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#look peter [redacted] just got to me okay
babybluebex · 2 years
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okay but... high school sweethearts with grunauer but he promises if he survives the war he's coming back to marry you (and he does 😭)
oh my GOD baby boy peter grunauer 😭 i got carried away, per usual
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The train whistled, signaling its eminent departure, and Peter turned back to look at you with wetness in his big brown eyes. He had been crying almost nonstop ever since he had gotten the draft letter; your Pete always did wear his heart on his sleeve. "I don't wanna go," he told you, grappling to grab your hand. "What-What if I flunk the eye test and they have to send me home?"
"Pete, please," you sighed. "You know you have to go."
"I know," Peter said softly. "I know..."
"I'll be right here, waiting for you to come back," you told him, and you reached up and righted the little cap he wore over his shorn curls. Your tears caught in your throat, and you uttered "Waiting for you to come home to me."
"What if I..." Peter began, dropping his eyes to look at your intertwined fingers. "What if I don't make it home?"
"You will," you told him firmly. The image of him got all wishy-washy as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you dragged him into a tight embrace. He smelled just like he always did, nice cologne and the sweet tang of his own body, but you took a deep breath of him. Who knew when the next time you'd see him was? Who knew if you'd ever see him again?
"Doll, you know," Peter started. His hands touched your back as he held you, his chin settling on your head, and he pressed a kiss into your victory-rolled hair. You had only gotten all dolled up to take one last photograph with Peter before he was shipped off, and the film was stuck in a tiny plastic container in your purse. "You know I ain't coming home."
"Don't say that," you sniffled. "Pete, don't you dare—"
"It's easier, y'know," Peter said. "If you pretend like I'm a lost cause. It won't hurt when it happens, and, if I do come home, it'll be a big surprise."
"You're not a lost cause," you told him. "Stop it. Just let me think for five minutes that I'll see you again. That I'll get to hold you and kiss you—"
The train whistled again, and Peter was quick to cup your cheek with his shaking hand and kiss you. His lips were soft against yours as he held you tight and kissed you, and he only broke the kiss with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna marry you, doll," he said urgently; your time had come to an end. "When I get home, I'm marryin' you. How about that? Now I've gotta come home."
"You'd better," you sniffled, and you kissed him quickly again before he stepped away, back onto the train. "You'd better come back to me, Peter Grunauer, you hear me?"
"I hear you," Peter said. "Loud and clear, Mrs. Grunauer. I love—" The train blowing its final whistle drowned him out, and the chugging and clanking of the train only served to break your heart further. But you watched his lips form the word, you watched his big eyes as the door to the train car was closed, and you watched him as he pressed himself against a window to wave goodbye as the train departed. You couldn't watch anymore, though.
-
Two years. You got weekly letters from Peter for two years. Most of them had been heavily censored, his lead pencil marked out with black ink. No names, no destinations, not even what time of day he was writing the letter. Thankfully, the important parts, the parts about him loving you and coming home, persisted through the edits.
And then, one day in May, two years since he left, no letter came. Peter never missed a letter, not once. You kept every single one in a box under your bed, and you rifled through them as you tried to find any reason why he would miss a letter, other than the obvious. Maybe that letter had been too full of redacted material and the US Army hadn't even bothered to send the scrap along. That was your theory.
And then the next week came along, with no letter. And the week after that. And the week after that.
No word from Peter for four weeks, and you tried to keep your spirits up. He promised you he was coming home. He promised you that he would marry you. Peter made good on every promise he had ever made, all the way back to high school.
You had first met when you were 15 years old, when Peter asked to borrow a pencil in math class. He was handsome, in the boyish sort of way that he always had been— big brown eyes and freckled cheeks and plush pink lips— and you had fallen for him immediately. He was good to you, kind and funny and loving, and you had been together ever since then. And he had promised time and time again that he was going to marry you. "Just gotta get enough money for a ring," he always said with his charming smile. "And then I'm marrying you."
Then, the damn war. The damn draft.
You got a letter from the Army five weeks after Peter's last letter. It stated that Peter's paratrooper squad was shot down and that they had been unable to locate him, and to assume that he was either deceased or missing in action. You held the letter to your chest and collapsed in the doorway, heaving sobs from the very pit of your stomach. The letter was so clinical, no room for emotion, and it hurt. You wanted to destroy it, to tear it up or throw it into the fireplace, but you needed it. It was your last link to Peter.
You reread his letters every night. You looked forward to it, to mourning your husband-to-be. Eventually, you stopped calling him that and started calling him what he was: he was your husband, through and through. Reading his letters made it feel like he was there with you, and you needed the encouragement to get through the day. Your friends gave condolences and your parents hugged you when you cried, but nothing fixed your heartache like reading his letters.
The wound felt like it would never heal. Until a year later.
A knock came at your door just as you were setting down dinner for your parents, and you wiped your hands on your apron. "I'll get it," you told them. "Start eating, it's gonna get cold."
The knock came again, heavier, more intense, and you frowned. "Coming!" you called, and you wound your way through the house to the front door. Nobody ever used the front door of your house, always opting for the side door, and you couldn't imagine who was rapping on your door at this time of night. A third knock came, firmer than before, threatening to do the poor door right in, and you flung it open with a quick "Can I help you?"
Your heart stopped, your throat dried up, your eyes wetted with tears. You could hardly believe it. Your Peter stood there, looking worse for wear, deep wrinkles in his forehead with a slight limp as he stepped forward. But it was him. "I—" Peter started, and you sobbed out, grabbing him and pulling him into you. His arms grabbed you tightly, holding you even closer to him than ever, ever before, and he held your head close to his heart as he whispered, "I wanted to say somethin' funny, but, Jesus, you look so beautiful. My girl."
"How—" you sobbed. "I thought you were—"
"I know," Peter whispered. His chest was warm against the cold night, and you nestled close into him. "I thought I was too. How much do you know?"
"Your plane was shot down," you whimpered. "I-I was told to assume the worst."
"Yeah," Peter said softly. "Plane went down... We were in enemy territory, and I fucked myself up pretty good, broke my leg in two different places. But I survived, managed to get myself to a French family that took care of me. My leg didn't heal right and I walk like this now, but—"
"But you're home," you whispered. "You came home to me."
Peter angled your head up to look at him, deep in his dark brown eyes, and you finally pressed forward and kissed him. He tasted just the same as all those years ago, back before everything awful that could have happened did. But Peter was home.
"I promised you that I'd marry you," Peter said into your mouth, and he gripped you tightly. "And I'm gonna do it, doll."
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imxthexhandler · 1 year
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I posted 3,033 times in 2022
861 posts created (28%)
2,172 posts reblogged (72%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@wildthiiing
@agentjjkelly
@w-e-b-h-e-a-d-s
@glitchexmachina
@koiwrites
I tagged 3,025 of my posts in 2022
#damnit barton do your paper-queue - 2,417 posts
#mission objective - 527 posts
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#random post - 152 posts
Longest Tag: 138 characters
#(...i can just hear the force theme while looking at this picture and here's me trying not to cry because that song makes me so emotional)
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
OOC: So my blog got tagged as explicit... Great.
Just...great...
And considering this is the second time in two weeks this is happening, it is not helping the paranoia aspect of my anxiety. It makes it almost feel like someone is reporting rather than Tumblr just being stupid.
If it’s the latter, then great job, algothrim. Because you missed the 3 p0rn bots that tried to follow me that I had to block...
If it’s the former, just what the crap? If you don’t like me (and I get it, hell, most of the time, I don’t even like myself) or you don’t like my writing (again, I understand), then just...unfollow or block or what have you and leave me alone?
Because this really makes me not want to write on here. It really saps the motivation I had towards writing, which sucks because I was finally getting back into a writing groove.
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I’ve had this blog for nearly 8 full years. EIGHT. I don’t want to delete this blog or move (not to mention all the sideblogs I’d have to move, too...) to a new blog! And it just... Like, what do I do? Do I keep posting? How long do I wait for the appeal? Just... ARGH! It sucks. It really, really, really sucks, and I just have been so stressed out and having my own self-doubts about my writing creeping in, and I just... WHY THE KRIFF WAS IT FLAGGED AND WHEN WILL IT GET REVERSED?!
So, yeah. I dunno. I guess let me know if you guys are okay with me still writing or should I wait till this sorts out (hopefully)?
16 notes - Posted June 11, 2022
#4
Currently sexuality:
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Ewan McGregor twirling a lightsaber.
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Is this OOC or IC?
Yes.
18 notes - Posted May 15, 2022
#3
Waiting for the Right Partner
Hello, @caiti-creative-corner I was your Steggy Secret Santa! I am sorry for the delay. I was hoping to have your fic done by New Year's, but due to some work issues, it's taking me a little bit longer.
So, to hopefully tie you over, here is a Steggy mood board and themed playlist.
I apologize for the delay, but I hope this will give you some Steggy goodness in the meantime.
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"Waiting for the Right Partner"
-A Steggy (Steve/Peggy) fanmix playlist.
01.) "Young and Beautiful" covered by Postmodern Jukebox.
02.) "It's Been a Long, Long Time" by Kitty Kallen.
03.) "The Way You Look Tonight" by Frank Sinatra.
04.) "Sway" by Dean Martin.
05.) "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" by The Andrew Sisters.
06.) "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" by Frank Sinatra.
07.) "I Can't Believe That You're in Love With Me" by Rosemary Clooney.
08.) "Too Good to be True" by Dinah Shore.
09.) "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn.
10.) "The Very Thought of You" by Billie Holiday.
19 notes - Posted January 9, 2022
#2
[Continued from here.]
@w-e-b-h-e-a-d: Peter wasn’t expecting this surprise at all so when Amelia texted him saying she made a little nerdy video for him … His mouth about dropped on the floor when he saw dancing in nothing but the slave leia loin cloth and just a chain.
Amelia waited a couple of minutes before texting him again.
[TEXT: Peter] So, what do you think? 😘
She never attempted something like this before, so she hoped he enjoyed it. Granted, she got the costume for herself, but still, the video was meant to excite him.
23 notes - Posted August 26, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
[Continued from here.]
@w-e-b-h-e-a-d:  Peter quietly walked up behind her groping both her breasts in his hands and began to massage them between his fingers.
Amelia gasped, almost dropping her coffee as her boyfriend surprised her, his warm hands pawing at her breasts, her body jumping up slightly, shocked, before she moaned, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, her cheeks flushed a bright pink, her thighs clenching together tightly. “Peter!” she squeaked.
35 notes - Posted August 22, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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Tagged by: the ever fab @koiwrites to look up mine.
Tagging: @agentjjkelly; @goddamnmuses; @bennyboylewis​; @agentsterling​; @marvariants​; @wildthiiing​; @leschanceux​; @manymusesbym​; @secretswritten​; and @glitchexmachina​.
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Supernatural Rewatch 2k23: Season 1 Episode 16 "Shadow"
I'm loving the one word titles this season. For some reason I was expecting FOB style titles from Supernatural. No idea why. Maybe later seasons will deliver on this. For now, if this isn't about a shadow monster, I will be disappointed. Here I come, evil Peter Pan story!
I think this is the murder house.
Is this lady a punk? Is she goth? Her zune died. So I still can't tell.
How is this shadow following her?
The shadows don't disappear in your house. This is important when running from a shadow monster, you need full sun.
Does she hear the hissing?
Death 1: Meredith. RIP
Just for clarity: Death count is only for on screen deaths. Not all mentioned deaths. That's too many to keep track of.
What do you think the costume budget is for Sam and Dean?
How do you cut a chain? I don't like that. I guess that was the cops tho.
A wild animal? I hope not. I hope we aren't to that episode yet.
Where did the walkman emf go? I miss it. WHERE ARE THE LASERS?
Oh no. The heart is missing.
Why is Dean crafting? How is that a "symbol?" This is bad detective work?
Sam's hair just keeps getting worse. And are his sideburns just like that?
Uh oh. Meg is here.
This is bad.
Was than an OC reference?
Meg is so obvious.
"I hope to see you around" Meg, you are literally stalking him.
Thattaboy Sammy, stalk Meg right back.
But they do [redacted] at some point right?
Alright, this is just demons, not the {spoiler} episode
Sam, Sam don't look. LOL at this lady calling Sam a pervert.
But like is she wrong?
Meg walks like a bad bitch. Love the walk.
Please follow her into the condemned building. Nothing could possibly go wrong here! Everything is fine.
PARKOUR! Climb Sammy boy, climb. What happens when you get to the top?
Uh oh, the demon lair. The weird cup. Where's the blood? Latin count 1
"Okay, like sexily blow out these candles." - Stage direction to Meg for this scene for some reason.
Why did they pick Lawrence, Kansas for the start?
Only calling Dad. When will we get the rest of the demon hunters? I want to see Bobby.
"I'm not nervous at all!" - Dean and Sam lying to each other.
Dean is a lonely boy. And now he's telling his brother. He needs people. He misses his family.
Poor little Dean. :(
They would make so much noise climbing up those rickety gates.
THANK YOU, MEG. Like come one boys.
Once again. Those are disfiguring scars. On Sam's face! Like what are we supposed to believe here?
OH IT'S A TRAP FOR DAD? AND HE'S IN TOWN.
There are ten minutes left in this episode, how are we escaping boys?
This Meg is so oversexed, I think she must be possessed.
Vague sexual assault vibes? hmmmk
Tip that table like a cow! You got it!
Meg is gonna get up right? Because she's possessed?
IT'S DAD!
Sammy is gonna cry.
Dean and Father Winchester look so much alike.
"Yes sir." = Good son moment.
THESE FACE WOUNDS ARE ALL SO MANY SCARS, WHAT KIND OF PLASTIC SURGEON SKILLS DO THEY HAVE WHEN IT COMES TO STITCHING?
Hugs. The Winchester boys need hugs.
HAH. Meg is possessed. I knew it.
Dean now also has disfiguring face scars. Great!
Why is Dean splitting up the family?
Ah, self sacrificing Dean. And selfish Sam.
Do you think the "you gotta let me go" is foreshadowing or nah? I feel like it definitely is.
Can you imagine walking past those three on the street in Chicago? I would call the cops.
Pretty sure that John's truck is the ghost truck and we're all just pretending it isn't.
"And then Sam and Dean go to their plastic surgeon to avoid disfigurement"
I do love Meg as the villain though.
Death's this episode: Just the 1
Kidnappings: 1 for Dean and 1 for Sam
Total Deaths: just 6 for now (Please keep in mind I only started counting at episode 14. I can update this later!)
Total kidnappings: 1 for Dean and 2 for Sam
While it was not about a shadow monster, I wasn't disappointed. Side note, this does feel like a particularly gritty and violent soap opera. Which is fine!
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captain-harry-kim · 4 years
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Imma listen to Man In Glass now! 
*gets less than a minute in*
NOPE not ready 
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hello-everyfandom · 4 years
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“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you."
Warnings: N/A
Pairing: James Potter x Reader
Words: 2.8k
Summary: James Potter is desperately in love with you.
Part One “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her, not me.”
Part Two "James, you’re a right knob head sometimes. She loves you.”
(Hi! This is part three of my James Potter series. Feel free to read those before hand!)
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It was odd to see you without James. It seemed that after the Gryffindor party, you had disappeared. It was rare to see you during meal times and you were nothing but a passing figure in the corridors, fleeing before the boys could stop you. It wasn’t just Remus you were dodging, Sirius could barely find you in a crowd and Peter had spoken to you all but once these past few weeks. James, it seemed, was taking your absence the hardest. He frequently turned to his side to tell you a witty or inappropriate joke only to find that you weren’t there. Living without you was torture. Living without the person he loved was torture. And, what made it worse, was that it was his doing that brought this fate upon the Marauders. Remus Lupin, to put kindly, was extremely fed up. He missed his friend and found himself quite lonely studying in the library. And if he were to catch you somewhere, reading or doing homework, you were quiet and reserved, almost fragile to an extent. So, Remus made it his mission, after a grueling day of classes, to find you. He stalked the halls, peering left and right, checked the Astronomy Tower and the Owlery and the kitchens. It was only until he found you, tucked away and unseen, in the back of the library that he let out a sigh of relief. 
Remus pulled a chair from the table and sat down, staring at you intently. “Right, Y/N. This has got to stop.”
“What are you on about, Remus?” you asked, raising your eyes from your book that you were barely reading.
“Don’t play dumb!” Remus used his hand to refer to you, “This has got to stop. It’s become ridiculous.”
“Rem-”
“No, just listen to me. I don’t want to raise my voice or become angry, but you’ve beyond frustrated me. Y/N, this has got to stop, you cannot go on like this.”
“Go on like what?” you asked sharply.
“Like this!” you knew exactly what Remus was talking about. You had become quite skinny, almost gaunt like. Your body adorned an old knitted sweater that James had given you after his growth spurt. It engulfed your body and swallowed you whole. Your face has lost its colour, and your paleness reached all over your skin. You looked sick. Lovesick, if you will, and suffering from heartbreak and losing the battle. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you gazed back at your book, hoping Remus would leave.
“Damn it, Y/N. Stop it.” Remus slammed his hand on the table, making you jump. Remus had never raised his voice at you, but looking in his eyes, you could see how desperate he was. Remus redacted his hand and shook his head, “I’m sorry.” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly, reaching to place your hand on his.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I know,” you said truthfully, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb, “but I’m alright.”
“No, no you’re not, Y/N. This isn’t you. The person sitting here isn’t you.” Remus trailed off. If this is what love is, Remus thought, then maybe he didn’t want it. He could see how this was tearing you apart, inside and out. “Everyone misses you. James misses you.”
“I miss you too,” your voice quivered a bit, hearing James’ name struck a blade in your throat.
“He’s not the same, y’know? Have you noticed?” 
You couldn’t say you had. Every time you had seen him in the corridor or in the common room, you practically ran away. It was utter agony to see the man who you so desperately loved, not love you back. But, if you had lingered, if you stayed for mere seconds, you would have seen how broken James was. He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair as he usually did, but the smile was nearly blank and his hair was pulled nervously. 
“Rem-”
“I know,” he sighed, “But at least think about coming back, okay? It’s scaring me to see you like this.”
You nodded, “I love you, Moons.”
Remus squeezed your hand, sending you a worried smile and stood up to leave you alone with your thoughts. As you sat there, you found yourself playing with James’ sweater, fiddling with and pulling out the loose strands. You feared that this was the end of yours and James’ friendship, perhaps even for good. You weren’t sure you could go back to being friends, it simply felt too emotionally difficult to be nothing but mates. You couldn’t do it. A small part of you wanted to be angry with James. In fact, you wanted to be furious at him for toying with your feelings like that. You wanted to scream and send him a jinx that would cause his head to become an octopus. Maybe then he’d see how much he sucked. But, you couldn’t. You couldn’t even be annoyed. The only thing you could feel was the throbbing hurt of your broken heart and helplessly missing a certain James Potter.
Sirius had become just as frustrated if not even more frustrated than Remus. He had become fed up with constantly telling James to grab life by the balls and tell you how he truly feels. It became too much when James was fidgeting during breakfast before his second Quidditch game.  
“James Middle-Name-That-I’ve-Forgotten Potter!” 
James looked up alarmed, “Padfoot? What’s wrong? You never call me James,”
“You! You’re what’s wrong.”
“Padfoot, don’t do this right now, I’m already nervous enough for the game.”
“This is the absolute last time I’ll say it if you don’t tell Y/N how you feel, I won’t talk to you for a week and we both know that’ll be right awful.”
“I’ll do it! I swear, I’ll do it, it just has to be the right time. And-and now, it’s just not.”
“Then when will be the right time?” Sirius prodded, “In a year? Two? When you’re old and wrinkled?”
James bit his lip, knowing full well that Sirius was right. “I’ll tell her at the party tonight,”
Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah, like that turned out well last time you did that.”
“Well! I-okay? It’ll be fine!” James groaned loudly. Why was he such a coward?
“I mean it, James. Do it, or you’ll regret it.” Sirius pointed. “I didn’t pretend to be Y/N and fake kiss you for nothing.”
“You were the one who pretended to kiss me!” James accused,
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” Sirius clicked his tongue.
“I didn’t,” James said. 
Although James felt joyous over his quidditch game win, he could feel the nerves bundled in his stomach. As he reached the common room James swallowed harshly and plainly greeted the partying Gryffindors who congratulated him. 
“Drink of firewhiskey?” Someone offered him, James shook his head.
“No thanks, mate. All yours.”
James searched the common room, his eyes scanning the heads of the bouncing and swaying students. His brown eyes locked with Sirius who sent him back a pointed look with eyebrows raised. He had to do it. He had to do it now. James Potter blinked, hoping to find you somewhere in the crowd with a smile on your face that he so loved. James pushed against the throng of students before reaching Remus who was leaned against the wall.
“Moony,” James said with relief.
“There you are! Hold on,” Remus fixed James’ glasses that seemed to have come askew and crooked on his nose. “Two wins in a row, how bloody lucky are you?”
“Yeah yeah,” James waved it off before asking frantically, “Where’s Y/N?”
Remus’ face dropped and his eyes showed nothing but wariness, “Why?”
“I need to tell her something.”
“Have you been drinking again?”
James shook his head rapidly, “No. Where is she?”
“Prongs, I think-”
“Moons, I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this. I need to see her, I need to see her and tell her I love her. I need to do it and I need to do it now,”
Remus’ eyes lifted in surprise, “Oh.”
“I know, I know. But, where is she? I need to find her.”
Remus’ thoughts were racing horses and he seemed to piece together what was happening, “James.”
“Please, Remus. Please tell me where she is.”
Remus bit his bottom lip, “I think I saw her in the courtyard, sitting in one of the window sills, but-” Before he could continue, James spun around and hurried out of the common room. 
Sirius strutted over and slung an arm around Remus’ shoulders. 
“Is he going-”
“Yup.”
“And does Y/N feel-”
“Yup.”
Sirius turned his head with a wide grin, “Thank god. I was nearly ripping out my hair waiting for him to tell her.” Remus hummed in response. As Sirius seemed to quiet, Remus turned to him with questioning eyes.
“I need to tell you something-”
Remus interrupted him, “You pretended to be Y/N for James, didn’t you? That’s why you pretended to wear a dress.”
Sirius sighed pathetically, “Yeah. And I kind of liked it.” 
James could feel the sweat begin to bead on his forehead, and the adrenaline run through his veins as he looked the corridors for you. This was it. James could feel it. He was ready, he was in love with you and nothing else seemed to matter but the idea of you. You. He loved you. He would rip the skin off his back to keep you warm or swing upside down on a tree with his trousers off just to make you smile. 
It was cold. Cold enough to feel a brisk breeze on your shoulders and cold enough for you to wrap yourself in your arms. You enjoyed the quiet, at least you learned to enjoy it. You debated on returning to the common room to attend the party like Remus and Sirius had begged you to, but you quickly decided against it. You stared up at the stars that blinked back at you. Though you were absolute bollocks at astronomy, you found yourself counting the stars, seeking a constellation, or maybe even guidance. A cloud brushed over the dark skies, the twinking stars disappearing into the darkness. You sighed and stared at your feet until you heard something. What was that? It sounded almost like thunder, pounding against the corridor floors. As you curiously faced the source of the noise, you could barely make out a tall figure bounding towards you. You could make out their messy hair that seemed to stick out everywhere. Messy hair. James. It was James. He ran towards the courtyard, pausing to look madly all-around before spotting you. James Potter froze, his mouth coming agape. The adrenaline and rush that he had previously felt faded every slow step he took towards you. Your hands instantly became sweaty and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from his. Should you run? Maybe, if you hurried now, you could make it back to your dorm in minutes. But you stayed. You stayed, watching his every move until he finally reached where you were sitting.
“Hi,” he whispered, barely trusting his voice right now. 
“Hi,” you said back, your voice shaky and low. His eyes looked towards the free space next to you on the bench, a silent question if he could sit. Your eyes widened as you scooted over allowing James to sit. It was silent, something neither of you were used to. Before, it was rare that you two had a minute of quietness between you as the conversation seemed to bounce naturally. But now, it was hushed. James clenched his hands nervously.
“Congratulations on your win, James,” you said sincerely, surprised that you had even said something. James inhaled. He didn’t want to talk about quidditch. He didn’t want to talk about anything, he wanted to lean in and kiss you and tell you how much he truly adored you.
“I need to tell you something.” James let out.
“James-”
“No, please? Let me talk.” You stayed silent,
“I made a mistake at the last party.”
“Really, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just forget about it.”
“No, I don’t want to forget about it. It was a mistake. But not in the way you’re thinking. It was a mistake because I shouldn’t have told you how I felt like that. I feel like a right prat and, and.” James lost his words for a moment before clearing his throat, “I should’ve never told you I loved you when I was drunk. And, I should’ve never pretended I had forgotten about it either.”
This was painful. He did remember, he just ignored it. You managed to pull your lips into a small smile, “James. It’s okay. It didn’t mean anything, we can just-”
“No, that’s the thing. It did mean something. It meant something to me. I have been trying, constantly trying, to find a way to tell you, but I’m terrified of losing you.” 
“You’d never lose me-”
“Y/N, you little shit,” he let out a small joke making you laugh, “Will you please be quiet because I swear I’ll go mad if you don’t.”
“I...  I adore you.” James said finally. Your hands went cold and you struggled to breathe. It was a trick, wasn’t it? Or a nightmare? Or were you daydreaming in the library again and you’ll soon be woken up by the sound of a book dropping? 
“What?”
“It’s true. I adore you. I think you are frustratingly annoying sometimes when you lose at exploding snap, when you argue with me I go a little insane and sometimes you snort when you laugh. I had this whole speech planned out and I was supposed to have flowers, but whenever I see you I just. I lose myself a bit. But, I think you’re amazing.” James shifted in his seat, getting a good look at you. You were thin and had bags under your eyes, but you were still just as beautiful as you were when you were children. “And I. I love you.” 
“Have you been-”
“No. I haven’t been drinking. I’m as sober as a nun and I can say now, finally, that I, James Potter, am terribly and irretrievably in love with you. I have been and always will be.”
You sat there stunned. James bit his bottom lip nervously, looking up at you, eyelashes on his cheeks as he wondered what you were thinking. He had an anxious smile on his lips.
“Say it again,” you said softly. 
“I love you.” James reached and interlocked his fingers with yours.
“Again,”
“I love you.” You let out a breath of shaky air, your lungs could implode. You couldn’t help it. Tears welled in your eyes, you couldn’t even blink them back in time. You could taste the salty tears slip down onto your lips as you began to cry. James looked alarmed and raised his hand to cup your cheek softly wipe the tears with his thumb.
“Please don’t cry Y/N. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“No,” you sobbed, “Please. Don’t say anything. This? This is... perfect.”
“But, you’re crying,” James said worriedly, brushing more tears off your face. You felt yourself do something you hadn’t done in a while. You smiled. You beamed through your tears and sent James a dazzling smile that nearly knocked him off his seat.
“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m... I’m perfectly happy right now.”
James could feel his own eyes begin to tear up as he sniffled and laughed, “Well you’ve gone and made me all soft now.”
“Oh, James. I missed you.” You leaned comfortingly into his hand.
“I missed you too, Love.” James whispered, “And I’ll never leave you again.”
“Will you say it again, for me?”
“I’ll say it every second of every day if need be, I love you. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N.”
You laughed out in relief, wishing to hear him say those sincere words again.
“I love you too. I love you, James Potter. I’ll love you until I stop breathing, until the day I die and even more.”
“Will you say it again for me?”
You closed your eyes, “I love you.”
Under the stars, the stars you had earlier compared your love to James Potter to, he kissed you. The salty tears of both yours and his mixed as you smiled, beyond joyful, effortlessly happy. A weight slipped off your shoulders and landed on the ground as James held your face in his hand and pushed all his love, his endearments, his affections into this kiss. You pulled away, foreheads pressed together as you felt nothing but content. From the beginning of your life together, James Potter knew you were destined to be together, tied with heartstrings. And slowly, but surely, the love you both shared combined, and not even the stars could outshine it. 
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carewyncromwell · 3 years
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Maybe part of the reason JC shies away from utilizing Duncan more is, not only does he know too much WHICH HE DOES, but any development into his character would just be too dark for the game. Anything past his "im dead lol" jokes just gets... depressing. This is a kid who was murdered in a very painful way with no hope for the future. Everyone he loves will die and leave him alone forever. Is this level dark stuff allowed in a kids game? Part 1
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Whew! Okay, so first off, wow! Very interesting sidequest idea for Duncan. Thank you so much for sharing it with me! 
But to your first point, at the very top...this is kind of one of my biggest problems with Jam City and its writing. “Is this level dark stuff allowed in a kids game?” And my counterpoint would be it should be. 
Look -- I work at a Disney theme park. I work with kids every single day. And from my experience, I can say with certainty that kids are a helluva lot more intelligent and reasonable than a lot of adults give them credit for. They know that terrible things happen in the world, and they know that the world isn’t always fair. And there would be ways to use Duncan’s character where he doesn’t have to be doomed to watch everyone he grows to care about fade away forever -- who says he couldn’t find some measure of peace through his friendship with MC and Jacob and be able to finally pass on into the next life knowing he really did make an impact? That’s what I plan to do in my headcanon version of events. 
And for that matter, this game is not played by very young children  -- it’s geared for 12+, as in the audience that Harry Potter as a franchise was always geared toward. And I’m sorry, but for all of J.K.’s faults as a writer, she never doubted that young people could handle dark subject matter like murder, bigotry, etc. without being coddled. We’ve already watched MC’s friends get Imperiused and tortured. We’ve already watched a character we got emotionally invested in at the very beginning of the game get brutally murdered before our very eyes. Yes, maybe it was upsetting, but that’s the POINT. Stories shouldn’t just be fluffy and inconsequential all the time. I can’t help but feel like the vast majority of the sidequests as of late have suffered because they have so little of substance or stakes behind them, even compared to what came previously -- and honestly, even the main storyline since mid-year 6 has petered out to nothing because R is busy doing things like dropping off random magical creatures from around the globe in Britain and apparently putting memory potions in haircare products rather than doing things a real Cabal would do. It doesn’t feel like some grand plan or conspiracy, or even like some well-planned distractions while R does more evil things on the side, since we don’t get any evidence R is actually USING those things to do anything more serious, like getting access to classified Ministry intelligence or killing people. (Instead they steal one Portkey, and the Ministry doesn’t even bother to find out where it’s Charmed to go, since that might be a pretty big hint about their true intentions. I mean, there’s a bloody CHARM to turn things into Portkeys, you don’t need to steal specific objects to turn them into a Portkey.) It feels like some rabble-rousers causing trouble for the government, a la Carmen Sandiego stealing random pieces of world history for the thrill of it, not a group trying to destroy or overthrow anything or terrorize people to get their way. Young Harry Potter fans could digest the Death Eaters back in the day -- they could handle R being more of a real threat, just as they could accept other types of dark subject matter. They could handle discussion of PTSD post-Redacted -- Harry goes through some of that in Order of the Phoenix. They could handle a discussion about bigotry and prejudice -- that’s one of the central themes of the original Potter books. They could handle both Duncan and Jacob being sort of stuck out of time after dying prematurely and coming back as a ghost and being stuck in a portrait for so many years -- that same sort of thing happens to Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers in the MCU, and plenty of young adults watch the MCU. 
I understand doing anything with Duncan could be “depressing” if not properly balanced out, but you know, being sad isn’t a crime. It’s part of being human. I frankly think getting a real emotional reaction for a character you created should be a welcome thing, rather than a half-hearted shrug like the vast majority of these recent sidequests have prompted out of me. It means that people actually care about the characters you’ve created -- go figure. 
As well -- I don’t think Duncan “knows too much,” personally. I know this game is called Hogwarts Mystery, but it can’t be a real mystery if we don’t have tools that could allow us to start putting the big picture together ourselves. Again, for all of her faults, Rowling understood this as a writer. We could put together, with all the info we got about Snape throughout the books, that him killing Dumbledore wasn’t because he was truly evil all along. We could put together that Rita Skeeter was an illegal Animagus, like we learned the Marauders were a book prior. We could put together that Harry was a Horcrux, based on what we learned about Horcruxes and Harry’s connection with Voldemort. And maybe having someone who could help us get a better picture of what R wants would help us better define these antagonists we’re facing and develop them into a real threat, instead of this vague red-robed shadow that honestly just seems to do random things for the hell of it rather than as part of some grand plan. I understand not understanding someone in small doses can make them intimidating, but it also makes them less fleshed-out and developed as characters and makes it harder for us to care about whether they get what they want or not. As they say, a hero is only as good as one’s villain. 
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moon-in-daylight · 3 years
Text
Stay the night / Count Orlo x reader
Summary: It’s the evening before Catherine’s birthday, and knowing what her plans for the special day are, you have to decide whether if you warn Orlo or not.
Words: 2.2k
A/N: So remember over a month ago when I said I wanted to write Orlo fluff? Well, I wasn’t able to write it until recently. I didn’t edit this and I’m posting it at 2 am so forgive any typos that you may find. I’m just really impatient once I finish writing something and I really can’t wait to share it 😂 Also, thanks to the anon that sent this because it practically gave me the whole idea for this fic. Sorry for the delay 😅
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Orlo’s mellow voice echoed through the empty room as he read aloud for the both of you. Written words came out of his tongue naturally, as if he was the one choosing what to say instead of just reading the thoughts of another person. He had that gift of making the most boring writings sound like poetry when he read them for you. You were sure that even the dullest treaties he had to redact for Peter would sound delightfully sweet, if he was the one reading them.
The loving tone he used when he knew you were listening, the dedication he put into every sentence, reciting every word with a passion you had rarely seen in any other man at court… As you leant your head on his shoulder, you wished you could enjoy the soothing sound of his voice just like you used to do every night. But, much to your disgrace, this wasn’t just any other night.
Maybe it was for Orlo. As far as you could tell, he was oblivious to all the chaos going through your mind. And you wished you could be as well as you tried to focus on the way he took and released the air around you as he spoke.
He didn’t have the slightest clue, but tomorrow would be a decisive day for the two of you. Not only for the two of you. The whole of Russia could be marked forever by the events that were to come. Tomorrow was Catherine’s birthday, and as one of her most loyal confidantes, you had been chosen to carry the burden of knowing what her plans for the day were.
You had thought that she was joking at first when she told you that she was pregnant, and you even laughed when she let you know that all she wanted as a birthday gift was her husband’s head on a silver plate. But you froze when you realized she was being as serious as ever since she had arrived that godforsaken excuse of a court. She was determined to take the step, to finally kill Peter and take his place the next morning. Seeing the passionate way she spoke of the events that were to come, you knew nothing could have make her change her mind.
It wasn’t that you weren’t glad that Peter was about to get what he deserved. You hated him with every fiber of your being and you couldn’t wait for the moment that he paid for everything he had done to your country, that was why you had chosen to take part in her coup and drag Orlo into it as well. But as the moment of taking the final step approached, you couldn’t help but torture yourself with all the horrible outcomes your plans could bring.
If the coup failed, a quick public execution would be the most desirable destiny for you. Your body trembled when you thought about the physical tortures and punishments you would be subjected to if Peter identified you as one of the plotters. But that worry you felt for your well being didn’t even compare to what you felt when you thought of what losing Orlo would be like.
Orlo had been your friend for years, and now that your relationship was finally developing into something more, you couldn’t bare the thought of losing him. For years you had been meeting in the library at the most remote times of the day, sharing his company and a decent book in the dim light of candles being all you needed to clear your mind of the idiots you had to deal with at court. He had been the most important person to you ever since you had arrived that awful place, the only person that had showed to you some real, uninterested kindness.
You hadn’t been able to avoid developing deeper feelings for him almost immediately, but thinking that he wasn’t interested in you, you had kept them a secret for years, hoping that way you wouldn’t lose your closest friend. You had felt utterly stupid when, after coming back from his unfortunate trip to the front, he had decided to tell you what he truly felt for you in an act of alcohol-induced bravery.
Only a few weeks had gone by since you had gotten together, and honestly not much had changed in your relationship. You still did the same things you had always done. You talked for hours on end, share any and every interesting book or quote you read with each other, go for a walk through the palace gardens… The only difference was that you no longer had to hold yourself back when you felt like grabbing his hand or giving him a little peck on the lips.
It felt as if you had been wasting your time all those years, and you weren’t ready for what you both had to be over. Catherine’s birthday could mean the end of everything you actually enjoyed about that place, because even if you succeeded in getting Peter out of the throne, there was still a high risk that either you or Orlo had to sacrifice your lives for the cause.
You hadn’t mind dying back when you had first joined the coup. Back then, you didn’t have anything to hold on to and you wouldn’t have mind to give your life for a greater good. Now that you had Orlo by your side, you were scared of losing the one good thing that you had.
For the first time since you could remember, you were terrified.
His voice seemed to be drifting away from you as you felt a sharp pain inside your chest. It wasn’t fair. You would never forgive yourself if something did happen to Orlo the next day. You would always remember that you had been to one to drag him into that situation.
“Orlo…” You called his name in a low tone, immediately gaining his attention as he looked away from the book and right back at you.
You wanted to apologize to him. To tell him just how terrified you were and ask him to run away with you far away from that palace, move to another country if needed. You had more than a bad premonition about the following day, and your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled not to share those anxious thoughts with him.
This could be the last night that you got to spend by his side. He seemed so blissful there, reading to you. So calmed and unaware of the horrible thoughts that clouded your head… You couldn’t tell him, you couldn’t make him carry that burden too. Orlo deserved every second of happiness he could get, and you wouldn’t have been able to be the one bringing him bad news. He’d know about Catherine’s plans when he strictly had to, not a second earlier.
“Am I boring you?” He innocently asked as he put the book on his lap, trying to disguise his true fear of being boring with a kind smile and an amusing intonation in that question. He had slowly learned to become comfortable around you, vulnerable. But sometimes you could still see glimpses of old shy, nervous Orlo when his insecurities hunted him.
“Of course not.” The reassurance you gave him seemed to bring him back to that previous state of peace he had been enjoying during that whole evening. “I could never get bored of you.”
He didn’t need to give you an actual answer for you to notice his disbelief of your words. A simple, practically unnoticeable blush of his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately avoided looking directly at you were enough for you to notice the incredulity he still demonstrated at the thought of someone being able to love him.
“I hope you know I mean it.” You added, reaching his cheek with one of your hands and caressing it softly as you removed the book that still laid on his lap so you were the one resting above him instead.
Grabbing his chin carefully, you guided his stare so that it would meet yours, his chocolate brown eyes reflecting some of the dim light of the room. He had removed his characteristic glasses recently, and you weren’t quite accustomed to see him so… Naked yet. The absence of them allowed you to look into his eyes with no barrier in between, and though you had to admit you kind of missed that accessory of him, there was no comparison to what getting lost in his uncovered eyes felt like. You could get lost on them for hours.
Observing the way he stared back at you in deep affection and devotion, you even forgot about everything else going on for a second. For just that one moment, you could pretend everything was okay.
“Remember when we met?” Your fingers traced the outline of his jaw as you recalled the first time you had seen him.
“I got scared when I heard the door because no one else but me used to spend time here.” He evoked his memories of that first day too. “You were surprised when you saw me too. You were crying and you had run in here hoping you could be alone.”
“The Ladies here can be really mean.” You smiled at him as you remembered how you were affected by the comments of other people when you first arrived the palace. It had been long since you last cared about those things. Truth was you had stopped caring about the Ladies’ opinions once you had started to prefer Orlo’s nicer ones instead.
“I tried to comfort you.” Orlo kept relating the events of that day as he let his hands rest on either side of your waist, embracing you softly. “I didn’t know what to do, I felt so bad that you were suffering so pointlessly… I read some Descartes to you, because it always helps me to see things with perspective…”
“Conquer yourself rather than the world.” You recited one of the quotes Orlo had read to you, the one that had been printed in your mind since that day.
“I’m sure I bored you more than I helped you relax.”
“That’s not true.” You intervened again, refusing to let him indulge in his own negative perception of himself. “You helped me a lot. You didn’t have to, but you stayed with me until I felt better. No one else would have done that.”
When he looked away from you in embarrassment, you decided to draw his attention back at you by kissing him on the lips. He should have been accustomed by now, but he still froze for a few seconds every time you kissed him unexpectedly. Far from being bothered by it, you felt touched whenever you got that reaction from him, and you delighted yourself when you finally felt him moving his lips against yours one the initial shock was over.
It was those little things that had made you fall so deep for Orlo. Those were the things you were most afraid of losing. Thinking about the fact that it could be the last time you kissed him, you deepened the kiss as your fingers started to play with the few locks of hair that fell messily around his head.
“I love you, Orlo.” You whispered softly, quickly hiding your head in his chest. “Please, don’t ever forget that.”
It was inevitable that the tears started forming in your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back anymore when Orlo surrounded your body with his arms. Bringing you even closer to him as he repeatedly kissed the top of your head.
“I love you too.” He muttered, the feeling of guilt while seeing you cry overcoming every shyness he could still have left. “I… I’m sorry if it sounded as if I don’t. You’re the most important thing to me and sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you. I’m really sorry… Please, don’t cry…”
“It’s not your fault.” You quickly assured him, once again refusing to let him self-flagellate. “It’s okay.”
“What is wrong?” Orlo asked, trying to clean the tears that already felt down your cheeks as you silently calmed yourself. If you died tomorrow, you didn’t want that you crying was the last memory he kept of you.
“Nothing is, I promise.”
You knew you hadn’t sounded confident enough for him to believe you, but you weren’t able to tell him what was really going on. All you wanted was to enjoy that night with him and stretch it as long as you could in fears it was actually going to be your last. Cuddled against his chest, you wished for him not to ask anymore questions, fearing that you wouldn’t be able to keep the secret from him much longer.
His hands kept moving up and down your back as you tried to calmed yourself down.
“Is there anything I can do?” Orlo worriedly asked, still trying to help despite not knowing what the situation was. You had always admired that of him, his predisposition to help even when he didn’t know how.
Focusing on the calming rhythm of his breathing, you tried to find the right words to express what you needed without ruining this evening for him.
“Would you stay the night with me?”
“Of course. Anything you need.” He agreed, wrapping you tighter with his arms.
Accommodating yourself inside his embrace, you wished for a way to be able to stop time in that precise moment.
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lexicals · 3 years
Text
I'M GONNA SCREAM OH MY GOD
Spoilers under the cut, fair warning the first bit is completely incoherent
They're a family......... they're a fucking family and they have stream nights and bicker and love each other.........
Juno is such a buzzkill all the time fhsgdjfj I love him SO much
I THOUGHT BUDDY WAS AVOIDING THINGS BC SHE DIDN'T WANT TO RETIRE NOT BC SHE KNEW SHE WAS GONNA DIE OH MY GOD
MAMA BUDDY NOOOO 😭😭😭😭
Pls be okay ;;
I'm holding out hope that the "keeping landmines in his laundry" joke wasn't actually a joke and maybe the beeping was...... a landmine...... or something....... IDK I JUST WANT TO BELIEVE SHE'S OKAY 😭😭😭
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH NUREYEV ACTUALLY THOUGH THIS IS STRESSING ME OUT
Legit can't tell if he made a mistake or if he was actually?? Trying to kill jet?? My preferred theory would be that he's freaking out at the fact that he's going to betray the family soon OR that he's actually made the decision not to, and it was a genuine fuckup, but I just don't know any more pete my son wyd ;;
MESSY ROOM NUREYEV CANON THOUGH FJSGSFFJHD
Obligatory "rita redacted I love you So much"
"Then I'll have a REALLY good view ;3" RITA THAT'S CREEPY...... ILY THOUGH
He just,, runs up to the weapon,, and gives it a hug,, and starts singing at it,, JET,,
RUBY
Wait
Hm.
No nvm that's dumb this is a sci fi show they wouldn't have a car absorb dead people
Probably
Anyway
I love that ruby is sassing jet now..... eyeliner and posters of sad boys though fjdgjfks
The stuff that buddy was saying about them all having grown but she can't tell w nureyev is so,,, aaaaaa
"Juno, who stands taller than he did in the cerberus province" 🥺
If this was a radio show I would have made a "what the fuck is going on with peter nureyev" jingle by now
"Don't look at me like that, juno - not you" I'm gonna DIE
PETER WHAT IS GOING ON
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
I'm actually gonna scream I can't take this 😭😭😭
Okay seriously though who is gonna be narrating the next ep after THAT?? Cause either the format is gonna have to change or they're gonna have to have a last minute twist to save buddy's life I don't KNOW god I'm so stressed. Two weeks is not gonna go by fast enough ;;
WAIT I HAVE ONE MORE:
SHOUTOUT LEVEL PATREON SPONSORS YOU ARE ALL SO VALID
Okay some more thoughts now that I have Calmed Down:
Very interesting to me that jet actually sided with nureyev over vespa. I know he stated his reasons but I would really not have expected that and I wonder how nureyev feels about it
Buddy's relationship with jet?? Really good?? Love them?? Like obvs I don't think she made a good decision in not confiding with vespa about her heart but I'm really glad she has such a solid friendship and support system with jet
I really don't think nureyev fucked up on purpose....... idk maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part but firstly, he respects jet and I don't think he'd go as far as to try to kill him, and secondly..... idk I feel like there were smoother ways of doing it even if he was?? He could have swapped out the plans for an actually wrong set, or hidden them better, or so many other things that also wouldn't have involved putting himself in danger mid-heist, idk the alternative just doesn't sit right with me. But we'll see ig
I think what would be really interesting for me is if this kicked up nureyev's fear of losing his touch again bc he genuinely fucked up and brought that all to a head with vespa right there as well, I'd really like to see that whole situation pop off....... I think this one rly is wishful thinking on my end but idk I wanna see those two work out their issues lol
NUREYEV MAKING NERVOUS PUNS IS CUTE AND FUNNY BUT IT WOULD BE FUNNIER WITHOUT THE MAGGAGE (MAG BAGGAGE)
HEY HERE'S A FUN LITTLE POSSIBILITY FOR YOU ALL CONSIDERING KABERT LIKE TO USE TOYS THEY ALREADY HAVE OUT OF THE BOX: ROBOT BUDDY
This is only half a joke
Okay some MORE thoughts now that I have slept on it
I fully think nureyev is gonna have some kind of breakdown next episode. I think that man is gonna snap like a twig. He's clearly not sleeping, clearly on edge over more than just the heist (his debts, probably), he sounded absolutely, genuinely stunned at the reveal that he'd been looking at the schematics upside down, he almost got jet killed, and given how this episode ended vespa is absolutely not going to stop laying into him any time soon, and it's gonna be even worse when buddy's task for her comes out. Add to that his preexisting anxieties about losing his touch, the way he says to juno "Don't look at me like that, not you", because juno is his main tether to the crew and the one person who he can believe trusts him no matter what, doubting him, and I really do think he's gonna break....
I'm also gonna argue that that messy room is feeling very lived in, isn't it? That's not the room of a man who is planning on cutting his ties and running any time soon. That's the room of a man who's settled - everything unpacked, stacks of books and personal items, idk this could just be me but I feel like this might be a pretty solid indicator that nureyev might have decided to abandon trying to pay his debts in order to stay with the crew...... and if not it's a very fun detail which I love lol
Buddy has been delaying the mission for a year. The last we heard from nureyev, he was telling his creditors that he would have the promised items for them before the year was out. I really doubt that he has enough good will with these people for another extension. Seems like nureyev must be very very close to running out of time here, if he hasn't done so already
I'm still convinced sasha is gonna make an appearance this season!! I know it!! And we also know that dark matters most likely heard rita talking about the curemother prime so like the likelihood of dark matters interrupting the heist/waiting for them with the curemother?? Quite high!! And if that's when we get the juno pov oh boy
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discotreque · 4 years
Text
LwD 1.08, “Veritas”
aka GIANT SPOCK IS CANON, or: “Today didn’t have to end in eels!”
Line-for-line, this might have been the funniest episode yet. It moved even faster than “Terminal Provocations” but felt like it had twice as many jokes packed in, and holy fuck were those jokes landing for me.
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(Obligatory gorgeous planet shot. It’s a little anachronistic to me to see that font used for a location chyron—those weren’t really a mainstream thing on TV before The X-Files, and while I remember them on VOY and maybe even DS9, I think TNG was too early for them—so we’ve never actually seen it used like this before!)
Anyway, I loved the way this one switched up the usual LwD format of “sitcom A-plot + sitcom B-plot + entire A-plot of a TNG episode C-plot”—though I was slightly disappointed at first that it wasn’t the Rashomon-style story I thought it was shaping up to be, I didn’t really have time to dwell on that because then we were off to the RACES.
Seriously, the jokes in this one:
The execution of the bit with the Red Alert happening everywhere except their repair bay? With the almost-subconscious setup of the klaxon quietly fading in and back out of the background SFX as the doors whoosh open and closed? While you’re still supposed to be paying attention to Mariner and Boimler arguing in the foreground? And then Jack Quaid’s delivery of Boimler’s exasperated “Rutherford!”? That whole scene was just *chef’s kiss*
Mariner doesn’t want to get kicked out of Starfleet because then she’d have to live on Earth, “where there’s nothing to do except drink wine and hang out at vineyards and soul food restaurants.” If she doesn’t want to, I will definitely take her spot.
SAMANTHAN RUTHERFORD. Still not over it.
His “rebooting” into increasingly bizarre situations with absolutely no context (“Updating Klingon fonts!” “Why do I even need tha—” *thud*) reminded me a little of the Futurama episode “Time Keeps on Slipping,” and I always like being reminded of that episode.
GORN WEDDING! (Some really fetching dresses in that scene, tbh #notascalie)
Ransom mistaking Tendi for a special-ops “cleaner” (when she was just there to sticky-roll Dr. T’Ana’s fur off the chairs, another screaming-into-my-hands moment) was comedy gold-pressed latinum. Also, I’ve decided she has no martial arts training, she’s just that good under pressure and that afraid of failure (and, obviously, still in good shape from the Academy).
Okay so my personal tastes re: bleeping regular swear words in normal dialogue are that it’s sometimes funny, sometimes just distracting—I’m getting used to it on this show, though—but that’s different from using super accurate, ultra nostalgic LCARS beeps to “censor” classified information—hilariously poorly—which is a classic trope that gets me every time. Ransom’s final “There’s no indication that the Rom... (beat) ... (bleep!) ... (beat) ...ulan High Council detected us” had me scream-laughing into my hands.
“You know who I hate? Remans.” “Oh, they’re the worrrst.”
I was expecting a whole episode about Q, but this was about the perfect amount of him w/r/t Lower Decks—and Mariner just blowing him off was easily on par with Sisko punching him out, omfg
Come on, a soccer game (with a singing ball) against anthropomorphic playing cards, on a chess board, which is actually a puzzle, that they have to solve to prove humanity’s worth, except really Q is just fucking with them—that’s straight out of a Peter David novel and I was living for it. What more do you need?
Boimler giving a rousing This! Is! Starfleet! speech—and then ending it by shouting “Drumhead!” and mic-dropping the Horn of Candor—was such a perfect microcosm of this stupid, stupendous show :D
“Creepy? This is one of our nicest Event Silos! I got married here!”
And now for some prop talk! The phaser rifles that Ransom and Tendi and [REDACTED] were carrying look like they’re of a design lineage with the ones we saw on VOY (and then late-period DS9), with the angles and proportions “modernized,” in a way the others feel distinctly of-the-90’s now, and that’s such a nice subtle touch—I love how much attention LwD pays to whatever “set dressing” is called in animation.
I was going to get into a whole Thing there, about how phasers were “de-militarized” in design for TNG, and how they’ve since regressed to resemble IRL firearms—RIP the tome of Star Trek essays in my head nobody will ever pay me to write—but honestly? I’m just delighted that this show is making me think so hard about Star Trek As A Concept. I literally feel like a kid again.
TNG and DS9 left me so hungry for post–Dominion War worldbuilding, and then VOY fucked off to the Delta Quadrant, and then ENT fucked off to prequels and the franchise got stuck there for 20 years… and sure, in my heart of hearts I sometimes wish this show had maybe 15% more chill—which is just because I’m getting old—but in so many other important ways, it feels like coming home <3
Oh, and this week’s “Am I actually, literally Beckett Mariner?” moment was when she didn’t care about classified information because “knowing things means more work.” If that’s not me filtering emails at my day job...
Next week: A holodeck hijinks episode, but it looks more VOY-style holo-hijinks than TNG-style—which is basically trashy cable movies vs. PBS, so fuckin’ sign me up.
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tracynotabi · 3 years
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Riptide Day 2 / Undertow
September 11, 2021
D-Day.
Kevin, Ivan, Joey, and I were getting a ride from Spencer, who was also taking Narq to the venue, while Robert and Parker got a ride from someone else. Well, at least we didn’t have to walk to the venue. I didn’t pack sunscreen.
At 9am, about half an hour we were supposed to leave, Kevin gets a stomachache.
Me: He just needs to poop. Spencer: The classic.
We end up going to the lobby to wait for Spencer in Narq, which was fine considering we actually didn’t want Spencer, our ride, waiting for us.
Spencer: Okay, Narq’s just using the bathroom rq lol Me: Is he also having tummy problems Spencer: Nah just bein stoner and forgetting to do stuff lol Me: The classic
We go get Chick-fil-A and I’m sitting underneath the dashboard again by Kevin’s feet. I think the employees were very bewildered, as the woman on the other side of the window did a double take. I would, too, if I saw a smaller-than-average person just hiding underneath the dashboard sipping on a cup of Coke.
Some time after I get to the venue during doubles, I end up talking to Jimmy (j u m), when Kevin comes rushing over to me, a panicked look on his face.
Forgot to mention, but Kevin actually couldn’t get all of his poop out before coming to the venue and now it is back with a vengeance.
He tells me that he’s unable to go to any restroom because there were three stalls in the men’s restroom: two were occupied and one was clogged with poop.
He had tried flushing the poop one but it only made it worse. It just clogged more and the water level rose. If he had sat down and insisted on finishing, his balls would be touching the water and that’s a no-no.
He tried asking the front desk for other restrooms, but he was informed it was the only one. He was desperate and you could just see it in his eyes that he was about to break.
Me, using the big, wrinkly brain that I had, told him to use the women’s restroom. He froze, not even realizing that that was an option.
Now before anyone complains, hear me out.
I would rather be in a restroom with a male in the stall next to me, than exit the restroom and see someone standing outside the men’s restroom trying to wait for a stall with a shit stain in his pants. Excuse the vulgarity, but it’s true.
If you’re ever at one of my tournaments and you need to go and no male restroom is unoccupied, for the love of god, please fucking use the women’s restroom. I do not need this mess on my hands and you best believe I’m shoving myself in the men’s restroom if I gotta fucking go expel unicorns and rainbows.
I go to the restroom with Kevin and stand awkardly on my phone to keep watch, because he didn’t want any of the staff members actually seeing him and risk himself getting kicked out of the venue.
That would’ve been extremely unfortunate.
Luckily, nobody else needed to go use the restroom while Kevin was in there and he was able to safely compete his duty (lol).
If anyone is upset at my suggestion, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t about to not provide such a simple solution for Kevin’s emergency.
Anyway, the tournament start shortly after that.
First match I pay attention to is Kevin vs. Wombat. In my head, I think it’s pools so I shouldn’t worry too much. I try to watch Kevin’s sets, but it makes me physically ill sometimes because my anxiety is wracked up like crazy and I just want to throw up. Many have witnessed me walking away and trying to distract myself multiple times at multiple different tournaments.
It’s like that gory horror movie that you can’t keep looking away from.
Besides knowing that I get sick, I figured it would be fine since I actually enjoy trying to support my boyfriend and watch him come out of pools winners’ side. Not meaning any disrespect by Wombat, by the way. He’s great. Just realistic. It’s like how I expect Kevin to lose to Bob.
Kevin loses Game 1.
Ooh my tummy’s doing barrel rolls like the way Twisty did with that pullout bed. I look away but I’m just so distracted by the crowd noises.
I totally get it, though. Obviously, it’s sick that Wombat’s holding his own against Kevin, who is seed 3 of the tournament. I’d be excited, too, if my friend was making an upset on someone else. But Kevin’s my boyfriend, so obviously, I want him to win.
Kevin barely wins Game 2 and I’m like ooooh boy. My tummy’s going to town and I think I gag a little by how sick I feel. Gotta focus on getting Joey his next match. *deep breaths*
When heartswaptv airs the whole tournament, definitely check out the set. It was really good (as far as I can hear, I couldn’t bring myself to watch the rest of it).
Kevin comes over to me after he’s out of pools and I scold him for making me worried.
AND YOU NOW WHAT HE SAYS?
Kevin: Babe, it’s fine - I almost lost to Zeddy at Redacted City and I got 2nd. I’ll be fine. Me: T____T *incoherent whining noises*
Does Kevin thinks he’s fucking cute for saying that or something? I was not amused.
Since I didn’t have to volunteer TO the entirety of the tournament, I bounced around mingling with other people.
At one point, I get a message from Suvir in our group chat about how he, Sosa, and Narq were planning on coming to visit NorCal. Of course, since Narq was already here, I decided to just go up to him and ask.
Me: So I heard you’re coming to NorCal? Narq: I am? Me: That’s what Suvir said. *shows phone* Narq: I guess I’m going to NorCal!
Suvir: Narq doesn’t actually know. Sosa just said he’d take him with him and said Narq would agree to go because he’s Narq. Me: Oh that makes sense why he had no idea what I was talking about.
It wasn’t until around top bracket did things start to pick up. Not too many spoilers, because (1) no spoilers before they upload the vod and (2) I have a terrible memory when it comes to the matches.
I remember holding up Kevin’s phone to stream to our Discord because we had some non-PM player friends who wanted to see and I think Kevin wanted Thomas (ThundeRzReiGN) to give him some advice throughout the tournament. Not actually coach, but to critique his play.
As more and more top players fell, Kevin made it a goal to do his best not to fall into the landmine that was Losers’. So many heavy hitters were large threats to him: Techboy, Malachi, Akimi, Cloudburst...
Not to say that Winners’ side didn’t have their fair share of monsters: Peter, Parker, Kumatora, Twisty, Nogh, Lunchables...
Kevin’s first match in Top 32 was against Bongo, who people sleep on quite a lot. For those of you that don’t know him, he’s a Captain Falcon from NY who actually beat Kevin at Flex Zone 3 in 2018. Kevin had beaten him at Encore, but it wasn’t easy.
Not to mention Falcon is a pain the butt for Mario. Unfortunately, the match was not recorded (as far as I know), and it was a very exciting match from what I heard. I avoided watching it because based on how long it took, I knew it had to have been a Game 5. During that time, two matches have been finished on “stream.”
Kevin had said his match against Bongo was the toughest one he had - not to discredit his other opponents, of course - but according to him, it was the scariest and closest. Also the threat of being put into Losers so early would’ve made the climb to Top 8 a lot harder.
His overall goal was actually to make Top 8. Despite being a third seed and rank 5, what I’ve noticed about Kevin is that he does have doubts about himself quite often. He’s never complacent in his opponents and worries all the time about being upset and I don’t think anyone puts more pressure on him more than himself.
As I watched my friends progress through bracket, all I can think is there’s not much I can do. I don’t understand the game very much, despite my heavy involvement in the scene. In fact, more often than not, I believe I understand the game the least compared to everyone else.
A tangent from the actual tournament itself is coming, but I think I should address why I’m even in this community:
While everyone loves the game, I love the community behind it. I find it worth it to sit/stand in one location for hours at a time because it allows my friends to enjoy the game they love comfortably without worrying how the tournament is progressing. They can focus on their own growth and passion.
I think what I see is completely different. Like I said, I don’t really understand this game - I can’t differentiate uairs, bairs, d-smashes, etc. I compute it in my head, but can’t visualize it. I don’t recognize most combos - in fact, more often than not, I’m sitting there just staring at the screen kind of blankly. Sometimes, it does make me wonder if I really am part of this community because I don’t really understand the game.
I can’t say I particularly care too much about the game, but I understand how much of an impact it’s made on me and for that, I’m very thankful for this game because it’s led me to some great people.
Back to the actual event and less sap. lol. Is anybody still even reading?
For something put together in a mere two weeks, Trin and their team did an amazing job. Three recording set ups, graphics, a pot, a venue... props to them for gathering the scraps and making a whole out of it. And to think we almost didn’t go.
Madeline (Swanner) ended up coming and it was honestly so good to see her. We aren’t particularly close, but she’s someone I’ve come to care for and just want happiness for her.
Major spoiler, but I don’t think anybody who cares about PM/P+ doesn’t know Kevin won the tournament.
Everyone expected a pop-off, but Kevin just sat there, crying.
I don’t think there’s ever been anything that Kevin has been more passionate about. He loves this game; he loves this community. Never did it ever occur to him that he would win.
I wish I could say more, but honestly, him winning stunned me speechless. And if you didn’t know, the first thing he said after was that he had to call his mother.
His mom is one of his biggest supporters and I love her to death. She has such a huge heart and has never, ever frowned upon Kevin’s love for the game, whole-heartedly supporting it.
I hugged Maddy, because I can’t even imagine how heart-breaking it must be for her to see what could have been on the mainstage. I imagined how much it must’ve hurt her because she just loves the game and the community, but to see it constantly be torn down by Nintendo and her unable to do anything... Give Maddy a hug and thank her if you see her. She deserves the world.
We ended up walking home with PNW, Bob, Mar, Bongo, Cameron (LoyaL), Ivan, and a few others, honestly too dark to completely see and name. It was a very nice night.
We did, however, pass by the rundown house that definitely looked like if we were to talk in there, we’d be killed by the axe murderer that lived there.
Kevin also lagged behind a lot because his phone notifications were going off like crazy and I was worried he was going to just get lost in the darkness or get hit by a car. Stop looking at your phone when you cross the street, dammit.
We got back to our hotel room and ordered pizza - it was bad. God-fucking-dammit, Ohio, why do you suck so much? Kind of a shitty dinner to end the day on, but nothing else was open at 2am. FeelsBadMan.
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More Than Words (Twenty-Six)
Peter dives further into research, so this chapter contains the same generic TW as the last one for mentions of the Holocaust and mistreatment/torture of mutants. I had a blast writing some of the history for this verse, and I’m not saying I want to write a Stucky centric spin off based on what I’ve written in here, but like also, I sort of want to write a Stucky centric spin off. 
Also, it ends with a line to make you scream, you’re welcome. 
MTW MASTERLIST HERE
****************
“Pete?” Harry had to put his shoulder against the apartment door and shove to get it open. “Pete? What the heck is blocking your door? Where are you?” 
“I’m here.” Peter hurried towards the front door and pushed boxes out of the way to let the Alpha through. “Sorry, I got busy and all my reading sort of expanded--” he gestured to the entire living room. “--everywhere. Did you bring me the movies?” 
“I brought movies and I brought food.” Harry held up a to go box and then a stack of movies. “But I think you owe me for all the weird looks I got picking out all these titles.” 
“Why were people looking at you weird?” Peter was starving, and he snatched at the food before Harry had even made it to the kitchen, throwing back the lid and exclaiming in delight over the chimichanga inside. “That video store is known for having obscure movies and random documentaries, I feel like these ones aren’t half as crazy as most of the stuff on the shelves.” 
“The Rise of the Squatch.” Harry read out loud. “The Girl from Lava Island. The Creature from the Mines. This one is called ‘What Lurks Within’ and I dunno what that could possibly be about. What’s with all the cheesy monster movies and faux documentaries?” 
“Every crazy story as a little bit of truth somewhere along the way.” the Omega mumbled through a big bite. “The stories that get told over and over had to be true at some point, right?” 
“Uh huh.” Harry said skeptically. “Which is why you had me rent ‘It Came From the Manhole’, right? Because ‘It Came in the Manhole’ was right next to this one and that’s just straight up porn, Pete. It was just porn and I’ll give you a guess which movie case I grabbed for the first time around.” 
“...well was it interesting porn?” 
“It had MANHOLE on the cover, Peter!” 
Peter almost choked when he tried to laugh around a too big mouthful of tortilla and Harry threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I didn’t even realize I grabbed the wrong one until I got to the front and the kid behind the desk asked to see my ID! He wanted to know if I’d need the coordinating magazine!” 
“There’s a manhole magazine?” the Omega asked innocently, and Harry huffed, “If I wasn’t so happy to see you smiling again I’d bite you for that. I had to stand there while some high school senior asked if I wanted to rent a nudie mag to go with my manhole porn. It was the worst three minutes of my life.” 
“But--” 
“Quickly superseded by the look I got from the same kid when I handed him--” Harry checked another title. “--Bagging Your BigFoot: How to Catch the Monster of Your Dreams. Cos that doesn’t make me sound horny for Sasquatch at all.”
“It’s not my fault monster documentaries are always titled to sound vaguely pornographic.” Peter offered his friend a conciliatory piece of chimichanga and smiled when Harry grumbled through the entire bite. “And thank you for getting them all for me. I’ve been so busy lately I’ve hardly left the house at all.” 
“M’just glad you called me, Pete.” Harry leaned in to wipe at the side of Peter’s mouth, and when the Omega didn’t move away, he leaned in closer and placed a very soft, very chaste kiss on Peter’s cheek. “We’ve all been real worried about you lately. I mean we’ve been worried about you anyway but after the other night--” 
“I called you guys to tell you I was okay.” Peter went back to eating so the Alpha wouldn’t see him frown. “You didn’t believe me?” 
“You got so sad so quick Johnny actually threw up.” Harry pointed out and Peter grimaced apologetically. “Calling us two days later to say you’re fine and busy and not to worry wasn’t very reassuring.” 
“Harry--” 
“You’ve said you’re fine every day since you got home from the hospital.” the Alpha continued stubbornly. “And every single time you’ve been lying, Pete. You’re my best friend, we’ve been through everything together. Heats and ruts, AP Chemistry and physics, you were there when my Dad went off his medication for a while and I had to call the cops. What makes you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?” 
“...right.” 
“And what makes you think I can’t handle you telling me what's going on?” Harry pressed. “I know Mary Jane is an Omega so you guys do that crazy intimate Omega bonding thing. And Gwen believes in forced cuddles and being there whether you want it or not, and I’m glad you and Johnny figured out what’s going on but Pete-- this is me.” 
The Alpha put a hand to his chest and held the other out to Peter. “This is me and you don’t gotta lie to me anymore. Tell me what happened or-- or tell me why you can’t tell me what happened. Where did you go the other day? What’s with all these monster hunting books and movies? Talk to me, I’m here for you honey. I am.” 
Peter tried to smile and Harry cajoled, “At least tell me why I had to go to the super creepy video store and convince an eighteen year old I grabbed the porn by accident. At least tell me that, I think I deserve to know.” 
“You do deserve to know.” Tears pinpricked behind the Omega’s eyes, and Harry rumbled at him comfortingly. “And I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you lately. And keeping you out of things. I’m sorry.”
“No one’s mad about it.” Harry pulled him in for a hug, holding Peter steady with a hand at the base of his neck and another low on the Omega’s hips. “We aren’t mad, Pete. But we’re worried. And May is worried. And I dunno what to do about it, but I think I’d figure a few things out if you’d just talk to me.” 
Peter was quiet and Harry added, “At least about the Bigfoot thing. Minimum.” 
“Okay.” he nodded into Harry’s shoulder. “Okay I’ll - I’ll tell you.” 
“I’m listening.” 
“...what do you know about mutants?” 
*************
*************
The boxes had arrived the morning after Peter’s heat, appearing in his living room with the same abruptness that Cable used to bump in and out of his life. The Omega had tripped right over the first one on his way out of his bedroom, banged his knee on a second one and by the time the third caught him in the shins, Peter forced himself to stop walking, wake up all the way, and actually look to see what the hell was happening. 
Boxes. Everywhere. Stuffed full to the brim and straining their seams with stacks and stack of paperwork, folders worth of redacted information, books about mythology and epic beasts and folk tales about shape shifters and early gods. 
On top of an an ancient German book of fairy tales was a note:
Find your answers but keep them to yourself. -- C
And then scribbled along the bottom: This should free me from having to answer any questions. I don't give a damn about your curiosity, don't bother me anymore. 
Peter laughed softly and carried the book with him to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Of course the cranky Alpha didn’t want to stick around and answer questions, and while it was thoughtful to the point of being caring that Cable had taken the time to gather this information and apparently drop it through a wormhole into Peter’s apartment, the Omega was more excited by the prospect of reading through files that had so obviously been taken from somewhere secret. . 
The amount of redaction in the few papers he’d glimpsed in a box on his kitchen table was exhilarating, and the publication dates on some of the books meant the stories and legends inside had been accepted as truth for hundreds of years, perhaps even told as fact for thousands of years before that. Cable would have had to snatch the files from secure storage facilities, maybe the mutant had even gone back in time to find the correct information before it had been incinerated like most sensitive documents were. 
The idea of boxes and boxes of dated and perhaps even classified information just piling up in his living room waiting to be read through-- well there was a reason Peter had become a journalist, and it had less to do with working to better humanity and more to do with everything he absolutely had to know. 
And he absolutely had to know all of this, so Peter had brewed another pot of coffee and went right to work. 
It was some point near the end of the first day when the Omega dragged himself away from a file about the LA riots and into a shower. He’d gone to push his hair out of his face and ew his fingers had snagged and pulled hard enough to hurt, the sudden pain made Peter jerk and then oh no he’d gotten a whiff of himself and immediately went to wash. 
The perfunctory post heat shower hadn’t been enough to wash away months of depression, so Peter stayed beneath the water until it ran cold, soaping and resoaping his hair, scrubbing the lather down his body until his skin was pink from the loofah. Then it was his fingernails that needed clipped and filed down a little bit since anxiety had led the Omega to bite them too raged and pick his cuticles to bleeding and if he was going to do that, he supposed he should maybe comb his hair extra well and maybe shave the little bit of scruff he’d managed to grow in the last few months. 
Showered and scenting clean again, Peter went right back to the couch to cross reference some of the information with what he could find online but then fuck he was suddenly starving, when was the last time he’d eaten at all?
Food was ordered and inhaled while the Omega kept one eye on the computer screen and the other flipping through page after page in the file and jotting down every note that came to mind--
--and somewhere along the way, clean and comfortable in his favorite pajamas and stuffed full on delicious food, his mind running a thousand miles a minute on something other than heartbreak--
--Peter fell right the hell asleep, no medication needed, and didn’t wake up again until morning. 
And maybe he wasn’t better but for the first time since waking up in Haven Mercy Hospital, Peter felt like himself. He felt real and he felt normal so he got a cup of coffee and settled back in with a new notebook and pen, opened up a new file and got right back to work. 
That had been five whole days ago, and the Omega had escalated from just reading files and comparing them to online articles to requesting books from the Central library and having them delivered, downloading full texts and printing out hundreds of pages so he could light up the words with neon highlighters so he wouldn’t lose a single bit of information. 
It was hard to sleep with so much to process, but most nights Peter dropped off from sheer exhaustion and slept dreamless for eight merciful hours. His mind came back online razor sharp in the morning, his energy levels rising after a few days of solid sleep and consistent food and even though Peter wouldn’t let himself obsess about the mentions of time travel, he found relief for all his other questions in the hours and hours and hours worth of tracking mutant activity across the last century and a half. 
The Omega was almost positive he’d found evidence of Logan in both World Wars and then shockingly, again in Vietnam. There just couldn’t be too many people with that signature fuck off scowl and the unnerving habit of coming back from seemingly any injury no matter how ruinous. The oldest records were sparse and hard to follow but Peter put the stories together as best he could until he could write the profile of a man-- of a hero-- who seemed to sign up for every fight only to disappear the moment it was over, usually after turning the tide of the battle with some feat that couldn’t possibly be anything other than supernatural. 
There were a few instances that could have been Eddie, could have been the black that existed beneath the mutants skin and dug deep down into his soul. Stories of man eating shadows, of villages terrorized by something that came from the darkest nights, of blood curdling roars and the click clack of too many teeth, of hiss and the sound of liquid as something unknown slinked by filled more than a few books and Peter devoured every word. 
He couldn’t stop himself from looking for signs of Wade, reading and rereading the texts he thought could be about Logan hoping for a peek at a story about someone else immortal, someone scarred, someone they would have thought was a monster with the way his eyes went red and his fangs ran long. 
Not that Wade was a monster, no no no, Peter screwed his eyes shut tight and whimpered into his palm even thinking about people calling his mate a monster but he would read thousands of reports like that if only it meant Wade was still around. 
Five days of intense research had uncovered more information than Peter could have hoped to find in an entire lifetime of searching, but he’d still only barely broke into half the boxes Cable had inexplicably gifted him. The movies were a way to ease the strain on his eyes, to give his brain a break while still staying immersed in the subject of mutants. There were too many parallels between the horrors film makers insisted could be lurking just out of view, and the lists of confirmed mutant powers Peter had either seen firsthand in Haven or found records of in the books and files from the war and the riots. The movies would all be outlandish but they would have a bit of truth somewhere in the hours and minutes of terrible graphics and B-list actors and maybe-- maybe even if there hadn’t been sign of Wade in the files, maybe someone like him would show up in the older films. 
It was worth a try and it was worth the time and when Harry asked Peter to just talk to him, everything Peter had learned in the past several days leapt to the tip of his tongue and damn near spilled out. 
But the information was Peter’s to have, the answers his alone to hoard, so the Omega couldn’t tell Harry everything, he could hardly tell him anything at all, so instead of blurting it all out and waving his hands wildly while spilling his guts, Peter took a deep breath and backed up a step and smiled, “Okay, but this is going to get a little crazy, okay?” 
“I’ve known you forever, Pete.” The Alpha said confidently. “I can handle your crazy.” 
“If you think you’re up for it.” Peter teased gently. “Try and keep up, okay?” 
He couldn’t tell Harry everything, but he told the Alpha enough to explain the piles of books, the reams of paper downloaded and printed off of archives both national and conspiracy theorist-owned, the still growing collection of movies ranging from Men in Black and the Shape of Water clear through to low budget horror films and documentaries lacking any shred of scientific basis. 
Peter showed Harry the wall-size map of the contiguous states he’d pieced together and pointed out the red stars as ‘credible, repeated sites of monsters’ instead of naming them as Havens for the mutant community. He held up vintage comic books about Captain America and the Red Skull and compared it to the very few files he’d managed to dig up on Project Rebirth, showed Harry highly redacted pages and pages of coordinates where Captain Rogers’ plane might have gone down. 
The Omega flipped through no less than a dozen texts that all insisted Van Helsing had been a real life priest turned monster hunter, and another dozen that collectively agreed Big Foot wasn’t actually brown but was somehow bright blue and had definitely been seen wearing glasses on more than one occasion, and one beautifully inscribed religious text that spoke of an African goddess that controlled the weather. 
Peter talked and talked and talked, put in different DVD’s and paused them at specific moments to show Harry where the film makers had seemed to draw their inspiration from these specific stories, and look this one goes back to before white men even came to the continent and don’t you think it could be true if the stories are older than we can document? 
“You’re talking about dragons, Pete.” Harry stared down at a brilliantly colored photo and ran his fingers along the delicate script. “This is-- I mean, no way I speak Chinese but--” 
“It’s Cantonese.” the Omega corrected, hurrying over with another book to show off. “Saying every language that looks like that is Chinese is like saying all the indigenous people are from the same tribe. Different languages, different um-- you know, there’s different tones to the way it’s spoken? And I’m pretty sure I read that they use a different style of characters. More traditional versus a simpler style.” 
“...why would you know that?” the Alpha only blinked at him. “Pete, why do you know that?” 
“Because I need to know.” Peter said quietly, as if that answered any questions at all. “I’ve got to know, Harry. I have so many questions and there’s so much information out there and I have to know.” 
“Alright.” Harry went back to the book again. “So. Cantonese. Why does that matter for dragons?” 
“Because it's older than Mandarin by a couple thousand years, which means this is an older story and I want the oldest ones I can find.” Peter found the page he was looking for and tapped at it triumphantly. “And because it says in your book and again right here, that these-- these monks. Or religious… people. I’m not actually sure if monk is the right word. But right here. A legend about one of them that turned to a dragon to protect the temple and his village. A dragon, Harry. Do you know what that means?” 
“It’s an old story, Pete--” 
“It means that at some point someone saw this guy breathe fire.” Peter stated. “Or call fire. Summon it. Whatever you want to call it. This story is thousands of years old and it’s talking about a mutant.” 
“Okay but--” 
“Right here.” The Omega got another book. “Skinwalkers. Yes, it’s probably some beautiful spiritual bond that we could never hope to understand or whatever, maybe you think it’s hallucinations or whatever But what if it’s a shapeshifter, Harry? What if they are a mutant and there’s been a record of their existence for centuries?” 
“What if they are?” Harry didn’t know if he was intrigued by all the data the Omega was throwing his way, or worried that Peter was so clearly obsessing about something that couldn’t end well. People’s careers had been ruined chasing after mutant-related things, professors barred from universities, law enforcement imprisoned for less-than-responsible actions, chapters about riots and ethnic cleansing pulled from history books. Chasing stories about mutants couldn’t end well, and Harry didn’t know if the trouble it would bring was worth the way Peter’s eyes were lit for the first time months and the way his softly sweet honeysuckle and lavender scent had started to fill the air between them. 
“What if they are mutants, and that kind of--of person has been around for thousands of years?” he asked again. “What does that matter Pete? Why are you so hooked on it right now?” 
“Look at this.” Peter dragged a chart out from beneath an encyclopedia. “Look at this. Back in the forties there was this Project Rebirth and it's rumoured to have created Captain America. Captain America, Harry. And the way they did it was mapping of mutant genes. Tracking people through generations. Hundreds of thousands of hours of work put into this project and after the war ended they just scrapped it, pushed it all away and piled it somewhere in the dark.” 
“Wait so the guy with the shield and the tights from the comic books? He was a real person?” 
The Omega held up a copy the Captain America vs The Red Skull excitedly. “They both were! Captain Rogers and this guy here? The Red Skull? Real people, and they weren’t mutants, they were the product of experimentation with mutants!” 
“The American government doesn’t experiment on people, Pete.” 
“Oh.” Peter’s smile dimmed around the edges. “Of course you still think that.” 
“What?!” 
But Peter was off again, shifting from talking about Project Rebirth to rambling about the riots in the seventies and a lab explosion that hadn’t been an explosion at all and the way storms increased in frequency along the Eastern Seaboard in a schedule that fit oddly in with a traditional school semester and sure, that could be coincidence but what if it was young mutants coming into their weather control powers and they were practicing during school hours and oh Harry! What if--
“Pete. Hey hey hey.” Harry grabbed at Peter when the Omega darted past again, framed Peter’s face with both his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “M’not gonna lecture you about how dangerous it can be to look too deep into what happened to the mutants, and m’not gonna tell you how damn crazy you sound talking about schedules and patterns and conspiracy theories about comic book heroes, alright?” 
“You said you wanted me to tell you--” 
“I did.” the Alpha interrupted. “And I’m glad you’re talking with me Pete, I am. But you gotta tell me, does this have anything to do with what happened to you? Or are you just hyper fixating to keep your mind off everything else, like you did switching from physics to journalism after Ben passed away. Is that what this is? Distraction?” 
“Would that be okay?” Peter squeezed at Harry’s wrist and tried not to let the utter dejection show on his face. “Is it okay if I’m obsessing because I need to focus on something besides what happened to me?” 
“It’s totally fine.” Harry left another one of those sweet, chaste kisses on the Omega’s cheek. “However you need to cope, honey. I’ll sit here and watch bad sci fi films and listen to you draw wild conclusions all day. It’s fine. I’m here for you, I’m willing to listen.” 
“You’re a good Alpha.” Peter swallowed back the immediate protests and the always present threat of tears and smiled up at his friend. “Thank you. Sorry I’m all crazy right now, but this is helping me cope. And it’s better than pills and sleeping all the time, right?” 
“So much better than pills.” Harry agreed instantly. “I’ll turn on some music and order in some more food for later and we can spend a few more hours working this out and then I’ll stay over, make sure you sleep instead of writing books full of theories. I know how you get when you’re like this, you’ll go crazy just trying to get all your thoughts out on paper.” 
“You know how I am.” Another smile, and Peter turned around before Harry saw it fall. “This is definitely not-- not anything real. Don’t worry.” 
Don’t worry. 
It wasn’t Harry’s fault he couldn't grasp the enormity of Peter’s project. The Alpha had been subjected to the same history classes they’d all sat through-- ones that talked about uprisings and violence as if a minority demanding rights was something worth deploying the army to crush. Ones that conveniently dialed down the Holocaust to a few paragraphs talking about the religious groups persecuted but not the mutants, never the mutants. Ones that presented Manifest Destiny and ‘made in God’s image’ as a valid reason to exterminate anyone who didn’t fit the mold or stood in your way. 
It wasn’t Harry’s fault he didn’t understand why Peter was so passionate about it all. The Omega was only telling him half truths after all, changing the names of the Havens to make them just be paranormal sightings, downplaying the significance of Project Rebirth and skipping over the experiments and concentration camps and torture the mutants were subjected to just for a few vials of super soldier serum. 
And of course, the Alpha had no way of knowing Peter cared so much because of Wade, because of Haven, because of Cable and time travel and the ring that never left his finger. 
Harry had no idea, no way of knowing and Peter couldn’t possibly hold that over him, couldn’t possibly be irritated his friend assumed this was all coping-by-obsessing and didn’t mean anything solid and real. 
It wasn’t Harry’s fault, so Peter tucked away his disappointment and decided to just try to have a decent night in with the Alpha. He felt better after heat, after talking with Cable and putting some truth to the emotions building painful behind his heart so maybe he could make it through an evening without breaking down or running away and maybe everyone would believe him when he said he was fine. 
It's fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine. 
And tomorrow after Harry left, Peter would gather up some of his notes and go ask for answers from a man whose family name had been all over the Project Rebirth files, scribbled in margins next to blacked out test results, signed on the bottom of medical release forms and typed at the top as letterhead for some of the most horrifying information. 
Stark. 
Cable had made him swear to only use his answers for himself and not to cause a fuss but Tony Stark had to know something about all of this. The richest man in the city and one of the most influential men in the world had to have some answers and Peter could only hope his previous interactions with the powerful Omega would make Tony more receptive to answering a few questions. 
How involved had Howard been with the soldiers and was Captain Rogers really buried above the arctic circle somewhere? 
...and why were there blacked out test results and bloodwork from May of 1970 stuck between the pages of Howard Stark’s notes?
****************
****************
“Peter Parker.” Tony Stark was the sort of Omega that commanded the attention of every person in any every he entered. It might have his perfectly styled hair and shockingly expensive suits, it might have been the mega watt smile and boisterous laugh, it might have been the weight of money and power around his shoulders or the intrigue of mystery and addiction that scented stronger at the hollow of his throat and curve of his neck. 
Either way, Tony Stark walked into a room and every head turned and Peter was no exception, scrambling to his feet and awkwardly smoothing his clothes down when the intimidating Omega came towards him. 
“Peter, how are you? Heard these last few months have been rough.” Tony clasped both his hands over Peter’s and squeezed lightly. “I’m glad to see you up and around again, ready to write another world changing article? I have all sorts of dirt on Justin Hammer just waiting to be printed.”
“All sorts of dirt, huh?” Tony had the unnerving habit of wearing sunglasses everywhere, even inside, even in more intimate settings and one on one meetings and today was no exception. Peter blinked a few times trying to see past the blue tinted glass to the other Omega’s eyes but was given only the sight of raised eyebrows and a half expectant smile. “Oh uh, well maybe we can print scandalous exposes later. I’m actually here to ask a favor.” 
“Well, I’m still going to hold you to the scandalous exposes.” Tony motioned Peter towards a chair and sat down opposite him. “What else can I do for--” his voice trailed off when he caught sight of Peter’s notebook and the hastily scribbled questions, and when the other Omega leaned in closer to scent Peter, the mood in the room shifted abruptly. 
“What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?” Tony asked again, cooler this time. “And why don’t you tell me why you’ve had a recent run in with Mr. Summers?” 
“Mr. Summers?” Peter ducked his head to discreetly sniff at his shirt. “It’s been most of a week, I didn’t realize I still smell burnt. Is it really obvious?”
“It is more obvious to people who don't realize what they are smelling.” The other Omega pulled off his sunglasses and tilted his head, looking Peter over closely. “You aren’t surprised I knew about Mr. Summers.” 
“No I’m-- I’m surprised.” Peter admitted self consciously, “I was more worried about smelling gross in front of Tony Stark. Um. Sorry about that. How-- how do you know Mr. Summers?” 
“You could say we run in a few of the same circles.” the air seemed to ripple, and Peter’s gaze darted to the left when a stainless steel tumbler rattled at the bar. “You don’t become one of the most influential men in the country without knowing a few key players in the game. Why are you here?” 
“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Peter settled a notebook and pen on his lap and hesitated, “About Project Rebirth and the role your father played in the experiments. But now I’d also really like to ask you just how much you know about Mr. Summers.” 
“Project Rebirth.”The metal sculpture on the nearby end table slid a few inches forward and Peter took a deep breath in when the other Omega’s vanilla and clove scent flattened towards disapproving “Why are you asking questions about defunct science attempts from the forties?” 
“Because I know it wasn’t just an attempt?” he said carefully. “I know Captain Rogers wasn’t just a good ol’ boy who joined the army and bulked up and went off to fight before selflessly sacrificing himself to save the world. I know there was a -- a process and that it's been scrubbed from history books because it’s considered a failure. But your father--” 
“--was a bastard and a bully, but even he drew the line at the sort of shit they were doing back then.” The pendulum inside the grandfather clock at the wall snapped forward and cracked the glass casing when Tony gripped at the arms of his chair and Peter had the distinct, sudden notion that he could be in danger. 
“Um, Mr. Stark--” 
“Enough.” The Alpha Pepper Potts was every bit as beautiful as her Omega mate and somehow infinitely terrifying despite her sweet smile and slender frame. Her voice was soft but razor sharp all at the same time, and when she put a hand on Tony’s shoulder the noise in the room stopped immediately, the clock settling and silverware stilling and sculpture returning to its original place. “Darling, that’s quite enough.” 
“Ms. Potts.” Tony tipped his head back and trilled at his mate, and Pepper gave him an indulgent smile in return. “I was only going to scare him a little. Just to be funny.” 
“Well no one other than you thinks that little display is funny.” 
Peter stared between them with wide eyes then gaped over at the broken clock and score marks at the table. “What-- what--? Sorry, was that supposed to be funny?” 
“Tony thinks it's hilarious to mess with people who are aware of his mutation but haven’t quite figured out where his talents lie.” the Alpha said blandly. “Though judging from your expression, I think you haven’t figured out that Tony has abilities and he’s being ridiculous for no reason at all?” 
“Oh my god, that’s why you know Cable.” It all made sense in a matter of seconds, and Peter swung from feeling foolish and maybe even a little afraid to suddenly intrigued, and then slightly hysterical at the thought of Tony Stark being a mutant. Tony Stark of all people. Mutant. “You run in the same circles because you both are mutant.” 
“Can’t see any other reason to spend time with the guy.” Tony grunted. “You still aren’t are surprised as I’d thought you’d be.” 
“No, my brain is--” Peter made a gesture around his temples. “But I’ve read so many things in the last few days this is just another insane truth I’ll have to come to terms with later. So um, it’s metal then? Your ability?” 
“Metal and then some. You don’t think I build all those computers and tech by hand, do you?” ” Tony slipped an arm around Pepper’s tiny waist and tugged the Alpha down onto the edge of his chair, turning his head to push his nose into her shoulder for a moment. Pepper kissed his hair immediately, then his cheek and when Tony looked up, his nose as well.  It was sweet to see such open affection between a mated pair, and Peter’s hand went to his scarred bonding spot unconsciously when Pepper nuzzled into Tony’s ear and murmured something adoring at her mate. 
I miss you, Alpha my Alpha.
“How are you then, little love?” Pepper asked softly, and Peter jumped, snatching his hand back to his lap when he realized the Alpha was watching him again. “You don’t just scent like Cable, you scent mate sick. Are you alright?” 
“I um--”
“Not real often a mutant mates a human.” Tony interrupted, his dark eyes flickering electric blue for a split second. “I can scent that on you too. Where’s your mate, Peter?” 
“Tony.” Pepper murmured. “Easy on the child, look at him, he’s miserable.” 
Miserable? Peter tried to smooth down his hair again, sitting up straighter in the chair. He thought he’d been doing better with everything lately, so being told he stank like Cable and still smelled mate sick and miserable stung a little. 
“I don’t want to talk about my mate.” he said softly. “Could we-- could we not do that, please?”
“Very well, Mr. Parker.” Pepper kept running light fingers through Tony’s hair, but her green gaze never left Peter as she said, “But you know, there are only a handful of reasons why you would be researching Project Rebirth, and within those reasons there is only the slimmest chance you’d come across Howard Stark’s name. You need to tell us immediately what sort of questions you are here to ask, and what sort of answers you are trying to find.” 
“I’m not asking questions with the intention of hurting anyone.” the Omega reached up to press at his bonding spot again. “And the answers are only for myself. I swear it. I just want to know. Just want to understand.” 
“Because of your mate.” Tony prompted, and Peter nodded slowly. “What does your mate have to do with Project Rebirth?” 
“Nothing, I don’t think, but I don’t want to talk about it.” the Omega couldn’t seem to stop staring between the pair, taking in Tony’s startlingly blue eyes and the way every bit of metal in the room seemed to tilt to face him. Pepper didn’t seem perturbed by the show at all, and Peter put his questions about Rebirth aside to ask, “Mutants don’t usually mate humans?” 
“Hardly ever.” Tony confirmed with a slight smile. “In fact, I don’t know a mixed mated pair at all, do you, my love?” 
“Not at all.” Pepper’s skin shimmered and shifted across her face and down her neck, along her arms to her fingertips. Scaled pieces clicked together lightly, shining iridescent in the warm lights before melding back to perfectly smooth, there and gone before Peter even had the time to properly gauge. “Peter, you might be the first human I’ve ever met with a mutant Alpha.” 
Peter couldn’t have formed a proper response if his life depended on it, struck silent by the display from the formidable pair, stunned speechless by the way Pepper’s gaze swirled fiery orange before settling back to green. 
“See there, now he’s broken.” Tony scolded his mate teasingly. “All I did was rattle a few silverware, you’ve got him worrying you’ll get scaly and burn him to a crisp!” 
“Hush you.” Pepper warned playfully just as Peter managed a squeaky, “You’re a dragon!?!” 
“Most people assume I’m a snake.” the Alpha’s eyes flickered orange again. “Thank you for choosing something much more beautiful to compare me to.” 
“That-- that wasn’t a yes?” 
“Well it wasn’t a no either.” Tony waved his hand as if dismissing the topic entirely-- as if the topic of dragon mutants could be dismissed-- and leaned forward in his chair to pin Peter with a measuring look. “Now listen, kid. I’m going to be upfront and honest with you, only because you scent like Cable and have an entire notebook full of questions which means you probably know most of the answers I’m going to give you, and simply want confirmation.” 
“Uh, yes sir?” 
“Smart Omega.” Pepper said approvingly, and bent to give her mate one last kiss. “Be nice to him, Tony. He might be brilliant but he is still mate sick, do you understand? Gentle with your words.” 
“You say that as if I am ever anything but thoroughly patient and whole heartedly kind.” The Omega made an affronted sort of noise and Pepper only laughed at him, waved at Peter over her shoulder, and closed the door to the living room as she went. 
“Alright then.” the moment his Alpha had gone Tony straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders, commanding the room again with barely any effort. “Project Rebirth. You know about our frosty friend lost somewhere beneath the ice?” 
“Yes.” Peter checked his notes. “Yes, Captain Rogers. His plane was put down over the Arctic circle.” 
“Mmm-hmm.” Tony pursed his lips in thought and Peter waited only somewhat impatiently for the other Omega to choose his words. “Alright listen. Project Rebirth wasn’t the patriotic endeavor they tried to make it out to be, do you understand? They took in poor kids from the street, mostly mutants but some just human and turned them into lab rats. Took what they needed from one boy, pumped it into another and more often than not, killed both when nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Mixing DNA isn’t a real thing we can do now, there was no way a bunch of hack-job scientists working out of a basement could do it without mass casualties.” 
“...Captain Rogers?” 
“He was the first attempt that worked.” A glimmer of regret sliced through Tony’s vanilla clove scent. “My Dad used to say Steve never would’a signed up for that project if he’d known what was really in the so called super soldier serum. But he didn’t know because no one would ever say and he went from a sickly kid who could barely climb stairs to someone who could lift cars over his head within an hour. An hour. Even by today’s standards those sort of results are amazing, back then it was a goddamn miracle. Steve Rogers was a walking miracle, bought and paid for with the blood of a hundred different innocents and when they realized they’d created a literal god among men--” 
“--they put him in the ice.” 
“Dad stormed off the project when they realized they planned to crash the Valkyrie.” Tony said quietly. “Then he spent the next forty odd years searching for the crash site to try and rescue Rogers. Didn’t ever find him, so he spent any extra time he had searching for the cyborg they’d created after losing Rogers. Not as much is known about that one, but rumours are it was another kid from Steve’s neighborhood. Bright eyed and gung ho about serving and got himself turned into a monster.”
Peter grimaced as he circled the word ‘cyborg’ in his notes and Tony clicked his tongue sympathetically. “They tried it all over again in the seventies, even came to my Dad to help with it but he had his hands full with me so he turned them down. Some bloodthirsty bastard named Striker kidnapped and tortured and killed dozens of mutants trying to find the right amount of powers that could co exist in a body without self destructing. He wanted another Captain America but less along the lines of national hero and more along the lines of personal assassin. He was shut down after a few years, but by that time the damage had been done and all the mutants pretty much went underground. It was easier to hide than it was to stay public and go through all that in another twenty or thirty years.” 
“I found mostly redacted paperwork from May of 1970.” Peter held up a copy of the page. “Is that-- is this you?” 
“It’s probably me.” Tony started forward like he wanted to take the page, but then shook his head and sat back again. “My Dad had my blood tested when I was kid to try and confirm a theory.” 
“What was the theory?” 
The other Omega watched Peter for a long minute before finally saying, “That it skips a generation in males, but the Omegas are always carriers whether the family has a history of mutation or not.”
“Wait. What?” 
“The mutant gene.” The corner of Tony’s mouth lifted in a half smile when Peter started scribbling notes just as fast as he could. “When present in a bloodline, it skips generations between presenting in males, but not females. Pepper’s mom was a mutant along the same talents, so was her grandma and so was Great Granny Potts. My dad wasn’t a mutant, and as far as we know, neither was Grandapa Stark. But male Omegas carry the gene no matter what so--” 
He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers and Peter jumped when the metal sculpture closest to him abruptly melted, liquefying into a shiny puddle of silver right there in the center of the table. 
Oh holy shit.
“So I carry the gene.” Peter pointed at himself, swallowing around a little burble of hysteria. “I carry the gene?” 
“Whether you have anyone in your family mutant or not.” Tony confirmed. “You’re not mutant but you’ll still pass it on to any kids you have.” 
Oh ho ho holy shit. 
“My mate and I won’t ever have kids.” Tony said then, and he sounded sad about it. “We always want to think the world has changed and attitudes towards mutants has changed but the fact is, it will never be safe to be us. Pepper and I are on the cover of every magazine, on television for interviews and always at one social event or another. Our kids would be so widely watched that they’d never have a chance to be normal anyway, and when you add in the absolute guarantee of mutant abilities--”  he shrugged. “--it's not an option. We won’t do it to them.” 
Peter tapped his pen on the paper a few times then asked quietly, “Could I ask you what happened when you-- when you came into your powers? Is that alright?” 
“I was fourteen.” Tony launched right into the story, visibly relieved to be talking about something other than all the horrors his kind had been subject to for decades. “I had just gotten accepted to MIT and met my roommate, James Rhodes. The first night I had a nightmare about being trapped and overwhelmed and nervous about starting college and my powers surged while I was asleep. I ended up warping the bunk beds, twisting the metal into pretzels and trapping myself and Rhodey inside the mess.” 
“I woke up screaming.” The Omega’s scent swelled with fondness. “And Rhodey talked me right out of the panic, right through undoing it all, then climbed up into my bed and hugged me tight. I could have killed him when my abilities spiked like that, and by all accounts he should have ran for his life, but he took the time to comfort me instead. He’s an actual saint. A literal angel for putting up with my shit all these years.” 
“James Rhodes.” Peter thought back to the ceremony several months ago when he’d received the grant money from Stark Industries, to the Alpha in full military dress that had been standing next to Tony. “Colonel James Rhodes?” 
“One and the same.” 
“Is he--!” 
“No.” Tony shook his head, adoration coloring his scent warm. “James is wholly human, which is why I’m sure he’s a saint. No one else could possibly put up with me.” 
Peter was quiet, thoughtful as he wrote down a few more things, careful to leave names out of his notes in case anyone came across them later. 
“Your mate is mutant and you smell like Cable.” Tony broke the silence again. “Is there a reason for that?” 
“Yes.” Peter said shortly. “But uh-- it’s not the one you’re thinking.” 
“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” 
“Okay but I promise?” he laughed a little. “I promise that whatever you are thinking about me and Cable, the truth is even stranger. He is not my mate, no way.” 
“Well thank god for small mercies.” Tony nodded. “Be careful down this path, Peter. Not everyone will be willing to talk like I am and most will be angry you’re asking questions at all.” 
“I just want the answers for myself.” Peter repeated softly. “I just need to know, I have to know. I can’t explain it but--” 
“--Do you believe in soulmates, Pete?” 
“Yes.” 
“Well, since you’re the first person I’ve ever known who was human and had a mutant mate.” The Omega shrugged, but his eyes were kind. “Maybe soulmates is the only explanation you need for why you need to know everything about your Alpha’s people. Hm?” 
Peter left a few minutes later, stepping out the door with a firm handshake and a smile and the reassurance that he could come back any time, and so long as he was keeping the answers for himself Tony would be happy to talk with him some more.
“He’s so sad.” Pepper curled close into Tony’s arms and kissed her mate on the cheek. “It breaks my heart to see anyone sad from mate sickness, but it’s worse when they are so young. Mid twenties is too early to know that sort of grief.” 
“Mmm.” Tony hummed in agreement and soaked in his Alpha’s scent for a minute. “I know someone who might know what happened to Peter, or at least why he’s been around Cable of all people.” 
“Who’s that?” 
“Well.” The Omega pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found a number he only called on the rarest occasions. “There’s only one person Cable trusts with his business in this particular timeline, even though I’ll never figure out why. The guy is a literal quack.” 
Pepper chuckled under her breath when Tony dialed the number labelled “Neighborhood Quack” and then laughed louder when the phone answered on the first ring and the initial outburst from the other line was all swearing and various threats about what would happen the next time a Stark called his phone. 
“Always good to hear from you, pal.” Tony said blandly, and on the other line Hank Pym screeched, “Don’t you call me pal, kid. I was teaching doctorate level university classes while you were still shittin’ in your diapers. What in the hell do you want?” 
“Been spending much time with Cable lately?” It took a considerable amount of self control for Tony to not insist he could have taught Hank’s doctorate level classes while in diapers, and his moment of maturity was rewarded by a sweet kiss from his Alpha. 
“I hardly think that’s any of your business!” 
“No?” Tony challenged. “Cos I’ve got an Omega in here stinking like Cable and mate sickness while asking me about mutants and Project Rebirth. You’re the only one that grouch talks to in these parts, so I figured you’d know something!” 
“Well if I knew something I wouldn’t tell a Stark. You’d sell the secrets for petty cash!” 
“Old man, your secrets aren’t even worth the pettiest of cash--” 
“Alright.” Pepper snatched the phone away. “Doctor Pym, this is Pepper Potts.” 
“...oh hell.” 
“Yes, that’s right. I understand you and my mate have some history, but I’d very much appreciate it if you helped me, do you understand?” 
“...yes Ms. Potts.” 
“Thank you very much, Doctor Pym. I’m looking forward to talking with you again later this evening.” 
“...yes Ms. Potts.” 
Pepper hung up and her mate whistled appreciatively. “How on earth did you manage that, my love?” 
“I’m fairly certain my mother breathed fire on him at one point or another.” the pretty redhead said demurely, far too innocent for the way her eyes were sparkling. “Turns out you only have to do that once to put the fear of God into a man.” 
“I love you.” Tony said seriously and the Alpha patted at his cheek and crooned, “I know you do, darling. I know.” 
*****************
*****************
“Harry says you’ve got a thousand books in your apartment.” Gwen shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, then offered Peter a bite as well. “Oh, and he was bitching about you making him rent porn? What’s that about?” 
“For the last time.” Peter took a tiny bite of the heart attack Gwen called dessert and shook his head. “It’s not my fault the video store rents sketchy documentaries right next to the porn. Also not my fault that Harry grabbed the wrong one.” 
“I’m just saying, if there was an Alpha you wanted to pick out porn with, I’m definitely the better option.” 
“GWEN!” 
“I’M JUST SAYING!” The Alpha darted close for a kiss and then held up another bite for Peter. “Eat, pretty Omega. You’re practically skin and bones these days and I miss your butt. Fatten them cheeks up again, kiddo.” 
“You’re being terrible tonight.” Peter informed her. “Honestly just terrible. What’s going on?” 
“Seriously, I’m just happy you called me for ice cream.” Gwen admitted. “Just glad you’re out and around and being yourself again. Sorry if I’m being terrible but I’ve got three months worth of shenanigans to get up to with you, you ready for all this?” 
“Yeah Gwen.” Peter squeezed at the blonds hand affectionately. “I am ready for some shenanigans with--” 
--he stopped mid step, froze halfway between one stair and the next, skin crawling with goosebumps and hair standing on end, breath constricting in his chest and throat closing up until he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. 
“Oh woof.” Gwen inhaled and made a face. “What smells like over ripe Alpha? One of your neighbors in rut, Pete? Or newly mated? No one stays off suppressants long enough to scent that strong unless they are honeymooning. Don’t they know there’s hotels for that? Wow.” 
The Omega didn’t answer, and Gwen snapped her fingers in front of Peter’s face to try and get him to blink. “Pete? Hey, what’s wrong? Alpha scent bugging you? You okay?” 
“I--I--” Peter peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth and tried again. “I um-- Gwen, you need to go.” 
“I need to go?” she asked in confusion. “You aren’t gonna invite me in? We’re like three feet from your apartment and--” 
“You need to go.” Nothing more than a whisper, but Peter’s dark eyes flashed in determination even as he shoved the Alpha away. “Leave me alone. Please. I’ll call you but you need to go now.” 
“Pete--” 
“I’m fine.” he pushed harder, forcing her down the hall. “Gwen, I’m fine I promise but I need you to leave right now. I’ll call you, I promise. I’ll call you but you have to leave. Leave!” 
Gwen grumbled all the way back down the stairs but Peter tuned it all out. His fingers were shaking as he tried to get the door unlocked, his keys failing once and then twice before sticking into the slot and turning the knob to open. 
His apartment was dark, every light off and every curtain drawn and that wasn’t how he had left it, but Peter didn’t care about that right now, he didn’t care about anything right now. 
He shut the door behind him and then leaned back against the wood, shut his eyes tight and opened his mouth to inhale a scent so potent he could nearly taste it on his tongue, feel it rushing in his veins and settling low into his soul. 
My mate. 
“....Al-- Alpha?” 
And a hoarse voice from across the room, deep and smooth and so so beautiful the Omega’s knees nearly gave out right there-- 
“I’m here, Pete.”
*************
SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER! (and thank you for all the great comments last chapter! They were all so good and I loved them!) 
************** 
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Somebody Sweet to Talk To ❁︎ 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
Pairing: Harry Osborn x Plus Size Reader
Word Count: 6k
Gif credit: @mayahawkes
Summary & Warnings || Series Masterlist
Extra warning for this chapter: reader shows some signs of anxiety/mood changes.
𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨
𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨
❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎
Monday arrived too soon, and you dreaded it more than any other week from the school year. Entering the library, you had walked directly toward your usual table and took your laptop and headphones out in order to do homework but everyone around you was staring, almost impatiently, and it was extremely distracting.
It didn’t matter if you finished early or not, Tony had given you the entire week free and changed your working schedule to only Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday unless there was too much to do or emergencies. Seeing as it was better than not having a job at all, you didn’t dare fight him when you knew he was trying to favor you.
The therapy thing... that was different. Maybe you had taken advantage of the fact that Tony and Bucky were mentally ill too by reminding them how cruel medical professionals tended to be toward their patients and even more so when the patient was a fat woman, and maybe you could’ve approached the topic in a more neutral way to not make them feel so damn guilty; yet you didn’t think about it at that moment, too scared of going back to hear that you would never get better, or that you were a problematic person, or therapists simply denying you treatment until you lost weight.
A hand encapsulating yours took you out of your self-absorptive episode. You didn’t need to look to know it was Harry, the slight warmth from his palm that was so different from any hand you had felt on you was becoming familiar.
That was a problem. You spent the entire Sunday going through it and pondering on telling him it would be better to knock it off. You still decided you could tame your newfound feelings and keep faking being in a relationship with him in exchange for friendship.
Snatching your headphones off, you did turn to look at him. He was seemingly analyzing you, “are you okay?” his question was made in a whisper.
“Yeah, I’m just... struggling to focus.” You nodded upward at the now black screen from your computer. You had definitely lost more time than you thought.
“I know, I finished my homework already.”
Looking down at your wristwatch, you realized Harry had gotten there an hour ago. “Sorry, I—“
“It’s okay,” he interrupted, giving your hand a squeeze before moving to store his supplies. “Pete told me you had a tough weekend.”
Humming, you stored your supplies too just to entertain yourself. You hated when people talked about your health without your consent, it was extremely intrusive and made you feel vulnerably uncomfortable. Had Peter told Gwen too?
The answer didn’t take long to come. Fingers intertwined with Harry’s, you left the library to where Peter and Gwen must’ve been waiting for the two of you. The blonde looked at you with empathy, almost pity, and flashed one of those smiles that unknowingly made you feel worse.
Your fake boyfriend must’ve processed it the same way or felt you tense because he ran his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly. He then breathed a smile, making you turn to inquire what was going on. He nodded upward to gesture at the front crystal doors and it was like you could breathe properly again — it was raining.
The smell enhanced your senses as the four of you abandoned the building, Harry’s steps slowed down in contrast to Peter’s hurried ones. You could have cried as consistently as the sky was doing, Harry was being thoughtful and extremely kind to you by allowing you a relaxing moment and you hadn’t even asked for it.
He threw his keys at Gwen, telling her to not wait for you because you would walk to The Compound. It was a bad idea, walking under the rain when the season was about to change, yet you didn’t dare say no — you couldn’t when as much as you knew the water falling onto you was cold, you felt warm inside.
There was no need for Harry and you to still hold hands, or to stroll so closely to each other — both of you knew, both ignored it. Having a friend was nice, someone to go to the movies with, talk about everything and nothing, bake together, walk down the rain in silence with slow strides to relish into the aliveness only nature could grant.
Walking slowly didn’t bother him this time, getting soaked didn’t either. He had never seen the face of a person look younger so quickly, he had never even paid attention to those things before and now wondered why when it was so satisfying to watch. In that case, the satisfaction could’ve come from the fact that he was part of it, not an important one in his mind but it was something. You were starting to relax beside him, the frown you had been carrying since he got to the library long gone as your upper body slumped a little. He had helped achieve that, and for a split minute, nothing else mattered until he thought what would his father say if he knew Harry’s biggest accomplishment up to that day had been relaxing his —fake— girlfriend.
“We don’t have to get in if you don’t want to,” he whispered, almost hopeful so he could be in you relaxed and consequentially soothing presence for a little longer.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” you said, softness oozing from your tone in an attempt to show him you were more than grateful.
Either of you wasn’t wet enough to be soaked, both made the observation in distinct ways. His hoodie, in fact, was wet, just like his hair, but his jeans looked almost dry — your hair looked different due to the water, your jacket seemed darker, and there was a waterdrop on top of your right eyelash that he couldn’t keep himself from wiping.
Dropping your backpack onto one of the sofas, you peeled your jacket off. Harry did the same with his book bag and took his hoodie off. Before he could drop it, you took it from his hand.
He tilted his head. You chuckled, “I’ll put it in the dryer so it doesn’t get ruined.” He blinked rapidly, a nod being the only answer he could give.
He watched you walk away, heart dropping as you disappeared further into the hallway and made a turn. God, what was happening to him? He missed the warmth from your palm already, irradiating into his even though yours was smaller, and filling his entire system with a feeling he had never experienced; a week had taken him to become needy for your touch, that attention you gave so selflessly when he spoke, your wise and poignant comments that you always seemed to finish with an interested question of his opinion, your soft lips that made everything around him fade away.
“Here,” you whispered, almost bashfully. He focused his eyes on you again, realizing he had been staring at nothingness. A piece of clothing was being offered by your right hand as with the left one you made signs at someone behind him. “It’ll fit you loosely because it’s mine, but you’ll be warm.”
Fuck. Harry had never met a kinder person than you. He couldn’t believe Peter and Ned had said you were everything but, it was impossible for them to be talking about the same woman. He took the soft fabric in his grasp, sliding it down his head before slipping his arms in — it fitted him better than both of you had considered.
Peter was horrified to see his male best friend in a familiar blue sweatshirt, eyes wide as he and Gwen went back to the living room after spending time alone in his bedroom. His two best friends were sat almost flushed against the other, you type in your laptop as Harry slanted his head to read whatever you were redacting.
Gwen was worried, she thought Harry would keep his distance after the conversation they had. But now, watching him give you all his attention and hearing him ask about your homework like it was the most interesting topic someone could talk about, she realized there was no point in tearing you apart. Her boyfriend thought otherwise, and it worried her too — Peter, being Peter, was getting obsessive.
When you were done, you uploaded the essay to the school’s interface and closed the laptop. Standing up, you arranged your backpack in the way you liked and then did the same with the laptop case.
“Does any of you want something from the kitchen?” you asked, surprising them.
Gwen nodded, bashfully. “Camomile tea, if you can.”
“Of course,” you nodded too.
Harry followed you toward the kitchen, not wanting to be under Peter’s annoyed gaze that he honestly didn’t understand anymore. Snorting when you started peeling the gigantic orange he bought for you once the kettle was on the burner, he sat on a stool.
You offered him some fruit, the ghost of a smile appearing on your face when he took half of the orange. It was surprisingly tasty, you hadn’t expected that from its size.
Endearingly vexing was a good way of describing oranges, he had to agree. Harry avoided them most of the time because of how changing their flavor was, but now he was starting to think they weren’t that bad — they would never beat apples, though.
Tony poured himself some coffee, watching you comfortably eat fruit. He also saw Harry’s sweatshirt and couldn’t hide the teasing smirk from plastering on his face when you turned to gaze at him. He was happy you hadn’t ended things with Harry, no matter what Tony thought of Norman he knew the kid wasn’t at fault — he also suspected Harry was mistreated by his dad and couldn’t help but be biased.
“Does Gwen like sugar in her tea?” You wondered out loud.
Harry shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about Gwen even though she was his best friend, the blonde didn’t make him part of everything. You ignored him and carried the teacup in a hand and the sugar bowl in another, making him once again inwardly question why everyone thought of you as a heartless person.
And because you weren’t what people said you were, he grew more nervous about introducing you to his father. Norman tended to treat people who weren’t Harry with respect and even empathy, but what if he didn’t like you? What if he found you to be dumb for supposedly dating his son? Harry didn’t want to put you through one of his dad’s weird episodes, but he didn’t want his dad to laugh at him if he said you had an emergency to take care of either.
He saw you try to smile warmly at Gwen when handing her the cup and decided it would be better to warn you the next day when the mood wouldn’t be soured.
“We’re watching Footloose when Pete finishes his homework, do you two want to join us?”
“Sure,” both shrugged and said at the same time. Sharing a look, something that in the week you had been close had become second nature, you saw each other’s brows twitch in curiousness.
Too focused on the movie to pay attention to whatever couple-y thing Peter and Gwen were doing, you sat with your shoulders brushing. Harry shifted to rest his head on the arm of the couch, his hand brushing yours so you’d get the hint. Your head dropped onto his arm as you shuffled to make sure you would squash him, none of your eyes leaving the screen.
Tuesday brought mountains of homework and a scorching sunny afternoon. Wednesday was the opposite, that morning Harry found himself staring at the blue sweatshirt laying on his desk chair to decide if it would be a good idea to wear it again. The fabric still smelled of the softener you used, a custom one Stark bought for you every few weeks — there was a slight sweetness under the freshness of the scent and he marveled at how suiting it was.
Caving in, he snatched the sweatshirt and hoped Peter wouldn’t react like the other time. His best friend was getting distant, he got annoyed easily too — Harry thought him to be jealous, confirming his theory of Peter having feelings for you; Harry also thought himself to be envious of the finding.
Peter always got what Harry wanted, but this was different. This time he had put himself in that situation, almost begging to be thrown to the side when he wasn’t useful anymore. The day was approaching if the pattern wasn’t broken, and it didn’t hurt him because his dad would laugh or because he would probably still see you every day, it hurt him because he had never felt so safe in someone else’s presence.
He took a whiff of the sweatshirt as he slid it on, the memory of the first time he got to smell the scent coming to his mind.
It had been a while since he put a foot in the university. Harry had hit rock bottom, an overdose almost took his life and the worst part of it was how badly he wished it had. Out of spite, because he didn’t think he should let his father win every single battle, he decided to get help. Rehabilitation centers weren’t pretty, nor comfortable, and their usefulness could be up for debate; but Harry learned many things about himself there: his needs and dreams, his potential that he didn’t believe in most of the days, the fact that if he tried and wanted hard enough he could be a good person and a successful professional.
Peter was with Ned outside of the building when he arrived, waiting for someone that wasn’t him. Their greetings were effusive, brotherly, he felt good in their arms when he allowed them to hug him. But the feeling was nothing compared to the somersaults his stomach made when something he could only describe as hot cocoa on a winter day filled his nostrils.
You were dressed in casual clothes, he remembered them perfectly as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. Dark jeans, skater vans, a yellow sweatshirt that made you look radiant even though your eyes were sad. You greeted them three politely and Peter introduced you briefly, after that you made your way through the door and into the crowd — Harry couldn’t stop staring at the spot you had disappeared from, and Ned caught it so he said, ”been there, not even got to try and do that.”
Warnings came. Your reclusiveness, the way you closed off when a loved one did something that mildly upset you and how easily you got upset. Peter said you were like a sister to him, that not even he could get your shell to crack. ”She’s shyer than me, and I’m not even sure if she likes people,” Peter had sighed sadly.
Your career paths didn’t have anything to do with the other, not a single class was shared. Free hours you did share, but Harry followed his friends’ advice because it was simple curiosity and he needed different things, he didn’t need to fix people because he couldn’t.
But now, now he wished he had tried like Ned didn’t. He didn’t understand why he was feeling like that so soon, and he didn’t want to understand — it would be useless. Maybe all this time he had harbored a crush, or maybe it was the particular enticement that only the forbidden could provide, or maybe —just maybe and that was all— he was falling easily for the first person to be unapologetically themselves around him.
Harry knew that Peter held off, Ned always followed what Pete and Betty did, and Gwen was scared of him because of his past. If you explicitly knew about it and had lied when he asked, you were a master at masking it, and if you didn’t know about it he was sure you wouldn’t react badly to the news.
You would probably praise him again for learning to not lash out at people, he could picture your neutral semblance upon hearing all about it as he entered the classroom to take his first lecture of the day and a sigh slid past his lips.
Bouncing your leg, you slid the collar of your hoodie up to the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Harry’s cologne made you sigh heavily against the soft fabric, a part of you regretted having put it on while the other marveled at how the smell had clung to the fabric just by being against his arm. The grey material was comforting enough, but his smell was the real treat and you hated to know it, you hated not being able to help it.
Thoughts of Peter still swarmed around your mind, you still felt pangs on your chest when Gwen sat on his lap or when they kissed in front of you. But they weren’t constant anymore, you were too busy between getting your master’s degree, your wavering mental health, and Harry’s deep voice. At that, you would have to add your job next week, but you’d manage. You were almost as good as Tony at multitasking, writing nomenclatures down while craving your fake boyfriend’s presence would be aced — you even were sure you could get a doctorate on it and the thought chilled you to the bone.
You assumed you were thinking like a teenager — you hadn’t even thought like that when you were a teenager! You had been too lost into your self-hate and problems at home to have the time to behave like a teenager or to want to be one... Not wanting to think about it anymore, you focused on your homework for the day.
A shadow was cast on your notebook, prompting you to look upward. The sight of Harry in your sweatshirt made your heart skip a beat. “Peter left early,” he whispered to not be kicked out of the library, cellphone in hand. “He took my car.”
You nodded, aware of his eyes being on you. “I’m almost done.”
“Want me to ask for an Uber?”
“I can walk,” you assured him, scribbling down the answer you were halfway through. Gloomy days had never bothered you, they were common for you.
You waved at Ned goodbye as you walked across the hallway, the shorter man lifted an eyebrow upon realizing Harry and you were truly holding hands. You had to keep the act up, of course, people would talk about a supposed break up otherwise. You cursed, making Harry worriedly gaze at you.
“You’ll have to carry my cellphone this time around,” you explained. “These pants don’t have pockets and it can crack in my backpack.”
He extended his free palm for you to place the device on it. Sliding it into his pocket carefully, he continued walking.
The first two minutes of walk toward the compound were silent until he took his AirPods out. “Wanna listen to some music?”
“Sure.” You stopped so he could choose a playlist in his phone as you slipped the AirPod he had offered in your ear.
His musical taste was as pleasant as his company, as mixed as his conversation. It made you wonder why Peter and Gwen didn’t spend more time with him. He wasn’t like everyone said at all, it was true he was distant most of the time and even more when he didn’t know people but you found that natural, he had many qualities and peculiarities that made him so unique... you had met many people in your life, you were good at reading them all and you got bored easily of them because of that. Harry wasn’t easy to read, and knowing him meant getting more interested in his intellect and how different it was from the people around you. He wasn’t dumb, and although a genius either, but he was knowledgeable enough in many topics, he had a way with words when he got comfortable and his opinions were quite radical for conventional expectations, he was sensitive and patient, — you utterly adored that about him, much to your dismay.
Humming to the songs both knew, you swung your clasped hands a little bit. Upon approaching the compound your steps slowed down to finish the current song, something that had happened so often throughout the walk that his car was already parked outside.
“You came here on foot in this weather?” A familiar voice screeched as you closed the door.
You stopped abruptly at that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was worse than liking Harry. “Dad,” you greeted through a small smile, letting your fake boyfriend’s hand go. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I texted you an hour ago.” Your dad’s eyes were on you, brows lifted in expectancy of an explanation.
Harry handed you your cellphone so you could check. Pressing the button to look down at the screen you found a photo of your own self as a lock screen. It had been taken earlier, and you had to admit he was right when he said he was good at taking photos, the lighting in the school’s library wasn’t ideal and still, the angle was so good you didn’t look as bad as you often did and the way you were looking up —surely at him— made your eyes shine.
“Sorry,” Harry apologized behind you, “I gave you mine.”
You turned around to face him, “didn’t we talk about... that?”
He nodded, taking his cellphone from your hand and placing yours instead. “We said I wouldn’t put (Your Favorite Artist) in a plaid shirt as a lock screen.”
“We said you wouldn’t put me.”
“We said you wouldn’t send me a photo of yours to put, never that I couldn’t take it and put it.”
Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you nodded. He was right, you should have been more specific. The short conversation wasn’t helping your case, now your dad knew something was going on between you two and you didn’t want him to; it was fake, and you didn’t want to introduce your dad to a fake boyfriend when the relationship wouldn’t last more than a few weeks more because of its nature. To be fair, it would last only a few weeks even if it was real but the point stood, strongly.
You felt so small you could’ve scurried off and in your mind, no one would even realize. Both men stared at each other with curiosity, your dad was trying to intimidate Harry and it would have worked if he hadn’t been Norman Osborn’s son.
Gwen, God bless her, cut through the slight tension. “Your dad was telling us you liked to play doctor as a ki—“ the blonde’s eyes widened as she stood in front of you when your dad moved out of the way to look at her as she spoke, the sight of Harry’s attire wasn’t one she had expected. “Did you wear... your girlfriend’s clothes to school?”
Harry cleared his throat, “out of coincidence.” He nodded to make emphasis, avoiding looking at anyone in particular.
Peter called for Harry. “Can I talk to you in private, Har?”
The tallest young man nodded, casting you a sideways glance. You blinked rapidly, too nervous suddenly. There was nothing wrong with sharing clothes, and Peter knew the reason why you had lent Harry a sweatshirt in the first place — why did you feel like you’d get an anxiety attack at any moment?
Peter leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms against his chest — he knew Harry wouldn’t be intimidated, but he had to get the point across of how serious the topic would be. Harry lifted his eyebrows, signaling for Pete to start talking.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Harry just stared at his best friend. Peter set his jaw. “I told you to stay away from her, and now you’re wearing her clothes to school!”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Harry defended his actions. “You share clothes with Gwen, why can’t I share clothes with (Y/N)?”
“That’s not the point! The point is you shouldn’t be dating her.”
’Here we go again’ Harry thought. Peter had annoyed him with that every time he stared at you, even when he didn’t do it on purpose. “Why, Peter? I’m not forcing her!”
“Because it’s weird! You’re like my brother and she’s like my sister, I know the two of you very well and I know you’re not right for each other.”
Harry huffed, pinching his nose to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “You and Gwen keep saying that but you never say why!” He exploded. “Peter, I adore you, man, but only (Y/N) and I know how our relationship is like.”
“I’m worried,” Peter hurried to explain. It was clear he didn’t mean to offend Harry. “Maybe at least take it slower? She needs a lot of patience, more than we can give her.”
Harry didn’t really get why Peter was telling him the same Gwen did days ago, but he nodded in understanding. His best friend pushed himself off the door and opened it, letting him out of the room first.
The living room was dead silent. Harry observed you weren’t there, but your belongings were. Gwen nodded upward, toward the hallway you had guided him through after your first ‘date’. Seeing him tilt his head, she withdrew her cellphone. His own device buzzed in his jean pocket.
Backyard
He found you with your back against the wall, cornered near the outdoor table. As he got closer , he saw the slight shake of your upper body. Harry silently sat beside you, trying not to stare too much so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. From the corner of his eye, he caught the tremble of your lip and how you bit down into it — he hated that you were trying not to cry in front of him.
You were angry. Gwen had tried to apologize for her impressed state but it was of no use, your dad asked why didn’t he know about your boyfriend which angered you, he hadn’t called in a month — how could you say anything if he didn’t contact you? Your cold answer had been that the relationship was very new, but instead of moving on your dad had to make a comment about how it seemed like it had been longer.
It was like everyone was trying to decide how you should live your life or how you should develop your relationships. You understood that it looked like Harry and you were moving fast, but it wasn’t real — it wasn’t real and it bothered you which made it more fucked up.
The cataclysm was the inquiry that came before that. Your dad had asked if you were happy, prompting Gwen and Tony to perk up to stare at you. All that focus on you had made you nervous, so you explained you were comfortable. It hadn’t been enough for your dad who insisted on speaking about your happiness.
You hadn’t expected him to push it, and you didn’t know where the question had come from when he implied the relationship was too volatile due to its newness. His severe look as he reminded you how fast you were moving had been too shocking, and so you exploded, done with the stupid conversation already, saying you didn’t know if you had ever been happy.
Your own comment had dawned on you like an ice-cold water bucket poured harshly onto the head. It had soaked you in sudden anguish, adding itself to the list of things that chilled you to the bone although this one felt deeper, it seeped into every fiber of your being and still had enough composition to leak in the form of tears.
Harry got closer to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “It’s okay,” Harry murmured. His free hand slid up to trail up and down your back.
You shook your head, it was everything but okay. You didn’t dare to tell him and prayed for the first time in years that no one in the living room had.
The memory of the last time you prayed only worsened your state. You did the only thing that came to your mind and threw your arms around his shoulders, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck as you continued crying.
He massaged the nape of your neck softly with the hand that had been on your upper back. Harry wasn’t very good at consoling people, he was only doing what he would’ve liked someone to do with him. Feeling you sob, he tightened the arm around you to muffle your cries.
“Harry, let me calm her down,” Bucky, whom Harry hadn’t heard come outside, muttered, “she can get angry and it’s not—“ he interrupted himself when the young man shook his head.
Your hands started shaking at Bucky’s words and Harry didn’t think to let you go would help. He realized that when Gwen told him you had deep issues she had meant anger issues or something of sorts by the way Bucky was staring at your back as if you would explode at any second.
Slowly shifting to a kneeling position on the concrete, he flushed your body to his, your face fell onto his shoulder and slid to his chest. He rocked you lightly, only enough for the movement to be processed by your brain without startling you. He knew it would work, he had seen you rock yourself sideways a few times.
As your sobs simmered down, the shake of your hands did too and you placed them firmly on his shoulders. Parting from him to sniff comfortably, you avoided his eyes.
He kissed your forehead, shushing you from apologizing. He would’ve done that at least, and the thought of you doing it almost broke him there. He withdrew an arm off you, tightening the other one so you wouldn’t move. Taking his cellphone out, he texted Gwen again so his friend would bring him his backpack.
Gwen hurried to do it, holding it for him to open it.
“There are Kleenex in the front pocket, give me a few?”
The blonde worked quickly, withdrawing the pocket-sized pack of Kleenex and retrieving a couple from it. Harry took them with his free hand, wiping your tears slowly to not hurt your skin. You giggled nervously when he tried cleaning your nose, snatching the Kleenex from his hand to do it yourself.
You mumbled that you needed to wash your face, prompting him to nod as he moved his arm away from your body. Harry followed you inside, telling you he would be back in a few minutes as you made your way toward the elevator to get to your room.
Washing your face wouldn’t be enough. You needed a hot shower and a Xanax. For the second one, you would have to eat something first but that could be fixed later. The hoodie you took off carefully, laying it softly on the bed. Kicking your sneakers off, you peeled yourself off the remaining clothes quickly, desperate to feel clean again.
The sense of dirtiness didn’t have to do with Harry, or with anyone downstairs. The realization that you had never experienced happiness, that realistically your chances of ever doing it were pretty low... it was too much. It made you feel less than nothing— dirty for once thinking you could be normal, have normal relationships like everyone else did.
One thing, out of the multiple ones, you had always enjoyed of taking showers was its sound and how it could be confused with rain if you closed your eyes tightly enough. Opening the shower, you got in immediately and allowed yourself to breathe slowly.
You were getting dressed when someone knocked on your door, presumably to check on you. Hurrying to get into a pair of shoes, you left the walk-in closet, crossed the bedroom, and swung the door open.
“Hi, so...” Harry scratched the back of his head, worriedly examining your face. “I don’t know which soup is your favorite and I can’t make your favorite soup if I don’t know which is it, can I?”
You stuttered, confused by the fact that he wanted to cook for you. “Uh— you don’t have to.”
“I want to, tell me.”
Sighing heavily, you lifted a hand only to slap it down against your thigh and simply told him what to add and how.
“Got it!” He assured, turning on his heel to go back downstairs.
Harry trotted down the stairs quickly, skipping a few steps. He could feel Peter and Gwen staring at him, sat around the dining table to have a better view. It should’ve made him feel nervous but he felt confident he would do it fine, the instructions were clear and he wasn’t stupid.
What compelled him to make soup for his fake girlfriend who had cried her soul out while clinging to him earlier was a mystery. A mystery as scary as welcomed. He was starting to enjoy showing more of himself to you and in consequence to the people involved in your daily lives — a sharp contrast to what he felt on Saturday. Aware of that, he wondered if he should say something about it.
In three days you would be sat in front of his dad. In three days you would be scared off. In three days he would be back to feel alone. He would lose the warmth and scent he liked so much, the complicit looks, the music recommendations, the intellectual stimulation, the hope for everything to be okay one day.
He wished there was a way to keep it from happening, but the odds were against him. His only chance was that you’d be willing to keep faking it, and how fine he was with just that startled him.
You hesitated going downstairs when you were summoned but ultimately decided to do it so Harry wouldn’t feel bad. Gwen lightly patted your thigh as you sat down in a kind gesture that you realized meant she was glad you were feeling better. She didn’t tell you anything directly, but she very nicely started speaking to everyone around the table so they wouldn’t bother you while you ate.
Harry sat to your other side, participating in the conversation and sporadically giving you his attention to making sure you were okay.
“I think your soup is better than mine,” you communicated to him when you walked him out.
He breathed a laugh, looking down so the blue-ish light wouldn’t highlight his blush. “I’m glad you liked it.”
You nodded, “thank you for going through all that trouble. You didn’t have to.”
He lifted his gaze, leaning more comfortably on the hood of his car. “It wasn't troubling at all.” Harry then added, not able to help it, “are you feeling better?”
No, you weren’t. There were so many things wrong, you would have to face your dad as soon as Harry was on his way home, an explanation as to what was going on with you would ruin everything you had built in the past months, and then... then there was something you could’ve avoided — you were sure you had a crush on your fake boyfriend, also sure he didn’t have a crush on you; you were certain he was into Gwen and had the suspicion the fake dating thing was his attempt of making the blonde jealous. You didn’t blame him, even you thought Gwen was perfect.
“Yeah,” you faked a tight smile. “Nothing a good cry can’t fix.”
He nodded, slowly moving his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry cursed himself for sounding as unsure as hopeful.
“Have a good night,” you wished him, turning on your heel to get back into hell on earth.
That was an exaggeration, yet you didn’t care because it would feel just like it. But your reality hadn’t changed, you still didn’t know if you had ever felt happiness, you still felt like something was wrong with you, and you still felt there was a piece missing in your life — you had lost so much already that you couldn’t put your finger on what said piece could be nor where could it fit. You just knew you wished it wouldn’t matter.
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negronispagliato · 4 years
Text
Operation: The Valkyrie Identity prologue
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word count: 2,211
a/n: OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY 
so after a lot of back and forth, i decided to keep this within MCU but sort of throw in a bit of AU in there (so basically no IW or Endgame because we just gone pretend like that fuckery didn’t happen). this does take place after Bucky is freed from Hydra and becomes an Avenger. Peter is also an avenger in this. 
sorry for having y’all deal with my stupid brain lmao
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Somewhere in the middle of a snowy nowhere, Winter of 1990
The room smells stale and cold all at the same time, the little light that is peeking through the cheap vinyl blinds makes the presence of the dust particles hanging in the air all the more obvious. There’s nothing personal about the cheap motel room, just the threadbare dilapidated necessities and a barely functioning bathroom. The outdated wooden vinyl walls made the room that much tinier, that much darker.
Nick Fury finally stumbles into the room after having fumbled with the door’s faulty lock, kicking it closed with his foot. His ears are still ringing from the clusterfuck of a tragedy that had just happened a couple of hours ago, head still pounding with a raging migraine and no doubt his shoulder was dislocated. His eyes--well, his good one, quickly scans the surroundings, and deciding it’s safe enough for now, he places the bundled up baby that is still surprisingly asleep, blissfully unaware that her parents, his best friends and colleagues, had just died in an embassy explosion the US government was unable to prevent. Babies and their lack of object permanence would normally amuse him in any other situation, but not this one. 
Fuck, he grumbles mentally, trying to make it so that the baby wouldn’t accidentally roll off the bed. He drags himself to the shoebox bathroom, where the lights that give him a sickly look to his skin finally show him just how much he is in shambles. He eyes the crumpled up towel suspiciously, but knowing it’s his only option, he shoves it in his mouth to muffle the scream he lets out when he pops his arm back into place. His nostrils flare as he breathes erratically, trying to gather himself enough to make the most of his environs and clean himself up the best he can. He walks back out to find the baby girl still asleep, and it makes his heart sink to know that she would probably never remember her parents, never get to grow up with them. 
How the fuck did he not see this coming? How did the government not see this coming? Operation Valkyrie was supposed to be kept under wraps, security spearheaded by him while his colleagues Drs. Armas worked with a tight knit team to develop a serum that could rival Captain America’s super serum. Sure, all of the scientists working for the government had their fare share of hate coming their way, but this was unprecedented. It completely pissed him off knowing that there was a hitch, or that someone was able to throw a wrench into the whole thing. 
Nick groans as he sits down on the bed that hasn’t been cleaned in god only knows how long. He looks over to the baby girl, with soft wisps of dark curly hair peeking from underneath the little red hat on her head. His mental gears are going a mile a minute as he checks her vitals once more, trying to make an exit plan, trying to make sense of his friend’s last words to him. 
“Fury...protect her, protect our little girl. Don’t let them get to her.” He’s wracking his brain, trying to figure out what the hell the Armas’ meant by that. The Americans never had an interest in the children of scientists, even though it wasn’t far out of the realm of possibilities to use their families against them for leverage. But this was some fucked up shit on a whole other level…
It clicks in his brain, suddenly. If the Armas’ knew anything about the Valkyrie project that they weren’t supposed to figure out, they would have definitely kept it around somewhere. Nick frantically dives for the beat up duffel bag and searches through it, eyes rapidly scanning through the thick manila folder. The more he reads, he keeps looking between the non-redacted paragraphs, the pictures, and the baby sleeping on the bed. 
It was the first time in who knows how long that Nick felt his blood run cold when he saw the words that confirmed the Armas’ worst fears:
Daphne Armas is the Valkyrie. 
Nick looks at the baby girl, Daphne, who is starting to whine but still half asleep, as if she could sense something was wrong. 
Whether by design or some fucked up serendipity, one of the last things in the manila folder is a white letter envelope with his name scrawled across it. He places the folder back in the beat up duffel bag after taking out the envelope and its contents. It’s just a note, and he sees it’s meant to be a will. 
Nick, if you’re finding this it’s safe to say that both my wife and I aren’t alive any longer. We’ve done the best we could to divert the attention of the government away from Daphne. They’re backing Hydra. They know about the Valkyrie project, about Daphne’s genes being able to mutate with the serum. They threatened us with death if we didn’t experiment on our own daughter, but we couldn’t take it anymore. Please, my friend, take care of our Daphne, be her family, her home. May we meet in the next life. 
Nick’s attention is ripped away from his friend’s last words to the bed, where Daphne could tell that something was not the same. He picks her up awkwardly when she starts crying, trying to figure out how to comfort her. He peels back the blanket from her face, where he sees that her brown skin is tinged red, clearly agitated, hungry, and uncomfortable. He lets out an agitated huff. He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be dead. 
This was never supposed to be part of the mission. 
How was something so helpless supposed to possess something super lethal? 
15 years later, February 2005
Tribeca, New York City
“You sure you have everything? Pepper spray? Stun Gun? Cellphone?” Daphne rolls her eyes, laughing at her father’s worried tone. She didn’t know why he was so worried. After all, her adoptive father Nick Fury taught her everything she needed to know in order to take care of herself. Since she was able to talk and reason, he had never lied to her about his job, what he does, what he is, who she is (she knows it exists, what she can do, but she’s too scared to look into it further than that one time he told her everything). She wasn’t stupid, too much of a smart ass for her own good he thinks, so in his opinion it was better to get everything out of the way as soon as she was able to comprehend words. 
She reaches over to hug him, ignoring the way the one good eye he had left tried to burn a hole in the side of her head. “Yes dad, I have everything. Pepper spray, stun gun, cellphone, even the tracking on my cellphone is on.” Nick Fury can’t stay upset at her for long, so he just pats her shoulder and shakes his head. “Please don’t beat up anyone today, Daphne. I don’t want to get another call from your principals about you not respecting the rules.” “But daaaaad” She whines, looking at him in disbelief, “I hear the rules, and I understand them. But given that they’re stupid ass rules, I’ve elected to ignore them.” He narrows his eyes at her profanity, he should have never cursed in front of her as a child. 
“Just please do me this favor, okay? I don’t need Coulson or Rogers on my ass because we keep leaving to come and get you.”
“Fine, but I--” It all happened so fast. The black SUV crashed into them like a war elephant hammering into a straw door. The chauffeur lost control of the car, instantly dying as the car flipped over several times before finally landing on its roof. 
It felt like forever, but it only took a minute for Nick to gather himself. Groaning, he looked over at Daphne who was completely out of it. He frantically reaches over and checks for her pulse, sighing in painful relief when she’s still alive, just knocked out. But all of a sudden he feels a sharp pain on his side, followed by warmth pooling on his shirt and spilling out. He starts screaming, unable to reach for any weapon as he sees the door on Daphne’s side being ripped off its hinges and a pair of arms reach inside to cut her from the seatbelt and drag her out. 
The weight of the car is crushing him, and he just keeps bleeding, unable to reach for his daughter. The only thing he can do is reach for his phone, awkwardly contorting his arm and send out an SOS signal from his watch. He blinks, trying to remain awake but his brain feels like it’s rattling like a bunch of marbles inside of a tupperware container. He tries not to fall asleep, he can’t, he won’t, he has to go after Daphne and the assholes that took her, but everything keeps getting darker by the second until eventually he just..sleeps. His phone started to vibrate in his pocket, but it’s futile. He can’t answer it. 
The next time Nick Fury wakes up it’s nearly fifteen hours later. He’s in the hospital. It doesn’t take him long to recognize what specific hospital he’s in. After all, it’s specially for America’s SHIELD agents and their higher ups. The best of the best. He’s hooked up to a whole bunch of machines checking for his vitals, and it's then he realizes he can’t get up because his body feels like a building fell on top of him, all numb. 
Steve, Maria, and Coulson rush in as soon as a nurse notified them of Nick waking up. Coulson is standing a few feet away from the bed, Maria next to him, both standing at attention. Steve is the only one to walk to his bed. He notices all three of them have a somber look on their faces, and already that familiar feeling of dread he hasn’t felt since the embassy explosion is back. 
“We’re gonna get her back, Nick. I promise.” Steve’s words don’t really register in his ear, “Everyone back at the base is on it. They got rid of her cellphone, but they’re already tracking all the possible routes.” “What the fuck do you mean ‘they’?” Nick barks out, trying to sit up and ends up even more frustrated that he can’t. 
The tension is thick and palpable in the air. 
“They have her, Nick. We’re already talking to our connections in the government, but they’re saying that Hydra was able to track her down using old files. They know about the Project. We’re gonna get her back from them, I promise. ” It’s the first time they ever see Nick Fury let out a blood curdling scream. He’s angry, he’s vicious, and he knows he’s going to kill them all if he has to. 
What he doesn’t know is that it would be at least another thirteen years until he’d see her again. 
But she wouldn’t be the same. 
A Hydra black site somewhere outside of Cairo, Egypt
Daphne feels like she has the worst case of hay-fever when she opens her eyes, all gross and her face sticky. The stinging migraine wakes her up as much as it disorients her. She must’ve gotten hit on the back of the head, she muses, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She realizes she’s strapped down to what looks like a dentist chair, unable to move. The room is cold, amplified by the surgery room lights and the cold, stainless steel shelves surrounding her. 
She doesn’t panic right away, because that’s not how she was taught. She takes a moment to steady her breathing so her heart stops thumping, but her eyes open when she hears the unceremonious screech of the stainless steel door opening, revealing three people. 
Daphne doesn’t recognize the two in the lab coats, a man and a woman, but she does recognize the Senator, though she decides to say nothing. The Senator looks cold, no sign of warmth or humanity behind his eyes. 
“Don’t make the same mistake this time. This one should be on our side after being brainwashed enough.” The Senator’s voice is equally as cold as the look in his eyes. He’s not even looking at her, “She’s our last Hail Mary.” 
The woman in the lab coat turns to look at Daphne with a deceptively kind face, approaching her slowly. Despite Daphne’s heart beating against her ribs like a war drum, she tries her best to remember what she was taught to remain calm. She squirms when the woman brushes her hair back, all matted in blood and chunks of dirt. “Don’t you worry sweetheart, we’ll take good care of you.” Her voice is sickening, filling her with a sense of dread , and now Daphne can’t even feel her body , just the prick of a needle on the inside of her elbow and the rush of cold liquid. 
“You’ll be an American hero by the time we’re done.”
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pricklyest · 4 years
Text
okay under a cut because it’s probably long but I’m out of the bath and here’s those tma themed asks
The Eye: If you were an avatar of any entity, which one would it be?
there are so many possible answers to this like wow but I’m caught between the eye because I am Thirsty for knowledge 1000% of the time if someone is talking about something with another person and I am near the conversation but not involved you can bet I’m trying to figure out what’s going on and if I know either of the people I will almost definitely ask what’s going on and be intrusive as hell because I have no self restraint; and the lonely because like I am a very alone person but in the words of my fav jamilah woods I’m not lonely, I’m alone and I feel like that is a very peter lukas vibe, yknow? he enjoys being alone? also I too am a sailor and I would like to mysteriously hang out on my ship in the ocean surrounded by fog with no other human being for miles.
The Spiral: Are you good at math?
listen, I spend all of my free time listening to calculus the musical and if you asked me to I would probably rewrite every song I have ever listened to to be about mathematics. in another universe I am probably a math major and in this universe I am deeply, deeply in love with every single second of martin gardner’s work. 
but also no I am not good at math because nobody is good at math, ask any math major and they will tell you we are all terrible at math. engineers (of which I am one) think they’re good at math but they are wrong. that’s how you know I’m meant to be a math major. I know that I’m bad at math. no one can ever be good at math. 
anyway in case anyone ever was wondering my favorite number is euler’s number and I almost named my animal crossing new horizons island eigen as in eigenvectors/values because I am a huge fucking nerd. 
The End: What would you do with your time if you never died?
literally study every single thing I ever could. like. why would the cullens repeat high school over and over again where you’re just relearning the same shit and not just like. major in every single thing a person could possibly major in. that’s just like. the thing to do. 
The Stranger: Are you normally a fan of horror?
not really, but it’s growing on me? I’m like really into psychological horror type stuff and obviously the line between scifi and fantasy and horror is not really a line and especially like things like black mirror that’s scifi gone Wrong is very specifically my jam? but like classic horror stuff has not historically been my thing but like I said. it’s growing on me. 
The Lonely: Name a few of your friends and your favorite things about them.
listen. I don’t have any friends. I mean I do, I am literally snapchatting w merle rn but like. I don’t know how to publicly say words about my friends. I don’t know my friends? I know the feelings that I have in relation to them? 
god, that sounds. enormously self centered and like. really rude. that is not in any way true. okay let’s try this again. 
[redacted]
okay I got waylaid for like 40min doing this writing about my friends and what’s actually going to happen is tomorrow I am going to go back to what I was writing and finish it because I actually do want to sit down and appreciate my friends? because that is a thing everyone should do and also I specifically v much need to because I am not good at feeling close to people so I intentionally downplay how important relationships are to me and that’s objectively Bad and we need to stop doing that. 
what I mean to say in the mean time is that I love my friends and here I will put some of their names so they know they are loved and they are in order of how long I’ve known them so no one feels bad about whatever other order they might be in: alex amy musa carter emma lexi quinn kara merle jasper 
wow I stopped to look at something on my phone and came across the phone number of someone I used to go sailing with who’s dead now and I cried a little bit so that’s something. 
The Desolation: Have you ever been in love?
yes. we’re not going to to talk about that. 
The Slaughter: What kind of music do you like?
what a vague and unanswerable question. idk get some idea of some of my music tastes but definitely not all of them via the post I made a little bit ago with songs that start with the letters in my url. 
The Vast: Can you swim?
yes, but not particularly well. I mean. I’m a sailor. I swim well enough. but like my mom’s side of the family is a lot of competitive swimmers and I’m definitely not one of them. 
The Buried: How do you do in large crowds?
I like the idea of crowds and anonymity and being alone while surrounded but I also get anxious and claustrophobic feeling and I am glad I have a service animal trained in blocking. 
The Dark: Dark colors or pastels?
dark colors bc I am goth
The Corruption: Do you kill bugs?
sometimes yes sometimes I put them outside. depends on the bug. spiders I leave alone unless they’re right by my bed. centipedes get killed on sight. 
The Web: Are you any good at lying?
I don’t think so but I also don’t lie v often and when I do it’s usually to my mother about school.
The Flesh: Are you flexible?
I am somewhat hypermobile but not particularly flexible. whatever that means. 
The Hunt: Would you be a monster hunter?
I have a high pain tolerance, which is a plus, but I am also v chronic pain and so like I would be able to hunt monsters one night but then spend the next three days in bed, so like. probably not. 
The Extinction: Would you survive the apocalypse?
oh god, no. I’m disabled. 
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zackmephisto · 4 years
Text
dirt watches aew
this episode changed me as a person
nick vs fenix NAME A MORE ICONIC MATCH
this is already fucking stunning no one ever @ me ever again
THE ADIOS AMIGO AND THEN COUNTERED AND THEN THE SEE YA I'M EMOTIONAL DON'T TOUCH ME
HOLY SHIT THAT ROPE SHIT INTO THE HURRICANRANA
oh god that's right they're both the younger brothers THIS IS POETIC
if u wanna show someone pro wrestling. this should be a match you show them.
was upset when nick got him in the sharpshooter just bc I didn't want the match to end
holy fuck that was so good
if this crowd isnt as hot for this women's match as they were just then i'm yeeting myself off my balcony
god I am so heart eyes for these women. could watch this for ages
THE REVERSAL
THIS AWESOME
god these two are so fucking good
shida won but tbh both of them looked fucking stunning in this match. could have ended any which way and i would have been thoroughly impressed.
what the fuck.
COWBOY SHIT!!!
HANGMAN BEING THE ONLY ONE WITH AN ENTRANCE THIS IS DIRT RIGHTS
orange Cassidy and chuck coming out during commercial is actually dirtphobic so nvm
o kip ok I'm interested
jimmy havoc ok. didnt he get his ass beat not too long ago
JUNGLE BOY AND MARKO STUNT I'M DECEASED
Pentagon!!!!
SONNYYYYY
joey!!!!
oh god. oh god. oh fuck its MJF OH FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!! god hes looking so tan and s*xy
how old is Billy Gunn now
OH OH GOD MY DUDE
CHUCKIE OH MY GOD THANK YOU I LOVE YOU
orange... I love you.
SONNY TWERKING THANK YOU
max.... i hate that I love you. but I do love you.
CHUCK HUGGING ORANGE LIKE THAT ME TOO
MARKO I LOVE YOU KILL HIM
marko :(
ew. staple gun.
this is big nasty
cant i have one dynamite where i dont have to see shawn spears
ok the asshole chants for max i want u 2 kno that i agree w the crowd but I still love u
ORANGE BEAT HIS ASS PLEASE IM BEGGING
THANK GOD
that's the most heel thing mjf has ever done. fuck him breaking up with cody. he eliminated orange
HELLO?!?!?!??!
please don't eliminate mjf my crops are dying
thank u wardlow. whoever u r
THANK U HANGMAN!!!!
ideally this ends with hangman and mjf. can you imagine that match? can you imagine my rights?
fuck you penelope ford what else have you done
JUNGLE BOY HOLY FUCK
OH GOD JUNGLE BOY AND HANGMAN but when did max get eliminated
OH HE DIDNT
oh my god.... oh my god it really is my rights...
SORRY AEW SAID DIRT RIGHTS !!!!!!
SHUT THE FUCK UP I'M GONNA SCREECH ABT THIS UNTIL THE END OF TIME
an upset? who was upset? i for one stan our southern californian kings
where can I get that blazer. so i can wear it with my tiddies out so jericho sees how ridiculous looks
me: shits on chris jericho
also me: sings hella loud to his theme
i have champagne should i pop it for him
ok me when i have to admit a customer is right and hager is my manager right behind me
OK THIS IS GOOD CONTENT SORRY
"Chicago has a hockey team and two baseball teams" and then the hard cut to the dude in the bears jacket made me shit myself
say bubbly. do it.
hager say sorry for jericho's dollar store headband challange
SCU LOOKS GOOD OMG
wait hold on can we talk abt how a black man handed chris "i played the grand wizard of the kkk in a movie" jericho his first L in a e dub
THE YOU GOT PINNED CHANTS FUCK YEAH
U GET UR DATE SCORPIO SKY
the melanie chants are sending me-
"i never meant to embarrass you" HEYOOO
"melanie gained a lot of weight since high school" "i like big butts and i cannot lie" SCORPIO MY FUCKING KING THANK YOU I OWE YOU MY LIFE
"I think its cuter than baby yoda-" ok... maybe he got it
MAKE IT A TITLE MATCH
FUCK YEAH OH MY GOD I CANT WAIT
oh my god scorpio sky i.... i...... I-
<censored bc minors follow me>
LE BITCH!!!!!! LE!!!! BITCH!!!!!!
hey sammy guevara 2008 dirt called she wants her maroon skinny jeans back
i'm kinkshaming proud n powerful
what did nakazawa and cutler ever do to anyone other than be good boys
scorpio sky finessed that title match and i'm frankly jealous
WHY BRING MARKO AND JUNGLE BOY THIS HURTS
LUCHASAURUS THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING
oh okay. okay. they're big. they're bug dudes. jesus damn.
can't blame hager. i wouldn't want to fight luchasaurus either i would have ran too he's big and clearly Better than u
big depressed that dynamite is only 2 hrs long
luchasaurus vs Peter Avalon???? ok.... ok.
"it looks like life has found a way" for this. i hope that peter Avalon survives for even a minute longer
anyway luchasaurus <censored>
good evening luchasaurus <censored>
i stan one dinosaur family and also luchasaurus <censored>
oh! private party and proud n powerful ok. dirt rights.
o the t shirt. maybe i'm crying.
that pin break holy fuck I love these two teams
holy vertical lift
i literally would have cried if they got that double stomp holy shit
Noah fence but this match needs to be faster bc i desperately need darby vs mox. my crops are dying
hurricanrana is still one of my fave moves in all of pro wrestling
isiah kassidy's leopard print ass. that's it. send the tweet.
that was so fucked up what the fuck???? i thot aye ee dub was better than that
Nick Jackson And His Ugly Shirt Make The Save
and thank god. would have sued if private party lost
DUSTIN?!?!?!?!?!?
i'm so <redacted> for mjf vs hangman none of you have a Clue
KENNY AND PAC SCREEEEEE
kenn...ny????????????
kenny :(
THIS! FUCKING! POP!
darby you dramatic fucking SHIT
god his theme goes so hard.
THE BODY BAG I!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I'M NOT READYYYYY
holy fucking shit.
is moxley huge or darby tiny
THAT NO SELL. JESUS.
suddenly I'm a whore all the sudden
i'm so goddamn tense I cant liveblog my butthole is clenched
the body bag moving is cool and I get it but it's also a little funny. maybe I'm drunk. per aew tradition. but it's a little drunk funny
don't talk to me I'm tense
AAAA!
oh my god he fucking killed Darby
yes darby lost but sorry. mox needed to paradigm shift him from the top rope to get the pin. that speaks. fucking. volumes.
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a-singleboat · 5 years
Text
Dear Future Self, Or Otherwise
A/N: So, here’s the ‘It Gets Better’ speech I promised. Honest, I was gonna make it into an actual fic but I liked this. Whatever’s in bold is the actual speech.
“Public speaking was never my thing in high school,” I started strong, staring out to the audience as my knees knocked together behind the podium. I was nervous, never having spoken in front of such a large crowd before. My eyes locked on a familiar face, giving me the courage to continue with my speech. “Public speaking was a fear of mine in high school, yet I got up in front of the freshmen of that year and gave this same speech that I’m about to deliver to you all now.”
“Dear future self,
Hi. I’m you, from the past. I want to know if the friends you have now, [names redacted] are still your friends. Have you had a boyfriend yet? Is he cute?
Right now, I’m excited to go to middle school. Sixth grade seems like it will be a big change for me. Do we make it? Are we happy?
Sincerely,
5th to 6th grade you
Fun fact of the day, this is something I took from an old diary that I had found shoved into the corner of my room. It’s kinda funny how things come back to us later in life.
Hi, me from the past. Boy, do I have a lot to tell you.
Bisexuality. Who knows what that is? According to most of the bigots and mis- or uninformed that I’ve run into over the years, it means that I’m confused, greedy, and selfish. “Why can’t you just pick a gender and stick with them?”
That’s the thing. I can’t. Being bisexual is in the nature of my being, not the sex of my partner. My sexuality also doesn’t define who I can be. It is not the only redeeming quality I have. When people ask me to introduce myself, I’ll say that I’m Annabelle Tang. I’m sixteen, in my senior year of high school. Then, when they ask for a “fun fact” about me, I’ll say that I enjoy reading or that I like to go on long walks when I have the time for them.
The first time I told someone outside my family that I was bisexual, was quick to say that they thought I was straight. That I didn’t “look” like someone who would be into that. Sexuality was a heavily sexed-up idea that only certain people could entertain.
For the first few months after the realization, I myself couldn’t tangle it. I was heavily into researching everything and anything I could, so that was the first thing I did. I looked for anything that could help me understand this. The word “Bisexual” showed up multiple times. More than multiple.
To clarify, no, your sexuality is not a diagnosis. It is not a sin or any of those other things. This was my way of understanding the newfound information.
Of course, it will all make sense as time goes on. Don’t force yourself into a label until you feel comfortable enough about it. It’s also perfectly okay to say that you don’t know or that you don’t want to tell a person. The choice is yours to make, not anyone else’s.
There’s still so much I want to be able to address and to say for you all, but there’s simply not enough time for that. I’ll leave you all with this.
Dear past self,
Hi. I’m you from the future. I want to let you know that we are no longer friends with those people. While it was sad to see them go and you miss them at times, you’ve actually grown into a group of friends that you had never thought in a million years you would be friends with. They’re amazing and I can’t wait for you to meet them. We have had a boyfriend, but the relationship didn’t last.
The amazing thing is that you have also had a girlfriend, who was one of the most spectacular people you will have ever met. Make sure to give her a kiss from me when you meet her.
We make it through middle school and we are happy. Getting out of bed was worth it and it always will be, even if you have to go to school on your birthday.
Sincerely,
Senior year you”
I took a deep breath after, gazing out to the audience. I couldn’t read their faces, but I caught onto that one familiar face once again and smiled. “Thank you.”
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