#the u.s. government sucks

[blaircatproject]

The day the government stops discriminating against trans people is the day I’ll have peace.

[mistprints]

9 to 5 is an insane amount of the day spent working. We just aren’t being paid enough to work fewer hours because we aren’t paid what our work is worth. Bigger companies hide behind small ones with the “we can’t all afford to pay workers fairly” excuse. Well then the business fails at being profitable because workers’ wages are not margins you can cut to be profitable.

And then the big corporations spend obscene amount of money bribing politicians to make sure things stay this way: that minimum wage stays below cost of living so people are forced to work often multiple jobs just to survive, keeping them desperate and forced to work jobs with poor wages.

Education advancement is a potential major debt that many people cannot afford or risk even to get into the highest paying industries. Not all school systems are created equal due to budget cuts and poor, outdated standards, putting many students at a disadvantage for college already. People who would be amazing teachers are dissuaded by the state of these schools and the lack of support they get. It is one of the most important jobs of society and much like many vital services, is taken for granted.

We pretend the threat of homelessness is only for people who are “undesirable” and just didn’t want to work when in reality, many people are one missed paycheck away from being out on the street due to predatory housing situations and unchecked landlords that can give as little as a week’s notice for eviction if not less in some places.

“Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” is an old saying that’s been twisted. It’s an impossible task. That’s what it means. It’s a tongue in cheek saying that’s been mockingly turned into a political statement and I think the people using it know that people aren’t going to look it up or know this. You cannot pull yourself up by them, you need help.

Society works when we rely on the group. That’s how all civilizations have worked. Others have fallen for not doing this or for doing so poorly with too many people at the bottom of the ladder holding it up (capitalism relies on this to function). Social programs have always been a facet of this and grouping it all into one big negative buzzword drives me insane.

The fire department is a social program. It’s free to call them and it’s paid for by the city because the rich decided that a poorer neighbor’s house fire was a risk to their property and so there should be someone that handles that without costs to an individual that would deter them calling for help. Same with 9-1-1 (unless of course if the person is in the US and needs a personal ambulance ride. Then they’ll charge thousands).

All I’m saying is with the state of the majority of people in the U.S., we could stand to have more support beams to help out before it collapses around us.

People are reaching a breaking point and this stress test of how much they’ll take (costs rising while what you get decreases and wages remaining stagnant; the growing population of homelessness and their solutions being to make homelessness illegal; cuts to people’s rights to their own body by people who are not doctors and should not have anything do to with it but want political points to remain in power by voters who are too uneducated to know better—again, keeping the populous too tired and poorly educated to realize the branching issues with this outside of their narrow-minded ideals they want to force on everyone else) won’t end well.

These problems all branch from a source. That source is always, ultimately, corrupted people in power, driven by money. They are shortsighted and only care about their own benefits. And by letting them, believing their lies and keeping them in power blinded by promises that are at best empty and at worst detrimental, it’s making this world a lot worse to live in for the rest of us. Even if the consequences haven’t reached you directly yet, we are already seeing what happens in this Tragedy of the Commons situation with the greed of a few.

We have to stop people from being able to exploit it. There needs to be laws in place that even the rich are subject to for this to ever work.

[onthehighwaytomel]

I admit I haven't been super on top of the news lately (moving next week, work stress, recent birthday plans, protecting my mental health, etc.)

But isn't it a good thing that Biden stepped down? He's clearly not fit for four more years (or even one more election cycle) because of his age, health, and mental capacity. And he would be extremely unlikely to win against Trump, even more so after 7/13.

I'm no Harris stan by any means; I'll be holding my nose and voting for her, just like I did with Biden and Hillary. And I know it's not ideal to change candidates less than four months out. But at least she's not decrepit and seems to be mentally present and engaged enough for this kind of thing. It was the right decision, one that needed to be made for a while now. We didn't need Senator Feinstein 2: Electric Boogaloo.

The bar might be in hell, but I'd rather have the only actually viable candidate against Trump clear that bar.

[txmxkis]

finally got my tax returns back after. decades

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

When you run out of anxiety medication after having enough for quite awhile and your heart rate just…

[bbgghost]

lot to love: chapter 1

blurb: you are the nineteen year old, younger, mutant sister of Mystique. you go to Professor X's school and have been since you were young. this is going to be slowburn with wolverine ♡♡♡

a.n. this is my first time writing!!! but i love logan hopefully this is okay :3 i didn't know whether to call fire boy pyro or john so yeah -

c.w. there are some very brief very small references to past abuse, this is to align with Mystiques storyline! logan is obvi at least 150 years older than the reader so age-gap! I made the reader have cherry red hair just because Mystique does and I think it's a universally pretty hair colour!

masterlist

‘The main reasoning that the U.S. government used mutants as weapons during World War Two was because of what?’ You read the first question in your head. Biting your lip you looked at Bobby’s paper next to yours. You could barely see what he was writing, what with his arms basically covering the entire page. You rolled your eyes and lifted you body up ever so slightly. He’s supposed to be your friend and he’s covering the goddamn answer! A low grunt wakes you from your thoughts.

At the front of the classroom sat the one and only Logan Howlett. His long legs were rested on top of the table, and his blue buttoned t-shirt lay open over torso, revealing his classic white tank. His eyes were completely stuck on you and once you made eye-contact, his left eyebrow raised. You gulped harshly before shying away from his cold stare. Lowering your body, you circled ‘C’ and moved on.

Logan teaching was very rare, and as a student you barely even saw him. It was only when he was talking to Marie that you actually got to see him up close. Him taking your class was a ‘favour’ he was doing for Charles, at least that’s what he said.

The time was nearly up, the clock high on the wall indicated you had two minutes to go. You quickly made some educated guesses before hearing Logan’s deep voice. “Times up, kids.” You circled the last answer as ‘B’ before putting your pen down.

Looking over at Bobby you made desperate eye-contact with him, before mouthing ‘That sucked ass!’ A small snicker was heard from Logan next to you as he grabbed your paper. You turned back to Bobby as he merely shrugged. Rolling your eyes, you slouched and fidgeted with your pen again.

”Do you think we’ll have him teach our class again?” You asked Marie. “I don’t know, I think Professor X wants to get him more involved in school when there isn't too many missions.” She replied. You hummed before you guys had reached your lunch table. Sliding in next to Pyro, you dropped your folder before grabbing the tray he had gotten you. “Thanks.” You said gratefully to the boy next to you. He nodded softly before flicking his lighter.

Sticking the straw into the juice box, you glanced at the couple across from you as they ogled at each other. “Do you guys ever stop?” You complained. “No, no, I think we need to be more grateful they don’t have the ability to stick their tongues down each others mouths.” John laughed. “Ew. Gross.” You cringed at the thought, and in an attempt to rid the idea, looked away. Your eyes landed on the opening that the cafeteria doors provided to the rest of the building. Luckily enough, Logan walked past. He was now only wearing the wife beater and blue jeans. You noticed the brown cowboy-like belt he was wearing, holding together the 70's look he was portraying.

"Hey, is it cool if we dip?" You wipped you head around at the sound of Rogues voice. "Yeah, sure." And both Bobby and her were out of the cafeteria in seconds. You still had a good bit of food left on your plate, so you slowly ate pieces of it.

Next to you, you felt Pyro's fingers play with the ends of your hair. “I liked the blonde hair you had last Monday. I think it suited the way you looked.” He commented. “Oh, yeah?” You questioned as you made your hair fade to a warm blonde. “See it matches your eyes wonderfully.” He whispered. "Thanks." You muttered.

You both took bites out of you lunches, you let your eyes drift off. He kept his eyes trained on you. It made you bones crawl under your skin, and sweat brewed in your palms. You stayed calm though, your face still the same colour as ever, no pinker.

When you finished you turned to look him deep in the eyes. You blinked at him a couple of times. He mimmicked you actions. “I think we should get back to class.” You said firmly as you touched the edge of your dark blue folder. “Yeah.” He agreed before turning back to his lighter. You quickly grabbed your blue folder before stepping over the bench. “See ya.” You muttered, scattering out of the hall.

Your face cringed looking back on the moment. Gritting your teeth together harshly, you jumped up the stairs to your dorm. You opened the door, grabbed a stick of gum and chucked it in your mouth before closing the door and running to your next class. Running was an exaggeration, you thought, a fast walk was more like it. You walked past Logan, again, who gave you a raised eyebrow before speaking up.

“Hey blondie! Slow down! You’ll hurt someone.” He called out. Already a good ten metres away from him you stopped your fast pace and slowed to a stroll. What did he care anyway? From what you heard he wasn’t exactly a stickler for the Professor’s rules. You rolled your eyes, again, before you turned into a different hallway.

When you turned into the classroom, the Professor was already starting his lecture. Embarrassed as everyone stared at you, your hair changed back to it's normal cherry red. Sitting down at your usual seat in the back, you began scribbling on the lined paper of your notes. Hearts, bows and a letter 'W' adorned the corner of your page. You almost drowned out the voice of the Professor, but instead decided on trying to better your grades and started paying attention.

It was later that same evening. It was a warm cool spring afternoon, and after having yet another vivid nightmare, you decided you’d had enough. You slipped on your pink uggs and grabbed the journal and pen that Storm had gifted you. She had a motherly protectiveness towards you. As your teacher, she had noticed that you were often distracted during day-to-day life in the Mansion. And after your reluctance to express your feelings verbally, she suggested to write it all out.

This leather bounded, lined-page notebook had seen you through many purposes. When you had made it downstairs, you made a quick cup of tea and sat at the bench. You glanced at the time on the oven that was diagonal to your position. 1:00. You huffed before opening to a new page in your journal.

I can’t sleep again. Another dream about being back at home with my sister. They’re getting more vivid as the days go on, but never clear enough where I know exactly what’s happening. It’s always a flicker of light, a picture of Raven and then my old bed back in my old bedroom. I wish I could know the full story of my child. It’s so conflicting, feeling like I’ll never truly understand what was going on then. God, I was so young. I can’t believe they ever wanted to

You ceased your writing as footsteps slowly got louder and louder. You looked up, biting your lip to see Logan. His hair still perfectly shaped, and his wife beater still tucked in his jeans, he stood before you. “What are you doing up kid?” He questioned. You shut your book and placed the pen on top of it. “Uhm, I don’t know.” You answered, avid in eye contact. He just hummed in response and glanced at your journal that you had both your hands over.

“You writing something?” He asked. What kind of stupid question is that? “Yeah…” Again, all he did was hum. He turned and opened the fridge, huffing when he realised there still wasn’t any liquor. Logan decided that a glass of water would have to do. When he grabbed the jug you noticed yourself ogling at his back muscles. You ignored yourself, just some silly thing I’m naturally attracted to, right?

He filled a glass with the water, and sat the jug on the bench. You watched him the entire time, but once self-aware you glanced back down at your hands. Your nails were short and stubby, so you fixed it and made them manicured instead. You tapped the fresh acrylics against the leather of your notebook. The noise made Logan look to you again.

“Neat trick.” He commented. You made eye contact with him. “Yeah I guess.” You grew your hair out longer and twisted it around your finger. “What’s up with you kid, you were pretty talkative this morning?” He said softly. You blushed and let your hair fall in front of your face. “I forgot you heard that.” You whispered in reference to the comment you’d made this morning about the test the Professor had made him supervise. “I don’t know, the usual stuff.”

“The usual stuff.” He repeated. “Don’t I know that well…” You puffed out a laugh before resting your chin in your hand. “Why are you up?” You said quietly. His eyes flittered to yours, “same thing I’m guessing.” He had a knowing look in his eyes. You know he had heightened senses, you didn’t know anything about mind reading. “Nightmares.” You said so softly he didn’t know if you had even spoken.

“ ‘s that why you’re writing?” He asked. You nodded and grabbed your cup to take a sip out of it. He mimicked you and drank out of his glass. “It’s a good habit. Don’t get rid of it.” He said before walking out of the kitchen.

[tanadrin]

RE "revolutionary leftists are revolutionary because they know they can't win electorally."

It astounds me a little that there are leftists who think that a communist revolution is more likely to work than, like, fifty years of community-building and electoral politics. Sewer socialism, union activism, and other boring activities have brought much more success in the U.S. than agitation for a revolution.

What I mean is, setting aside the moral concerns (violence is bad, even when it's necessary, and if there are practical alternatives then we should pursue them), I am not a revolutionary leftist because I think we would lose a revolution. For one thing, there is a considerable right-wing element in the country that is much better prepared for this kind of thing, and I think that the majority of the institutions in the U.S. would pick fascism over communism if they had to choose, but also, prolonged violent action is ripe for breeding authoritarianism.

Goatse is concerned that "the party" might "abandon or neglect its primary ends," but what is leftism if it is not, at bottom, an attempt to improve the living conditions of all people, et cetera et cetera? To the extent that social democratic parties successfully pursue this end to some degree, they're better than than an ostensible communist party that talks the talk but commits human rights abuses. And, more than the fact that U.S. leftism has some pretty fierce opposition that would probably fare better if The Revolution happened tomorrow, I think that, even in winning, we would lose, because what came out the other end would look a lot more like Stalinism.

I think one thing the hardcore revolutionaries in OECD countries don't realize is that the reason they can't marshal support for their revolutions is that the socialists won most of the issues that were salient in the early 20th century--workers got more rights, better pay, unions were legalized, etc., etc. But it didn't take restructuring the whole political economy to do it, which is immensely frustrating if you believe that any society without your ideal political economy is inherently immoral and impure, so in order to justify an explicitly communist platform you have to rhetorically isolate it from the filthy libs and feckless demsocs who it turns out have been pretty effective within the arena of electoral politics in which supposedly nothing can ever get done, and treat them as of a piece with the out-and-out fascists and royalist autocrats of the 1920s and 30s.

Which, you know. Is not persuasive to most people! Most people understand intuitively the vast gulf between the SPD and the Nazis; they see that, milquetoast and compromising though they may be, the center-left can deliver substantive policy improvements without the upheaval of a civil war or political purges, and this is attractive to people who are not of a millenarian or left-authoritarian personality.

Which isn't to say that communists don't often make important points! It sucks having to fight a constant rearguard action against the interests of capital rolling back the social improvements of the 20th century, and it sucks that liberal governments in Europe and North America have historically been quite happy to bankroll and logistically support fascists and tyrants in the third world against communist movements (which invariably only exist as communist movements because these same fascists and tyrants have crushed more compromising movements and only the most militant organizations have managed to survive).

But I agree with you: communists also talk a big game about how liberalism is the real fascism (what's that line from Disco Elysium I see quoted everywhere about how everybody is secretly a fascist except the other communists, who are liberals?), while also being awful at democracy. Suppressing dissent because your small clique of political elites is the only legitimate expression of the people's will (which you know, because you have declared it to be so) really is some rank bullshit. A system with competitive elections is still, well, a system with competitive elections, even if those elections are structurally biased in certain ways; all the bloviating that attempts to justify communist authoritarianism cannot really obscure the fact that authoritarian systems are cruel and brittle, regardless of the ideology being served.

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Could we possibly get L and reader going at it (wink wink) and then Light literally walks in on them? Whether he joins or not is up to you, i dont mind either way :)

this is the req i was done with and deleted and i’m kms it was so beautiful… here we go take two please work this time 😭🙏

Anyways thanks for participating, sweetlove! means the world <33

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

L was a man of strategy. He was intelligent and bold and he’d do just about anything to win, no matter how weird it was. Once, you witnessed him tackle somebody in a bear suit while selling crepes in order to get information on the U.S. government. So his strategies ranged from slightly unreasonable to grass-fed cows in the mayor’s house.

Today, it was grass-fed cows in your house. He came to you with the idea and somehow managed to make you think it was a good one. His logic was that since Light very clearly had a crush on L’s girlfriend and he couldn’t do anything to stop it, he may as well take advantage of it.

L would take you in front of Light, perhaps offer him to join to build trust and vulnerability. You agreed, but things got more complicated when he began taking you on every possible surface in the Taskforce, whenever he had time. It was hard not to cringe when Matsuda made a sandwich on the bare kitchen counter.

Today, L has you propped on a sofa in one of the many living rooms, stripped down to nothing as he sits on his knees. Your back arches and you whimper as he sucks your clit into his mouth teasingly.

"Fuck, L..." Your head flies back and rests off the edge of the couch.

His hands wrap around your waist to pull your cunt closer towards him, a smirk on his lips as he drags his tongue down to your drooling core. So lost in your pleasure and loud cries, you don't hear a door open behind you.

Light stands there dumbfounded, holding a stack of documents he'd been dragging around for the past half hour searching for L. He's at an angle where he can see the back of couch where your head thrashes and just barely the side, where he can see your thighs around L's distinctive hair.

His mouth goes dry as you let out a whine. His brain goes crazy between what would make him seem less like Kira and desire for you. For once, the human part of him wins and he takes a step further into the room, slowly closing the door.

He tentatively walks in farther, placing the papers on a table and forgetting about them as he gets closer. At this point he can see your breasts from how deeply your back is arched and L's face buried in your pussy, your legs shaking terribly on his shoulders.

Light stops where he is, a mere few feet away and watches as L pleasures you the way he's dreamed of. Then his breathing stops too, when L's eyes shoot from your face to his. Light waits for screaming commence, to get kicked out and locked in a cell for being a pervert.

But that doesn't happen. L's mouth curves into a amused grin on your clit and lets Light see his tongue flick your clit eagerly. Your whole body is covered in a blush blossoming from where L's fluffy, black hair is. Then you start to make this beautiful, ethereal sound.

Goosebumps appear on your legs and your hands reach between them to tug on L's hair. You sound needy, desperate, pathetic. Light itches to move, to take over. He wants to be the one making you sound like you've reached heaven.

But when he sees the way L is looking at him, he knows that if he wasn't already crossing boundaries, he surely would be then.

So he watches as your chest rises and doesn't fall. He watches he your thighs squeeze infinitely tight and your hands tug hard. He watches as everything tenses and then releases as your cunt gushes all over L with the prettiest sound ever falling from your lips.

There's a beat as you collapse and catch your breath, eyes closed as your shoulders slump in. L slowly pulls his head from you and kisses your thigh.

Then he turns to Light and says, "Would you like to give it a try?"

[ghelgheli]

To understand the full context of the American-led ‘53 coup against Mosaddegh in Iran it is imo critical to recognize anti-communism as a proximate cause. Write-up below:

It is commonly understood that the early decades of the 20th century in Iran are characterized by British colonial extortion of material resources (mostly oil) within the boundaries of “Persia” (pre-1935) / “Iran” (post). The penultimate monarchical dynasty, the Qajars, were ousted in 1925—but the exile of the last Qajar Ahmad Shah was the direct result of the 1921 military coup led by then-Reza Khan (later the first “Pahlavi”, Reza Shah) which was directed by Britain. And at this time, British anxieties heavily featured concerns about Bolshevik encroachment from the Caucuses (not just through the newly-formed Azerbaijan SSR, but also through domestic sympathizers that fueled such projects as large as the transient Persian SSR, put down by Reza Khan after Soviet withdrawal).

This is stage-setting. Of course, by the 50s, in tandem with Cold War thread-pulling, the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company constituted a thirsty tentacle of British imperialism sucking Abadan dry and contributing pittances to the local economy. It was in the midst of decades of growing resentment against this presence that Mosaddegh became Prime Minister in 1951 as the leader of the broad National Front coalition, and we are familiar with how intensely he campaigned for nationalizing the country’s oil and how pissy this made the British (here’s one and another post on the subject if not).

Here’s the detour: you may know that it was the CIA, an American institution, that orchestrated the ‘53 coup to oust Mosaddegh. But we were just now discussing threats against British colonial power in Iran. How did things get from B to A, as it were? We can’t take this for granted.

The British in fact spent the intervening two years trying to get Mosaddegh out by mobilizing the Shah and various right-wing (often clerical and mercantile) interests in Iran (this point, and much of what follows, draws from bits of Darioush Bayandor’s Iran and the CIA and Mostafa Elm’s Oil, Power, and Principle). They spent the same two years desperately trying to get the Americans on board with their efforts. But—here it is—the Truman regime and American foreign policy was in general intensely hostile to this strain of British interventionism in Iran, going so far as to issue warnings against it.

Why? Well, as you would expect, the Americans were concerned about Soviet influence in the region. Then-U.S ambassador in Tehran Henry Grady claimed that “Mosaddegh’s National Front party is the closest thing to a moderate and stable element in the national parliament” (Wall Street Journal, June 9 1951). This summarizes the American position at the time: Mosaddegh’s nationalist movement constituted the bastion against communism, and the US was very interested in the survival of this bastion lest Iran align with the USSR. 

What happened between 1951 and 1953 is that British pressure, operating through the Shah and more conservative elements of the Iranian government, jeopardized moderate support for Mosaddegh. With the right and center-right against him an entire wing of National Front coalition was falling off, and Mosaddegh found himself leaning more and more on the strengthening Tudeh Party, which had grown in numbers to militaristic significance during Mosaddegh’s tenure (including a network of at least 600 officers in the state military). Tudeh, of course, was the pro-Soviet communist party in Iran. And now the threads come together.

It was in this context of Mosaddegh, backed into a corner with almost only the communists behind him, that the CIA released a memo on November 20th, 1952 singing a very different tune:

It is of critical importance to the United States that Iran remain an independent and sovereign nation, not dominated by the USSR...

Present trends in Iran are unfavorable to the maintenance of control by a non-communist regime for an extended period of time. In wresting the political initiative from the Shah, the landlords, and other traditional holders of power, the National Front politicians now in power have at least temporarily eliminated every alternative to their own rule except the Communist Tudeh Party...

It is clear that the United Kingdom no longer possesses the capability unilaterally to assure stability in the area. If present trends continue unchecked, Iran could be effectively lost to the free world in advance of an actual Communist takeover of the Iranian Government. Failure to arrest present trends in Iran involves a serious risk to the national security of the United States.

And (!!!)

In light of the present situation the United States should adopt and pursue the following policies:...

Be prepared to take the necessary measures to help Iran to start up her oil industry and to secure markets for her oil so that Iran may benefit from substantial oil reserves...

Recognize the strength of Iranian nationalist feeling; try to direct it into constructive channels and be ready to exploit any opportunity to do so

It took two tries for the CIA to bring about a coup that removed Mosaddegh from power, but the objective of this coup was not the preservation of British control over Iranian resources; it was the maintenance of the Western sphere of influence against communist revolution (this was further prioritized by the arrival of the Eisenhower administration). In fact, after the coup the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (now renamed British Petroleum) had to make room for six other companies from the US, France, and the Netherlands as part of a consortium, and this consortium would split profits with Iran 50/50. This is, to be clear, still colonialist extraction! But it constitutes a huge blow to British economic interests, because they were never the CIA’s goal. This is part of why the post-coup government is characterized far more as a US puppet than a British one.

It does remain that this was a sequence of events very much set in motion because of actions taken by the British government; by the time they managed to get shit to hit the fan, though, it was very much no longer in their control where the shit was flying.

[whilomm]

from wikipedia:

A national identification number, national identity number, or national insurance number or JMBG/EMBG is used by the governments of many countries as a means of tracking their citizens, permanent residents, and temporary residents for the purposes of work, taxation, government benefits, health care, and other governmentally-related functions. The ways in which such a system is implemented vary among countries, but in most cases citizens are issued an identification number upon reaching legal age, or when they are born. Non-citizens may be issued such numbers when they enter the country, or when granted a temporary or permanent residence permit. Many countries issued such numbers for a singular purpose, but over time, they become a de facto national identification number. For example, the United States developed its Social Security number (SSN) system as a means of organizing disbursing of Social Security benefits. However, due to function creep, the number has become used for other purposes to the point where it is almost essential to have one to, among other things, open a bank account, obtain a credit card, or drive a car.

so basically: do you kno the One Government Number that kinda gets used for everything off the top of ur head? Sometimes linked to stuff like social security (hence "social security number" in the U.S.) but they end up just bein used for like, Fuckin Whatever. im just curious how many ppl got that shit memorized

i was gonna be ha ha funnee "put your social security number your credit card number and those three wacky digits in the tags" but no someone would maybe do it. so. dont do that. please. I'm not 100% sure if every country has a system where writing your number on the internet is Bad (in the U.S. thats how u get your identity stolen) but still like. just in case. dont. thx.

but DO tell me if like. your parents or whoever made u memorize it. my mom did for some reason and now i kno it. maybe i dont need to bc i can find it easily but its in my noggin so. And also if u feel like it say how important the numbers are in your country. In the U.S. theyre Important but dont come up super super often, mostly if ur like. opening a bank account. dealing with Government Forms. taxes. insurance. occasionally medical stuff. but also if someone Gets Yours they can kinda destroy your life a bit w identity fraud. sucks a bit.

[redroomreflections]

What They Left Behind

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary :The Avengers and U.S. Government have been trying to take down a privately owned medical company named Visage for years. On a mission gone wrong, Natasha discovers something in the remains. With its existence, she uncovers a dark truth. The Island meets A.I. Artificial Intelligence.

w/c: 8.2k

Icy fingers wrapped around the doorknob in the darkness. The dimly lit porch light allowed her to find her way inside. Natasha pushed the door open gently, hoping it wouldn't disturb the silence encompassing the cozy apartment. Her footsteps creaked against the old wooden floors the more she shuffled down the hallway. Natasha stumbles through your shared space, one arm clutched to her side, the other carrying all of her belongings, as she headed for the bathroom. She didn't pay attention to the gash on her thigh, or the limp in her walk, as her targeted area became more apparent. She used her bad arm to support the extra weight she was carrying as she tried her hardest not to drop everything. Ignoring the pain in her side to bend over the bathtub, She sets everything down gently. She drops her bag outside of the tub, making sure not to jostle anything she was carrying, as she rushes out to the linen closet. She grabs a bunch of towels, a spare blanket, and face towels. She's not thinking straight right now. Her mind is a jumbled mess. She checks the thermostat, turning the heat to a higher temperature, before deciding she's satisfied.

Her next raid is the small bar in a corner of the dining room. She's careful not to get blood anywhere. There's a half-empty bottle of vodka that she plans to drown herself in. She steps lightly, peeking into the closed door of your bedroom, to find you fast asleep. She returns to the bathroom, placing the blanket inside, tucked nicely and neat before leaning against the counter. She rids herself of her jacket, hiding her pain behind a grimace, as she checks her arm. It's not broken. Probably a sprained wrist.

She twists her body around towards the mirror to inspect her face. There's a cut just above her right eyebrow. She bends slightly to reach into the cabinet for a first aid kit. One you reminded her to buy after this same scenario happened one too many times. Next are her pants. She has a more challenging time removing them as they're ripped and the blood from her fresh wound has dried. The stretch material sticks to her legs and she has to maneuver her body to kick them the rest of the way down. She almost knocks the vodka bottle over, using her quick reflexes to catch it before it drops to the ground. She peeks over to the tub, finding that nothing has changed, as she opens the bottle. She approaches the sink, stretching her legs across it, to inspect the cut. It's deep. Probably has glass in it but it's nothing she can't take care of. She takes a sip of the vodka, and then another, and one more before she begins to feel the familiar burn in her throat.

She rifles through the first aid kit for a pair of tweezers before she sighs. This is going to suck.

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

You kick the heavy blankets from your body, taking a harsh breath, as you drift in and out of sleep. You flip to your back, hoping to cool off as you toss and turn. It's warm in here. Warmer than you're used to and you know that can only mean one thing. You sit up, looking for any sign of Natasha before you come up short. Her side of the bed is still cold, your phone doesn't have any messages or missed calls, and nothing seems to be out of place. You stand, opening your bedroom door, to see the bathroom light on. That's weird. You look down at the ground, spotting a few drops of blood, a stark contrast from the dark maple wood. You hold your breath in anticipation of what you're about to see. You've been in this position dozens of times before. Often, you could stomach it. it's a part of her job. Natasha is sitting on the bathroom counter, struggling to wrap gauze around her thigh with one hand when you enter.

You immediately jump into action, pushing her hands aside, as you tear the gauze the right way. You glance at her face, taking note of all of her injuries, her bloodshot eyes, and the barely filled bottle of vodka. Natasha watches you, waiting for you to say anything, as she leans back.

"You didn't call," You say finally.

"I was busy," She answers.

"Too busy to call your wife?" You grip her leg a bit tighter than necessary but when you notice the way she tenses, you release it. You're not angry. Not really. Just scared. Whenever Natasha is away on a mission too long you get nervous. That she won't come home. That the last time you saw her would become forever. She knows this. "You skipped debriefing and medical."

"Had to get home to you," Natasha coughs once you're done patching up her leg. You rest your hands on the counter on each side of her. She can see the worry in your eyes. She leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before she pulls back.

"Your face?" You reach up to inspect the cut and she catches your arm. Only then do you realize she's holding her other one to her side. "Natasha, what happened?"

"The usual," She dismisses softly. "I, um, I have something for you." She tilts her chin towards the tub. You turn slowly, peeking into the bathtub, finally noticing the small, sleeping child wrapped up in one of Natasha's t-shirts. You drop to your knees, your eyes scanning over every single part of their tiny body, as you try to come up with a question. You can't see past the layers of dirt and sod on angelic features. "It's why I skipped everything." She answers.

"H-how old is she?" You reach out to brush your hand over matted and tangled curls. Eyes flutter at your touch but she doesn't move.

"He," Natasha corrects and you turn to her. "A boy. He doesn't speak much. Won't tell me his name or anything else. I found him hiding in one of the lab rooms of the places we raided. They were making some kind of drugs or doing experiments. It's not quite clear. There was a fire and he was the only one left. We think that maybe he wandered over there and his real family is out there looking for him."

"and you brought him home," You tsk. You don't know what to make of this situation.

"I didn't know what else to do," Natasha admits. "I wasn't leaving him at the compound. Giving him over to Ross? Not happening. I just I don't know."

"He probably has a family somewhere," You mutter. You shake your head.

"We can look for them but I couldn't," Natasha doesn't finish her sentence but somehow you know. She has such a big heart and she wouldn't have brought him home if she didn't think this was the best option. The child in question stirs but never awakens.

"In the morning I can make some calls to a couple of friends, see what I can find out, and go from there," You stand, wiping your hands against the fabric of your cotton shorts. "Are you okay besides the obvious?" You ask.

"Y-yeah I'm fine," She nods. She beckons you over with her left hand and you oblige. "I missed you." She speaks low and this time the butterflies in your stomach increase tenfold.

"I missed you too," You kiss her lips. "I need to get us some blankets and pillows." You look around the bathroom. You busy yourself with cleaning. "He's sleeping peacefully right now. He's in a new place and I know in the morning he might not be so calm. If we move him he might wake up and I don't want him to be alone when that happens."

Natasha doesn't say a thing. She agrees. She knows this is your way of feeling useful. She's thrown something big at you. You have every right to be upset and yet you're not. She stands on solid ground again, testing out her leg, to find that while there's still some pain she can walk just fine. She keeps watching over the little boy as you gather blankets and pillows for a makeshift bed. Sleeping on the bathroom floor wasn't on your itinerary for tonight but that could change. You make quick work of cleaning up the blood through the hallway before you return to the bathroom. You make everything as comfortable as possible, gesturing for Natasha to lie down before you help her keep her leg elevated by a bunch of pillows. You turn off the lights, making sure to at least keep the hallway light on to act as a nightlight. You're conscious of Natasha's injuries as you lie your head against her chest. Her heartbeat is soothing. It reminds you she's alive and real. Not that you needed it to.

"What if we can't find his family?" Natasha wonders aloud.

You don't have an answer for her. The question is heavy on your mind too. You fall asleep thinking of every scenario in which you'd be able to keep him. You don't want to get your hopes up.

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

The morning comes quicker than you would have liked. Your back aches and your hips hurt, and you don't feel Natasha under you. You wipe at your face, feeling around the covers, to find the spot by your side empty. You lift your head, looking around the bathroom, with big green eyes looking at you from just a few feet away.

"Hi," You muster up words as you sit up.

The child doesn't say anything. He simply watches your every move.

"Did you sleep okay?" You ask. You can faintly hear Natasha in the background. She must be in the kitchen. The little boy nods. "That's good." You move to scoot a bit closer but stop yourself when you notice he tenses. "No. Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. My name is Y/n. What's your name?"

The boy shrugs. Okay, you're glad he understands English. You're also starting to understand how difficult this will be if he doesn't know his name and he isn't willing to speak.

"Do you have a name?" You question. You almost smack yourself at asking such a dumb thing until he shakes his head. "Oh. okay. I, um, okay." You take a deep breath. Natasha's voice gets a little louder and his eyes dart over to the door. "That's my wife, Natasha, she brought you here. Do you remember that?"

He nods. That's good.

"Are you hungry?" You ask him. "I can make chocolate chip pancakes. Would you like that?" You ask and he nods again. You stand, holding out your hand for him to take, and he does without hesitation. You walk with him out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Natasha's on the phone, seemingly a bit angry, as she paces. She spots you and your guest, waving her hand to say hello before she turns away. Her attention has been pulled elsewhere. She knows he's safe with you either way. You look down, noticing the pout on his face at Natasha's lack of enthusiasm. "I feel that way too sometimes." You say. You help him to sit on a stool so that he can see both of you.

You look around the kitchen. You don't have much food that's interesting to kids. You and Natasha live quiet lives and really only have the necessities. Your house is not bared but it's certainly not equipped for a child. You look over at him as he waits patiently for your next move. He's so quiet.

Natasha moves to kiss you hello before she lowers her phone to speak.

"I'm on a conference call with Steve and the rest of the team. They're trying to find some of his family." She whispers before exiting the room.

You bend over to look into the fridge deciding on pancakes and eggs for this morning's meal.

"You like eggs right?" Again your question is answered with a shrug. You make enough breakfast for the three of you. Your morning coffee is all you want so you put on a pot for that. You lean against the counter, looking over at him, as he occupies himself with walking his fingers over the cool marble. He's clearly bored. He looks utterly adorable with his messy hair and curious eyes, and he's swimming in Natasha's t-shirt. The sleeves cover his arms and the rest of his body. Hopefully, it's keeping him warm. "How old are you? Do you know that?"

He lifts his head when he realizes you're addressing him. He holds up three fingers.

"You're three?" You confirm and he looks at his hands in confusion. He takes his hand, using it to push up one more finger, before showing it to you. "You're four?" You ask and he nods again. "you just had a birthday?" You take a wild guess and he nods again with wide eyes. "Okay, that's good, um happy birthday." You try to figure out what to ask next. You rifle through the drawers, hoping to find a pen and paper before he stops being so willing to talk. "Did you have a party?" He shakes his head. "Okay, did you have a cake or presents?" He furrows his brow at this. Did he know what any of those things were? Suddenly you're not so sure.

You reach over to the stove, turning it off before you fix him a plate of food. You don't want to make any of this feel like an interrogation. He's still so little and with having a traumatic night he could be forgetting key details about his life. You cut the pancakes into tiny pieces, before putting syrup on the side. The eggs are scrambled as you feel like that's the safest option for a child. You place it in front of him before you step back. You don't watch him, opting to make yourself and Natasha a cup of coffee as you wait. You turn around to find he hasn't touched anything. His fork lies in the same spot beside the eggs. He's looking at the plate as if he's never seen any of this stuff before. He takes his hand, dipping his finger into the syrup, before licking it with his tongue. The sugary sweetness is good and so he dips it again.

"You don't want to try your pancakes?" You approach him. He stops his licking to look up at you. "They're good I promise." You take a pancake, dipping it into the syrup much like he did before, and you take a bite. Reluctantly, he tries it too. Then he gestures for you to try again. It's a back-and-forth tactic that tends to work with all your patients. This one included. Not that he's one of your patients. He's a lost little boy with nowhere else to go. "You know, we're going to have to figure out something to call you." You inform him. This time he points to you. "You want me to pick?" You ask and he nods. You put a finger to your chin not noticing that he's trying to show you his wrist. Surely you could think of something.

Before you can come up with something, Natasha returns to the kitchen. You pass her the cup of coffee, standing beside her, as she drinks from it.

"So, I found out he's four, he's never had pancakes apparently, and he just had a birthday." You inform her.

"That's good," She nods. "The team is still a bit unsure where and how he got into the lab but they're searching every database and working with police to figure out where his family is." She looks over at him as he eats his eggs with his hands. "For now I think he's here. You don't mind do you?"

"No, of course not, I think we're friends," You gesture over to him. "He's going to need clothes though. He can't just walk around in your clothes."

"I can go," She offers and you stop her.

"I can go. You're still injured. What you can do is sit on the couch and keep him entertained while I grab him a few things. He's on the small side but sizes should be true." You instruct.

"You're going to leave me here alone with him?" She looks terrified.

"Natasha, you came here alone with him." You remind her.

"Right, you're right," She relaxes. "I can do it. It's just like babysitting Lila and Cooper."

"Right," You kiss her cheek. You step over to the little boy, as he finishes his breakfast before he looks up at you. Something about his gaze and the way he seems so compliant unsettles you. "Hey, I'm going to step out for a little bit. Just going to the store. It'll be about one hour. I know you can't tell the time but if you think it's too long you can ask Natasha and she'll call me on the phone. Is that okay?"

He nods, puffing up his chest before he looks over to Natasha. It's his own little act of bravery. He feels safe with both of you. You don't want to test that and so you move fast. You don't waste time getting dressed and brushing your teeth. You're prepared well enough to go out.

Natasha is still in the kitchen with your guest when she notices the mood change. His lips curl into a pout, as he fiddles with his hands, his eyes flashing back and forth to the door.

"She'll come back," Natasha breaks him from his thoughts. He looks at her with a serious expression. "She tells the truth always. Until then would you like to watch some TV?" She suggests and he shrugs. Of course.

Natasha dumps the plates into the sink before taking him over to the couch. He climbs up, sitting all the way back against the cushions before he looks over at her expectantly. It takes her a few seconds before Natasha finds an acceptable kids' show. Dora The Explorer. She sits down right next to him and patiently waits for your return.

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

You never thought shopping for a child would be on your to-do list. You're in one of the aisles at Walmart, looking through their toddler clothes, when you find yourself dissatisfied. You're a psychologist, you know a decent amount about kids, but you never knew how hard it would be to shop for them. Especially when the boys' section doesn't have as much available. You gather a few t-shirts, ones with dinosaurs, ones with trucks, and even some with funny sayings on them before you collect the bottoms. It's still pretty warm outside but you grab an assortment. Next are the socks and the underwear and before you know it you've migrated over to the toy aisle.

You message Natasha to see if she agrees and she texts back with a photo of herself and the little one watching TV. Something inside you shifts. Seeing a photo of the two of them. The way he's curled into Natasha's side and how comfortable he is with her. You two shelved the idea of children. At least for a few years. Work is too crazy for a child. Natasha with her long missions and you picking up more cases at work. You're on track to own your own private practice. Everything's falling into place. Having a child would change things. Besides, you can't keep him. He probably has a family and people that love and miss him.

You receive another text from Natasha agreeing that he needs toys. You'd be happy to give them to him. You grab a few things that you think he'd like. Next is groceries. There's not much food at home, and you're definitely spending more than you anticipated, but you need it.

On the way home, you make a few calls.

First is Herbert Messing. He's a detective and one of your old college classmates. You check in to see if he's heard anything about a missing child.

"I haven't, not one that fits your description," Herbert denies. "Surely if he was truly lost someone would be looking for him by now. Send over a picture or bring him to the station."

"I can send a picture but bringing him to the station may be tough," You sigh. Natasha would be upset at you for texting and driving. You quickly send a picture at the red light. "I um, I think since it's technically Avengers business Ross might be on the case and..."

"And I know how snoopy he can be," Herbert sighs. "I'll see what I can do on my end but I make no promises."

"Thank you, love you a ton, bye." You hang up quickly. How could this little boy not have a family looking for him? Was this one of those rare cases where he's so far from home it'll take a while to find him?

Either way, you're not handing him over to Ross.

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

Back home, Natasha is drifting off to sleep on the couch. The little one is still full of energy. He wants to tap her and ask her where you are. It's taking you longer than you said. You're right he can't tell time but it's beginning to feel like an eternity. He watches Natasha's face to make sure she is sleeping before he slides down from the couch. He tiptoes to the bathroom, then the kitchen, and finally the bedroom. Some of your clothes are still tossed about and there's a robe on the bed. He steps over to the bed to drag his fingers along the fabric. It's scratchy but soft. He likes it. He pulls himself onto the mattress, covering his entire body in the robe before he falls asleep.

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

Less than a half-hour later you arrive back home with a dozen bags. You struggle the entire way into the private entrance before you manage to unlock it. You drop the bags near the front door to go find Natasha. She's asleep on the couch. Alone.

"Natasha, "You tap her. "Natasha." You say again and she sits up quickly. "Where's the little one?"

She makes a face of confusion before she looks around. "Fuck." She shakes her head. "Such a rookie mistake." She berates herself.

"The door was still locked so I doubt he left." You don't panic. You're the calm one. He can't be too far. You check the bathroom while Natasha checks the kitchen. You're running around your bedroom when you notice something is out of place. You walk closer, realizing it's him, fast asleep wrapped up in your robe. "Nat!" You call causing him to open his eyes. He whimpers, a sound sort of like a happy puppy reuniting with his owner, as he sits on his knees. Somehow you understand him. "I'm sorry. I took too long but I brought presents." You say and his eyes light up at the now-familiar word. Natasha walks into the room with a hand on her hip.

"I can't believe I fell asleep." She mutters and you wave her off.

"It happens," You say. "I think the little one would like to open his presents."

"Oh, yeah, we can do that." Natasha holds her hand out and he takes it. He's so willing to do everything you say. So far, he's perfect. Almost too perfect. You know Natasha has noticed it too. He moves and reacts as if he's been conditioned or programmed to. He doesn't really seem to oppose anything. Top that with not being familiar with pancakes or breakfast or even birthdays and presents. You don't know what you're dealing with.

You drag the bags into the living room where you pull out the toys first. All three of you sit on the floor, Natash pushing the coffee table aside so that you can have more room. The first thing you pull out of the bag is a fire truck toy. It's long and red and has a couple buttons to press. He simply looks at it.

"Has he ever played with a toy?" Natasha poses the question and you're having the same train of thought. She pushes it, showing him how to play with it and he seems interested enough. He crawls over to the toy, tapping it with his fingers, before turning it over. Natasha presses a button, causing the toy to light up, and the siren to sound. He doesn't like this at all. Instead of the happy reaction both of you were hoping for he backs away and doesn't stop until he's pressed against the couch.

"You don't like this one?" You ask remaining calm. Keep your voice soothing. Natasha calls it your doctor's voice. He shakes his head. He claps his hands over his ears. "It's too loud." You explain to Natasha. She flips the switch effectively killing the siren.

You try another toy, a ball, passing it to him to see his reaction. He turns it over his hands. He likes it.

"I talked to Herb," You say when he seems occupied enough. "There's nothing out there indicating he's a missing child. I called a couple others that I know and everything came up short." You inform her.

"On my end too," Natasha says. "They're doing a bit more digging into this lab. Visage had their hand in a lot of crooked pots. I don't know." She bites her lips.

"What's wrong?" You ask as you keep an eye on the boy.

"I don't know the whole thing was just too easy," Natasha shrugs. "It's a mission. Just like any other. We go in. We fight. We get out. Of course, there's always potential for them to torch things or destroy things. The lab was destroyed. Set on fire. There were these pods. I don't know what to call it. They looked like tanning beds or something but I- I can't describe it. Like it was out of a movie or something. It can't be a coincidence that he was left behind." She looks at him with a hard gaze. "He couldn't have just wondered over."

"Do you think someone left him on purpose?"

Natasha doesn't answer. She doesn't know truly.

"Well until then we have to give him a name to call him." You mull it over. "I don't want to keep calling him the boy."

"Do you have anything in mind?" She questions.

"I was thinking something simple but not like David or Jacob," You shake your head. "How about Micah?" You ask and his head turns towards you. Almost as if he's decided it's his name too.

"Would you want that to be your name?" Natasha catches his attention. He blinks at her offering her no indication that he agrees. He points to you.

"Yes," You nod. "My name is Y/n. Her name is Natasha. Your name could be Micah. Is that good?" You attempt to help him understand. He nods enthusiastically. Suddenly as if he just realizes something, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a white graphic tee with a colorful astronaut on it. He holds it up.

"I think he wants a bath," Natasha takes a wild guess. Micah looks down at himself and then back to the shirt.

"That's right it's yours," You encourage. "We could take a bath. Then you could wear it. How about that?" You smile. He nods again. You grab a few of the bath items to use as you all travel into the bathroom. Natasha makes herself useful by running the bath water. She adds a capful of your favorite bubble bath. You move to help Micah with his shirt when he slaps your hand away. His breathing increases and he backs away from you.

Natasha tilts her head, wondering what warranted that reaction, but you're not as confused.

"I'm sorry," You apologize sincerely. "I know you're a bit messy and we wanted to take a bath right? Did you want to take your shirt off alone?"

He shakes his head no. That perplexes you. Had something bad happened in the bath?

"It's not too hot," Natasha shows him by dipping her hand in. He looks to her and back to you.

"I could get in with you?" You try. He seems almost surprised by this. His shaking hands drop to his side. "There are bubbles so I won't see anything. I could show you how to bathe. It's fun."

He nods. You help him with his shirt this time before you strip yourself down to your t-shirt and underwear. It's not the most appropriate outfit but you needed to get him clean. You climb in first, before helping him in. It's then you notice the dark ink on his wrist. It's a branding of sorts. A tattoo. You look to see if Natasha saw. She has.

"He has a tattoo," You speak. You're sure now this company was up to more than any of you are ready for. You use a bit of soap to scrub against his skin to find it still there. Before Micah changes his mind you get to work scrubbing him quickly. He sits still, not showing any emotion, as you clean him. His hair is another story. It's more of a task to wash. You talk to him about your childhood dog to distract him. "Cookie was her name." You smile reminiscently. "She was the most loyal dog I've ever met." You say and he follows your movements with his eyes. "Tilt your head back." You use the cup Natasha gives you to rinse his hair. A little water gets to his face and he flinches. "Oh, I'm sorry," You reach for his towel and clean his face free. His hair is long and now that it's untangled it flows down his back.

"All done," Natasha holds out a towel. She helps him out, wrapping him up tightly before she sniffs him. "You smell good now." She grins before giving him thumbs up. When you step out to grab your own towel, he walks over to you and sniffs. He turns back to Natasha to give her a thumbs up. This causes her to give a belly laugh. "He thinks you smell good."

"Good to know." You nod. You run to your room to get dressed in dry clothes so that you can help Natasha. You come back and he already has the shirt, new shorts, and socks on his feet. He continues to rub his hands over the shirt, as if unfamiliar with the fabric before he drops them to his side. "It's cotton." You say before you bring over a brush for his hair. "Natasha's going to brush your hair."

He glances at her before nodding again. That would be fine. Natasha is gentle and quick. She makes sure not to pull too hard as she detangles. He stands patiently, his eyes trained on a speck on the floor, as you clean the bathroom. Natasha's phone rings in the distance and a small noise erupts from his throat.

"It's okay, it's just a phone," You furrow your brow. You go and grab it for Natasha and read the caller ID to her. "It's Steve." You trade Micah for the phone. He frowns when she leaves the room to take the call. "Micah, can I ask you some things?" You dip your head to catch his eyes. You take him to your bedroom where you help him onto the bed.

He keeps his hands in his lap.

"Did you have a family where you lived?" You ask. He doesn't seem to recognize the word. "Okay, a Mommy or Daddy?" He tilts his head. "A Mommy?" You guess and he shakes his head. "Do you know what that is?" He shakes his head again. "Okay, um," you find yourself fumbling a lot. All of your years of studying straight out of the window. "A mommy, some people call them Mama, is the woman that takes care of you. They feed you. Bathe you. Give you hugs. They make you feel safe. They keep you safe."

He presses his finger to your chest. Your heart breaks and is fixed back again at the gesture.

"I-I am not your Mama," You find yourself saying with a tinge of sadness. "I didn't give birth to you." You whisper. "Did you get lost?" You go through your list of questions. He either nods or shakes his head.

No. He doesn't have parents. No, he didn't get lost. Yes, he lived in the lab. Yes, he played games. No, he doesn't remember things from before. This leaves you at square one. You're thinking back to the bath, how afraid he was. The tattoo. Your mind flashes to every single SciFi movie you've ever seen and you're jumping to a big conclusion.

"They want us to bring him in for testing," Natasha tucks her phone into her pocket. "They have clues but Helen Cho wants to do some DNA testing."

"Natasha I think we should discuss what I think he is," You tell her.

"No time we need to do this now," She searches for her keys. "They're following a lead and we need to chase it before it runs cold." You know what she's doing. She's distancing herself. It is what she does to prepare herself from getting hurt. You know your wife better than anybody. From the moment she decided to bring him home you know she fell in love. You stand to stop her, gripping her by her forearms, to keep her in her place.

"Don't do this," You plead with her. "Don't check out yet. He still needs us no matter what happens. For all we know it's just testing. We know there's still a slim chance he may have a family and we can help him reunite with them."

"He doesn't," Natasha husks. She pulls you out of the bedroom noting how closely he's watching you. "They don't believe he ever had any or that he does but it's so complicated."

"So that trumps my theory of him being some sort of alien or supernatural being," You say. She frowns. "Don't knock it. It's not the craziest thing we would see."

"You're not too far off from what we've been thinking," Natasha looks over to him. "Tony and Steve are going to tell us when we get there."

"Guess we're taking a trip." You sigh.

So much for a peaceful day.

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

The car ride to the compound turns out to be a completely new experience for Micah. He shields his eyes away from the natural light, and turns his face into your side, as he sits in the backseat with you. Maybe you should have put sunglasses on the list. You think you're more nervous than Natasha as you pull into the garage of the compound. You opt to carry him in with Natasha by your side. You’re welcomed into the lab, walking through familiar glass doors, to find the team all gathered.

"Great you're here," Tony claps his hands. "Now we can hand Kyle Xy over to Ross or the FBI and let them handle things."

"What does he mean?" You look to Natasha. You sit with Micah in your lap, not pushing him away, as he hides his face in your chest.

"Well, I'll let Helen do the talking," Steve says and Helen Cho stands. She's a geneticist and sometimes the go-to scientist for the rest of the team.

"So, we got a hold of Visage's old files," Helen begins as she clicks a button on the tiny remote in her hand effectively powering up the projector. Sam turns off the lights before going to sit in his chair. "Turns out one of their biggest cash cows was the process of cloning. Basically, they transfer the DNA of a human's somatic cell into another cell that's had its nucleus and DNA removed. Then that cell grows into an embryo and as we know forms a child."

"Like IVF?" Natasha questions and Helena moves her head from side to side.

"Sort of only the embryo isn't implanted into a woman's uterus," Helen clicks again and a grainy picture appears on the screen. "They were cloning humans. As I mentioned they keep the embryos in incubator-like pods for growth. The embryos grow at rapid rates according to their set time. Like a microwave of sorts. Only they're cryogenic chambers meant to keep them in stasis until the hosts need them."

"And who are these hosts?" You're trying to keep up.

"Other people. Humans. People with money or anyone willing to pay a pretty penny." Helen answers

"So what? it's illegal surrogacy?" Sam throws out and she doesn't respond.

"They were using these clones for medical reasons," Tony explains." It's one of Visage's biggest money-makers. Even more sinister than we thought. Basically, these billionaires pay a lot of money for a clone and their doppelganger is made with perfectly healthy organs and such. If they get sick or old or injured they use the body parts or organs for themselves. "

Micah shifts in your arms to peek over at everyone.

"So he's a clone?" You tilt your head.

"Essentially yes," Tony folds his arms under his chest.

"And what do they do with the clones once they get what they want?" Steve questions. He's not a fan of cryofreezing after being victim to it.

"They freeze them again or keep them in stasis," She clicks another photo showing the naked body of what seems to be a grown man as he's hooked up to an umbilical cord. The pod is filled with water as he floats. Micah runs from your lap to the screen. His breathing increases as he looks up at the screen. Does he remember something?

"Hey, kid, you recognize this? Tony asks. " Kid?"

"He doesn't talk," Natasha speaks for him.

"Can he?" Steve questions.

"Medically speaking, yes." Helen answers. "He's choosing not to."

"Selective mutism," You describe. "It happens for a lot of children with an anxiety disorder that visits the clinic. After something traumatic they stop speaking in certain situations."

"Would he be able to have an anxiety disorder all things considered?"

"I don't know," Helen admits. "For all intents and purposes, he is a normal child. He may not feel pain or emotion like one. Think of him as a robot if you will or a newborn infant. They released him too late."

"What do you mean too late?"

"The records we found and the tattoo on his wrist," Helen points. " Would indicate he already belongs to a host family. A wealthy diplomat and his wife. Their daughter needed a heart transplant due to a defect. She died before they could do the procedure."

"Is that not the same as having a baby to use for its sick sibling?" Steve points out.

"I'm inclined to say yes but..." Helen doesn't finish. "We were looking to run some tests on his organs and his brain."

"Did you contact this family?" You ask as Micah continues to stand at the front of the room.

"We did but due to privacy and status, they were unwilling to cooperate," Tony sighs. "They don't want to be caught up in something so out there. Crooks they are. We asked the if they would want to take in the boy."

"And what did they say?" Natasha sits up straight.

"They said that he had no soul," Helen says matter of factly. Micah looks up to her upon hearing those words. "That he's not real and they were washing their hands of the entire situation. They lawyered up. If the government comes after them they're willing to fight but they don't want a child that's not real to them."

"Jesus," You curse. "So what now?"

"I say we run the tests and hand him over to Ross," Tony throws his hands up in mock surrender. "We already have our hands full with everything else around here. No way can we take in a child."

You look over at Natasha pleadingly. No way would you be able to give him up. Natasha remains quiet. Has she changed her mind?

"We've set up the lab and can have tests back in a couple of hours."

"You're going to poke and prod a little boy?" You find yourself getting angry. "Run your tests on him and what? Throw him to the wolves because you have too much on your plate? How are you any better than those other people? Than Visage?"

No one says a word.

"We're not equipped to keep him. We don't know what can happen or how he will turn out," Steve begins so you stand in anger.

"Unbelievable," You shake your head with tears in your eyes. You can't stand to see this. You won't. You rush out of the lab and out to the courtyard. You need some air. Natasha follows you with a scowl on her face. Micah simply stands. Was he to follow you?

When she locates you, you turn away from her.

"Y/n," Natasha attempts to touch your shoulder and you yank out of her reach.

"Why did you bring him home?" You try to wipe the tears from your eyes. "Why did you do this? I was perfectly fine and I knew it could be something and..did you hear them talking about him? He doesn't have a soul? No emotions? They talked about him as if he wasn't even human. As if he isn't a child. A baby." You stop yourself from sobbing. You swipe angrily at your face.

"I know," Natasha sits next to you.

"It's only been a day but Nat," You whimper. " I can't stand by and let them do that." You shake your head. She remains silent.

It's Wanda that interrupts your moment together.

"They're ready to do the testing," She gauges your reaction. You can't really be mad at the teen for relaying the message. It was just a few years ago she was in the same predicament. "For what it's worth I think he would like you there."

You nodded. He would. You stand first, then Natasha, and you cradle her hand in yours. You could do this. You follow Wanda to the lab where she stands. Micah is seated on one of the metal tables. He's still in his astronaut shirt and red shorts. His expression is blank but his eyes follow every single person in the room. Tony and the rest of the team stand on one side of the room. You and Natasha on the other. Your fingers are pressed against the glass, watching in anticipation.

"Ross is on his way," Tony mentions, and your finger twitches. You've never wanted to commit a crime more than you did now.

You watch in trepidation as Helen Cho inspects the tattoo on his wrist. She holds out his arm as another scientist prepares to take blood. You don't turn away as the needle pricks his skin. You narrow your eyes when you spot the tiniest flinch from Micah. He could feel that? Almost like pain. Though he doesn't blink or move again. They take blood. They poke and they prod. Finally, they have to do tests on his brain.

No one else seems to see it but you can. The unease on the little boy's face as he allows them to attach chords to his head and his chest. There's one almost like a helmet and that's when you see it again. A flinch. He's been in this position before you deduce. He was birthed and grown in a lab. He knows what this is like and he doesn't like it.

His lips move almost as if he's mimicking a word but you can't quite make out what he's saying. It's over sooner than you know it. Next is another contraption that resembles an MRI machine.

"Keep still, 007." One of the scientists instructs him. They're calling him by the tattoo.

"His name is Micah." You mutter to yourself. You can feel Natasha's soothing hand on your back. Even then you can't calm down. As if by magic, you can feel another presence. You turn your head just slightly to find Ross and a few of his henchmen as you like to call them. They're strapped with guns and army gear. "You don't need all of that for a child." You find yourself saying aloud.

Ross's challenging expression sends chills down your spine. "You may think so but we don't know what we are dealing with. It's just a precaution." He explains before he approaches Tony. They converse quietly and you turn back to watch.

Micah's tiny hands are shaking and his lips are moving again. His head is moving even though he's been instructed to keep still.

"What's he saying?" You ask and Natasha removes her hand to step closer to the glass. "Nat, he doesn't like it in there." You inform her. "Let me go get him." Natasha doesn't want to be the one to stop you but she'd rather herself than someone else. You don't move just yet.

"No," You can hear a small voice. "No." He cries again and you know it's Micah. "Mama!" He yells and your heart soars. "Mama!" He screams at the top of his lungs. "Mama!" He screams again as he thrashes against the table. This stops everyone in their tracks. Even Ross. You rush around them, straight into the lab, and right over to Micah as he continues to cry out for his Mama. For you. He chose you. You don't hesitate to pick him up, pulling all of the wires from his body to toss them on the floor. Micah sobs as you cradle him to you. The only thing on your mind is him as you comfort him. You don't care who is watching. Your only priority is him.

"I'm real," He whispers into your neck. "I'm real." He repeats over and over. As if he’s trying to convince himself and you.

"I know, Micah, I know." You shush him. You can hear the cocking of a gun and a groan of pain behind you. You turn quickly to find Natasha has stripped one of Ross's henchmen of his gun, pointing it at his head while holding his arms behind his back.

"You even think about touching her and I will kill him," Natasha threatens everyone around you. Her voice is pure venom and you know she's serious. What have you gotten into? "I will kill you all."

"We just want the child." Ross raises his hands. "That's what we came here for."

"Y/n, do you really want to put your wife in danger for this?" Tony seems so chill about all of this. Suddenly he's going from a friend to an enemy. "Are you willing to risk her life for someone you just met last night?"

You feel the deep-seated guilt as your eyes travel around the room.

"I'm real," Micah sobs again and you let tears fall from your own eyes. "Mama." He pleads and your heart practically falls out of your chest. You can't let him go.

"He feels pain," You manage to say with a shaky breath. "When you poked him with that needle you noticed it didn't you?" You ask and the scientist looks away. He's too afraid to get involved but that's all the answer you needed. "He has emotions. You can see from how hard he's crying that he has fucking emotions." You growl and he whimpers again. You kiss his head before trying to calm yourself. "You can't just take him."

"He's property of the United States Government," Ross reminds you.

"Call your boss," Natasha demands. Ross begins to protest but she stops him. "Call him or I start shooting." She wraps her thumb tighter around the gun.

Ross dramatically sighs before pulling out his phone. He waits impatiently before the phone picks up. He looks perturbed as he gives a general explanation of what is going on.

"Let me speak to him," Natasha gestures and he looks at her as if she's crazy. Then, as if he was also asked to speak to Natasha, he passes the phone to her. He acts as if this is the most troubling thing he's ever seen. "Hi," She says roughly. "I can't let you do that." Natasha challenges. "You see you owe me a favor. Let's call it even." Natasha says. "You get your guys to go home. I keep the boy." Natasha stops to listen, glancing over at you before she looks back to the phone. "When I take him home you don't come after us. You don't try again later. You leave him." She clearly instructs. She releases the gun. Lowering it to her side. She slides the phone back to Ross.

He takes it, hoping to come out victorious, only for there to be a frown on his face again. He nods his head a few times, giving a yes every other minute before he finally hangs up.

"Wrap it up boys, he's going with them," Ross sighs. "This isn't over Romanoff." He says before they storm out. The henchman reaches for his gun and Natasha points it at his head again. How was he expecting to get that back?

She watches them leave, making sure they're a safe distance before she steps over to you.

"Is he okay?" She asks and you nod.

"Micah, sweetie, can you let me look at you?" You ask as you set him down on the table. His eyes are wet and his face screws into a big pout.

"I'm real," He comments again. You nod while fixing his hair.

"You are real." You say. "Nat, what do we do?"

"We live our lives as usual," She says and your eyes flash to hers. "The favor is in. I called it. Still have to keep watch. They're going to come after him eventually."

"Nat, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to be-"

"For better or for worse right," Natasha shrugs. "If you truly believe everything and you want him we can keep him."

"He's not an animal," You remind her. She silently scolds herself.

"I know I just... I brought him home and I want him too." She ultimately admits. You nod. You could live with that. You pick him up again, walking around the forgotten wires, to exit the building.

"Tony, you're dead to me," Natasha doesn't even look his way as she walks with you. Her eyes scan the area, making sure no one is going to stop you, as you head towards the garage. When you're at the car, you climb in, buckling him in, before Natasha turns with a gun drawn to whoever has been following you. "Wanda!" She curses before she tucks it away. You step out of the car to come around.

"I want to go with you," She insists.

"We're just going home," Natasha says.

"Bullshit," Wanda argues. "You're running."

Your eyes dart to your wife. You know but even still would she admit that to Wanda?

"Wanda, you're sixteen," Natasha says.

"So," Wanda shrugs. "I don't want this family if you're not there."

There's a silence where you and Natasha think it over. Wanda would never forgive you if you said no.

"Get in," Natasha relents and you all jump into action. Wanda hops into the front seat and you in the back just as the rest of the team enters the garage. Natasha starts the car and drives as fast and as safely as she can. She continues to your apartment where you all enter. "Pack your things quickly. Don't take what you don't need." She says. She grabs a few duffel bags while you head to your bedroom. Micah is left to sit with Wanda. You pack important papers, passports, documents, and other things.

Micah slides down from the couch over to the toys you left out. He taps at the fire truck, before pressing the button, not flinching this time as the siren goes off. You step out of the bedroom to see him so calm.

Were you really doing this?

"You ready?" Natasha exits the bathroom with a bag full.

"Y-yeah," You nod before going to grab your own packed bags. You rush the kids out of the door and down the stairs again. That's the last you would see of your apartment.

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

Three months later... "Mom, he's refusing to come inside again," Wanda calls out as she sets the table for dinner.

"Again with this boy," You shake your head as you turn off the stove. "Where's Natasha?"

Wanda shrugs. You wipe your hands on your jeans to exit through the backdoor. You're about to give Micah a light scolding when you spot him in the grass, picking something, not aware of your presence. He looks up as the back door slams. He gives you a wide smile. His cheeks are dirty, he's not wearing shoes, and his shorts have grass stains. Even still he looks adorable.

He runs over to you with something behind his back.

"What you got there, buddy?" You ask as you kneel down. His smile grows even wider.

"Present, Mama." He says before he holds out his hand. Small yellow flowers that he picked from the grass. It's the best present you've ever received.

[milomaxxy]

Something I wish I could vent about without IMMEDIATELY getting fucking dogpiled by people who have zero fucking critical thinking skills and automatically assume shit about me, is how covid (and having long covid) has affected my ability to mask.

I got covid (at least) twice- and that's what I tested positive for. I have long covid now, and that affects so much that I do. I can't walk as far, I can't tolerate the heat as well, I can't eat or drink some of the things I used to, my sense of taste has wildly changed, and more; but the worst part is how it affects my breathing. I can't breathe without basically panting anymore. Even lying in bed right now, I can't breathe properly and have to breathe through my mouth to get proper air flow. If I get too hot, or even too warm sometimes, I end up gasping for air like I'm actually choking on the air I'm breathing. My head gets light, my vision blurs and gets dark spots, my mouth gets numb, my limbs tingle and prickle, and I get an overall weakness. Hell, there's been times I've almost passed out from it and had to sit down bc I couldn't stand.

How does this affect masking, you ask? Bc with my regular breathing being hindered already, any kind of extra hindrance can really fuck me. Like, quick in-and-out, less than 5 minutes? I can do it, not perfectly fine, but not really worse off. If I have to actually take time somewhere tho? Like, if I have to do grocery shopping, or go to an appointment, or do my taxes? It has made me actually end up having AMR (the ambulance) called for me by staff before. Bc I basically fainted (for like 5 seconds), fell over, and looked like I was actively dying. I've had to take breaks while grocery shopping bc I have issues breathing as is, but wearing a mask makes it genuinely Difficult To Breathe to the point of hurting me.

And it fucking sucks, bc I DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE THIS. I don't want to sound like a fucking anti-masker who probably thinks covid was made by the U.S. government when I try to explain my health problems. I don't want to have to disclose the fact that, even tho I followed ALL THE PROTOCOLS, other people got me so sick that I can't wear a mask without hurting myself. I don't want to have to disclose my medical information to have a "valid reason" to "break the rules" bc I KNOW how important masking is. I KNOW what the risks are, and I DON'T WANT to take those risks. I'm basically stuck between the decisions of "wear a mask, but not be able to breathe and end up in the hospital *again*" or "don't mask, risk getting sick again, and deal with people who don't want to hear eXcUsEs". As if "I genuinely can't breathe even sitting down and resting, much less moving around with a mask on and I HATE that" is an excuse and not me trying to explain how much I don't want to have to even think about not masking.

I just really wish I could vent about how much I want to cry about this, without someone accusing me of lying about my health. Without someone accusing me of being a fucking fascist, anti-masker, antivaxxer, POS just bc they don't believe me. Fuck

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 7

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

a/n: we’re halfway through!! I’m sorry this part is shorter, but things are about to pick up!

warnings: swearing, blackmail, mention of murder, themes of conspiracy, canon typical violence.

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters. Any and all characters are a work of fiction and any likeness to real persons is wholly unintentional.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

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previous part | series masterlist | next part

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“What do you want me to do”

Morozov grins, pulls a paper out of a manila folder next to his laptop, and slides it across the table to you.

“This list contains the names of people who are keeping HYDRA from its full potential.

“Eliminate them.”

You cautiously pick up the paper Morozov slides to you, letting your eyes wander meticulously over the list of names presented. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you read.

John Atkins, President of the United States of America

Elizabeth Fitzgerald, U.S. Secretary of Defense

Antonio Smith, U.S. Director of Homeland Security

Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD

Phil Coulson, SHIELD

Steve Rogers a.k.a. Captain America, Avenger

Your head begins to ache as you try to comprehend the names in front of you—the targets you’ve been given.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to kill these people for you,” you say, bringing your attention back to the monster sat in front of you.

Morozov sighs dramatically.

“Again, Mrs. Barnes, I remind you HYDRA has eyes on your family. Each of our undercover operatives are trained snipers and combatants. Do you really think I’m bluffing when I say I’ll have your daughter killed? Your husband? Your friends?”

You purse your lips tightly.

“The names on that list belong to the people who consistently prevent HYDRA from realizing its mission. If I am to accomplish what our forefathers couldn’t, I need to eliminate any potential threats.”

“And what are you trying to accomplish?” You ask petulantly.

Morozov stands, letting his hands rest clasped together behind his back.

“I thought you’d never ask!” He sings out. “You see, eons ago, the ancient inhumans banished the all powerful inhuman HIVE to the planet Maveth. HYDRA has lost its way over the years, but our purpose is to bring HIVE back to Earth so that he may purify it.”

You scoff and Morozov glares at you.

“Steve Rogers, SHIELD, and the American government have foiled HYDRA’s attempts to bring HIVE back to Earth too many times. The HYDRA leaders who’ve come before me didn’t have the gall to eliminate such prominent leaders. That’s why I will be the one to bring HIVE home!”

“I reiterate, you’re insane,” you spit. You can hear the venom in your own voice.

“I reiterate,” Morozov mocks, “I will have everyone you love killed.”

Morozov presses a key on the laptop and a camera switches to whom you assume is one of the undercover HYDRA agents at the Compound. Morozov hits another button and speaks.

“Agent 0412, go to standby.”

You watch as the agent nods subtly before pulling out a gun, turning off the safety, and walking towards the Avengers living quarters. You suck in a breath. While you’ve been acutely aware that Morozov isn’t joking around, you hadn’t quite felt the weight of your own choices until this moment. You note that every choice you make will directly impact the next choice Morozov makes.

“Fine,” you concede. “Call him off and I’ll do it.”

Morozov grins before calling off the guard.

—

You’re sitting on a jet heading back towards the states. You wish you were headed home, but you choose to take some comfort in the fact that you’re at least leaving Siberia.

You check your gear, taking inventory of each gun and knife you have hidden in your suit and strapped to your body. Then, when you’re comfortable enough with your gear, you pull out a crumpled piece of paper that has the names of Morozov’s targets. You’ve chosen to move down the list so that you’ll start with President Atkins and end with Steve. You only hope you manage to break free from HYDRA before you actually have to kill anyone.

“Agent Barnes,” a gruff voice states, and you look up to meet the burly man speaking.

Ever since you formerly agreed to Morozov’s conditions of your family’s safety, you’d been treated more fairly and addressed more respectfully.

“Hmm?” You hum, having taken to speaking as little as possible.

“Hold out your arm, please,” the man says as he comes to kneel beside you where you’re sat. It’s then that you notice the metal case he holds.

Cautiously, you hold out your arm, and you watch as he pulls a large syringe out of the case. The man picks up a small device and loads it into the syringe. He then rolls up your tac suit sleeve and injects the device into your arm. You grimace. It hurts going in, and you can see a bulge in your arm.

“The fuck was that?” You ask incredulously.

“Your tracker,” the man responds dryly. “Dr. Frost asked me to remind you that you’ve nowhere to run. One move in the wrong direction and he orders the kill shot on your family.”

With that, the man leaves and you sit in silence for the rest of your flight towards DC.

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ko-fi

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Tags: @just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22-blog @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc @fairytalegirlofurdreams @marvelxlevram @casa-boiardi @buckybraneslover111 @hhiggs @smolracoon25 @questionableratatouille00 @heytheredemonsitsyourgirl @thearieunhinged @sebastianstansqueen @middaystarlight @talesofadragon @killerwendigo @ozwriterchick

[zvaigzdelasas]

Joe Biden and top aides have discussed the likelihood that Benjamin Netanyahu’s political days are numbered — and the president has conveyed that sentiment to the Israeli prime minister in a recent conversation. The topic of Netanyahu’s short political shelf life has come up in recent White House meetings involving Biden, according to two senior administration officials. That has included discussions that have taken place since Biden’s trip to Israel, where he met with Netanyahu.

Biden has gone so far as to suggest to Netanyahu that he should think about lessons he would share with his eventual successor, the two administration officials added. A current U.S. official and a former U.S. official both confirmed that the administration believes Netanyahu has limited time left in office. The current official said the expectation internally was that the Israeli PM would likely last a matter of months, or at least until the early fighting phase of Israel’s military campaign in the Gaza Strip was over, though all four officials noted the sheer unpredictability of Israeli politics.[...]

A separate White House official downplayed the idea that Netanyahu’s future was a topic of interest, saying that any chatter was just idle speculation and insisting that the administration’s focus was squarely on supporting Israel’s security. [...]

U.S. officials have taken note of Netanyahu’s falling approval ratings. [...]

With an eye toward the future, U.S. officials are talking to Benny Gantz, a member of the current unity government; Naftali Bennett, a former prime minister; and Yair Lapid, an opposition leader and former prime minister, among other Israeli figures, the former official said.

PM Lapid or PM Gantz by next year....maybe even PM Gvir.......Israeli politics sucks man [1 Nov 23]

[usagii-bun]

𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | soulmate au! namor x f! reader! part 1 [REQUEST]

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 — in which you were hired to be a nurse by the government for an expedition to the Atlantic Ocean in search for vibranium only for your ship to be ambushed and for you to also find your soulmate. [ this is the request that was sent to me and it's better explained here so pls do check this out before reading cause my synopsis sucks!]

i loved this idea so much! tysm @kpopgirlbtssvt for sending in this request! I really loved writing it and I wanted to take my time with this request so I had split it into two parts! i hope this is okay!

reblogs , likes and shares are highly

appreciated ♡

PART 1

Soulmates. Many cultures and religions have different interpretations and stories about this concept.

The Greek philosopher Plato wrote that humans once had four arms, four legs and two faces. He stated that Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half,

In Japanese culture it is believed that a  magical cord connects two souls. It may stretch or tangle, but never break. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances

while in Hindu culture, there's an idea that you have a karmic connection with a certain soul. It is called lehnu in the Gujarati language, which is the link with another soul that causes you to keep crossing paths, each time having a good impact on each other and improving our lives for the better.

There's many interpretation of what soulmates are truely here for, almost everyone in this world has one —  a person that you could find comfort in, confined in and is your other half.

But for you, you still never found yours. Everyday you hoped to find your other half but nothing. It's been years and you passed the point of when most people found their other half, making you feel anxious and scared.

What if you never find them or what if you weren't destined to have one ? Most people start to form a marking on their wrist at 18— the marking being one that resembles something that both people have a strong connection with.

Most cases people get their soulmate marking as late as the age of 24 but you have passed that age making you worried and now almost hopeless that you weren't given another half.

The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the ship broke you from your depressed thoughts as your skin tingle, your teeth grinding agaisnt each other causing your fingers to twitch as you felt extremly sensitive to the harsh noises as you placed your noise canceling headphones on—your body instantly easing up once you connected your headphones.

You were currently on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean—to be specific a ship that consisted of CIA agents and the U.S Navy whom were utilizing a vibranium detector in search of vibranium in the ocean.

You were hired as an on board nurse, you job was to be a responder during emergencies, perform patient assessments, assist providence with clinical diagnosing, and administer medications and tests.

Everything was going smoothly, there was no serious issues just people coming in to do their daily vitality check ups.

You were surprised you are managing quite well in this new environment as you are a person who has sensory issues and find certain things to be extremly overwhelming but everything was fine, to be honest you were enjoying this new experience.

It was like a fresh breath of air away from the mundane everyday city life and the consistent searching for your soulmate.

But something also drawn you to join this expedition — not mainly money or change of life but the strong sensation to be close to the ocean.

You found comfort in the ocean. At times when the waves crashed harshly, it did cause you to feel extremly sensitive to the noise but at times when the ocean was calm, it felt like it was calling out to you, to join it.

There was something so hypnotic about the ocean to you, almost every weekend you would be at the beach— either just taking a walk on the shore and collecting sea shells or dipping your feet in the water.

So when you got the job opportunity to be on board and explore deeper parts of the ocean you could not turn down the offer ( and also the amount of money they were willing to pay you).

'If I can't have a soulmate than money should be my other half and comfort.' You thought, oddly that cheered you up as you thought of the things you want to get yourself once you are back on land as you start to unpack the medication from the stock room onto your shelves , extremly oblivious to the commotion that was occurring on the ship.

You were extremly focused on what you were doing that you didn't realize that someone else was in the room until you turned around, the medication you had in your hand fell to the ground.

Your eyes widening, the pulse behind your ear starts to throb. In front of you stood a man whom held a sharp spear like weapon but what shocked and scared you even more was his appearance. His skin a azure blue, body adorn with jewels and metals and what looked like an apparatus covering his noise and mouth.

A scream leaves past your lips, your heart beating faster. For once you extrmely regret wearing your noise canceling headphones as two people whom also had the same daunting appearance as the man came into the room after hearing your screams, their spears pointed towards you, your hands shakily take off your headphones to hear what they say and to try and communicate with them.

The sharp tip of the spear coming towards your neck, pressing against your flesh as tears start to brim at the corner of your eyes, your heart beating faster and faster as you felt like you were about to hyperventilate.

You have no experience with any combat or fighting, you could not escape this as you blinked your eyes as you start to plead for your life, tears falling from yours eyes and cascading down onto to your cheeks, your cheeks turning an apple red as you choke on your words.

"P-please I'll do anything, please don't kill me. I-I don't want to die." You cried out, your voice shaky as your legs felt weak as you fall to your knees, the spear following your movements.

"We should take her to K'uk'ulkan first, she might have insight on the scientist as the others didn't give in." one of the people said, the language was foreign to you and you didn't understand anything they said as you felt the spear coming closer to your neck once again.

There was no repsone to what the perosn said, instead a strong hand grasped onto your upper arm causing you to whimper as tears cascaded down your cheeks, the person pulling you up to your feet as they dragged you out of the room.

Your mind was jumbled up with so many questions , fear burning through out your body as you felt your senses overload. Your mind was frantically running in circles, your eyes widen when you find the corpses of CIA agents and marines , each brutally murdered and their blood splashed across the metal hallway as the bile in your throat burned, the heavy smell of blood entering your nose making you feel quisy and light headed, your hands and feet tingling as you hoped that this was all just a nightmare.

The chilled night air nips at your skin once you are on the top deck, the night sky and the moon being the witness of what was going on, the moonlight sparkled agaisnt the ocean and the tear stains that stuck to your skin.

There were more of these blue people on top and more corpses of people you have worked with scattered around making you feel nauseas as the man's grip on your forearm tightening as he walked towards a man and woman.

Your heart for some reason suddenly lurched in your chest, a cold draft falling upon you as the pulse in your neck starts to beat faster , you senses becoming even more alert.

"K'uk'ulkan" the three soliders say in unison, the man had his back facing them, a lady next to him— her skin a similar shade of blue to the men that have captured you but through your blurry eyes you noticed the man that's back was facing you— his skin was not blue rather a milky brown color. You skin pricked with goosebumps at the sight of him as he turns around.

Everything about him oozed regality from the confidence his body language gave off. He was muscluar and his chets was adorn by a large gold and jade neck plates, a necklace strung with shells and pearls hung around his neck too.

What looked like gold bracletes were cuffed around his biceps, wrists, and ankles.

He was extremly beautiful, the epitome of beauty. It made your heart haywire but his beautiful was covered with a scowl, eyes burning with anger and hatred towards you making you feel uneasy at the mixed emotions you felt towards this odd stranger.

You continued to cry, in fear of your life, you have never been in such a situation. Your breathing coming out uneasy as K’uk’ulkan comes towards you, his spear being held in a position to strike but when you look up at him again, your eyes filled with fear, tiredness and pain, your eyes that sparkled like the light that reflects off of the ocean — he hesitate.

Something warm fills his chest, his heart banging agaisnt his chest frantically as he without a second thought looked down at his wrist, a small marking was carved into his skin. It looked like someone had taken a knife and had curved the sign of the water element, his gaze moving away from this and towards you.

His gaze softens, the gaze that was once filled with hatred changed. He signals for his people to let go of you and they do without hesitation as you crumbled to the ground, loud sobs leaving past your lips as you quiver in fear.

K'uk'ulkan look down at you, he gaze at you with confusion and wonder. His heart in conflict that a surface dweller is his soulmate. The person he had been waiting for nearly 500 years. He had waited for centuries for his other half that he had almost given up on the idea of him having a soulmate.

Your loud sob breaks him out of his thoughts as his brows furrow in concern as he bends down towards you, your eyes closed shut in fear as you start to breath heavily.

Without hesitation, K'uk'ulkan placed his hand on your should— an instant surge of electricity shocked the both of you causing your eyes to open and his to widen in shock. The sensation felt amaizng, it seemed to calm you down and it made him feel a slight ease in his heart.

You look up at him with teary eyes, your gaze being met with warm brown eyes that calmed you down abit as a warm hand suddenly came and cupped your cheeks gently, your eyes widening at this sensation that made your skin tingle, your heart beat faster as the pad of his thumb gently wiped away the tears that collected underneath your eyes, you sniffles lightly.

The fear still stuck to you as your eyes move away from his and towards the people that surrounded you making you to take in a shaky breath in.

"It's okay." he spoke in english, his voice was soothing, it made your heart flutter as you start to breath normally your hands on their own moved towards the large hands that cupped your face as you placed your hands on top of his. That same electrifying sensation incapsulated the both of you, your hands felt soft against the top of his.

He gently moves his hand off of your face, as he takes your left hand in his. Your eyes still trained onto him, your soul aching as he looks down at your wrist and saw the freshly red scar marked on it — a water sign as he brushed his thumb aagisng it sending a shiver down your skin as you look down, his hand gently holding your hand as you notice the marking on your wrist, your eyes widen, heart skipped a beat as you looked back up at him but your still felt scared, the people around the two of you still made you feel uneasy as you quiver lightly.

K'uk'ulkan noticed this and without hesitation, he pulls you towards him. Your eyes widen as your body shook from fear, from everything that had just occured.

He held onto you delicately in his arms in a protective manner. You placed your hands on his bare chest, his skin was moist yet warm just being close to him made you feel safe as he gently pets your hair and soothingly whispers to you.

"I have waited for you, for so many centuries." He softly says as he gently tucks behind a strand of your hair. A warm gaze on his face as you finally calmed down.

He gently lifts you up with him, his arm securely wrapped around your waist as your side was flushed agaisnt him as he turns towards Namora and says something to her that you didn't understand, you watched as the woman warily eye you but nods her head , she indicates to the other warriors to leave as they all jump off the ship and into the water causing your eyes to widen as K’uk’ulkan notices this and gently pats his hand agaisnt your waist to comfort you.

You watched as the woman takes off the apparatus on her face and hands it to the man, he nods his head as she jumps into the water.

K'uk'ulkan turns toward you, a soft expression on his face as he holds it in front of your face . One of his hands gently placed on the side of your face as he stares deeply into your eyes.

" you have to trust me and wear this mask, I will take you to a much safer place and explain everything to you. " he gently explained, your eyes showed slightly conflict making him feel anxious for you response.

You gulped thickly and you placed your hand over his.

"I'll come with you but what is your name? " you asked him, your heart pounding agaisnt your chest.

A smile cracked on his face.

" K'uk'ulkan " he says, your brain engraving the name into your mind.

"and yours ? "

"Y/n " you said, his head tilt lightly and the smile was still etched on his features.

" y/n " he repeats, testing your name on his tongue as it rolled off with ease from his mouth, the way he said your name made your heart skip a beat.

"I'm ready, K'uk'ulkan. " you softly said, a shiver running down his spine when you uttered his name as he gently place the mask on your nose and mouth as he softly say something that slowly made you feel drowsy before everything went dark.

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[vergess]

hello do you happen to have an explanation/definition of what pinkwashing is? don't trust googlie with a term so new and it does not line up with my understanding of the terms it's made up of (-washing = covering or changing the original or true depiction, pink- = I only know this term in politics from pink-collar and I am 99% certain it does not mean the same thing here)

Oh, yeah, you're absolutely correct about it not being a pink-collar thing.

For my followers, pink-collar refers to paid work outside the home that is traditionally held by women. The "pink" refers to women, femininity, etc. Just girly things, if you will.

In pink-washing, however, the pink refers to pink triangles, a prominent symbol of queer survival after pink triangles were used to mark sexual deviants (that is, gay men and trans women).

Pink-washing is the use of "we have queer rights, unlike those barbaric savages" to justify state violence.

Right now, the term is mostly coming up in discussions of Israel. In that specific context, it refers to the fact that Israel is far and away the most progressive and well-protected place for queer people of all sorts in the middle east. Which the Israeli government often likes to point to as proof that their brutal ethnic cleansing is a "necessary force" to protect queer lives from Islamist extremism.

It's a sort of, "look, I know what I'm doing is bad, but what they're doing is way worse: look at how badly they treat their queers. Obviously I must be violent to help civilize the animals, for the sake of their queers," often while actively killing queer civilians for being for the wrong race.

Unfortunately, pink-washing is itself strong evidence that a state devalues her queer citizens, thinking of them not as vulnerable people to be protected (as the state will insist is the case), but rather as tokens to be trotted out as proof of the state's "goodness." And should any queer person defy the role of "good little token," they are inevitably and severely punished. As they say (they being in this case an Israeli sociologist whose name escapes me entirely), "A trans woman in uniform will be given medical care, but a trans woman who refuses military service will go to a men's prison."

Pink-washing is also extremely, EXTREMELY common in the U.S. though this doesn't get as much air time lately as Israeli pink-washing. But, the U.S. very regularly uses pink-washing around gay (not so much trans) rights to justify both imperial and domestic violence. Even at the per-state level, it is extremely common for people in "progressive" states to say absurd shit like, "well we treat our gays with respect, unlike Alabama!" to thought-stop themselves from noticing how miserable their lives are as a direct consequence of state action (or even state inaction to stop violence, as is often the case with capitalism and policing problems).

There's also a significant problem in Canada with their pretty solid record on queer rights being used as a counter-argument to their mistreatment of indigenous peoples. This too is pink-washing.

Pink-washing also devalues to lives and specifically the queerness of the people being targeted for violence. You know. By killing them and stuff. But also by denying that they deserve the very right to life and safety that is supposedly the mission statement.

If the entire point of pink-washed violence really was queer liberation, they would suck at that because they keep killing all the queer people they don't fucking like.