it apart at the last second.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because Peter’s been talking on the phone for the same time you’ve been in here.” Wanda gave me a knowing look. You forget that she can read minds because she’s not invasive about it, but she’s always there, holding the information to either back you up or tear you down.

I sighed. “He’s talking to MJ. And I know there’s a high possibility that they’ll get back together but a part of me is hoping they won’t.”

“So you can be with him instead.” I gave a small nod. “Don’t give up yet, Y/N. I see the way he looks at you. You might have more of a chance than you think.”

“She’s right, kid.”

I jumped in surprise. “How long have you been listening?”

Sam smiled from the observation deck of the training room. “Long enough. Boys are stupid, they need all the help they can get.”

“I’ve given him plenty of help already. Literally.”

“Haha, very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. If it doesn’t work out with MJ, shoot your shot. I have a feeling you won’t be disappointed.” He winked before leaving, and Wanda followed suit.

I rolled my eyes before telling FRIDAY to pick another random simulation. “Make it a good one.” And, boy, did she. It was the hardest one yet, and all of my concentration was going into it. I was so focused I didn’t even notice Peter walk in until after I had won.

“Damn.”

I turned quickly to see him standing near the door, his hands in his pockets. “Hey. How’d it go?”

“It was okay. She saw the news.”

“But…”

“But it’s not happening. I-“ he looked down at the ground, “I can’t trust her. Not when she lost trust in me. And I- I think I’m interested in someone else.”

I nodded along. I tried to keep my heart as normal as possible but it was beating too hard from my adrenaline to be controllable; I’m almost positive Peter heard it jump at the news. “That’s understandable. Who’s the, uh, the someone else?” God, please be me.

Peter’s lips twitched up to a small smile. “You’ll find out eventually.” He stepped further into the room and relaxed a bit. “Want to do a round together?”

I wanted to. I really wanted to. But I was exhausted, and I think I pulled a muscle, and I could already feel bruises forming where I ungracefully fell on my side. So I just shook my head. “Some other time.”

My room had a bathroom attached to it, and that’s where I spent the next half hour, standing under the blazing hot water coming from the shower. Once I convinced myself to actually get out and change into pajamas, I grabbed my laptop and climbed into bed. I was going home tomorrow, I deserved a few hours of shuteye.

Then someone knocked on my door and ruined the whole ambiance.

“Oh, you’re - I was just - I’ll just go.”

“No, Peter, what’s up?”

He was standing there, hair damp from the shower, black t-shirt and flannel pajama pants on, looking hot as ever. “I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie, but you’re already in bed, so never mind.” He turned to walk away, and I almost let him because I was on-my-ass exhausted, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when he looked like that (soft, but also hot as fuck).

“Come on.” He turned, and I opened the door wider. “I was about to watch Gilmore Girls, but we can watch a movie if you want.” I pulled back the covers and left plenty of room for Peter to sit beside me.

“We can watch Gilmore Girls, I don’t mind.”

The second I pressed ‘play’ on the third episode was the second my eyes could barely stay open any longer. I tried so hard to watch Jess win Rory back, but sleep caught up with me and I let it win. I used Peter’s shoulder as a pillow and decided sleep was a battle I didn’t mind losing.

////////

I woke up to my alarm, but as quickly as my eyes opened, Peter’s arm pulled me closer to him. I was too tired to feel embarrassed or excited about the fact that Peter Parker was in my bed with an arm wrapped around me. All I wanted to was to turn off my alarm and go back to bed, but my dad was picking me and Peter up in two hours and I wanted to bully Sam into making me pancakes again.

“Let go, Peter,” I ended up mumbling, “I have to turn the alarm off.” He moved his arm off and I sat up and grabbed my phone. “I’m getting breakfast.”

It must’ve been my lucky day, because Sam and Bucky were in the kitchen. “‘Morning, sunshine. Sleep okay?” I looked at Sam with a hard glare, and he laughed. Of course he knew Peter was with me, FRIDAY knows everything.

I sat next to Bucky and thought of fluffy pancakes to ward off my burning hatred for Captain America. “Sam, how much do you love me?”

“Depends on what you’re willing to give me in exchange for the pancakes.”

Of course he already knew my move. Typical.

“I’ll delete half of the embarrassing footage of you saved in FRIDAY’s hard-drive.”

Sam looked at Bucky suddenly, extremely confused. “I thought that was done months ago.”

He just shrugged and drank his coffee. “Must not’ve gone deep enough. Good thing Y/N is here to catch it.”

Sam glanced between the two of us and sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll make you some stupid pancakes.”

I smiled, then Bucky slipped me ten dollars under the counter and whispered, “Save me the footage.” I winked back.

“Can I have some too?” Peter, soft as hell, came into the kitchen and sat beside me. (His knee was brushing up against mine.)

“Only if you have something to offer.” Sam liked us, I know he did (that’s part of the embarrassing footage FRIDAY has saved) but he was usually a dick to us - anyone who wasn’t Bucky (and even then) - in the morning. It was always playful banter, but we knew not to step too far before eleven o’clock.

“I promise not to test out my new long-lasting webs on anything you own.”

“Deal.”

The pancakes were delicious (“hell yeah they were, I don’t mess around with pancakes”) but my dad was at the compound before we knew it, and it was time to face reality again.

“I saw the press conference,” Dad said when we sat down in the back, “and everything was very convincing. Congrats on getting to be Spider-Man again, Peter.”

He beamed. “Thanks, Mr. Y/L/N. Anything exciting happen at the hospital recently?”

They talked medical, while I sat back and listened to the engine. It covered up their hearts, but that didn’t matter, because both would’ve sent me right back to sleep. And it did.

We pulled up to Peter’s complex an hour and a half later. There were still plenty of daylight hours left, but we both left more homework to today than we would like to admit and neither of our parental figures would be pleased with that.

“See you tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

I smiled back, genuinely, (I was giving those out way more often now) and waved. “Bye.” Dad and I drove back and walked up to the apartment bumping shoulders. Our schedules didn’t line up very often because he was needed in the ER a lot of the time, but we always had a sort of silent understanding. He unlocked the door and let me in first, but when my eyes landed on the kitchen table, I stopped mid-step.

Blood. Everywhere. On the walls, on the floor, on Mom’s floral couch she claimed “added personality” to the living room. No one else was in the apartment, I could tell, but then it just raised more questions:

Who’s blood is everywhere?

Where the hell is Mom?

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​ 

[machine-gun-casie]

Radio Interview

you just love talking about your boyfriend, machine gun kelly, and zach sang is not complaining.

a/n: if yall havent seen zach sang’s stuff on youtube i definitely recommend you do so, he is so lovely and such a good interviewer. 

also thankyou so much to @harringtonstudios​ for reading it for me and @fandom-central27​ deserves some credit for helping me brainstorm and make this fic sooo much longer than it was going to be in the first place

wc: 4.6k

“Hello! Welcome to the Zach Sang show! Today I have with me the oh so lovely y/n l/n. Thank you for coming.” Zach introduced you, officially starting the radio broadcast. 

You smiled and leaned back on the couch. “Thank you for having me. You’ve got such a comfy studio, man. It’s so great. A bit chilly though, wish I brought a blanket.” You laughed, shivering a little. The place was so comfy, bean bags everywhere. They had you and your mic set up on a really nice gray couch.

“Yeah, the ac’s been going crazy. We’ll get you a blanket though.” Zach motioned to someone outside of the studio.

"No it’s alright.” As soon as the words left your mouth, an assistant entered with a fluffy white blanket. “You know what, I can’t really say no to that.” You laughed.

“Alright, now that we’re all wrapped up and cozy. Hey, how are you?” Zach smiled warmly, his bubbly personality shining through instantly.

“I’m really really good, thank you for asking. I’ve been in a really good place recently. How about you?”

Zach sighed and rolled his eyes. “You know, going through some stuff. But it’s all good. If things aren’t meant to be, they aren’t meant to be.”

“Oh no.” You frowned. “You got some relationship trouble, huh? Yeah, my philosophy is the same, to be honest. Can’t force something that isn’t in the cards for you.”

“I agree one hundred percent. But you gotta have some good relationship advice for me. I mean, your relationship seems to be flourishing.” Zach smiled. You felt the blood rushing to your cheeks. Everyone knew it was going to come to this. You wouldn’t even be surprised if the whole interview was going to be about this.

“Maybe.” You smiled, hands coming up to hide your blushing face.

“Oh come on now, you’re definitely not this shy on your socials.” Zach teased.

“Yeah, but that’s different, man. That’s not like, face to face. Do we really gotta talk about this?” Your nervous laughter made your comment light, letting the radio show host know you were kidding.

“You know we have to. You and Machine Gun Kelly. Who knew? Like, the biggest shock of the year so far.” Zach laughed. “You and him are so different. You’re like America’s pop sensation sweetheart right now. And he’s a rockstar!”

“I know! I thought no way would he even give me the time of the day!” You giggled.

“But I read that you were a big fan before even meeting him. Is that true?”

“Oh definitely! Most people look at me and my career and they immediately label me a pop fan, but it’s not true. I mean, I obviously love pop, but I can like other things too. I’ve been part of the EST family for a while now.” You clarified.

“And EST, that’s Kelly’s fan base, is that correct?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Now, how the hell did y’all meet? It was so sudden for the rest of us. How could your paths have crossed?” Zach laughed.

“It’s kind of a long story...” You trailed off.

“And I am so very willing to listen.” Zach smiled. It wasn’t even like he was interviewing you, it was like he was your best friend and he wanted all the details.

“Well, a while ago, I was the musical guest on SNL.” You explained.

Zach’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I remember that, you were great. That was almost a year ago! Has this been going on for that long?”

“Kind of.” You shrugged, giggling. Zach rolled his eyes and continued. 

“Anyways, you did uhh two songs at SNL, right? You did ‘Hold Me’ and what was the other one?”

“I did ‘Hold me’ and I did ‘PDA’. It was so much fun. I even got to be in one of the sketches, but like only in the background. Honestly a dream come true.” You gleamed. Having been a fan of SNL since your childhood, the statement was definitely true. But you might have been trying to steer the subject away a little and Zach caught on.

“Yes, and I don’t doubt that. But I wanna hear more about the love story.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” You laughed. “So, the week before the live show, as a guest star, you have to go to the writers. You only really go if you’re in the sketches, and I wasn’t really, but I begged them to go. I wanted to see the whole process. And I knew of Pete Davidson working there obviously.”

“And Pete is friends with Kelly, right?” Zach asks, clarifying the storyline in his head and for the listeners.

“Yeah, they’re insanely close. So I go into Pete’s office, right? And I know he’s friends with him obviously. So I try to casually mention that I’m a fan, not only of Colson, but also of Pete himself.” You laugh and Zach knows where it's going.

“Did the casual approach work out for you?” He laughs.

“I’m not quite sure.” You giggle. “I was super nervous and sweaty. I’m pretty sure I stuttered throughout the whole thing. But Pete is the coolest person ever and such a good friend that he was just excited I was a fan of Colson’s. So we started planning. He says he can try to put me in the back of a sketch wearing some merch for the new album.” 

“And Hotel Diablo had just come out back then, right?”

“Yes, and I was super into it, but I didn’t have any merch. So Pete said he would hook me up.” 

“Did you expect to be able to meet Kelly after this whole plan?”

“I honestly expected to leave with some new merch and that’s it.” You laughed. “But to my surprise, Colson came on the Saturday of. Pete had told him about me being a fan and he wanted to surprise me.”

“How surprised were you, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Like, one billion.” You gushed. “I don’t remember much of the encounter, but I remember him hugging me and I was definitely crying.”

“Oh yeah, I saw the video. Full on blubbering.” Zach laughed. 

You gasped. “There’s a video? You have to send it to me. Anyways, his daughter was there too and she asked for a picture. I said okay, but I’m sure I looked so bad in it. Like, mascara all down my red cheeks. So I go home and Colson follows me back on Instagram the next day.”

“Did you slide into the dm’s?” Zach smirked.

“You know I did. I had to! But I was fully expecting to be ignored.”

“As one does.”

“Exactly. But he replied and we started chatting. It didn’t really feel real. Like texting him and stuff, I was chill. Because it felt so fake. At that point, I used to live in New York, so it was only really texting. We face-timed a few times, which also felt surreal. Then he came to New York to surprise me and I freaked. Seeing him in the flesh again brought back the same excitement.”

“At this point, was it official?”

“Not really, like we kept telling everyone we were just friends. And it hadn’t gotten to the press yet, and we wanted to keep it like that, so only close friends knew. But I was smitten. We both knew it was going somewhere, but we were being gentle with it.”

“Yeah, the concept of new relationships is so fragile. Sometimes you both want to dive in but you don’t know if you should.” Zach rationed, voicing his thoughts.

“That’s what it felt like, to be honest. But after that first stage, it just became so incredibly easy for us.”

“Not surprisingly, because you are known to be a complete romantic. I mean, all your songs and your whole aesthetic. Your album is literally called ‘Love Love’.” Zach chuckled. “Tell me about that, the process of naming the album and writing the songs and all that. How did you know it was going to focus directly on love?”

You let out a breath and tried to organize your thoughts to form proper words. “I’ve always been so in love with love, so I knew it just had to be centered around that. Like not just romantic love, even platonic love. Some of the songs, well most of the songs on the album, are about platonic love. I had never had a serious relationship until Colson really, so my understanding of romantic love was very minimal.”

“Really? I would have never guessed. The way you write about love seems like it comes from vast experience.”

“Yeah, it was experience in platonic love. In all of my friendships, I always put my all into it, which isn’t always right. But it’s just the way I am. So when a friendship ends, it truly feels like a heart break.”

“So your song ‘No Longer’ isn’t about a relationship?”

“No, it’s about a friend I had. A best friend, actually. We were so close, people actually thought we were dating. But something happened between us and it was so painful. I have so many songs written about that, but some are so specific that the person and what they did would no longer be secret. It wouldn’t be right, you know?”

“I completely understand, sometimes things are just for yourself.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“The song that most resonated with fans was ‘I’m (Not) Crying For You’. Did you know it was going to be this well loved?”

“Yeah, they went crazy over that one. I didn’t think it would be this popular at all. Since ‘PDA’ and ‘Hold Me’ were like the singles with the music videos, I thought those would be the hits if there were any. But yeah, people really loved ‘I’m (Not) Crying For You’.”

“Can you explain the song and what it means to you?”

“I would love to. As a teenager, whenever I would lose a friend, I would always turn to break up songs. I always felt like the lyrics depicting the end of a relationship worked with friendships as well, but it was annoying to me.”

“Why annoying?”

“Because they aren’t about friendships. They’re about relationships. And I did relate, but not to every line. Cause some lyrics would mention like marriage and sex and those things aren’t related to friendships. I didn’t like the fact that I had to pick and choose the lyrics that spoke to me.”

“So this song is for everyone. I love that.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it as vague as possible so that anyone going through the end of something could relate. And with the end of anything, you always want to seem like you’re doing fine to the other person. Like, make them think that them leaving hasn’t affected you. So you know, I don’t want them to see me cry. But if they do, they should know that the tears aren’t for them, when in reality they are.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. It’s a great hype song, though. Like it has sad lyrics, but the beat and everything really makes it feel like it’s meant to get over someone.”

“Yeah, it is! I love hype songs where it’s like ‘Fuck you, I don’t need you anymore!’ I drew a lot of inspiration from songs like that.”

“What’s your hype song? Everyone has that one song after someone screws them over.”

“Mine is actually ‘The Break Up’ by Kells. I have every lyric to that song seared into my brain.” You laughed. 

“Really?” Zach asked, raising his eyebrows and letting out a laugh.

“Yeah, I play it when I’m getting my makeup done before performances. Colson thought it was hilarious.”

“I think it’s adorable. Literally relationship goals.” Zach exclaimed. “Alright, another one of your songs that I love is ‘Tattoo’. That one just speaks to me.” Zach smiled, looking so incredibly genuine.

“Really?” You gleamed. “That’s one of my favorites. I just love tattoos, the idea of having something on your body forever is just so romantic to me. Not even matching tattoos or anything. Just the ink itself.”

“Me too! But you don’t have any, right?” 

“I just got my first one!” You smiled. You got your first tattoo with Colson about a week prior. “Well, I actually got 2. Very small, though. Not really noticeable. I love those small one needle tattoos, I find them to be so pretty.”

“When did you get them done?” Zach asked. “Because I remember you once said in an interview that you had none.”

“Yeah, I got them a week ago with Colson.” You rolled your eyes as you could almost see the headlines. “Now everyone’s gonna be like ‘Machine Gun Kelly ruined me’ or something.”

“Obviously not, but yeah I know what you mean. Headlines and tabloids are just awful. But he has to have influenced you somehow, right. Two incredibly different personalities coming together. Are your personalities super different or is it just superficial?”

“Yes and no. Outwardly, we both have very different personalities. But when it comes down to it, I feel like we aren’t the same but we work well together. He makes me laugh and he helps me heal. Overall, he just makes me a better person. And he’s so impulsive at times and I feel like I need that.”

“How-how is he impulsive in ways that you need? How can impulsivity help a relationship?” Zach asked.

You hummed, looking at your hands. “I second guess a lot and then I regret it. Last week we were talking at like 3 in the morning about my song ‘Tattoo’, actually.” You motioned your hands to Zach because you were previously discussing the same thing. “He asked me why I didn’t have any if I loved them so much, and I didn’t have an answer. So he called over his artist the next day, and I definitely don’t regret what I got so far.”

Zach looked over at you, as if he was trying to find them and you laughed. “No, you can’t see them. I mean, I can show you?”

“Yes, please do.”

“I got one on my ribs, like on the side. I’ll show you a picture of that. And I got one on my head.” You explained as you took out your phone and looked through your camera roll.

“Woah, you went hard for your first tattoos!” Zach exclaimed. “Isn’t the pain worse the closer you are to the bone?”

“Yeah, yeah it is. It’s what I’ve read anyways. But they were quick, because like I said, they're very small. No shading or anything.” You found the picture and turned your phone to Zach. “I got ‘Love Love’ on my ribs, in the same font as the album cover, but super small. And the other one is under my hair. I had to shave a square off.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t show unless I pull my hair up at a specific place.” You turned and lifted your hair. “It’s ‘Hotel Diablo’ surrounded by a little border in Colson’s handwriting. He got the same one back when the album came out, in the same place too.”

“So they’re matching?”

“Yeah, he got ‘Love Love’, too. A lot of people online always say to never get matching tattoos, but I don’t really care. Even if it doesn’t work out, which I hope isn’t the case, ‘Hotel Diablo’ is one of my favorite albums and has helped me grow as a person. I just hope he doesn’t regret the one he got for me.” You laughed.

“Does he like your album? He doesn’t seem to be much of a pop guy.”

"He used to tease me when we first started talking about how he would never listen to it and all that. But he was actually like analyzing the songs.”

“No way! That is cute, relationship goals again! Man, you guys are unbelievable.”

“Yeah, he surprised me. But as a fellow artist and songwriter, he knew that he could probably find out a lot about me just through my songs.”

“And did he? Do you see him do something for you and you think ‘he did that because of this song or that song’?”

“Sometimes.” You ponder. “But he and I are just on the same wavelength, I feel. He takes one look at me and he knows what to do. It’s insane.” You chuckled. 

“On the topic of songs, have you written any about him? Has he written anything about you?”

“Oh, I’ve definitely written about him. I’ve got like dozens. Shit, he doesn’t know that.” You realized. “Fuck, I hope he’s not listening. Anyways, I don’t think he’s written anything about me. When he’s high as fuck though, he freestyles about everything. He’s written a song about asking me to do some... things that I will not say on camera. He’s just always spittin’ fire. The talent that that man possesses is mind blowing.”

“Watching him come up with it must be incredible.”

You nodded your head vigorously. “One hundred percent. He’s got a home studio, and some days we just never leave that place. I don’t even need to be writing or recording anything, I just sit and watch him. I’ve been around many a songwriter in my time on this earth, but I’ve never seen one work like this man does.”

“Let me just say, you are absolutely glowing when you talk about him and your album.” Zach smiled.

“Thank you! Like I said, I’m in a really good place right now. This album really made me feel like I took a lot off my shoulders. Like I put all those emotions out there and they’re no longer weighing on me. And Colson… Well, Colson’s just Colson.” You smiled.

“Speaking of your boyfriend, I’m getting a message that he’s coming into the studio.” Zach said as he looked at his phone.

“What?” You asked, sitting up on the couch and looking towards the door. A few seconds later, your tall, lanky boyfriend walked in.

“Hey! Hope I’m not crashing or anything.” Colson smiled, jumping over the back of the couch to sit next to you.

“Well you kind of are. This is my interview. You said you’d pick me up when I was done.” You pouted.

“Don’t give me that cute ass pout. Thought I’d come a little earlier, besides you’ve been mainly talking about me.” He smirked, sending you a wink.

“That is very true.” Zach said. “She can’t stop, but I am not complaining.”

“Ugh, don’t encourage him.” You groaned playfully. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this.”

“Nope.” Colson agreed, excited to tease you about it later. “I’m sorry, Zach, for just crashing like this.”

“No, it’s alright! Make yourself at home. I’m sure everyone who’s tuned in is incredibly surprised. How are you, Machine Gun Kelly?”

“Kells is fine. I know the whole thing can be a mouthful.” Colson chuckled. “I’m doing great. Got a really inflated ego after hearing you guys praising me all morning.”

“We have been, haven’t we? But I would say that’s mostly y/n’s fault, to be honest.” Zach pointed at you, throwing you under the bus.

“Hey, don’t put it all on me! You asked the questions!” You exclaimed, laughing along. You turned to Colson and pulled him in closer. “Don’t listen to him, he just wants to get on your good side.”

Colson laughed and draped his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. You reached out and placed the blanket over his legs as you cuddled into him. “It’s alright, if you were interviewing me, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Now you guys are just making me jealous.” Zach scoffed. “So Kells, please tell us your side of the story of how you two met.”

“Alright, only two people know about this story. So this is incredibly valuable information.” Colson started out. You expected to be one of the two people, so you were shocked when he didn’t say your name. “Pete and my daughter.”

“What?” You exclaimed. “I’m in the story, how do I not know?”

“It’s before the SNL show, like when Pete told me about you. I never told you how that went down.”

“Oh my God, I’m all ears. Go ahead.” You said, turning to face Colson as he told the story.

“Alright, so I was in New York with my daughter that weekend. I had some business and I was going back home on Sunday, so I brought her along. We were already going to the SNL show before Pete told me about y/n. I knew she was performing, though.”

“You did?” You asked, eyes wide. He kept up with you before meeting you? “Sorry, sorry, continue.”

“Yeah, I did. Casie is a big fan of y/n and her music, so she was really excited about going. I had heard y/n’s songs before, you know on the radio and whenever I would drive with my daughter and she would put on her own music. So I knew the name, but I had never seen a picture of her. When Pete told me he wanted me to come and meet her, I looked her up.”

“Oh no.” You gasped, knowing that your general aesthetic would have probably deterred him from meeting you.

Colson looked back at you when he said his next sentence. “I was like ‘How can this adorable Disney princess looking chick be into my music?’ I couldn’t believe it.”

“Oh my God.” You groaned, bringing your hand up to cover your blushing face.

“No, I’m serious. But I couldn’t stop looking at pictures of her. I wanted to follow her, but I didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. My daughter was teasing me, telling me that I had to get her number during the show. I didn’t of course, like the idiot that I am. But I did follow her on Instagram the next day. Pete was smug the whole time, though.”

“Of course he would be.” You rolled your eyes and snorted. “But I mean, we have to thank him for all of this. Without him, we probably wouldn’t have met.”

“No, we would have. I was still going to go to the show. We would have seen each other and Casie would have still asked for a picture.” Colson said.

“True, but you and I both know we wouldn’t have talked beyond that. I would’ve been too nervous to say anything.” You replied.

“Oh yeah, definitely. I would have been too taken aback by your beauty to say anything either.” Colson nodded.

“Oh shut up!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“And how did your daughter react to the blooming relationship?” Zach asked Colson.

“She’s usually like, indifferent about my relationships. But this time, she wanted all the updates. When I told her I would be flying back to New York a few weeks later to surprise y/n, she begged me to come with. But I had to leave her, you know?”

“Yeah, of course. Quality time with your S/O is rare when you have a kid.” Zach replied.

“Tell me about it! And then this crazy busy job, too. You’ve got no free time. I finally had a free week and I knew I had to go see this one or it wouldn’t have gone anywhere.” Colson said, pulling you closer when mentioning you.

“And did you, Colson, think you two were gonna end up together?” Zach asked.

“I was hoping so!” Colson laughed. “I was gonna hit her up, but she beat me to it. I was gonna try to get with her, but I didn’t think she would like me. But I’m so glad she did. Don’t know how I lived without her.” Colson looked into your eyes as he spoke, smiling like the love sick doofus that he is.

“Aw, now how long have you been together for? The world’s only known for about a month now, right?” Zach asked.

“Yeah, we posted on Instagram on the 29th of last month. So a little less than a month.” You said, looking at Colson for confirmation.

“Yeah, we waited for a long time. But we’ve been together going on 9 months now.” Colson said and you nodded.

“Woah, that’s crazy! How did you manage to keep it a secret for so long?” Zach wondered, as the length of the relationship was surprising.

“It was hard, I can tell you that.” You chuckled. “ Colson would always post about his ‘secret girlfriend’ and all that. Like, pictures of us holding hands and stuff. It was easy for him, he could just crop my face out. But for me, it was much harder.” You sighed.

“Oh my God, it would have been so hard with all his tattoos!” Zach exclaimed when he understood your struggle.

“Yeah, I got so many tattoos. Anyone could just look it up and find out. But she would post sometimes like, really strategic pictures. I was amazed at how she could do it. But it made it easier that people knew we were in a relationship to keep it a secret. Like, they knew I had a girl, but they didn’t know who it was.”

“Yeah, exactly. Like I just had to keep his name a secret, not the fact that I had a boyfriend. It wouldn’t have been a secret for too long if it was like that ‘cause I never shut up about him.” You laughed.

“Yes, I remember those cryptic tweets all the time. All the tabloids were about y/n l/n’s secret boyfriend.” Zach laughed.

“It was so funny watching everyone scramble trying to find out who he was. But I’m so glad we’re done with that now.” You sighed, placing your hand on Colson’s chest.

“So am I, we wouldn’t have had this interview if you guys didn’t go public. That was truly a fairytale kind of love story.” Zach sighed. “I loved talking to you guys so much.”

“Aw, thank you Zach. I can’t believe our time together has come to an end. I hope I didn’t bore you, we barely talked about the album.” You laughed. “This interview was more about Machine Gun Kelly than it was about me.”

“No, definitely not. I learned so much about you guys today. And about love as a whole.” Zach laughed. “Now I know what a loving and healthy relationship looks like. I hope we can have you here another time, y/n. And maybe have Kells come for an interview of his own?”

“Definitely, man. We can sort that out, I’ll tell my manager.” Colson nodded at Zach.

“I would love crashing that interview.” You joked, causing everyone to laugh. “But in all seriousness, you are so good at interviewing people, Zach. Just felt like a conversation with a lifelong friend.”

“Oh yeah, for sure.” Colson agreed. “Some interviewers feel too pushy and just overall fake. Not you, though.”

“Aww, you’re too nice. You guys were just really easy to talk to. Thank you for coming, y/n. And thank you for joining us, Kells.”

“Thank you for having us, it’s been so fun.” You answered.

“It definitely was, but unfortunately, we only have so much time. Thank you to our wonderful audience for tuning in. This has been an interview with y/n l/n and Machine Gun Kelly, and here’s a word from our sponsor.”

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@bakerkells​

[ikuzeminna]

Why I love Gundam Wing and hate Frozen Teardrop

With Frozen Teardrop being the first new thing released in the Gundam Wing universe in ages, I feel I should make my stance on it clear, seeing as I’ve read (and by now thankfully forgotten) a large chunk of it.

So, what do I like about Gundam Wing? I can say without lying, almost everything. I like the story, the characters, the themes, the designs and the music. I like its humor, its subtlety, the fact that everyone plays a role and that there's no definite bad guy (nor good one for that matter). I like its dynamics and how you can view it any way you want, e.g. the Gundam pilots being heroes or plain murderers. And I like that you can and even must dig to understand things. The whole composition really works for me.

And what's best is that this entire composition makes Gundam Wing more; it makes it unique. I grew up with classics like Dragonball and Sailor Moon, the forefathers of the 'Idiot Hero' archetype for both males and females. Even to this day you see series featuring these types of main characters. Classic scenario of a naive yet pure kid growing up to become the savior of the world. We've all seen that.

It's why Gundam Wing is so special to me. It has a completely atypical setup and there's absolutely no stereotype I can apply to any character, no matter what TV Tropes may say. Heero is hardly your typical hero, is he? Heck, Heero is hardly a typical anything. What's more, Gundam Wing doesn't follow the 'growing stronger' plotline that, for example, the original MS Gundam or Seed series used. No, Gundam Wing starts out with fully trained soldiers who can kick your butt from episode 1 and will kill you without qualms if the situation requires it. (That's not to say that the characters don't grow, it's the physical growth and capabilities I'm talking about.) What's truly surprising about that is the age of the characters. This is another important point. Gundam Wing and realism. Many times I hear that GW is realistic. I'm sorry but no. Teens fighting against armies isn't realistic. Teens leading said armies isn't either. Neither is bending steel bars, nor surviving jumping off cliffs or blowing up your suit, nor successfully back-flipping from a motorbike onto a clothesline, nor becoming the Queen of the World as a teen, nor stealing a MS carrier plus suit at the age of ten, nor walking around with bazookas at the age of ten nor what have you. It's safe to say that Gundam Wing lacks any sense of realism. But it does not lack logic.

Realism never was Gundam Wing's aim to begin with. The way I see it, it's not just the plot or circumstances that prove this, but also the "inhumanity" of the characters. Would a real person with a similar background as Heero, Duo or Trowa really exhibit such selflessness or noble-mindedness as them and risk his life for strangers by fighting a war that could end in their death? I don't think so. Would anyone as sheltered as Relena give up her lifestyle, have the guts to go against the world's armed rulers with just words and put her life on the line for the sake of others? Hard to believe.

And that's it. One of the things that contributes to Gundam Wing's uniquity and is therefore a, if not the, defining trait of the series, is that it doesn't tell the story about angst-riddled terrorists and princesses, but a tale of heroes. The characters are ridiculously noble, strong, selfless, courageous, determined, make the impossible possible and still retain a certain purity, despite having gone through hell and back. It's what makes them so awesome. It's what makes the series so awesome. Duo isn't badass because he fights in the war. He's badass because he fights "so that no one else will have to" and when you see what he went through, you can only say "wow". Lady Une killed Relena's father and when Relena is given the opportunity to take revenge, she declines, saying there's been enough bloodshed. That's role model material there. Something that is sorely lacking in a lot of shows nowadays. And something that a lot of people seem to miss the point of (I'm referring to those that call the pilots wussies for not killing in EW).

All of this is the reason I hate Frozen Teardrop with a passion. Forget the nonsensical, recycled plot or the billion clones of everyone or the terrible mobile suit names like Snow White or Merciless Fairies. Forget Treize getting French’d by his mom or the Zero System being a digital cat or Relena’s grandfather being a disgusting ephebophile. That stuff is messed up and random and dumb and I have no idea what was wrong with the author at the time to write this.

It’s also that he completely destroys the essence of the original series, making every single characters whine about some drama and the never ending “woe is me” monologue I had to wade through every chapter.

Let’s take Duo, for example. He woke up one morning and decided to become an irresponsible, gold-digging bastard. To get Hilde’s money, he agreed to her terms to cut his braid off and get a “proper” name, just to buy himself a motorbike with their joined assets. Then he inherited a church plus orphanage, which Hilde got stuck with, too, being his wife, and when she asked him how to fund the orphanage, Sumizawa wants me to believe that Duo freaking Maxwell was just “Eh, whatever, leave them to it. I’m out” before taking off? Excuse me, what???

I’ve had discussions with people about this and there were statements that maybe more people just need to learn how actual manic depressives and people with PTSD act in relation to Duo's development in Frozen Teardrop. I've noticed a tendency for people to want to apply realism to Gundam Wing, especially in fanfics, but as I said before, Gundam Wing and realism don't have anything to do with each other. So why should I apply it?

What I expect from anything featuring Gundam Wing's characters is the same "heroic" behavior that was displayed in the series. Sure, the pilots each had a mental burden to carry but it wasn't what defined them. For example, Trowa's insecurity about not having a name or yearning for a home never became the main focus unlike his endless selflessness. And Heero's bitterness about the colonies' betrayal was well hidden under his joining the Treize faction to be able to keep retaliating against OZ. A noble deed to fight on but was it really necessary for him to go for the missions with the lowest chance of survival?

As I said, Gundam Wing is unique because it is atypical. That encompasses pretty much everything; you have bloody murderers in the role of the 'heroes', noble, honorable 'bad guys' who value life and the ever flashy Gundams that can't even begin to compare to non-flashy Relena's influence and importance to the plot. So why on earth should I go along with Duo and Wufei bickering like kids, like characters from five million other series do? I want my uniquity. I'm not saying that it isn't a possible outcome for Duo and Wufei to become bitter and bicker and argue and not be able to stand each other when they become adults. But considering those two could get along splendidly, it's a letdown. Duo and Wufei are very much alike; they both lost people important to them twice, they both fight partly out of revenge and their loss has had the biggest impact on shaping them into what they are in the series, unlike the other pilots. Heck, they both wear their respective culture's colors for mourning. Despite that, their personalities (or ways of dealing) are exact opposites. It's enough to make for a more interesting relationship dynamic between them than what was done in Frozen Teardrop and a lot of Gundam Wing fanfics.

Heero's regression is the same. He was frozen because J said something to the extent of "a guy like him would be needed in the future". How J is even alive is another point of unnecessary addition. But what would a guy like Heero be needed for? Killing, apparently.

Way to ignore the ending of Endless Waltz.

I guess it's partly my wish for Heero and everyone else to live a well-deserved 'happily ever after' which makes me have such a knee jerk reaction to all the drama. That and the fact that there was nowhere near as much drama in Gundam Wing. Nor sap, nor stereotyping, nor "realism". >_>

This grated on my nerves, which was why I dropped Frozen Teardrop like a hot potato and haven’t bothered since. This novel does not only fail on a general level with all the random, messed up crap and terrible pacing, it also fails to satisfy the Gundam Wing fan in me because Sumizawa, the very head writer of the show, also ignored major character traits on top of everything else. Why would Catherine, who stated that she hates war and did everything she could to keep Trowa from fighting, train his clone to become a soldier? Why would Duo become that deadbeat I described above?

Being the sole writer of Frozen Teardrop meant he could take as many creative liberties as he wanted. But in the end, he took too many, which in turn resulted in so many inconsistencies with the series that Frozen Teardrop now takes place in an alternate universe, in which not the series but the manga Glory of Losers takes place. Which is the sole reason I’m not bothered by Frozen Teardrop’s existence anymore.

There were some good passages in the novel, it wasn’t all bad. The battles with the new characters were exciting at times, I’ll be honest, but even those couldn’t be called genuinely good because of the carbon copies deal. There is always some blemish. Like Heero’s proposal to Relena. I’ve seen fans of the pairing rejoice at the scene. Alas, I’m not one of them because frankly, the characters in the novel hardly resemble the original ones. So I don’t care.

As the head writer of the show I had expected him to treat the source material with more care and not run it over with retcons and meaningless additions. Best example being everything surrounding Odin. The world could've definitely done without him being Heero's father. Or freaking Trant being related to him.

But again, alternate universe so who cares.

[96thdayofrage]

Chicago’s “Race-Neutral” Traffic Cameras Ticket Black and Latino Drivers the Most

A ProPublica analysis found that traffic cameras in Chicago disproportionately ticket Black and Latino motorists. But city officials plan to stick with them — and other cities may adopt them too.

When then-Mayor Richard M. Daley ushered in Chicago’s red-light cameras nearly two decades ago, he said they would help the city curb dangerous driving. “This is all about safety, safety of pedestrians, safety of other drivers, passengers, everyone,” he said.

His successors echoed those sentiments as they expanded camera enforcement. “My goal is only one thing, the safety of our kids,” Rahm Emanuel said in 2011, as he lobbied for the introduction of speed cameras. And in 2020, Lori Lightfoot assured residents her expansion of the program was “about making sure that we keep communities safe.”

But for all of their safety benefits, the hundreds of cameras that dot the city — and generate tens of millions of dollars a year for City Hall — have come at a steep cost for motorists from the city’s Black and Latino neighborhoods. A ProPublica analysis of millions of citations found that households in majority Black and Hispanic ZIP codes received tickets at around twice the rate of those in white areas between 2015 and 2019.

The consequences have been especially punishing in Black neighborhoods, which have been hit with more than half a billion dollars in penalties over the last 15 years, contributing to thousands of vehicle impoundments, driver’s license suspensions and bankruptcies, according to ProPublica’s analysis.

“We felt the brunt of it the way white people didn’t,” said Olatunji Oboi Reed, a longtime activist for racial equity in transportation in Chicago who has received a handful of camera tickets over the years. “Fortunately, I’ve always been in a situation where I can survive financially, unlike many Black and brown people in the city; one ticket is throwing their whole finances in a hurricane.”

The coronavirus pandemic widened the ticketing disparities. Black and Latino workers have been far less likely than others to have jobs that allow them to work remotely, forcing them into their vehicles more often. In 2020, ProPublica found, the ticketing rate for households in majority-Black ZIP codes jumped to more than three times that of households in majority-white areas. For households in majority-Hispanic ZIP codes, there was an increase, but it was much smaller.

Similar racial and income disparities in camera ticketing have been documented elsewhere. In Rochester, New York, officials eliminated the city’s red-light camera program in 2016 in part because motorists from low-income neighborhoods received the most tickets and the financial harm outweighed any safety benefits. Miami ended its program in 2017 amid complaints from low-income residents who felt unfairly burdened by the fines. And in Washington, D.C., racial justice advocates are researching the city’s camera-ticketing program after a local think tank in 2018 and The Washington Post last year found that cameras in Black neighborhoods issued a disproportionate share of tickets there.

Although some cities have eliminated their camera programs, automated enforcement has been gaining support elsewhere in the aftermath of the nation’s racial reckoning following the death of George Floyd in 2020 at the hands of police. From California to Virginia, citizens groups, safety organizations, elected officials and others are pointing to cameras as a “race-neutral” alternative to potentially biased — and, for many Black men, fatal — police traffic stops.

And more funding for cameras may be coming: The federal infrastructure bill passed last fall allows states to spend federal dollars on traffic cameras in work and school zones.

In Chicago, officials have known of disparities since at least April 2020, when a pair of professors at the University of Illinois Chicago shared initial research showing that cameras send the most tickets to predominantly Black ZIP codes. The city then hired them to study the issue further.

Six months later, Lightfoot — who campaigned in part on ending what she called the city’s “addiction” to fines and fees — proposed that Chicago expand camera ticketing by lowering the speeds at which cameras will issue citations. Lightfoot called it a public safety measure, especially in light of a spike in traffic fatalities during the pandemic, but many observers called it a money grab. The City Council approved the measure as part of the 2021 annual budget.

After the change went into effect last March, racial disparities persisted, ProPublica found.

When asked why the city expanded the program despite knowing of the racial disparities, Dan Lurie, Lightfoot’s policy chief, said the administration saw that traffic fatalities were “at epidemic levels” and that was a “deep concern” to the mayor. “We feel strongly,” he said, “that cameras are a tool in the toolkit to help alleviate that.” 

The city is not considering eliminating the cameras or shrinking the program, though Lurie said the administration would “evaluate” cameras at locations where there’s evidence they do not reduce crashes.

A summary of the UIC research provided to ProPublica last week confirmed the racial disparities in red-light and speed-camera ticketing and found that most of the speed cameras improve safety.

City officials said they are trying to mitigate the financial harm caused by camera tickets. They pointed to a pilot program that halves the costs of fines and allows for some debt forgiveness for low-income residents. That initiative, which was announced last year with no mention of the racial inequities baked into the camera program, is scheduled to start by the end of March.

Lurie said the administration has been grappling with the “twin challenges” of improving traffic safety while “very intentionally ensuring that the burdens of fines and fees as a result of those kinds of efforts do not fall disproportionately on Black and brown residents.”

The irony is that some of the factors that contribute to ticketing disparities, such as wider streets and lack of sidewalks in low-income communities of color, also make those neighborhoods more dangerous for pedestrians, cyclists and even motorists. According to a 2017 city report, Black Chicagoans are killed in traffic crashes at twice the rate of white residents.

The city’s latest transportation plan, which has a focus on racial equity, lays out a number of projects, such as improving crosswalks and building more bike lanes. City officials also said they plan to install more flashing signs that show drivers how fast they’re going — devices known to help reduce speeds.

Lurie acknowledged that the best way to reduce traffic fatalities is to fix the underlying road infrastructure that contributes to unsafe driving. That way, he said, “Pedestrians are safer, you’re safer and no one’s getting a fine. That’s the ideal outcome here. We are dealing with, in many ways, after-the-fact consequences of streets that need to be rethought and redesigned.”