#why are we asking about Fisk?

[clintbarton-thearrowguy]

Clint, this is @verygoodlawyer , Matt this is Clint.

Matt had some questions about Fisk.

Nice to meet you, @verygoodlawyer

[unsolicited-opinions]

Leftist antisemitism is a symptom - American Jews and the Illiberal Left

TLDR: I think we would be wise to stop regarding leftist antisemitism only in its own context and habitually recognize it is a part of a larger issue, the rise of the illiberal left.

Why are Jews are the most reliable supporters of Liberal policies and politicians in modern American history?

Haviv Rettig Gur seems to suggest that Jews in the US, recognizing that Liberal values resulted in their (imperfect but historic) emancipation in the US, became perhaps the most Liberal people ever. They understood that US Liberal values were what made Jews relatively safe in the US, and offered them opportunities which had been denied to them everywhere else.

When previously did a head of state speak to Jews the way George Washington did?

Gur suggests that this is why American Jews have historically been so invested in the struggle of black folks in the US. When I say invested, I'm talking about facts like these:

- Henry Moscowitz was one of the founders of the NAACP.

- Kivie Kaplan, a vice-chairman of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (now called the Union for Reform Judaism), served as the national president of the NAACP from 1966 to 1975.

- From 1910 to 1940, more than 2,000 primary and secondary schools and 20 Black colleges (including Howard, Dillard and Fisk universities) were established in whole or in part by contributions from Jewish philanthropist Julius Rosenwald. At the height of the so-called "Rosenwald schools," nearly 40 percent of Black people in the south were educated at one of these institutions.

- Jews made up half of the young people who participated in the Mississippi Freedom Summer of 1964.

- Leaders of the Reform Movement were arrested with Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in St. Augustine, Florida in 1964 after a challenge to racial segregation in public accommodations.

- Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched arm-in-arm with Dr. King in his 1965 March on Selma.

- The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were drafted in the conference room of Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, under the aegis of the Leadership Conference, which for decades was located in the RAC's building.

When I was a child and asked my mother why Jews seemed overwhelmingly to be Democrats, I was told "because of FDR and the Civil Rights movement." That's not wrong, in Gur's framing, but perhaps a more shallow response than the question deserves.

In Gur's framing, US Jews realized that the promises of Liberalism, over and over, no matter how much they delivered for other peoples, did not deliver for black Americans.

Gur suggests that US Jews worked to see that change for their black co-citizens because if American Liberalism didn't deliver for black Americans what it appeared to promise to all Americans, the sense of safety, security, and belonging which Jews felt in the US was an illusion.

US Jews believed that we had common cause with non-Jewish American Liberals. We thought non-Jewish liberals believed what we believed about universal civil rights, pluralism, enlightenment values and enlightenment reason. When Jews saw the "In this House We Believe" signs on our neighbors' lawns, We felt comforted because those beliefs are also our beliefs.

We thought, for instance, that our non-Jewish friends agreed that Liberal democracies were better for human rights than any form of government in the history of human societies. We thought they agreed that religious, racial, and ethnic intolerance were social ills which needed to be fought with information. We thought they valued data, reason, and reliable sources.

Since 10/7/23, we've been learning that we were mistaken. We've seen gentiles who we thought shared our values seem to discard those values.

We saw college educated friends share antisemitic (and alarmingly familiar) conspiracy theories about Israeli puppetry of US politics and the return of Nazi and Soviet antisemitic slogans/images.

We've seen highly educated "Liberals" preach ahistoric nonsense denying that the Jewish people are from the Levant and willfully ignoring the huge swaths of historical fact which don't support their favored narrative.

We've seen friends rage against "globalists" and "Zionists," when what they mean is 'Jews'.

We've seen people who we thought were allies against all forms of racism justify their racism towards Jews as righteous through specious reasoning like 'I don't hate Jews, just the 97% of Jews who believe that Jews should have self-determination in their homeland.'

We've been told that we cannot ask them to temper their use of antisemitic tropes, because doing so "weaponizes" concerns about antisemitism to obstruct them from their righteous crusade against the most evil nation on earth...which happens to be the only Jewish nation.

Despite this, about 80% of Jewish voters voted for Harris over Trump.

I think US Jews will continue to be Liberals, because Liberal values are dear to us and aligned with our values as Jews, as a historically oppressed minority, and as Americans who see more clearly than some others the gap between the promise of American liberalism and its long-delayed universal delivery.

The problem, I think, is in how many of our former friends simply aren't Liberals any longer.

I think Jews in the US need to spend a good deal more time scrutinizing the illiberal left.

Nine days after the attacks of 10/7/23, Jonathan Chait wrote:

Writers like Michelle Goldberg, Julia Ioffe, and my colleague Eric Levitz, all of whom rank among the writers I most admire, have written anguished columns about the alienation of Jewish progressives from the far left. I think all their points are totally correct. But I find the frame of their response too narrow. They are treating apologias for Hamas as a factually or logically flawed application of left-wing ideals. I believe, to the contrary, that Hamas defenders are applying their own principles correctly. The problem is the principles themselves.

...

Liberals believe political rights are universal. Basic principles like democracy, free speech, and human rights apply equally to all people, without regard to the content of their political values. (This of course very much includes Palestinians, who deserve the same rights as Jews or any other people, and whose humanity is habitually ignored by Israeli conservatives and their American allies.) A liberal would abhor the use of political violence or repression, however evil the targets.

...

The illiberal left believes treating everybody equally, when the power is so unequal, merely serves to maintain existing structures of power. It follows from their critique that the legitimacy of a tactic can only be assessed with reference to whether it is being used by the oppressor or the oppressed. Is it okay for, say, a mob of protesters to shout down a lecture? Liberals would say no. Illiberal leftists would need to know who was the speaker and who was the mob before they could answer.

...

One observation I’ve shared with many analysts well to my left is that the debate over this illiberalism and the social norms it has spawned — demands for deference in the name of allyship, describing opposing ideas as a form of harm, and so on — has tracked an older debate within the left over communism. Communism provided real-world evidence of how an ideology that denies political rights to anybody deemed to be the oppressor laid the theoretical groundwork for repression and murder.

There have been conscious echoes of this old divide in the current dispute over Hamas. The left-wing historian Gabriel Winant has a column in Dissent urging progressives not to mourn dead Israeli civilians because that sentiment will be used to advance the Zionist project. Winant sounds eerily like an old communist fellow traveler explaining that the murders of the kulaks or the Hungarian nationalists are the necessary price of defending the revolution. “The impulse, repeatedly called ‘humane’ over the past week, to find peace by acknowledging equally the losses on all sides rests on a fantasy that mourning can be depoliticized,” he argues, calling such soft-minded sentiment “a new Red Scare.” Making the perfect omelette always requires some broken eggs in the form of innocent people who made the historical error of belonging to, or perhaps being born into, an enemy class.

But more than three decades have passed since the Soviet Union existed or China’s government was recognizably Marxist. And so the liberal warning about the threat of left-wing illiberalism seemed abstract and bloodless. On October 7, it suddenly became bloody and concrete. It didn’t happen here, of course. The shock of it was that many leftists revealed just how far they would be willing to follow their principles. “People have repeated over and over again over the last few days that you ‘cannot tell Palestinians how to resist,’” notes (without contradicting the sentiment) Arielle Angel, editor-in-chief of the left-wing Jewish Currents. Concepts like this, treating the self-appointed representative of any oppressed group as beyond criticism, are banal on the left. Yet for some progressive Jews, it is shocking to see it extended to the slaughter of babies, even though that is its logical endpoint. The radical rhetoric of decolonization, with its glaring absence of any limiting principles, was not just a rhetorical cover to bully some hapless school administrator into changing the curriculum. Phrases like “by any means necessary” were not just figures of speech. Any means included any means, very much including murder.

Both Julia Ioffe and Eric Levitz have pointed out that decolonization logic ignores the fact that half of Israel’s Jewish population does not have European origins and came to Israel after suffering the same ethnic cleansing as the Palestinians. This is correct. But what if it weren’t? If every Israeli Jew descended from Ashkenazi stock, would it be okay to shoot their babies?

The problem is much greater than leftist antisemitism. The illiberal left has become nearly as great a threat to Liberalism as the far right.

It is often the case that a movement’s treatment of Jews serves as a broader indicator of its health. It’s not an accident that the Republican Party has become more attractive to antisemites as it has grown more paranoid and authoritarian. What the far left revealed about its disposition toward Jews is not just a warning for the Jews but a warning for all progressives who care about democracy and humanity. The pro-Hamas left is not merely indicating an indifference toward Jews. It is revealing the illiberal left’s inherent cruelty, repression, and inhumanity.

I'm annoyed that it is has taken me so long to catch on and alarmed by the implications.

I am, however, very proud of my 14yo, who sums up her experience trying to respectfully disagree with leftists this way:

"They're allergic to nuance."

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch. 15

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Ch. Notes: Angst, vomit, mentions of phsyical abuse, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death

Summary: After effectively taking care of the Fisk problem, you struggle with the moral reprocussions of that action, while also trying to deal with the truth behind your mother’s death.

An: A little quicker update than last time. Again idk when the next update will be, but just know it's coming. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter it's a soft one.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Your mind can’t seem to latch on to any singular thought. Instead they all run together in a way that makes you wish you couldn’t think at all. You’re to aware of what you’ve done. You can feel the blood, his blood, all over you. His words are bouncing off the walls in your mind. Your legs are unstable and everything feels like its too much.

You don’t get much of a say as your unsteady legs buckle under you, forcing you to your knees. You shake your head left to right as you feel the bile rise in your throat. Puking is the last thing you want to do, and the fear of vomiting makes tears flow down your face.

It's more than that fear. It’s everything that Wilson said before you blew his brains out. He was right, you weren’t ever a Maximoff. Just some fragile kid from a broken home, that wanted to prove themselves no matter what the cost. You couldn’t even be upset at the family, they hadn’t forced you into this lifestyle. This is simply the path you chose to feel like one of them.

You hear footsteps rapidly approaching behind you, you try to find the energy to get to your feet, but fail.

“ Y/n,” her voice makes you feel sick.

You can’t fight it anymore as the contents of your stomach begin to spill out. Wanda is by your side instantly. On of her hands moves your hair out of the way, while the other rubs soothing circles on your back.

Once it was over your breathing is heavy. Your chest heaves up and down, while your hands rest on your thighs.

“Was it true?” is the first thing you say to her.

“Y/n-" you can tell she was trying to reason with you with, to have you drop this for now.

You put distance between the two of you, turning to see her face, “Did you have my mother killed?”

Wanda takes in a large breath, “She was abusing you, every moment she had you. Emotionally torturing you with the death of your brother and physically putting her hands on you. That day when you came over and I patched you up, Pietro told us everything that he knew she did to you. We all agreed, that we wouldn’t let her near you again.”

You don’t know why you felt so bitter about it, but you did, “Killing her was your only option?”

Wanda shakes her head, “No, it wasn’t. We were going to just keep you away from her, but Pietro said the next few days she came to the school looking for you. She threatened him, and followed him to our house, that’s when Papa decided to put an end to it.”

“And my father?”

The woman sighs, “Once we told him who we were, he thought it was best for him to not be involved. He cared for you and loved you tremendously, but he was scared of our family.”

At the end of the day your mother was the cause of an abundance of your trauma and you couldn’t blame your father for not wanting to be involved in a crime syndicate. However, your anger was pointed at the Maximoff’s for keeping this from you for so long.

“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”

Wanda’s eyes meet yours desperately, “When you were younger, we thought it was inappropriate to share that with you. You were different back then and we didn’t know how you would react. When I left, I figured that eventually they would tell you. When I got back and they hadn’t I was upset. I wanted to tell you, but there’s been so much going on, Y/n believe me. When you asked in car, and I told you to trust me, I was trying to think of the right time. I just- I’m sorry."

As much as you want to be mad at her you can’t. She’s right, Wanda had been gone for over 5 years, how could she have known that they hadn’t told you. As soon as she came back there was basically a turf war going on.

“ I wasn’t supposed to shoot him,” your eyes are blank as they look into hers.

Wanda’s eyes soften, “I know little krolik.”

You shake your head, “But he brought up Lucas and I- he dared me to, so I did. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t my fault.”

You were spiraling quickly. Though you were covered in blood and had just thrown up, Wanda wasted no time wrapping her arms around you.

“I know baby,” she squeezes you tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to kill him,” you sob into the woman.

She scoops you up into her arms, “We’re going home.”

“But, what about-”

Wanda silences you, “Don’t worry about it. They will handle everything else ok, just be here with me.”

You calm for a moment before you remember that Natasha got shot because of your recklessness. You start apologizing again, “I’m sorry, Natasha got hurt because I wasn’t thinking enough. I was being stupid, I should have done better. I should’ve-”

“She’s going to be fine, malyshka. She's been through worse,” Wanda gets you into the car and begins driving home.

By the time you get home, you’ve fallen asleep. Before Wanda gets out of the car she gets a phone call from her wife.

“How is she ?” Are the first words out of Natasha’s mouth.

Wanda has to stop herself from crying as she looks at your current state, “She’s not well, I’m doing my best, but I’m scared.”

“You took her home?”

Wanda nods though the woman can’t see her, “ We just pulled up. She fell asleep on the way, but she might wake up when I try to clean her off. She was throwing up when I found her. She’s worried about you, I’m worried about you.”

Natasha’s voice takes a softer tone, “I’m ok detka. The bullet is out, my arm is patched.”

“Papa and Pietro?”

“We called in Bucky, we’re trying to get a room set up at your parents house that will be suited for your father to do the rest of his recovery there. Pietro, he’s shaken up, worried about you and Y/n.”

Wanda takes in the information, “Natalia, I know I brought you out here to be apart of this with me, but I don’t know if I want this lifestyle anymore.”

As Wanda looks at you, she can see the cons of this life outweighing the pros. You’d already had a rough life before the Maximoff’s took you in, and now they’ve put you in this position where things seem to be just as bad if not worse.

Natasha takes a pause, “We’ll talk about this more when I get home and when Y/n is feeling better ok? I don’t want to make any decisions without her involvement.”

Wanda agrees, “You’re right, hurry back to me moya lyubov.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I love you.”

“I love you."

Wanda sighs as she glances at you in the passenger seat. For a moment, her head falls into her hands. She wants to breakdown, but she holds it all in. With another deep breath she gets out of the car and carries you up to the room.

Wanda goes to lay you on her bed, but you cling to her.

“Y/n, baby it’s ok,” Wanda attempts to coo you.

“The sheets,” you mumble tiredly against her.

Wanda has tears in her eyes as she smiles softly, “ I don’t care about the sheets.”

You cling to the woman tighter in protest, and she doesn’t want to fight with you. Instead she carries you to the bathroom and sits you on the counter. You lean your back against the wall eyes barely open, but still able to see the woman running water for a shower.

Wanda turns back to you her hands tremble a bit as the grip the end of your blood and vomit covered shirt.

“Sorry, it’s gross,” you mumble.

She shakes her head,” I don’t care. Is it ok if I take this off of you?”

Your eyes open wider to meet hers properly, nodding slowly.

When she removes the shirt, her eyes linger on the scar on your abdomen from the day you left home. Her finger couldn’t help but to glide over the rigged skin.

“It needed a stitch back then, but I didn't want to see you in anymore pain. It probably wouldn't have scarred if I did,” Wanda reveals absent-mindedly.

“It’s my favorite scar, I’m glad I have it,” you find her eyes as you speak.

“Why?”

You look away from her, feeling shy for a moment, “ I remember you letting me rest my head on your shoulder and promising that the family would protect me."

Wanda frowns, “I’m sorry, we didn’t protect you enough.”

You take her hand, “I’m sorry I’m so hard to protect.”

“No, don't do that Y/n. We lied to you, I lied to you for years. Telling you truth wasn’t some Olympic sized task. It’s the least we could've done and it's what you deserved. Our- my carelessness lead you down this unnecessary path of pain, and I’m sorry. I should've done better,” you listen as Wanda berates herself unable to look you in the eyes.

“You weren't here, Wanda.”

“I should’ve been.”

You want to do something to give her comfort but you feel disgusting in your current state. Your eyes dart over to the shower and it's as if to remember why you were in this position to begin with. Wanda sees your movements and takes a small step back from you.

“Do you still need help?”

You think for a long moment, hesitation heavy in the air. Part of you wants to push her away now that you have your bearings a bit more. However a larger part of you wants the woman to help you in the shower

“Yes,” it’s breathy as it leaves your mouth.

Your hands guide hers to the button on your pants. She pulls them down gently. Wanda hesitates at the sight of your underwear. You attempt to hop off of the counter, Wanda’s hands find your hips to better guide you.

It's two swift motions as you remove your underwear. You stand before the redhead bare for the first time in this way. You stare at her waiting for something to happen. She sense the expectancy in your gaze and begins undressing.

Once the last of her clothing hits the floor she takes your hand and leads you to the shower. You enter first and she goes in after. The water against your skin feels good. It cascades from your face down your body washing away the gunk in the process.

Wanda doesn’t make a sound as she begins to wash your body. Her hands light and delicate against your skin. The only objective being getting you clean. Once you’re clean she spins you around and places a kiss on your forehead.

“I don't know how I feel,” you tell her honestly.

She takes a step back from you. You’re quick to grab her wrist and pull her back into you, “I just know that I want you close.”

She reached behind you to turn off the shower. “As long as you want me close, I won’t ever leave you again.”

You rest your head on her chest, her arms enclose around you once again. The sound of her heart beating calms you deeply. You could fall asleep right there.

“Let’s finish getting ready and then we can get in bed,” Wanda rambles against your head.

You nod against her and after a deep breath you both exit the shower. Once you’re dry and dressed for bed, you finally brush your teeth. You climb into the bed, but you’re wide awake.

Peace nowhere to be found as a million questions race through your head.

“I didn’t mean-"

“He deserved it, Y/n. He tried to kill papa, he had you beaten, he shot Natasha, he wasn’t a good man,” Wanda reassures you.

You shake your head, knees pulling closer to your chest, “Lucas is dead because of me.”

“That’s not true lisichka.”

Your eyes are quick to dart over to Natasha but you don’t move. Your gaze falls to her injured arm, and it’s yet another injury due to your carelessness.

“ I sent you in there and-”

“And I’m fine because you saved me. In fact you saved everyone in that room tonight,” Natasha doesn’t hesitate to crouch down beside the bed.

You frown, “No matter how many people I save, I can never go back and save Lucas.”

Natasha looks at Wanda for some kind of insight into who Lucas is to you, what he means to you.

“Lucas was my older brother, he would still be here if I hadn’t been so careless.”

Wanda disputes this, “You were a child, Y/n. Your parents should’ve been watching you.”

“I have this scar on the back of my head from where skull hit the concrete. A constant reminder that he’s not here and I am.”

Natasha takes one of your hands in hers, “ To me, it sounds like you went through something really traumatic as a child. Not just losing your brother, but also almost dying in the process. Going through that without the support of your parents makes it even harder to come to terms with.”

“Natasha’s right, Y/n. You’re a victim in all of this, and going through this alone was never fair to you. You didn't kill your brother, neglect did,” Wanda takes your free hand.

“My mom never stopped blaming me.”

“She should’ve never started. To abuse one child after the loss of another is a cruelty that only a monster is capable of Y/n,” Natasha’s words are a statement.

“But did she deserve to die?” You turn your attention to Wanda.

“How many times did she hit you? How many times did she starve you? How many times did she verbally abuse you? How many scars do you have because of her?” Natasha draws your attention back to her.

“Maybe she didn’t deserve to die, but she didn’t deserve to have that power of you. She didn’t deserve to torment you for the rest of your life. You couldn’t go out without looking over your shoulder, you flinched at every touch, and she had you thinking you were a mistake or a burden. You were just a child,” Wanda’s voice trembles as she speaks.

Natasha takes over again, “A mother doesn’t treat a child in the way that she treated you. That woman barely viewed you as her child, she doesn’t deserve your sympathy even in death.”

Your body begins to shake as the tears cascade down your face. You feel two sets of arms enclose you as you cry. They were right about your mother, she was an awful person. The more you thought about it the harder it was to think about anything good about her. After your brother died, you had no kind memories of your mother left. She was cruel, ruthless, and unforgiving.

After all these years, you never missed her. You hardly thought about her and when you did it was against your will. Her memory has haunted and tortured you since she has been out of your life.

“We have you, Y/n. For as long as you want us to, “ Natasha is gentle as she wipes away your fallen tears.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, with everyone,” you attempt regain your composure .

“We will be by your side, no matter what,” Wanda insists.

“Not just about my mom, but about Kingpin.”

Natasha nods, “Yes, but only when you’re ready. There’s no rush for these talks or conversations. With Dragos awake now, this problem isn’t falling straight onto your shoulders anymore.”

“Our main priority is you. Y/n, for once in our lives I think it’s time that the family business takes a backseat” Wanda adds on.

The idea plays in your mind briefly. A life where the most important thing wasn’t this job. No more missions, no more hacking, and no more danger. The thought would’ve bored you before, but now with Natasha and Wanda by your side, it seemed more desirable.

You nod, “Ok.”

“We love you lisichka,” Natasha gently kisses your forehead.

Wanda follows suit, “More than anything.”

The small smile plays on your lips, “I love you too, the both of you.”

It’s a brief moment as you swiftly place your lips on Wanda’s followed by Natasha’s, before quick passing out from the exhaustion of the day.

“I know that look detka. Everything is going to be alright, I promise,” Natasha says, looking at her wife’s worried expression.

“She deserves better Natasha, I have to do better,” Wanda keeps her own tears at bay.

“You aren't in this alone Wanda. I’m here, lean on me, together we can build something that Y/n truly deserves.”

Natasha interlocks her fingers with Wanda’s, “I love you.”

Wanda kisses the back of her wife’s hand, “I love you too.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989 @falloutboy-lover

[emeraldstorms]

Born Again Trailer and Foggy

Under the cut, I will be addressing rumors, leaks and (potential) spoilers for Daredevil: Born Again.

I have been doom-posting about Foggy’s fate in DDBA as much as the next person. If he dies, I will curse everyone involved. delete my NMCU based fics and art and demand nobody talk to me about the MCU ever again.

But for now? The trailer actually gave me hope. And I wonder why so few fans seem to see this? I wasn’t the only one to notice, of course, but the pessimistic posts didn’t cease and I see few who talk about the scene in question.

So, I will talk about why I think Foggy lives/has a fake death after all. Bear with me.

Let’s start with the scene itself. (The screen in the trailer captures more, but everything relevant is visible in my gif)

First: the stretcher. I think the person on it, that’s Foggy. 

Yes, it’s far away and zooming in you can’t make out a face. But hair and clothes match, in my opinion. I know an Elden Henson superfan and she is also convinced it’s Elden as Foggy. Looking closely, I think you can see the pattern of his scarf.

The head piece of the stretcher is lifted. For a dead body it would be flat and he most likely would be covered with a sheet. Or they would have put him in a body bag.

But I admit, it’s hard to see and the stretcher argument may not appeal to everyone. lol

So moving on to “Foggy’s Bloody Spot”. From the leaks we know roundabout where Foggy lies after getting shot

In the helmet fall scene, that should be here. 

For one, Foggy isn’t here. I don’t think ambulance crews would move dead bodies on a crime scene. They’d leave them in place for the police investigation. But since the ambulance isn’t done yet, the police haven’t even started investigating. Some say, the falling helmet hides Foggy’s body, but… why? Why would he be there?

For two, the stuff left behind. Yes, that is a lot of blood. But also what looks like wound dressing, bandages etc. Someone tried to stop the bleeding and it wasn’t a passerby with makeshift tools. This looks like medical supplies. So at least one paramedic thought Foggy was worth spending time and resources on. Which probably means he was alive when they arrived on scene and someone tended to him. At the site of a mass-shooting that has to mean something. You know, triage- wise. Paramedics have no time for dead people when many others are injured.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he survives. But I think it debunks the rumor that he died on scene while Matt was fighting Bullseye. Because then he would still be lying there. 

And if he makes into the ambulance or even the hospital, a fake out is possible. If he is close by, Matt couldn’t be fooled, but out of Matt’s hearing range, they can in theory do a switch.

But then what line was crossed??? 😱

Oh, of course, the “line”. Before the scene with the falling helmet is shown, Fisk asks Matt why he stopped being a vigilante and Matt answers “A line was crossed”. Many, many people interpreted this line crossing as Foggy being killed.

But to me that makes no sense at all. Criminals like Bullseye always cross lines. That’s Matt’s problem with them and the reason he does fight them, not a reason to stop fighting them. 

However, of himself Matt expects to stay on the right side of the line. So I think he isn’t a vigilante anymore because he did something that crossed a line. Especially since Fisk answers “It’s hard to come to terms with our violent nature. Hating the power it has over us.” That only makes sense when Matt’s “violent nature” is responsible for whatever he is referring to.

Which is why I don’t believe the line that was crossed is what Bullseye did to Foggy but what Matt did to Bullseye.

So yeah, new hope for Foggy.

If you read this far, thanks for indulging me in my rambling.

[kdheaven]

buffy summers + matt murdock: resurrection parallels

id under the cut

ID: A series of gifs compares the journeys of Buffy Summers of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and Matt Murdock of "Daredevil":

Buffy jumps to her death into a portal of purple-white energy. Matt travels through a sea of fire following the explosion at Midland Circle. Both have their arms outstretched in a shape reminiscent of Jesus Christ on the cross.

Buffy awakens in her coffin after being resurrected by her friends. Matt awakens in an infirmary bed at St. Agnes Orphanage, where he's being cared for by the nuns. Both of them are disoriented and shocked to be alive.

Buffy confesses that she is struggling to get through every moment in a loud, bright, violent world since her return. "This is hell," she says. In a hallucination, Wilson Fisk taunts Matt about the fact that his damaged hearing was restored just in time for Matt to find out Fisk is out of prison. "Does that sound like God's forgiveness?" he asks. "No," Matt responds. "It sounds like… hell."

Buffy explains that something has been missing since her resurrection. "When I clawed my way out of that grave, I left something behind. Part of me." Foggy Nelson makes a similar observation about Matt. "I think a part of him was buried under Midland Circle," he says.

Buffy is symbolically resurrected again alongside Dawn, her sister, who often represents Buffy's connection to her humanity or inner child. The two of them crawl out of an open grave in the cemetery after fighting off some demons. Matt is symbolically resurrected again alongside Karen Page, who can be viewed as representing his ties to his loved ones who he has pushed away and his sense of purpose as Daredevil ("People like her are why I do this"). The two of them climb out of a stone coffin after hiding from pursuers in the Clinton Church crypt.

Buffy and Dawn walk together amid the leafy green trees and flowers of spring. We see their backs as they look out over a beautiful vista. Matt and Karen walk together out of Clinton Church and emerge into the sunshine. Similarly, we see them from behind with bright green leaves in front of them. Both scenes evoke rebirth and hope.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Marvel Masterlist

One Shots

Spook-vengers Tower - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

Better Than Gifts - Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Wanda, Vision, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson (all platonic)

New Years Eve - Steve Rogers x Reader ft. The Avengers, Doctor Strange, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes (all platonic)

Not Making It Out - Loki x Reader

Love Is Sacrifice - Loki x Reader

Champion Selection - Loki x Reader

My Mistakes - Loki x Reader

The Task - Loki x Reader

Pulled From The Timeline - Loki x Reader

Poisoned Ice - Loki x Reader

Pompeii - Loki x Reader

Madripoor - Bucky x Reader

Why Would I? - Bucky x Reader

A Small Thing - Bucky x Reader

Not The Worst - Bucky x Reader

A Little Help - Bucky x Reader

When You Wake - Bucky x Reader

What We Started - Bucky x Reader

Kiss Her, Captain. - Steve x Reader

Attacked - Steve x Reader

Aftermath - Steve x Reader

The Drink Allergy - Steve x Reader

A Subtle Escape - Steve x Reader

A New Mission - Tony x Reader (platonic)

3am - Frank Castle x Reader (platonic)

Trick or Eat - Venom x Reader (platonic)

Halloween Cookie Surprise - Venom x Reader (platonic)

When Ghosts Hunt - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Under The Flame - Robbie Reyes x Reader

As Imagined - Ben Poindexter x Reader

Surprise Guest - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Earpiece Patch - Clint Barton, Reader, Kate Bishop

Imagines + Mini Fic

Imagine Steve wanting to propose but having to hold off because of the Civil War

Imagine Steve's surprise when you hit an entitled party guest

Imagine flirting with Steve much to his surprise

Imagine inviting Steve to the newly created Memorial Centre

Imagine a kiss from Steve to distract you from blinding pain

Imagine boldly telling Steve how you feel mid-mission

Imagine waking Steve up after being disturbed by a nightmare

Imagine being paired with Steve during the time-travel mission

Imagine Steve’s anger when you go off book during a mission

Imagine being the last person that Tony tells about 'moving day'

Imagine Bucky’s therapist asking about you

Imagine laughing at Bucky after his failed plane jump

Imagine getting caught in the crossfire of John Walker’s rampage

Imagine trying to talk John Walker down at Zemo’s apartment

Imagine waiting for Bucky and his cake delivery

Imagine convincing Bucky to get back into dating

Imagine taking Bucky to meet his dinner date

Imagine being ambushed by HYDRA while waiting for Bucky

Imagine Bucky being present when you wake up

Imagine Sam’s pleasant surprise when Bucky treats you gently

Imagine Bucky getting jealous on a mission

Imagine refusing to work with Loki at the TVA

Imagine Loki trying to explain his theory to you on a busy day

Imagine Loki being asked to let you go

Imagine discovering that Loki is to aid in the escape of Asgard

Imagine Loki falling asleep on your hand

Imagine Mobius shocking you with an idea regarding Loki

Imagine Loki hearing about your variants

Imagine sending Mobius to calm Loki after you’re injured

Imagine Loki stealing your pie at the TVA

Imagine your surprise when Thor brings Loki to Norway

Imagine learning that Hela wants you dead too

Imagine waking up on Sakaar to find Loki trying to help

Imagine Loki learning why you lied and faked your death

Imagine Loki accidentally time-slipping when you’re getting dressed

Imagine asking Thor about a gift that you gave him

Imagine Thor trying to grant you visitation with Loki

Imagine Thor learning that you’re in Norway with his father

Imagine Thor asking Loki about your whereabouts on Sakaar

Imagine finding Venom raiding your pantry

Imagine spending the holidays alone in Avengers Tower

Imagine checking on Robbie’s injuries

Imagine helping Matt escape the prison after Fisk takes control

Imagine Marc Spector inquiring about your hand injury

Imagine Khonshu trying to convince you to be his avatar

Imagine going present shopping for the Avengers

Imagine the Avengers when they learn that you and Bucky were attacked

Imagine Clint coming to you after a mission gone wrong

Imagine Fury asking you to be a diversion

Series

The Rider’s Guardian - Robbie Reyes x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Stowaway Cloak -  Stephen Strange, Reader (platonic)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(Return to the Easy Navigate Masterlist)

[komsomolka]

Nasrallah was killed because he was unrelenting in his support for Palestine. Unlike every other Arab leader, Nasrallah had led the fight against Israel twice, which led to its defeat: first, when Israel was forced to withdraw from Lebanon in 2000 and second when Israel could not vanquish Hezbollah in 2006. The man who defeated Israel was finally killed on September 27, 2024, along with thousands of his fellow Lebanese. [...]

In the Lebanese coastal city of Sur (Tyre), unknown people bombed a number of restaurants that serve alcohol in late 2012. I went down to talk to some of the owners of these restaurants and of a brewery, all of whom told me that they had been visited by people from Hezbollah who offered to pay for the damages even though the attacks were not by their members. Nasrallah had said that though he opposed the consumption of alcohol, he did not believe that Lebanese society must conform to the social views of any group but should learn to tolerate the mores of each other.

For all the talk of Nasrallah and antisemitism, it would be worth considering that it was Hezbollah under Nasrallah that helped the reconstruction of Beirut’s Maghen Abraham Synagogue. “[It] is a religious place of worship,” Nasrallah said, “and its restoration is welcome,” stated Arab News. It is this attitude that partly led to Nasrallah telling Julian Assange during a discussion about Palestine in 2012 that “the only solution is the establishment of one state—one state on the land on Palestine in which the Muslims and the Jews and the Christians live in peace in a democratic state. Any other solution will simply not be viable, and it won’t be sustained.”

When Israel, with US support, began its bombardment of Lebanon in 2006, it appeared certain that Hezbollah would be demolished. But it withstood the attack and counterattacked Israel. Years earlier, friends in the Arab states would ask me, “Why can’t we produce a Hugo Chávez?” meaning why could they not have a leader who would stand up against the interference of the West and the occupation of the Palestinians by Israel. During the 2006 war, these same people began to say that Nasrallah was their Chávez, that he was the incarnation of Gamal Abdel Nasser. The fact that Hezbollah was not destroyed and was able to stand up for itself proved to large sections of the Arab world that Israel lost that war.

The victory is partly attributed to Nasrallah’s ability to convert Hezbollah from a military force into an integral part of the “resistance society” (mujtama’ al-muqawama) in large parts of Lebanon; this resistance society shaped the worldview of the villages of southern Lebanon and the Bekaa Valley, where they committed themselves to the long-term struggle to end the Israeli occupation of Palestine and the Israeli interventions in southern Lebanon. It is this resistance community that defines Hezbollah’s endurance rather than the thousands of missiles it has hidden away in tunnels across Lebanon’s southern region. The Israelis tried to kill Nasrallah many times during and after 2006 but did not succeed. He would often talk about how one of his speeches was his last since it was unclear when the Israelis might succeed.

The assassination of Nasrallah produced a sense of shock across Lebanon because a view had been growing that he could not be killed. But Nasrallah was a man, and human beings die one way or the other. Robert Fisk asked him to explain what it meant to prepare for martyrdom, according to a 2001 article by him. “Imagine you are in a sauna,” Nasrallah said. “It is very hot but you know that in the next room there is air conditioning, an armchair, classical music, and a cocktail.” That would have been his attitude when the Israeli bombs landed.

[ily-fictional-women]

Christmas Blues

Summary: Kate’s feeling down but Y/n is gonna do her best to fix that.

Pairing: Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Warnings: None that I know of but if I should add anything let me know

Word count: 1501

a/n: Just something for the Holiday season! (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

With it being the Christmas season Kate and Y/n agreed to have a small date night at Kate’s apartment watching a Christmas movie while cozying up together. Although during the movie the two sit beside each other one of Y/n’s hands on the back of Kate’s head playing with her hair. Typical Kate is one to talk throughout a movie this time she’s quiet, too quiet.

Turing just slightly Y/n looks over at Kate, there’s not even a slight grin on her face. Y/n moves her hand from the back of the girl's head down to the back of her neck, “Hey.” Kate snaps her attention at the sudden change, “Yeah?” Biting the inside of her cheek Y/n tries to find the right words for the moment, “Katie, are you okay? Where’s your head at?”

“What do you mean?” Kate shifts in her seat at the question. Y/n pauses the movie putting her full attention on Kate, “Look, I’ve known and loved you for a while. So I’d like to think I know when you’re stuck in your head. You don’t have to tell her anything but if you want to tell me I wanna know.”

Kate shrugs nervously, “I guess it’s just the Christmas season. Ever since the whole Fisk thing and the thing with my mom going away, it feels like the Holiday season is just a reminder of all the bad instead of the good.” Y/n starts lightly drawing shapes into the back of Kate's neck trying to think of any kind of solution, “Is it being in New York that’s a reminder of it or is it just a feeling in general?”

Kate rests a hand on Y/n’s thigh trying to distract herself from how she was feeling, “Probably a mix of both. But I think being her plays a big part in it. Why?” Y/n shakes her head nonchalantly, “Just trying to figure out how you’re feeling.” As the moment settles down and the movie’s unpaused Y/n interrupts again.

“Do you have any hot cocoa powder?” Kate’s brows furrow for a moment, “No. I don’t think so at least did you want some or something?” Y/n quickly gets up putting a coat on, “Yeah I was thinking of having some. I’ll go out and pick up enough for the both of us.” Both Kate and Lucky turn their heads as Y/n goes for the door. “Did you want me to come with you?” Y/n smiles shaking her head at the question, “No don’t worry. I want you to relax.”

Y/n was going out to get hot cocoa mix but there was also another plan. Making it out of the apartment building Y/n pulls out her phone calling the only person she knew could probably help. “Hey, Clint can we talk?”

There’s some murmurs in the background of the call but they slowly get quieter, “Hey, yeah, Y/n what’s up?”

“It’s Kate, Clint, I’m worried about her. She doesn’t seem like herself. She was talking about how all the Fisk stuff and her mom being locked up was getting to her. But she said it mostly tied to being in New York so I was wondering if we could come over for a little. Mostly so I could see if it would cheer her up.”

“I mean yeah that shouldn’t be a problem I’ma just ask Laura first.” For about two minutes Clint is obviously on mute leaving Y/n standing in the New York snow. The sudden loud background noise shocks Y/n from the cold though, “Okay, Laura said it’s alright. Are you guys gonna be here tomorrow or later?”

“Tomorrow works just fine I’ll get her to pack up tonight.” Right before Y/n’s about to hang up there’s some loud murmuring in the background before she hears Clint’s voice again, “Oh uh Lila said to to pack ugly sweaters. We’re having a contest and Nate is judging.”

“Will do Clint.”

//

Getting back to the apartment Y/n quickly brushes off the excess snow on her coat before hanging it up the small bag of hot cocoa powder in hand. Heating some milk Y/n flops on the couch with Kate, “Soooo. You’re gonna need to pack a bag.” Kate raises an eyebrow cracking a nervous grin, “Why do I need to pack a bag exactly?”

“We're going on a trip to get out of here. You’ll like it I promise.” The confidence in Y/n’s demeanor was just enough to convince Kate to go pack a bag. “Oh wait,” Y/n stops her before she can get too far. “You’re gonna need to pack an ugly sweater.”

//

DAY 1 Making it to the Barton home Kate has a tight grip on Lucky’s leash, or that it is until Clint opens the door to the house bolting in to play with the kids. “Hey, Clint.” Kate opens up her arms to a hug from the older man. Clint looks at the two of you up and down noticing the ugly sweaters. “I see you both dressed up for today.” He examines both sweaters closely, “No offense Y/n but Kate is definitely winning the ugly sweater contest today.”

Y/n looks at the man genuinely shocked, “How?! Mine has Shrek and you said Nate was judging.” Clint looks over at both sweaters again, “No yeah Kate definitely wins. The owl’s eyes are so beady it creeps me out.” Kate smirks to herself, “That’s not the worst of it.” Clicking a button on one of the sleeves of the sweater the eyes of the owl begin to light up.

Letting out the most dad laugh possible Clint looks back at Y/n’s sweater, “Y/n I bet $5 Nate will pick Kate's sweater over your's." Y/n puts out her hand shaking Clint's taking the offer, “You’re on old man. It'll be your Christmas gift to me." Ignoring the old man comment Clint invites the two in to begin the ugly sweater contest.

DAY 1 (NIGHT) Y/n scans the dark living room, “Where are the kids and Laura?” Kate readjusts the blanket she has wrapped around herself sitting in front of the fireplace. “They all went to bed, how was the whole wood-chopping thing with Clint?” Y/n tosses a fresh piece of wood into the fireplace, “Surprisingly boring. Did you guys do anything?”

“We mostly just played some small games Laura found online. But what I want right now is for you to sit with me.” Kate stretches out her arms like a kid wanting to be picked up. Sitting down with Kate Y/n admires the fire for a moment turning over to Kate. “Have you had fun so far?”

Kate’s gaze stays on the fire watching it crackle and burn, “Actually, yeah. I have. I still don’t think it’s fair you won the ugly Christmas sweater contest though.” Y/n fake coughs quietly murmuring, “Sore loser.” Kate quickly flops on top of Y/n with a playful smile, “What did you just say?”

Y/n looked around the room pretending to try and find the answer as she moved her hands to Kate’s hips to make sure she didn’t fall off the couch. “Hmm, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t say anything! I swear.” Kate leans in a little closer to Y/n’s face, “Really? Because I could have sworn you called me a sore loser.”

Y/n lets out a loud sarcastic gasp, “Me?! I would never!” Kate looks at her questioningly, “Really now?” Y/n smiles cockily, “Nope never! Now how about you lean in just a little bit closer and kiss me so we can go to bed?” Giggling into a kiss Kate agrees ending a blissful night.

DAY 3 (NIGHT) With yesterday being an almost full day of baking cookies everyone was still fairly tired, especially being tired of taking orders from Laura in the kitchen. Because of this, everyone agreed today would be the Christmas movie marathon. First, it started with some of the classics.

You had The Grinch, Home Alone, A Christmas Carol, and so much more. The best part was probably the kids' commentary though Kate especially found it funny that quote “Captain America looked so much like the boy from A Christmas Story”.

Throughout the night it was obvious Kate was becoming happier and happier, especially compared to how she had been feeling before the trip. It was hard for Y/n to not stare at Kate being happy again. It was like she could see a light through her smiles and laugh. A light she hadn’t seen in a while.

Kate leans over to Y/n still intently watching the movie, “Thank you for this trip. I love it. And I love you.” Y/n smiles softly, “I love you most.” This, this moment. It was the only Christmas gift Y/n needed.

[olsenmyolsen]

This Is Me Trying - Two - (A Y/N Parker Spider-Woman X Kate Bishop Story)

masterlist

Summary: The Hawkeyes and you seem to be on the same track...

Word Count: 3.5K

Content: College stress, Flirty Kate Bishop, Clint being a dad

"Kate Bishop! Your crush! Asked you that!? No way!" Ned, of course, couldn't believe it. But this was the same man who didn't realize he was going out with Betty Brant for two weeks

"What did you say after she asked?" MJ questioned when she looked up from behind her laptop on the couch.

"I said, "yeah!" and "that's awesome." Was that good?"

MJ shook her head. "Truly a wordsmith." Sarcastic as ever. MJ went back to her screen to basically ignore you and Ned.

"Well, anyways, congrats," Ned said, getting up from the dining room table where his and Peter's LEGO Death Star was kept. Why was it in your dorm and not there's you had no idea. But MJ helped from time to time, so you figured it was okay.

Ned and you walked into your room and closed the door.

"You know it's a good thing everyone knows you're gay, or else the amount of time we go to your room alone would be suspicious." You froze and thought about Ned's words. "Yeah, I guess... I wonder what MJ thinks we do?"

"I think Peter said we watch movies that she'd disapprove of."

That made sense. "Hmm, alright." You walked over to your bed and flopped onto it while you waited for Ned to do what he needed to do.

3...2...1. "Okay, got it." He said as your fingers formed into a 0. "Alright, what am I looking at?" Ned had pulled up security footage from a traffic light from three weeks ago.

"Okay, this was when that building on 10th in Hell's Kitchen burned down." Ned played the video, and it showed a group of guys in Tracksuits fleeing from the building as they piled into a black SUV moments prior to the building going up.

"Okay. So the Tracksuits are back.." You thought out loud as Ned moved his cursor to another video.

"This was from last week on 3rd in Harlem." The video played and was almost identical to the third one. Except the SUV and the plates on the car were different.

You stood in thought as the last video started. "This was last night."

You recognized the building immediately as you remember zipping past it last night. Just like the other two videos, it played out the same. When the video stopped, Ned looked at you.

"Okay, so as bad as their fashion choice is, they're not idiots. They have different cars and plates every time. Their faces are covered, and let me guess, if we follow the cars light by light, they end up at a chop shop?"

Ned nodded.

"So... it's gotta be the buildings." Ned tilted his head. "What do you mean? It's not the chop shops?" You shook your head. "Chop shops are easy to bust. It's like they want you to follow them there. The buildings. The ones they burn. That's the real money."

Ned looked from you to the screen.

"So you think these tracksuit guys are burning the buildings for insurance money?" You shook your head and entered your closet to change into your Spidey Suit.

Just because you're gay doesn't mean you want guy your friend Ned to see you.

"No, I think someone is hiring these guys to do it." You huffed as you remembered who had the tracksuit mafia in his pocket last time.

Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin.

He was a roach you could never squash just right.

If he owned the buildings, that means there was a lot more at play.

"Okay." You stepped out of the closet and quickly scarfed down a leftover slice of pizza Ned had. "Do you think you could find out who owns these buildings?" Ned nodded. "It's probably a bunch of shell companies, but I can do my best." You patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, man." You hurried across your room and grabbed your mask.

"Oh, and when Peter comes over, could you maybe not tell him I went patrolling? Tell him I overheard something on the radio." Ned gave a flat smile.

Lying was not his strong suit.

"If you do, I'll-"

"Hey, Y/N, are you still in there?" You gave a panicked look to Ned before putting on your mask and twhiping away before MJ wildly opened the door.

She looked from the open window to Ned.

"Where's Y/N?"

"Uhhh..." Ned was really bad at lying. "She left..ago- a while ago!" He was in trouble. "Yeah?" MJ crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "How come I didn't see her leave?"

Ned's brain scrambled.

"Blindness?" Ned said, making MJ stand up straighter. "I turn a blind eye to many things, Ned, but this won't be one of them." She uncrossed her arms and stretched her arm out to grab the door handle to the room. "By the way, nice camera footage, totally not suspicious at all." She thinned her eyes and hummed as she closed the door.

After swinging for what felt like a good enough distance away from campus, you stood on the roof of an old pizzeria.

Your phone chimed, and you had a text from Ned. "Did my best. Sorry. 😭😭😭"

You laughed and reassured him that he wouldn't be fired from his guy-in-the-chair duties.

"Keep me posted on the buildings." You sent your final text and put your phone away.

You then stared out into the boro you find yourself in. In the distance, you can see what remains of a shootout you helped rescue people from two months ago. You think about a girl you saved who said she wanted to be like you when she grew up.

Your heart warmed, and you told her to stay in school and that she'd be better than you.

Which was looking more and more accurate by the day as you leaped off the pizzeria, ignoring a text from your brother about the essay you still needed to do.

At the same time, Kate Bishop entered her dorm room, walking past her blonde roommate and fast friend Cassie Lang at her desk before Kate collapsed facedown onto her bed.

"What's wrong?" The slightly shorter of the two, Cassie, turned around and asked. "Tired." Kate's muffled voice spoke.

"How late were you out last night?" Cassie asked as she stood up, approaching her friend's bed. "Past 3," Kate said, making Cassie go wide-eyed. "Kate Bishop! The rule was 2:30 at the latest!"

Kate rolled over and lifted herself up. "I'm sorry." She pouted at her friend, who instantly pulled her into a comforting hug that turned into Kate leaning on Cassie's shoulder. "What else is wrong?" Cassie asked as she saw how exhausted Kate looked.

"Nothing," Kate said, but Cassie wasn't so sure. "Are you doing some overthinking?" Kate froze eventually before nodding. "What about?"

"Clint and the Tracksuits."

Kate spoke freely about her other life to Cassie.

Kate used to tell people openly about how she was working with an Avenger, but after what happened with her mom and Kingpin last year, she toned it down.

Now, the only people who know are Cassie, Pizza Dog, and a rouge assassin for hire. Plus, Clint and his family.

Cassie only found out when she woke up in the middle of the night to see Kate in her Hawkeye outfit on the floor.

Kate tripped, falling through the window, and busted her chin.

Kate wanted to tell more people like you. But as previously mentioned. She liked you and didn't want you to get hurt because of her.

So, she kept her Hawkeye circle small.

However, Kate couldn't get the idea out of her head... what if she told you?

"Kate?" Cassie poked the forehead of her dorm mate. "Where'd you go?" She asked.

Kate sat up and cracked her neck, ignoring the question. Cassie noticed as she raised her eyebrows and returned to her desk. Choosing schoolwork, Chemistry in particular, over prying answers from Kate.

"Do you think I should tell Y/N?" Kate spoke up and waited for Cassie to turn around. But she didn't.

"Cass?" Kate asked as she stepped off her bed and walked next to her friend. "Cass?" She asked again before realizing Cassie had put in her AirPods.

Cassie turned to her left and jumped, startled, before pulling them out. "Oh shit. What's up?!" Kate opened her mouth. "I..- nothing. I just was going to tell you that I.. wanted to.."

She couldn't do it.

"I wanted to invite Y/N to my archery practice!" Kate put on a smile and watched her friend's face light up.

"Oh my God, I love that! Please do it! Ugh, she's so pretty!" Cassie was happy for her friend finally doing something about her crush. "She is," Kate replied with a blush. "Think she'll show?" Kate then asked.

"Why wouldn't she?" Cassie tilted her head, entirely focused on the conversation.

Cassie and you had hung out briefly when your friend group and Kate's got together, but she has never witnessed how your superhero life affects you.

Kate shrugs. "Lately, Y/N has been... flaky isn't the right word.. but not here? I guess? She's always tired too. She bails on plans with her and Peter sometimes."

Cassie raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"I've seen it at the library. Their study block is next to mine." Cassie nodded. "Plus, MJ's told me."

"Michelle Jones?" Cassie questions, making Kate nod. "She's roommates with Y/N, right?" Kate nods again. "Well, what does she think." Kate folds her lips into her mouth and raises her eyebrows.

"She thinks Y/N is The Spider."

Cassie's mouth drops before forming into a smile of laughter. "What?!" Kate nods with her own smile. "It's true. She's convinced."

Cassie laughs, making Kate giggle. "She took pictures of The Spider over a summer once. That doesn't mean she's THE Spider." Kate nodded as her smile naturally faded. "That would be funny," Kate said, making Cassie laugh again.

"Well, good luck with having your crush at practice tomorrow." Kate waved Cassie off as she went to the bathroom to shower and change. "Going out?" Cassie yelled through the closed bathroom door.

"Not till later. Why?" Kate replied as she took her top off. Her eyes finding a yellow bruise on her chest. "Looks like it's gonna snow."

And snow it did.

It started to come down after you stopped an armed robbery. Armed being used lightly as the men committing the crime were carrying toy guns.

Plus, the bank they chose to hit was a block down from a police station.

So, as you swung back up onto a nearby roof, snow hit your mask. You smiled and lifted up the mask to expose your mouth and nose. You inhaled and exhaled, watching your breath hang in the air.

The snow touched your face and melted against your warm pink cheeks.

It was cool and calming.

A few seconds of much-needed peace.

"I love snow." You whispered to yourself as the wind blew, making you shiver, but you remained now sitting on the roof with your smiling face to the darkened sky.

After enough time, you pulled out your phone.

"I should see if anyone needs any help." But before you could check the Friendly Neighborhood Spidey App, you were receiving a call from an unknown number.

"Ew, who calls anyone after 7?"

You weighed the options of answering it due to your fear of talking on the phone, but after three rings, you caved. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello, I'm calling for a Y/N Parker." The male voice on the other end sounded familiar.

"This is she." You said, standing up. "Ah, Y/N! Nice to put a voice to a list of your academic achievements." The male chuckled. "This is Dr. Otto Octavius." You physically stopped pacing and smiled. Holy crap! You were speaking to THE Dr. Octavius!

"Dr. Octavius! Hello! Wow, I can't believe you called. I take it Dr. Connors passed along... well, my life." You sent a small laugh Otto's way. "He did." He replied with a smile. "And I must say he was right; you're a bright student, Y/N."

You made a "yeah!" gesture with your arm.

"But-" Oh no! "I agree with Connors when he says you've been struggling. I can see just by looking at your grades and past reports that you're lazy. Brilliant but lazy."

"I- I'm trying to do better." You paved around the empty rooftop. "I've just had a lot of personal stuff happening lately."

The other side of the line went quiet.

"Parker, intelligence is not a privilege. It's a gift."

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, butDr. Octavius stopped you. Do you think you'll be free after the holidays?" You perked up at that and stood on your tiptoes.

Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Uh yes- yes sir! You'll have my undivided attention!"

Dr. Octavius hummed.

"On the second Monday after the new year, I'd like to speak with you face to face. From there, we can see how we'll proceed with one another. That's about a month away, Parker. That should give you time to get your other affairs in order."

You nodded your head. "Yes, sir. Thank you!"

"I'll email you the information and where to meet me two weeks from now. Happy Holidays."

The line went dead, and you cheered. You just got an interview with Dr. Otto Octavius. He called you lazy, but he also said you were brilliant!

You put your phone away and jumped off the roof of the building with an aloud cheer that you were certain people did not appreciate.

Meanwhile, Kate was unlocking the door to her aunt's place to meet up with Clint. What she wasn't expecting was for Clint to be there already.

"Trust me, I don't plan on missing two Christmas' in a row."

Clint was on the phone.

Kate quietly closed the door, dropped her bag, and quiver on the floor.

"Laura..." Clint sounded tired. "With Kingpin back, I'd feel awful if I left and something happened." Kate's lips formed into a flat line. "Yeah, no, she's great. Kicking ass on her own." Clint said and laughed when his wife replied back.

Kate tried to remain quiet, but a floorboard creaking under her left foot gave her away. Lucky's head shot up from Clint's lap, making the archer turn around. "Hey, babes, Hawkeye just arrived, so I gotta go. Yeah. Yeah. I'll be safe. Love you too."

Clint smiled before hanging up. "She says hi." Kate nodded and told Clint to tell Laura hi the next time they spoke.

Kate grabbed a spot on the loveseat next to the couch.

"I didn't hear you come in," Clint spoke up as he put his phone away. "Don't know if that's my old age or..." He tapped his ear. "Maybe I'm just getting better at sneaking around," Kate replied with a smile.

Clint nodded his head with a chuckle. Kate was saving him from embarrassment.

Clint was still struggling with his hearing loss.

"Yeah, well... maybe it's all three," Clint said as he looked away from Kate. His hand still petting the dog.

Something in the room always shifted when talks like these happened. It reminded the two archers that time and missions with one another were limited.

Clint couldn't do this forever.

He didn't want to do this forever. He had a family and a life outside of being Hawkeye.

But damn, if he wasn't going to miss someone, he considers family—an annoying girl who was somehow more skilled than him but clumsy as hell, Kate Bishop.

Clint kicked his tongue and scooted Lucky off his lap before getting up and grabbing a water from the ridge and a laptop from his bag. "While you were at school. I got a friend to do a little research."

Clint returned, sitting at the edge of the couch closest to Kate. He opened the laptop and clicked on a folder of files. Blueprints. Bank records. Phone calls and messages all popped up on the screen.

"A friend?" Kate asked with a knowing smirk.

Clint ignored her as he took a sip of water. Clicking on the map of the city. Certain buildings highlighted in red. Others in grey. "What am I looking at?"

"The red ones are the burned-down buildings." Kate took a look at the map again. "And the grey... Potential targets?" Clint nodded before clicking on another file. It was a picture taken by Clint last night. "This is a zoomed-in photo of the blueprint on the Tracksuits wall."

"Their next target?" Kate asked. "I think so. We find one of the grey buildings that matches this blueprint." He pointed to the screen. "We can stop them."

Stop them, hurt them, make them confess, give us the details and whereabouts of Wilson Fisk.

You know, that kind of stop them.

Kate looked at the screen again. She moved pieces of her hair behind her ears before leaning into the screen. "How do we know they'll target one of the grey ones?"

Clint moved the cursor on the screen and clicked on an open tab. Finical records. "The ones burned down and these ones." The ones highlighted grey. "Are all owned by different shell companies, but when you really start digging deep, you find that they all go to the same place. Red Lion National Bank."

"Kingpin," Kate said.

Clint nodded. "He owns them all."

"So what he uses these buildings as cash houses and then burns them down when they aren't needed?" Clint shrugged. "It's a working theory. I'm sure there's more involved than money." Kate agreed.

"This one looks like the blueprint. But... but so does this one." Kate said as she clicked between two different buildings.

"It's probably built by the same company that's why they're not so different." Clint thought. "We could go stake out one and see how much movement happens."

"Sounds good to me. Doesn't look that far away. I mean it's far but- you get what I mean." She flopped her hand at Clint.

He laughed.

"Alright well, let me go get changed and we'll be off." Clint stood up and clapped his hands. "Oh, I also already fed Lucky and took him out so no need to worry."

Pizza Dog perked his ears up.

"Awww did Uncle Clint already take care of you?" Kate turned on her baby voice as she leaned over to kiss and pet the dog. "You're such a good boy!" Lucky's tail started wagging. Clint playfully rolled his eyes as he walked to the bathroom.

As she waited Kate's mind started to wander.

"Alright, we just about ready?" Clint asked as he zipped up his vest and grabbed his bow. Kate stood up putting her phone into her pocket and nodded. "My stuff's by the door."

"Great." Clint and Kate made their way to the front door to finish gathering what they needed. "Oh, here." Clint tossed Kate a purple beanie.

She smiled and looked at Clint. "Occasion?"

"It's cold and snowing outside. Can't have you getting sick." Kate's heart warmed at that whether it was sarcastic or not. "Thanks. Where'd you get it?" She asked a she released her hair from its ponytail

"Stopped by my place in the city earlier. Found it in the closet."

What Clint failed to tell Kate is that the beanie wasn't store-bought.

It was handmade.

And before you ask. God, no Clint didn't spend hours crocheting a hat together.

Natasha Romanoff did.

"Looks better on you kid." Clint smiled as Kate dawned it with pride. "Hawkeye and Hawkeye. One with a beanie the other with a hearing aid!" Kate posed as if she was shooting an arrow and exaggerated her voice.

"Had to ruin it didn't you?" Clint teased as he opened the door.

"Bye, Lucky!" Clint waved to the dog before entering the hall. "Bye, Pizza Dog! Be good!" Kate flipped all but one light switched off and locked the door.

As the two archers made their trek to the location marked on Clint's phone he spoke up simply because he couldn't help himself.

"So... who were you texting earlier?"

Kate looked to her right confused. However, she knew what Clint was talking about. "Come on. Don't give me that look. I may be deaf at times but I'm never blind." Clint bumped into Kate as they kept waking. "Don't forget I'm also the father of a teenage daughter."

Kate had him there.

"A friend." She said. "Oh, a friend! Are they nice?" Kate nodded. "She's nice." Clint smiled. She. "Does she know about this?" Clint pointed to the arrows on Kate's back.

Kate shook her head. "She knows I do archery but that's it." Clint looked at Kate's side profile. "But you want to tell her?" Kate looked up. "How'd you know?"

Clint exhaled.

"Because Kate you like this friend of yours. You're young. Oh, and you're terrible at keeping secrets."

"Am not."

She was.

In Clint's eyes, it was a miracle the whole world didn't know the real identity of the "new" Hawkeye.

"Regardless, are you going to tell them?"

Kate shrugged. "I don't know."

Clint patted her shoulder. "That's alright." Kate smiled. "I invited her to my archery practice tomorrow and to study afterward. The text was about her coming over."

Clint raised his eyebrows. "Oh well as long as you're safe."

Kate furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head. But before she could reply her phone buzzed.

It was a text from you.

"Sounds great! 🎯"

You smiled as you hit send.

Your fingers remained tightly gripped around your phone as you twhiped yourself through an alleyway.

You thought about double-texting Kate. Asking her how she was or what she was doing. Or why the sudden invite to her archery practice?

Was it just for fun? The want to hang out with you? Or did Kate truly just want to show off her toned arms and skills with a bow?

Could it be all of the above?

You closed out your messages app before you could accidentally send a double text and focused on your tingling.

[plush-rabbit]

Simmering and Smothering

Part 2 to It’s Always Coffee

Word Count: 7K

A/N: I’m soft for this guy rn. He’s so !!! Anyways, I um don’t know what else to say

- You stand with a group of people, a lanyard hangs from your neck, and you pinch at the plastic cover that holds a card reading “Visitor” stuck on it. People part of the group peek through windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the wonders behind the glass. You're sure at some point you saw Dr. Ohnn standing close to a coworker. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked up and you had to fist your hand to restrain yourself from waving at him. But when the scientist beside him puts their hand on his back, returning his attention to the project in front, you find yourself digging your nails into the flesh of your palms.

You look around, but nothing catches your eye as it should at Alchemax. While you knew that they wouldn’t show a tour group all the dark and gritty experiments, a part of you wishes that you were able to slip away to explore, but any chances of that were snuffed out with a warning at being kicked out and banned should you stray. However, you do enjoy getting to step foot into the building. The group is led through glass doors, and you hear a few people sigh in relief. Walking in, windows line the room and let in a nice glow of sun. 

“Okay,” Dr. Octavius says with a clap of her hands, “this is the cafeteria where we will be having lunch. Those tables over there-” she points over to a cluster of tables that have been protected with stanchions- “will be where you all will be eating. Lunch is one hour, and if anyone needs to go to the restroom, please contact a security guard.” Her gaze is friendly, smile wide and tone with the slightest hint of superiority, she speaks to all, before her gaze lands on you, her smile falling ever-so-slightly. “If you fail to inform a guard, and are caught wandering, you will be immediately removed from the premises.” Smiling, you give her an “okay” symbol, and in response, she looks away from you. “Okay!” She chirps, taking a step to the side, she sweeps her arms towards the selection of food. “Enjoy your lunch.”

You’re at a cart, holding a tray consisting of fruits, and a bottle of juice. You peer over the selection of bread, holding a saran wrapped bagel. You pull your mouth into a line, wanting to put it back, but unsure if that’s okay to do so. Sure, it’s saran wrapped, but what if it’s not okay to place things back. You’ve already picked it up, and with a sigh, you place it on your tray. You look over the rest of the selection of the grains, and perk up at the sight of a muffin. Happily, you reach to grab at it before your wrist is grabbed at.

“Hey-” You bark out, pulling your hand out of the grasp and turning to look at whoever it was that clutched your wrist. You stop short when you realize that it’s Dr. Ohnn. “I feel like we talked about appropriate ways to greet others,” you muse, grabbing at the saran wrapped muffin. 

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, and you frown. 

Your eyes scan his face, and you fold the tray closer to you. “You’re upset,” you conclude, tilting your head with furrowed brows. 

“Of course I am,” he hisses. Your ears begin to burn, and you look around the cafeteria, many of the patrons sitting down and ignoring you- including the tour group you are a part of. When you look back at him, he continues. “Why are you here?”

“I’m part of the tour.” You jerk your head over where your tour members sit behind the stanchions. “Fisk was promoting it- something to show off Alchemax and how family-friendly it is. But if you ask me, I think it’s just a cover to stop people from asking-”

“I don’t care,” he rushes. 

You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay, you don't have to be rude.” His eyes widen, and his shoulders rise. He opens his mouth, but you press forward. “Listen, I paid my way in, okay? If you’re upset with it, then I don’t know what to tell you.” He stays silent and you look back to your group. Turning back to him, you start. “Is that all, Dr. Ohnn? May I go sit down, or do you want to continue reprimanding me?”

He opens and closes his mouth, and when you turn on your heel, he calls your name. You turn to him with a waiting look. “I apologize.” You encourage him with a nod of your head. “I just-” he looks around, and grabs your wrist, pulling you to another station of food, grabbing a tray, and standing in front of the selection of fruits. 

“You just?”

“I hadn’t thought that you would be here. I-” with his middle finger, he pushes up his glasses by the bridge- “I wasn’t aware there was a tour going on.”

“Does that matter?” You ask, grabbing at a cup of peeled mandarins. 

“Scientists are usually the one to lead groups,” he says quietly, "due to the fact that it is our projects we are showcasing. We all take turns with it given that leading groups take time away from our projects. This should have been a group that I would have led. Dr. Octavius must have seen your name on the roster and decided to lead it for the day.” He gives you a look. “I’m surprised that she let you in.”

“I paid,” you shrug. “She isn’t happy about it or anything, but-” you end it with a shrug. “Anyways, I won’t bother your lunch or anything. I’m simply here to see the building and enjoy lunch.” You give him a smile as you lift up your tray. “Have a good day Dr. Ohnn.” You nod your head, ready to walk away before he stops you.

“Do you have to sit down with the others?” You turn to him, and look at him quizzically. “We um- We never finished our conversation from the other day.”

You tighten your grip on the tray. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “You kinda left without exchanging numbers. But I don’t think I’m allowed to sit elsewhere.” You look back at your group. “I’d invite you to sit with me, but I’m not sure if I could give you quite a riveting conversation as your work buddies.”

“You can. You have,” he says so, without any hesitation. “Our last conversation was entertaining.” 

"You think so?" 

He opens his mouth, before being interrupted by someone calling his name. "Jonathan," calls someone far too cheery from the door. A few heads turn to watch as another scientist- you think that they look familiar- and turn back around once the scientist enters the cafeteria. They turn on their heel to wave at another and it clicks- it's the scientist that touched his back.

You look back to the doctor, giving him a raised look. He has a sort of flush that colors in his face, and you purse your lips together. 

The scientist walks toward the both of you, but their attention is solely on Jonathan. "Jonathan-" they say his name with a sickly sweet tone- "I thought you were going to wait for me so we can have lunch together." They smile brightly at the other and you watch as they reach over to squeeze at his bicep. "You hadn't forgotten, had you?"

"My apologies, Dr. Owens." You don't miss the way that he refers to the scientist by their last name while they refer to him by his first. A frown tugs at corner of your lips- they refer to him by his first name. You glance between the two and a pit settles in your stomach. "I hadn't forgotten, but I got distracted. It must have slipped my mind."

"You don't normally get distracted," they note, and their eyes dart at you. With the consequence of being acknowledged, you smile at them. "Ah. Part of the tour group, huh? No wonder you bothered our precious doctor." They're far too sweet with their words, it makes you uncomfortable. You open your mouth to apologize, but they continue on. “I was wondering if we could get the chance to go over our notes?” You feel as if you're in the middle of something. Standing besides Dr. Owens, you feel unsure of yourself. You clear your throat. They turn to you, and their smile is beaming. “Ah, I didn't mean to interrupt. While I’m sure Dr. Ohnn would love to engage with others about theories and his work, I do have to steal him away from you.” Their smile turns gentle, and you feel silly standing between them. “Sorry,” they apologize with a smile. 

"Uh, yeah." You grit your teeth- that came out less eloquently than you would liked. "Sorry, Dr. Ohnn." You tap your heel against the ground. “I’ll leave you to it.”

"Oh- Um-” he looks at you, and you smile at him, shrugging your shoulders. He returns his look towards the other scientist, and you let your gaze drift down. You walk away, catching only a glimpse of their conversation. “What would you like to discuss?”

Sitting down at a designated table, the other tour members greet you. You smile and pick at your bagel, taking small bites, regretting not getting some kind of topping. You bite at your muffin, nodding along as the other group members talk about the experiments going on at the building. 

It would make sense for him to have a partner. He's attractive, and has a good job. With the one conversation that you've had with him, he was well spoken. You eat your mandarins, letting the citrus fill your mouth. Dr. Owens isn’t unattractive and they certainly seemed nice. You do your best not to look at the doctor and his partner, keeping your head down as you listen to the other people in your group. 

You know why you feel so bothered by it all. It’s dumb. You only had one actual conversation with him, but it was nice. He was nice- much nicer than you had ever given him credit for. You feel silly over being jealous of a man you only knew for a minute. 

-

"Fuckin' driver," you mutter under your breath, your lips curled in disgust. Fixing yourself, you cross your arms and decide to walk to the train station. It's incredibly late and something that you actively avoid doing, but you don't want to risk yourself with another driver. "Now I gotta walk." 

A part of you pays with the idea of putting in your headphones and at least having a calming walk, but you shake your head at that idea. You will not be murdered just because you wanted to listen to music. 

Headlights flash by and you bite the inside of your mouth every time. A car passes by, and you watch as the red tail lights blink on. You stop in your steps, taking a look around. No one else on the sidewalk acknowledges the car. 

“Okay”, you think to yourself, “I can't get abducted in front of other people.” You take a step forward and pause. “That's dumb. Yes, I can.” You scowl and tap your foot against the pavement, holding tighter onto the strap of your bag. 

However, no one else seems fazed by a car pulling over, and that gives you confidence to walk further. At the end of the car, you see the passenger window roll down. You hesitate again. Sucking in a breath, you roll your wrists, and as you walk past the car until you hear your name being called. 

You turn, and through the windshield, you see a familiar doctor waving at you. Looking around, you clutch onto the trap of your bag before making your way towards him.

"Dr. Ohnn?" 

He smiles nervously. He looks far too tense for someone in their own car. "Hello," he calls you by your name. "I was sure you would have left ages ago."

"Tour ran late- one of the kids explored without permission," you explain. 

"I'm surprised it wasn't you." You weren't aware he could tease. 

"I wasn't in the mood for any trespassing charges. Maybe tomorrow." You shrug, and send him a grin. “Who knows? Night’s still young and all.”

He turns his head, and you follow his gaze out onto the street before the both of you. "Why are you walking?"

“People had their own rides, and I didn't. I took the bus. After the whole fiasco, I missed it. I got into a taxi, but uh-" you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest- "the driver was being too sleazy for my tastes so I decided to take my chances walking.” 

“Oh- I’m sorry to hear about that.” He leans over the middle console of the car, with his hand pressed down on the passenger seat. “It’s quite late,” he tells you.

Your lips stretch into a thin grin. “Correct. It’s no wonder that you’re one of the top scientists at Alchemax.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.

“I try,” you tell him. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts him in a warm glow. “But I'd be more inclined to believe you if you were actually laughing.”

“Yes, well, I’ll try to laugh next time.” He rolls his eyes, and you smile sharply at him. 

“Is that why you stopped? To hear my humor?” You tease, taking a step forward, and he tilts his head to look at you. 

“No, actually. I thought it was you,  and I wanted to know if you would like a ride?”

You’re taken aback. “Oh! Um- No, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you correct yourself. You turn looking down the street where the crowd of people slows. You look back at him. “I’m sure you have your own plans for the night. I wouldn’t want to intrude or interrupt or anything.” You twist the strap of your bag in your hand. “While I appreciate the offer, you don’t have to worry about me Dr. Ohnn.”

“You wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I don’t have any plans.” 

You stay silent, weighing your options in your head. While you’d like to be in a car and taken to your home, you also can’t just enter his car. Even if he is the one offering. No. You can’t. There has to be a line. You have a crush on him- maybe. You’re attracted to him. Wait, that’s actually worse. You shake your head.

“I shouldn’t.” You bite your bottom lip and look at the air freshener that hangs down the rearview mirror. “I would want to get you into any sorts of trouble.”

“Trouble?” He says in a quiet voice, but alarm is still laced into his words. 

“You know-” you wave your hand in front of you- “with Dr. Owens. Would they be okay with you giving me a ride?”

He gives you an incredulous look. “What does Dr. Owens have to do with this?”

Your chest begins to burn, and it travels upwards to your face. “Would they appreciate you giving a ride to a stranger?” 

“You aren’t a stranger,” the way that he calls your name has your breath hitching, and heart racing. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you walking so far to a station at night.”

“Okay,” you shrug. “But you have to put in the directions on your phone. I’m easily distracted and won’t be able to give you any good directions.”

“Fine by me,” he pulls away and the door unlocks. You open the door, and the window slowly raises. “Between you and I, I’m not entirely great with navigation.” The noise from the outside mutes as you close the door, the lock clicking down on itself.  You click the seatbelt as you give him a look. “I get lost easily,” he admits. He grabs his phone and sorts through his applications, finally passing it your way with the map function on display.

“Don’t you have a PhD?” You enter your address, and return the phone, watching as he places the phone on the holder stuck to the car. 

“Doesn’t mean a thing if a shopping center has me turned all sorts of ways,” he admits, setting the car to ‘drive’ and pulling away from the sidewalk. You laugh, it starts as a snort, and forms into a chuckle and it has you hiding your smile behind your hand, trying to quell the laughter. 

You turn to look at him, the corner of your lips tilting upwards and wrinkling at your eyes. “I don’t even think I could picture you getting lost in a mall.”

He sits up straighter, and casts a glance through the corner of his eye. “It isn’t a particularly good image of me,” he confesses.

Humming, you lean back into the seat, fixing your bag onto your lap, playing with the zipper. “No, I’m sure it is,” you hum. “A renowned scientist, lost at a mall.”

“It can be quite traumatizing.”

“I’m sure it can be,” you muse, trying to hide the smile that slowly grows. "Many children often fear the mall for that same reason." 

He scoffs at your remark. “Did you learn anything interesting on the tour?” He asks, and you cross your ankles.

“I think we learned about atoms?” He chuckles at that, and you feel warm. “I gotta be honest, I was hoping for something a bit more, ya know?” 

“Atoms aren't enough?” 

"Not nearly,” you tell him softly. “Maybe if they brought out some secret project or like showed some sort of light show, then I’d be impressed.”

“Oh, of course,” he says with sarcasm laced into his words. “A secret project shown to the masses, especially where one child had gone missing.”

“Explored,” you correct, turning our head to look at him.

The GPS voice speaks, and he misses a turn. He mumbles an apology, the application already rerouting him. “If you join another one, I’ll make sure that there’s a light show.” He casts a glance, and misses another turn, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “I’m thirsty,” he tells you.

You blink at him. “You can stop somewhere and get something. I don’t mind waiting in the car.” The metal zipper of your bag shines under the passing streetlamps.. “You’re already doing me a favor by driving me home.”

“The coffee shop is still open. Would you mind accompanying me for a drink?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah- sure. I’d be okay with that. I still owe you that cup of coffee. You know, from when we met at the shop?”

He shakes his head. “Consider it my treat. I am inviting you after all.”

“But you did win that little wager, and you are driving me home. I could at least buy you a cup of coffee or something.” He shakes his head. “Come on-” you slap the back of your hand lightly against his bicep- “don’t make it difficult.”

“I’m not making it difficult,” he frowns.

The GPS continues to tell Dr. Ohnn to make a right when he can, and he fumbles with turning it off, grumbling under his breath until you offer your hand out. The phone is placed down, and you shut down the application. The phone is held in your hand, the application minimizing to show his background- a picture of- the phone is pulled out of your grasp.

“I don’t even get to learn what your background is?” You give a faux pout, leaning back against the seat. “Come on, I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” he tells you. “It isn’t all that exciting.” You stick your tongue out at him in response and he fails to suppress a smile. 

Pulling to the side of the road, you place your bag on the floor, snagging your debit card before zipping the bag up. Getting out of the car, you’re careful not to slam the door. You rush to beat him from opening the door. “Okay,” you draw out the vowel, slipping to move in front of him, “how about this. You buy my cup, and I’ll buy yours. I’ll even let you get a pastry- you know as a thank you for driving me home.

“You don’t have to. I offered to drive you home, it was completely my own volition.”

You give an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever you say, but the offer is there.”

As he orders his drink, you press your card against the payment terminal, telling the barista that it’ll be two separate transactions. You can feel his eyes on you and you can only smile, nodding when the barista confirms. Lacking your energy, he pays when you order your own. You’re sure that the barista is annoyed with the two of you, but at this point, you had a win that he was owed. 

With the lack of patrons, the two of you find a table placed beside the window. The two of you sit across from each other, and wait for your drinks to be called. Tapping your hands against the table, you look out the window, watching the people and the cars. 

“I was more than happy paying for your drink,” he comments. 

You look at him through the reflection, and he meets your gaze there. “I know. But you’re already doing me such a favor by taking me home and stuff-” shrugging, you turn to face him- “might as well buy you a drink.”

“You didn’t have to,” he mumbles.

“I wanted to.”

Looking at you, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it when he can’t find the right words. You nod, letting him take his time and to continue with whatever he is going to say. Clearing his throat, he can only get a breath out when the two of your names are spoken. You turn just in time to see the drinks placed on the counter as the barista walks away.

“I’ll go get them for us.” He stands from the table and you watch him. He takes long strides, his head bent and arms close to himself, as if trying to make himself to the public. You hadn’t realized that he had such squared shoulders. He almost reminds you of a rectangle.

Placing your drink in front of you, he takes a seat. His teeth bite at his bottom lip and he brings the cup to his lips. Placing the drink down, he clears his throat. “Why did you ask about Dr. Owens?”

Ah. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet about that. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that I would get in trouble with them if I had driven you home.”

“Oh um, yeah. It’s whatever, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m asking.”

“Okay,” you whisper, your gaze focused on your drink. “They just seemed into you is all. I thought there was something you know-” you lift your head looking at him- “between you and them.”

“You thought they were into me?” You choose to ignore the wonder in his voice. Opting to stay silent, you nod. “I can assure you, Dr. Owens is not into me.”

“It sure seemed that way,” you mumble into the rim of your drink. He stares at you, and you shift in your seat, hiding behind your cup. “What?”

“What made you think they were into me?” 

Your molars grind against each other. The rim of the cup is brought to your lips, but you don’t take a sip, you only press your lips against the opening, before lowering it back to the table. “Oh gosh, are you into them? Look, that's sweet and all, but I’d rather not play matchmaker to some scientists.” He stays silent, and you look outside the window, watching a couple walk past by. “You really wanna know?” He makes a noise of confirmation, and you let out a held breath. “In that little time that I saw the two of you, they had no trouble touching you. And they call you by your name, too.”

“My name?”

Nodding, you twist and untwist your legs. “Yeah.”

“Is that usually an indicator?” 

Lifting your hand, you make a see-saw motion. “Sometimes, I guess. Depends on how it’s used and all. Context, ya know?”

“I call other people by their names,” he counters. You nod, letting him continue. “I call you by your name.”

“Oh yeah- I um, I guess so,” you mumble, taking another sip of your drink, desperate to keep yourself busy.

“You never call me by my name.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was allowed.”

“Of course you are. Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”

“I always thought you found me annoying.”

“I did.” You frown, and he gives you an apologetic smile. His hand lifts up, grabbing at a strand of hair and twirling it around his finger. “That doesn’t mean that I disliked you. I have to admit-” he lets go of the strand and it falls back to place- “I always did find your drive admirable. You weren’t one to give up. You’re quite stubborn.” You stare at each for a few moments, heat blazing itself against your skin, making a chill over your body. He breaks eye contact and tilts the cup, making a circle with the bottom edge. “Do you really believe that Dr. Owens likes me because they call me by my name.” You nod, your mouth too dry despite the drink in your hand to even consider speaking. “Hm, okay,” he hums. His hand runs over his stubble, and you wonder if he’s growing out a beard. “You said that they touch me.”

“I um, saw the two of you in an office- while on the tour.” Your hand pulls up to scratch at your shoulder. You feel the need to hide from him.

His smile stretches even more. “I thought I was losing my marbles.” You take a sip of your drink. “I thought that after all my imagining about-” he clicks the last consonant, and you straighten yourself, leaning forward- “I thought that finally, after all of your incessant questioning, that I was beginning to imagine you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, taking another sip of your very diluted drink.

“You were saying.” He rolls his hand expectantly.

“When you turned around- when you saw me- they immediately turned you back around.”

“So? I believe we were discussing the recent project that we’ve both been assigned on”

Grabbing a napkin, you dab at the table where a ring of water from the condensation has formed on the table. “It was how they touched you. They touched your back and lingered their hand on you.”

“I’m not following.”

You make a noise of discomfort, and fist the wet napkin in your hand. “I can’t explain it in words. It’s- It’s in the details and stuff. The observer's point of view.”

“Can you show me?” 

“Like?”

“Touch me.”

The napkin is clenched tightly in your hand, your nails ripping through the soft paper. Warmth flushes through your body, and you fear that he can notice the change in you. You know that he doesn’t mean it that way, but for him to say something so- so, intimate sounding, without meaning to, made your heart skip a beat. His eyes widen, and he stumbles over his words. “No- Not- Not like that. I hadn’t meant for it- I’m so terribly sorry-”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, waving your hand in front of you. “It’s cool,” you smile at him and he stops his ramble of words. There’s a rapid beat that bruises inside of your chest at his words- even if he did mean them innocently. “But you know, they touched you at the cafeteria too. They went up to you and touched your bicep.” You lift your hand, reaching over the table, letting it hover over his forearm. Glancing at him, he’s watching you, and you close your fist, pulling your hand back to you. 

“And you believe that all of those actions are due to the fact that they like me?”

Shrugging, you suck in your bottom lip. “It’s just my theory,” you whisper, embarrassment laced into your words. “They wanted to eat lunch with you too.”

The two drinks remain untouched and outside, you can hear sirens. His hand lifts up to rub over his mouth, and he has this faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he mumbles. 

“Okay?”

“Is there anything else that you want to add?”

You pout. “No.”

In the corner of your eye, you see a worker clean a table with a rag. You watch for a moment, and turn your head when chairs are fixed back into their positions, scraping along the floor. A part of you feels unsure about the conversation. While you wouldn’t believe that the scientist had a crush on you, you had at least humored the idea, but knowing that he isn’t interested in you, makes you want to go home.

You open your mouth to speak, and he beats you to it. “I’m hungry,” he states.

“I told you you could have gotten a pastry,” you point out.

“I want dinner. An actual dinner.” Sitting straight, it’s as if he has a new resolve. “Are you hungry?”

Blinking in surprise, you lift your shoulders. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I could eat something.”

“Good,” he nods to himself, and stands up, the chair squeaks against the floor. You follow his eyes, looking up at him as he adjusts the chair and stands by the table. “I’d like for you to accompany me to dinner.” Clearing his throat, his shoulders bunch together, and any confidence that he did have, is slowly evaporating. “That- That is if you want to, of course.”

You scoff with a smile. “Yeah, I’m game with that, Dr. Ohnn.” 

“Jonathan. You can call me Jonathan. I don’t mind it if you call me that.” He twists his hands, interlocking them, and pulling on the back of his palm, his skin stretching thin over his knuckles. 

Straightening yourself, you nod. “Okay. Jonathan it is. The same um, goes to you of course. You can call me by my name.”

“I already do,” and the way that he says your name, softly and tenderly, held with a smile, makes you turn your head and scratch at your neck in a desperate attempt to hide how wide your smile is.

“Mhm,” you squeak out. Standing up, you make sure to push the chair in and grab at the loose napkins and your drink. 

Following behind you, he throws his drink into the trash. This time, he’s made sure that he stands in front of you, stretching his arm out to hold the door open for you. Mumbling, you thank him, standing beside the door as he goes to open the passenger side door.

None of what he’s doing is helping quell your attraction to the scientist.

Clicking his seatbelt, he starts the car, driving away from the coffee shop. “Do you have a preference?”

“On food?” He nods, fumbling with the radio that plays the song of the week. You tap your foot to the beat. “Um, I think I’m good with most stuff. Restaurants are pretty inclusive about diets and stuff most days.”

“There’s a burger place on the way to Alchemax, do you know the one I’m talking about?” 

“With the really good burgers?” 

“Yes. Would you like to go there?” 

“Isn’t that too far?”

“They opened one relatively nearby.”

“Oh okay,  yeah.” You nod. “I’m game with that.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The drive to the restaurant passes by quickly as you chat about miscellaneous things- the weather, work, different coffee shops. Uncomfortable with silences, you keep the conversation going, jumping from topic to topic, trying to make something stick. However, the driver seems to be content with silence, nodding and giving one-worded answers, only really contributing to the conversation when you give your opinion on something.

Pulling into the restaurant, he takes a glance at you, and you smile in response. He opens his door, and steps out, and you follow close behind. The door is held open for you, you order your own meal, and before you can pat your pockets to find your card, he’s already paying for the meal. You aren’t sure how to feel about the whole situation. You feel good- happy and flustered even- but you can’t kid yourself. It’s dinner. With a scientist who you have pestered for a good while about what exactly is going on within Alchemax. It’s dinner with a guy who you had coffee with- twice. That’s it. 

When he sits in front of you, and smiles, you think you’re about to pass out.

Oh. He’s really cute.

No. Whatever feelings you’re having is a moment of weakness. Maybe you should download a dating app or something. 

Your newfound emotions aren’t settled by the end of the meal where you tell him a story about an old job that you used to work. He’s an avid listener, expressive and laughing when you start to smile uncontrollably. He pushes his tray closer to yours, letting you snag what little left of fries that he has. Even with bags under his eyes, he remains attentive during your story.

“No, and like my supervisor tells me “Well whole milk is regular milk,” and I’m so adamant-” you laugh mid-sentence- “that two percent is regular milk. Or like can be qualified as regular milk.”

“Why were you so adamant about it?” He laughs softly, leaning forward.

“Honestly?” You lean forward, stealing a fry of his and plopping it in your mouth. “I just really hate being wrong. Anyways-” you wave your hand in the air- “we have this whole spiel about milk of all things. And I tell him that I like oat milk and he’s like-” you deepen your voice to portray your supervisor- “‘Oat milk isn’t even milk. How do you even milk an oat?’”

“How do you milk an oat?” He asks with knitted brows.

“I-” you pause and tap at the table. “I always thought you blended it. You know, like peanut butter?”

“Yeah, but people don’t drink peanut butter.”

“I bet you that there is at least one person in the world who does drink peanut butter.”

“Okay, you find me that person and I’ll buy you a coffee next time.”

“Yeah, yeah-” you wave your hand, trying not to let your competitive side leak out. “Anyways, I’m sure they make almond milk the same way. Blended.” You lift a hand and point with your index, swirling it in the air.

“I’m partial to oat,” he admits.

“I gotta be honest, I think all milk tastes the same,” you whisper out the confession, covering the side of your mouth with one hand.

“Oh, now you’re being difficult,” he says with a roll of his eyes, adjusting his glasses by the leg. 

“I’m not, I swear! It just all tastes the same. Doesn’t stop me from asking for it at the coffee shops.”

“Even if it tastes the same?”

“I like feeling fancy,” you lilt, and he laughs.

“So you’re tricking your mind?” 

“Oh totally.” 

“With the fake milks?”

“Real, regular milk,” you counter. “Soy is fake- I think.”

“Oh, soy is fake, but the others aren’t.” He scoffs. “That’s where you draw the line.”

You laugh, taking the final sip of your drink. “Yeah, obviously.”

He joins your laughter, dipping his head down, and stray hairs fall in front of him. When he lifts his head, his smile is wide and open, and he has such a nice laugh- deep and the type that shakes his body. Pride makes your chest swell and heat burn over your cheeks at making him not only smile, but laugh. Fighting back the urge to move away the tray pieces of hair that have fallen, you clench your hand into a fist, your laughter slowly dying down. 

A quiet moment befalls the two of you, and you both look at each other. You rub the bottom of your shoe over the top of the other, and check the time. With a click of your tongue, you gather your trash onto the tray.

“We should probably get going. It’s close to closing time for them,” you explain, nodding your head back to the register where two workers chat.

“Oh, should we?” Despite questioning you, he follows your example and gathers his own trash.

“As someone who used to work customer service jobs, yeah.” Tossing your trash into the designated area, you stack the tray overhead. “I’m pretty sure that the employees probably hate us by now.”

“Good point.” He holds the door open for you, and you follow him back across the mostly empty parking lot. Inside the car, he waits for the engine to heat, and he turns to you. “I apologize for keeping you so late.”

“No, this was,” you hesitate choosing your words, “fun.” You nod your head and pull your bag up onto your lap. “I had a good time.”

“I’m glad that you did,” he says softly, giving you a final look before he gives his attention to the road. 

-

After a long day, you stand in front of your building, Jonathan joining you. You’ve always been much more comfortable with chatter than you have been with silence, but as you stand with him, you don’t feel as uncomfortable. You might even like the silence if it gives you reason to look at him. You stand on the steps leading to your home, finally looking him in the eye, and you hate the fact that he has such soft brown eyes. 

“Thanks for driving me home. And getting me a drink.” You kick at the ground, scuffing up at the dirt that lays in a thin layer. “And paying for dinner.” A jitteriness falls over you, and you can only twist and grip onto the strap of your bag. “Thanks for all of that Dr.-” he gives you a narrowed look and you quickly correct yourself- “Jonathan.”

“You don’t have to add my title,” he tells you. Beside him, his hand twists at the hem of his shirt. 

“Force of habit,” you say shrugging. Clearing your throat, you start. “Still, thanks. This was nice, Jonathan.” You like his name, and you hate the way that it makes you feel.

He nods, and raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Well, thank you for accompanying me to dinner. I had a good time.” He says your name delicately, rolling off his tongue, and you never thought that you would want to hear your name repeated over and over.

“No worries,” you answer breathlessly. You can’t think around him. Everything feels as if it’s too much- too hot, too close, too sweet. 

It was one day- two technically- but it was a short amount of time. You wear your heart on your sleeve despite trying so desperately not to. All it took was one day with him, and you think that you might like him. 

Oh, how you wish he was with someone else, then you could give yourself a reason to look away from him. 

With cotton stuffed into your mouth, you don’t trust yourself any further. You think that you should go inside- that maybe you shouldn’t be taking up his time. A part of you wonders when you’ll see him again. Shifting your weight between each foot, you pat your hands on your thighs, drying off the clammy feeling. You wish he would start talking again. Or maybe you should. If you go inside, then this could all be over. You turn your foot, and wave your hand in a goodbye, when he starts to speak.

“Will you be joining another tour group?” There’s a hint of hope that’s weaved into his words. He’s looking at you, and you wonder if you look pretty.

“As much as I enjoyed it, no.” You think you imagine seeing his shoulders slump at your words. “It wasn’t really for me. It was nice, but much more kid-centered.” His glasses are slipping down his nose and you wonder if he’d get upset if you pushed them up. “Will you be going to the café tomorrow?”

“I work tomorrow,” he admits.

“Oh,” you clear your throat, and fighting away the burning feeling that is burning in your chest, you suck in a deep breath. It makes sense to do this now. You have to take a risk. It’s dumb and highly unprofessional, but you need to tell him something. He has to stick around, just for a moment longer, just so you could get whatever pink and sweet is in you, out. “Would-” he word comes out much softer than you would have liked- “Would you want to exchange numbers, maybe?” You hope he says no.

“Really?” He looks so shocked, and so happy. A grin tilts his lips upwards, and like seeing his smile.

Nodding, you rub the flat of your middle finger against your jawline. “Yeah. It would be a better alternative than meeting during lunch on a tour group or a random chance meeting at the café. Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it,” he says eagerly.

You nod eagerly, unable to fend off your smile. “Cool, cool.” You suck in a deep breath, and wait for a moment, before you start to pat your pockets, pulling out your phone and clicking at the ‘New Contact’ section. Holding the phone to him, he grabs the device and places his information. 

Holding the phone tight in your hands, you tap your fingers against the back of the case. “I’ll message you later?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He lifts his hand and waves at you. You watch his back as he steps into his car.

You can hardly believe that you even made it inside without dropping your keys from excitement and nerves. Behind your door, you clasp your hand over your mouth, pitifully trying to stop the smile that beams across your features. Oh, this isn’t fair. And oh, you can’t wait to message him.

[chvoswxtch]

Hello i am also here from the GLF (global lesbian federation ofc) asking if you have any spare dom!karen thought to share? WE ARE DESPERATE

oh do I have THOTS

I hereby declare this meeting of the GLF regarding the matter of dom!karen now in session

karen prefers privacy to be able to take her time when she plays with you, but she's not above doing it in public

karen "the fbi was taking too long so I showed up to threaten wilson fisk to his face" page isn't exactly known for her patience

let's just say it's date night, you and karen are at a nice lil restaurant having dinner, but she can't focus on a word you're saying bc your dress is showing off a tantalizing amount of cleavage, and suddenly she's hungry for something else

while you're in the middle of telling her about something that happened at work, she cuts you off

"give me your panties."

she enjoys the way your eyes widen and you nearly choke on your wine. for a moment you just stare at her, trying to figure out if you'd heard her correctly

"what?"

karen tilts her head to the side slightly, a seductive smirk on her lips as she looks at you with a ravenous twinkle in her bright blue eyes

"you know I don't like repeating myself, baby."

the warning edge to her voice sends a shiver down your spine, and immediately you set your drink down. glancing around the restaurant nervously, you check to see if anyone was paying attention to the two of you. karen hasn't looked away from you, and when you meet her hungry gaze again, the clear desire in her stare ignites your own

keeping your eyes on her, you reach under the table and slip your hands underneath your dress, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of the thin lace. subtly shifting your hips upwards, you feel your heart start to race in anticipation and excitement as you push them down your thighs to your calves

leaning over slightly to slip them off your heels, you were going to discretely slip them to her under the table, but karen reaches her hand out expectantly with her palm upwards

your lips part in surprise at her boldness, although you aren't sure why that shocked you. when you hand them over across the table, karen's lips spread into a pleased grin at your obedience, and she flashes you a wink

"good girl."

you expected her to do something, but instead she reaches for her glass of wine to take a sip, and resumes conversation as normal like she didn't just ask you to take your panties off and give them to her in the middle of a restaurant

she can see the way you grow antsy and restless throughout dinner, and she smirks at you over the rim of her glass, noticing that you can't sit still. she knows what she's doing to you. she loves driving you crazy and watching you squirm, but even she can't deny her own desires

when it comes time for dessert, she pats the spot next to her in the booth absentmindedly while reading over the dessert menu

"come sit by me, baby."

the second you're by her side, she reaches over to place her hand on your bare thigh, her fingertips dangerously close to the hem of your dress. she's delicately stroking your skin, and she smirks feeling the way you tense up in anticipation

"what do you want for dessert? i'm in the mood for something...sweet."

emphasizing her point, she slips her hand beneath your dress and between your thighs, but she doesn't move it upwards where you're desperate to feel her

"karen-"

cutting you off, she holds the menu out between the two of you, like you give a fuck what's on it right now

"what sounds good? cheesecake? tiramisu?"

she's teasingly stroking her thumb along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and it makes your breathing become ragged and your heart pound in your chest. she knows exactly what she's doing, and you know it too. but you know better than to give into your own impatience if you want her to give you what you want

"are you in the mood for cake? or do you want something...creamy?"

you can hear the smirk in her voice, and you bite back a soft noise at her teasing words

"I want what you want."

karen laughs in amusement and shakes her head slowly

"oh sweetheart, if it were up to me i'd spread you open on the table and have you for dessert."

inhaling sharply, you clamped your thighs tightly around her hand, and she turned her head to look at you, grinning as she reached up with her other hand to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear

"open up for me, pretty girl."

letting out a shaky exhale through your nose, you slowly parted your thighs, and karen rewarded you by sliding her hand just an inch closer to where you wanted it

"pick something to keep your mouth occupied."

turning your head to look at her, you tried to convey your raw desperation in your expression

"cheesecake."

karen leaned in and brushed her nose against yours, dropping her voice to a low whisper.

"good girl. now you're gonna sit still, and when the waiter comes back, you're gonna order. and you're not gonna let him or anyone else know that my hand is between these pretty thighs, are you baby?"

as she slowly started to slip her hand further up your thighs, you shook your head no fervently, making her grin wickedly

"that's my girl."

in conclusion I need to be spayed like a feral fucking cat. thank y'all, see you next week

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (3)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.

[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]

Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251

Captain America: Man of Action.

Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.

It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.

He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.

That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.

This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.

Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.

Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.

This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.

“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.

“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.

“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”

“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.

Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”

“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”

“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”

“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”

“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”

Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.

“Maybe it is…”

Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?

 Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.

Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.

Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.

He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.

The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”

Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.

“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.” 

Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.

“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”

“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”

“What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”

Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”

Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.

Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”

Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.

Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.

Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.

“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”

“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”

“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.

Steve’s cheeks are on fire.

“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.

You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.

You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.

You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.

Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.

“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.

“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”

Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”

As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.

“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”

The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.

“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”

They look at each other quizzically.

“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.

“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.

While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”

“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”

“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”

Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”

The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.

Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’

If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.

“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.

He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”

Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.

He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.

Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”

He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.

Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.

No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.

Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.

If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.

Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that. 

Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.

Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.

Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.

The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.

Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.

Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.

This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.

Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.

He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.

The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.

There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.

“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning. 

Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”

You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.

“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”

Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.

“You okay?” he mouths.

The same tired smile flashes as you nod.

“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”

“Three ping fire.”

“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.

“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”

There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”

Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”

Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.

“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”

You’re gone. The access door closed again.

“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”

The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.

If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.

“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.

Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.

He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.

As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.

Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.

“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”

Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.

“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”

“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.

“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.

“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”

Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.

“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“

“—leave him alone, Stark—“

“—then I can put in a word.”

“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”

Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.

“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”

Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”

There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.

“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”

“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”

“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“

“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.

“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“

“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.

The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.

“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”

One spot of purple in a sea of white.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.

“I ordered butterfly bush…”

“What?”

“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.

Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.

Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.

“We don’t have time to change them—“

“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.” 

A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.

He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.

“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”

The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.

There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.

You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.

A one-minute warning is given.

From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.

Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.

Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.

The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.

‘For you, handsome.’

They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.

Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.

You get to watch it dawn on him, too.

Model 1: he’s a little miffed.

Model 2: his jaw goes slack.

Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.

By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.

Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.

Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.

It’s so bright. So loud.

The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.

People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.

It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.

“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.

Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.

Rose stems snap and litter the floor.

Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.

And it works.

Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia

A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.

[Next Part]

[Light Masterlist; Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[whatisthismandoinghere]

Daredevil shenanigans pt 3

S1.E3 Rabbit in a Snowstorm

Again I love these transitions, Barrett's out here getting a gun for Healy, says he prefers revolvers because they don't jam, Barrett assures him it won't, flash forward to Healy using the gun and it jams 😂 but hey when your gun jams, bashing somebody's head in with a bowling ball works too

I don't get the whole "we're fighting so I'm gonna use my head to bash in your head" like ouch, that's so impractical (though I have to admit it does look cool on screen)

Lantom is trying so hard to get through to Matt and he's so good and subtle about, I mean Matt still gently pushes him away and Lantom knows when to stop pushing it but he's not gonna give up

Ben! Haven't seen him in a while

When Silvio said this line as for why he wouldn't talk... *wow* the writing on this show is so good:

"Used to be if you killed a man, you sent his wife flowers. Now they just send his wife with him."

And when Silvio tells Ben he's grateful to him for not mentioning his kids when he did his prison time 😭

Can we take a second to appreciate the continuity on this show? Karen still has marks on her neck from when she was almost strangled to death! Look at this attention to detail people!!

Matt brushing off his injuries with general clumsiness

I love when Matt gets all skeptical and blunt 😂 like he does not like you and he does not trust you and he will not be shy about it

I like how you can tell when Foggy is interviewing Healy you can see him starting to get uncomfortable, cue Matt walking in when Foggy's like "yeah... we're not taking this case" and Matt's just like "yes we are" *cue Frustrated Foggy*

I love all these strong characters that aren't afraid to back down and do what's right, even when danger is very present

When Foggy asks to have a word with Matt while they're talking with Healy at the precinct and when Matt stands to talk with Foggy he just gently touches his shoulder to make sure of where he's going/where he is

Matt and Foggy's little fist bump

Ben is out here fighting so hard for his wife 🥺

Okay maybe I'm reading too much into this but when Foggy and Matt are in the office by themselves, Matt has his glasses off and as soon as Karen comes in he puts them right back on. I like to think it's a little representation of how comfortable he is around Foggy

The little 👌 Matt gives Foggy after his opening statement 😂

The way Matt makes the connection with the ticking watch, the heartbeat, and a crooked juror. I love seeing his powers at play like that. And then he promptly goes out and does something about it

Leland is so done with everything and everyone 😂

Okay this may sound stupid but I seriously wanna know how they did the scene with Healy where he ran that stake through his eye, like how did they make that look so real

Also can we talk about the jarring switch in tone from the dark and gritty of Healy killing himself to avoid being caught by Fisk to the calm and serene tone of Fisk looking at art and meeting Vanessa, I mean the switch in lighting in those scenes alone

More out of context quotes I enjoyed:

Matt: Why are you approaching us? Why not a larger firm, Mr., uh...

Wesley: Confederate Global Investments is my employer.

Matt: It's not what I was asking.

*Foggy gives Matt a Look™*

Matt: You get rid of it.

Criminal: I can't

Matt: It's not a discussion

Leland: Where is he? This needs attention.

Wesley: He's indisposed

Leland: With what?

Wesley: Art

Leland: Art who?

Wesley, in an exasperated tone: Paintings.

[mebemilena]

Bodyguard

i'm thinking about stating a series, but i've been thinking about SO MUCH stuff. also, i'm relearning how to use Tumblr.

Last night i had a dream, a woman telling me to write, but she didn't tell me WHAT to write.

-

-

maya lopez x reader

summary: Kingpin hires you to be Maya's bodyguard

--

"A bodyguard?", Maya signs too fast in hopes to dismiss Fisk's order while it's fresh . She doesn't understand why she needs someone to protect her.

"i can take care of myself, uncle.", she insists, but Fisk gives her minimal attention.

"I need you to lay low. We can't get any attention for now.", Kazi translated. He was not entirely happy with the situation.

-

You arrived at the gym ready to show off your abilities. They said you had to be a good fighter, observant and easy to mingle around. Knowing ASL would be a plus so you studied a few sentences and the letters. 

As you got your muscles stretched, warming up your arms and legs, a few guys arrived. You recognized the Tracksuit mafia for their clothes and hid a laugh. It was funny how they seemed more like characters from a 90's TV show than to criminals.

"Y/N", Kazi called you, he was the one who suggested your name for the job. "This is Maya.", he said as he signed, introducing you to the woman beside him. Before he could continue, Maya interrupted him. 

"Do you know her?", she asked him, eyes not leaving you. 

"We're friends.", he replied.

You kept a straight face, somehow trying to show that you had control over your emotions and were a good pick for the job.

Maya and Kazi exchanged looks. 

-

You went up the ring to start the "physical test", as Kazi called. A group of man lined up, ready to attack you and you understood the task in hand. It didn't take long for the first one to kiss the mat.

One by one they ran up to you, violently trying to put you down. One of them went as far as talking to you. "Nice shoes, princess. Wanna dance?", he mocked your bright orange sneakers before lifting you up. Terrible mistake.

Maya watched with thick interest as you put all her man down. Aggressively, violently, though your expression barely changed from a smile to a grin. You were having way too much fun.

"She was a Black Widow.", Kazi explained. 

Maya got up from her seat and went up to the mat. She took her leather jacket and signed to you. You didn't understand it all but you did recognize the word "dinner".

Though you tried, Maya was way too talented. Her kicks were too strong and her aim was flawless. You hit the mat after a few minutes, your nose bleeding.

"Enough.", Kazi followed her orders. "Congrats, you got the job.", he threw you a towel.

After getting cleaned up and socializing a little, you left the gym and met Maya at the parking lot, close to her own motorbike. She handed you a helmet.

"When you said you got a job interview, i didn't think it was to be my bodyguard.", Maya hit your arm.

"I wanted to surprise you.', you replied, winking at her.

Maya rolled her eyes. "As if we didn't spend a lot of time together anyway.", she pulled you by the hem of your jacket, your noses touching. "Sorry for the nose.", she apologised.

"You can always kiss me better.", you signed, wiggling your eyebrows.

You two stayed in your litte bubble for a moment before Maya tapped your shoulder. "Let's go. You own me dinner.", she set her attire. 

"Oh, that's what you said.", you finally understood.

-

Check out my redbubble shop:  https://www.redbubble.com/people/MilenaFernandes/shop?asc=u

toss a coin to your artist (me) at ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/mebemilena

[deepkissesandunexpectedhappiness]

In my personal opinion, "Hawkeye" is the most underrated Marvel show. Since "Endgame"...actually scratch that! Since COULSON DIED, that whenever someone important dies we never get the closure we need and want: not a funeral, memorial, not even any of the Avengers and Co. grieving... Then "Hawkeye" came along and they gave us everything we've been asking for: we've got Clint, Natasha's best friend, grieving, mourning her as we've never seen any of the characters do about any.one! Throughout the show Clint is constantly shown how shitty he feels for, not only losing his best friend but also because he feels like it was all his fault and he should've been the one to sacrifice himself. He sees himself and feels like a complete failure DESPITE having saving the world countless AND let's not forget he spared Natasha's life when SHIELD sent him out to kill her but instead he chose to give her an opportunity and decided to save her and help her by getting her out of her old life and asking her to join SHIELD. That guy is a freaking hero. ADDITIONALLY TO THAT: we have never witnessed so many of Clint's fighting scenes! "Clint is the greatest archer" yes we know, however, we barely see any of his skills throughout ALL the MCU movies binded together! This show literally provided us with the most badass, amazing, archery scenes in all MCU. 3rd) You not only have Yelena Belova's appearance but we also have the Kingpin himself, Wilson Fisk. 4rd) Yelena grieving Nat like we never see her doing AND TO TOP THAT, she ends up mourning and bonding about her sister alongside Clint. Last but not least: Kate's and Kingpin's fighting scene is so awesome! *I still don't get why the guy doesn't die or get hurt tho...* ; OH WAIT, AND 2 MORE! 1 ➸ we get to see how Clint's relationship with Laura and his, now grown up children, is (including Nate AKA Nathaniel Pietro Barton) 2 ➸ AND WE FUCKING FIND OUT THAT LAURA WAS A SPY THAT WORKED FOR SHIELD....WHAAAAT!? That's a plot twist I did NOT see coming 🤯 *Technically, Tony was right after all:

[dyns33]

Flufftober 2024 - 12 James Wesley

For people who didn't know him well, James looked perfectly calm at that moment. Serene, unflappable, as always.

But Y/N could guess the tension in his shoulders and the slight trembling of his lips.

She knew very well that he would have this reaction as soon as she broached the subject. She also understood why he was quite nervous.

"… This is not the right time." he replied, as he did every time she asked him this question.

"You know that the longer we wait, the angrier he will be."

"… I know. But is it necessary for him to know ?"

"James. He's my father."

It had been love at first sight between James and Y/N from their first meeting.

Mr. Wesley had done his best to keep his distance from her, to ignore his feelings, to tell her that he was not at all interested, but it had been stronger than them.

Their relationship had lasted for almost two years now, in total secrecy.

He wasn't ashamed of her, although Y/N ​​could have considered it because she found him much more intelligent and classy than her, who liked simple things.

The problem was rather a survival concern.

Because Y/N was slightly the daughter of his boss, Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin had almost blind trust in his secretary, whom he also considered his friend. Besides that, he loved his daughter more than anything in the world.

It was also for her that he wanted to clean up Hell's Kitchen, so that she could live there peacefully. Since her mother's death, when she was still very young, he had watched over her, even when he couldn't be there because of his work.

It had seemed normal to him to entrust her safety to James. He was the best at many things, and since the two seemed to get along, Fisk had thought that Y/N wouldn't take it as if he had a bodyguard on her back.

When he had started dating Vanessa, his daughter had thought it was the perfect time to tell him about their relationship, but James had refused.

"He'll kill me without a second thought."

"Don't say that… He'll be happy for us. I don't see what kind of man would be right for him if he thinks you're not good enough, and even if he's protective, he can't want me to be alone forever."

"You deserve happiness. But he might want someone who won't put you in danger."

"James. Darling. I'm a Fisk, I'm always in danger."

They let several months pass, New Year's, Valentine's Day, summer, until Vanessa invited them to a party she was throwing for Halloween.

Either it was a coincidence or she was a very smart woman, but she had asked James to come, telling him that he could bring Y/N with a little smile.

If she knew, it would be a miracle that she hadn't told Wilson.

"We should tell him at the party."

"A great way to ruin the party." James remarked.

"… And when, then ? Before or after, it will be just as complicated. I don't want to wait anymore. I… If you love me, we'll tell him on Halloween."

She could see in his eyes that he didn't appreciate the ultimatum, how sad it was that she might think that he wasn't talking to her father because he didn't love her enough.

It was a surprise when he came the next day with suggestions for matching costumes, clearly stating that they were a couple.

"What about the 'it's not a good idea to tell him during the party' ?" she asked with a smile.

"We're not going to tell him during the party."

"You want him to figure it out on his own ?"

"No. I went to see him last night. He told me he'd known for a long time and was glad I finally had the courage to tell him, proving that I was truly worthy of you."

"… We've been scared for nothing all this time ? Wait, I told you we've been scared for nothing all this time !"

"Hmm. What costumes would you like ?"

He remained unfazed when she slapped his shoulder and laughed, though a slight smile appeared on his face. It then disappeared just as quickly when she suggested Shrek and Fiona.