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moonstruckloverwritings · 2 years

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Yandere! Peter Parker x Reader (general)

His theme song for this post:

The best way I could describe a yandere Peter Parker is: he acts like a lost puppy.

Puppy eyes are a big go to for him. But I don’t think he’s doing it with the initial intention to manipulate. It’s the outcome, yes, but I think he genuinely is sad in those scenarios.

He would definitely start out knowing he liked you and would think he just fell head over heels in love at first sight. He’d immediately start tailing behind you everywhere.

He’d try to be friends, then drop hints at being more or make playful jokes about being together, (he’s not joking. Please notice me senpai) then he would start very openly (and badly) flirting and asking you out.

And on the other hand, he’s not just feeling overwhelming love for you. He’s terrified for your safety. He struggles with it at first. He can’t leave you because he loves you too much but if you’re associated with him you’re automatically subjected to the same dangers he is.

He fumbles that idea and possible solutions around for a while but it always comes out to the same answer. It’s not the best or most ethical but it’s the best answer he could come up with considering all the factors. So, he decides to kidnap you.

If you are willing to the new ‘arrangement’ he’s overjoyed and promises to be the best boyfriend. (Besides the confinement and limited freedoms.)

If you have powers or abilities he asks that you don’t use them. He also has other rules like:

You can’t leave his room without him, you can’t try escaping, you’re phone with either be restricted (like child locks on certain things or certain contacts) or taken completely, no arguing with him or being unnecessarily rude. There will be punishments for rule breaking.

He would never physically hurt you as a punishment. He doesn’t like seeing you hurt or upset. But confiscating things, freedoms, or putting you in a solitary confinement situation until you agree to be good again is generally the kind of punishments he would use.

Very very rarely, maybe in extreme situations, he might bring in spanking as a punishment. But he would absolutely hate it and it would break his heart to do it.

If you’re behaving well, he’d be a big sweetheart and do whatever he could for you. Extremely attentive and loves affection and gift giving. He will spoil you rotten.

Many movie nights and overly long conversations of him geeking out over his new Star Wars Lego set because he loves sharing his passions with you. And he wants you to do the same. If you like painting or drawing (or any other hobby), he’d get you any set you want and would love to hear you gush about what you made.

He would love to be affectionate with you. He’s a big cuddler. But if you rejected it at first he would be patient and understand that this is a big change for you. But if it’s been a while, like a few months, he’d start getting sad. Here comes the puppy eyes. He would think it was something wrong with him. Not the kidnapping he did but because you didn’t love him like he loved you. And he would immediately want to fix that.

“Is it how I look? Is it because you’re mad at me? Did I get you a gift you didn’t like?”

“Did I say or.. do something wrong?”

“What can I do?”

“No, I can’t let you go.. I’m sorry.”

“I did it for your protection!”

If you keep rejecting him, arguments like this will be frequent.

If you gave in, there would be no worries and things would go back to him spoiling you rotten.

He just wants to love and protect you. ♥️🕷

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

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The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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prettyboypucey · 3 years

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Weird ~ G.W.

Summary: George is gorgeous. Charlie is a meddler. The snow is cold. (this summary sucks...just read it)

Pairing: George Weasley x Y/N

Word Count: 2,404 (who do I think I am?)

Warnings: mentions of bullying. mentions of food/eating. george is unknowingly triggering? reader cries. idk? let me know if i missed something.

A/N: part 2? maybe? translations are for romanian via google translate. do not come for me if they are hella wrong.

Translations: draga - darling; dragoste - love; tampit - stupid

I had never been normal. From the time I was a toddler I had stars in my eyes and dirt on my knees. While the other kids in my grade were playing with dolls and dressing respectably, I was riding imaginary dragons and wearing mismatched socks with dungarees and a butterfly headband. Normalcy evaded me even further when at 11 years old, I got a letter declaring me a witch.

When I first came to Hogwarts I spent the majority of my time alone. It appeared that even children who could wave a stick around and makes things fly wanted nothing to do with the colorful little girl. Meeting Luna Lovegood in my second year was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Here was a girl who allowed me to be exactly who I was with no judgments. And then she introduced me to Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, and suddenly that little girl who thought her only friends would always be the rocks she painted faces on, had found her people.

Of course, being friends with Ginny Weasley meant knowing her many brothers. So after graduation when I went off to Romania to work with dragons it made me feel slightly better knowing Charlie Weasley would be there. He quickly took me under his wing and became the older brother figure I had never had. After working together for three years, and electing to stay at the sanctuary for the last two over the holidays, he had finally convinced me to come home with him. I was reluctant to leave the sanctuary - the one place I truly feel safe (despite the massive fire breathing creatures).

Charlie had warned me that being with one or two of the Weasleys was very different from being with the entire Weasley clan. Obviously I knew Charlie and Ginny, Ron had always been nice to me, and I had met Molly a handful of times in passing. However, Bill was known to be quite intimidating, Percy was supposedly very no-nonsense, and the twins (albeit never cruel) had a reputation of being hell-raisers.

Apparating to the edge of a marsh with Charlie by my side I could see the rising structure haphazardly balanced slightly ahead.

Pausing, I glanced at the back of the familiar red covered head, “I don’t know Charles, maybe I should just go back. I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Charlie very quickly rounded behind me to continue guiding me towards his home, “No, no, no, no, no. No. You’re not a burden to anyone draga. Keep your head up and if any of them give you grief - remind them of the giant, winged beasts you can feed them to.”

Quickly placing a kiss to the side of my head Charlie bounded ahead again to open the door and announce your arrival. Before I could toe off the first boot to leave next to the dozen other pairs in the entryway, a pair of arms had flung around my neck.

“Y/N! I missed you so much!”, Ginny pulled back, keeping her grip on my shoulders, to inspect for any major injuries.

I held onto her elbows, keeping her close, “Hi Gin, I missed you too. A lot. I’m loving this new look by the way.”

She reached up to brush the now short locks behind her ears. A grin on her face as the two of us looked the other over for the first time in months. Ginny was wrapped in a pretty baby pink sweater with shades of red and white running through it. The material was soft against my palm as I hooked it around her crooked elbow to follow her into the living area.

“You know”, she started, “I was starting to think maybe Charlie had let you get eaten or burnt to a crisp in the land of dragons. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me or left the sanctuary.”

“I’m sorry Ginny. It’s just that after everything, I had to keep myself busy.”

Ginny’s smile softened into one of understanding. The war had taken a part of all of us. Although Fred had recovered after many months, that fear of almost losing such a vital part of their family had rocked the entire Weasley family to its core.

“I get it, I do, but I worry about you. I just want you to know you’re not alone Y/N.”

I pulled the girl into another tight hug, “I know.”

Ginny pulled away first, clearing her throat, “Okay! Now that’s out of the way - it’s time to introduce the one and only Y/N L/N to the Weasley’s.”

I hummed, “Hmmm and which of us should be more scared?”

“Oh definitely the Weasleys.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting the Weasley family had gone much better than expected.

Molly had opened her arms and home to me as if I was one of her own children. By the time the night was over she had me stuffed full of warm food and drink and donning my very own coveted Weasley sweater, the lavender initial in the middle marking it as my own. Arthur had been very interested in my muggle parents and upbringing, questioning me about the functions of a rubber duck. Bill and his wife Fleur were the most stunning couple I have ever seen, and not nearly as intimidating as people portrayed them. Fleur was pleased when she found out I spoke a bit of conversational French and promised to have me over to Shell Cottage (apparently they have an amazing collection of wind chimes that I am dying to see). Percy was a bit more refined. Completely polite and friendly but he seemed reserved. Ginny had explained in one of her letters how much guilt Percy carried after the Battle of Hogwarts over how he had behaved in the years leading up to that day.

The twins were much different than I remembered them being from the few times we were around each other in school. The physical differences were clear - George’s missing ear and Fred’s dragging limp were both signs of the prices they paid in the war. More than that however, they had matured greatly. They were still happy and made sure to pull at least two pranks over the night, poor Molly nearly lost her voice after they blew up the turkey. However, there was something in their eyes that had been dimmed. Especially in George.

His twin almost died that night, and it reflected in George’s eyes each time he looked at his older brother. It was clear that he was still afraid because whenever Fred left a room George followed, never letting his brother out of his sight, and if he happened to lose track of him a panic began to swirl in his brown orbs.

I was in the middle of watching as George yet again made his way to Fred’s side, clapping a large hand on his twins shoulder and throwing his head back in laughter.

“So which one are you staring at dragoste?”, Charlie whispered as he appeared out of nowhere.

I ignored the burning in my cheeks as I looked away from the scene in front of me.

“I am not staring at either of them tampit.”

“Mhmm, sure, absolutely, I believe you.”, after a quick pause he said, “It’s George isn’t it?”

I turned and scoffed at him, “No!… How did you know?”

Charlie let out a chuckle, “Because I know you my little dragon. I also know my brother, and just between us, he definitely likes you as well.”

At this I let out an incredulous laugh and glanced back to where George was now telling a story, his hands moving animatedly. There was no way that George Weasley had even a remote attraction to me. He was kind, strong, clever, and so bloody gorgeous it truly was a privilege to look at him. And I am…me. Nothing special. Just a girl who had more dragon friends than human ones and whose hands were covered in scars and callouses and whose socks never matched and had never even kissed a man before. So no, there was no way that George Weasley would ever like me.

“Hey. I know that look Y/N. Stop those thoughts right this bloody second.”

“Charles it really is annoying when you read me like that.”

Throwing his arm over my shoulder he began to lead me towards the twins, “Yes I know and I am sorry in advance but this needs to be done. Fred!”

Charlie’s voice had gone from a rushed whisper to a jovial shout when we reached George, Fred, and Ron by the fireplace. George’s smile as he turned to look at us sent a million butterflies off in my tummy.

“So Freddy, I was hoping you could help me out with a top secret project tomorrow for mum and maybe show me around the joke shop. I heard you added some new displays that I want to check out.”

“Sure Charlie”, Fred glanced at George as he spoke, “I’m sure we can make some time for our favorite brother.”

Ignoring Rons protest, Charlie gripped my shoulders and pushed me in front of him, “Actually George I was thinking you could stay here and show Y/N around the area. She mentioned wanting to talk a walk tomorrow and I would hate to disappoint her on her first Christmas out of the sanctuary.”

“Um-”

I interrupted the rejection coming from George, “No please, I would hate to be a bother and make you be stuck with me all day. I’m sure Ginny can take me.”

George smiled and shook his head, “No it’s completely fine Y/N. I would be happy to show you around.”

“Okay great! It’s settled then!”, Charlie looked rather too pleased with himself and obviously missed the look exchanged by his identical younger brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the Burrow was a flurry of movement as everyone began their day. Apparently Charlie and Fred weren’t the only ones on their way out. The others still had some last minute gift shopping to do and Ron was spending the day with Hermione’s muggle family. After breakfast, a quick wink from Charlie, and a slam of the front door - George and I were alone in the house.

The two of us stood facing one another in the living room for a few awkward moments before George spoke, “Well, um, did you want to head out as well?”

“Oh sure! Yes, let me just grab my boots really quickly.”

George led me out the door and onto the snow covered path towards the small, iced over river. Nothing was said for a while, the only sound was the crunch of snow under our boots and the occasional sniffle from one of our red noses. I was mentally imagining all the ways I was going to kick Charlie’s ass when he got back for suggesting a walk in the middle of winter when we came to the top of a hill and stopped.

Everything as far as the eye could see was blanketed in sheets of white. Stomping my boots down into the fresh snow, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as the snow gave way underfoot. Feeling a pair of eyes on me I remembered that I wasn’t alone and turned to see George watching me with an unidentifiable look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that. I liked the feeling of the crunch of the snow I guess. Sorry.”

George grinned, “You don’t have to apologize. It was cute.”

I could feel my face flush at his words. His smile grew even wider at the sight of my heated face. My gaze dropped from his pretty face down to my boots. I could feel the thick socks I had on beginning to grow cold and wet from how long we’d been outside. Looking back up I could see George’s deep eyes glaze over. Assuming it was because he had been apart from Fred so long I glanced out at the view one last time before turning back the way we came.

“We should probably get back. We’ve been gone a while and my toes are getting wet. I feel bad enough that Charlie forced you to do this anyways without you getting frostbite or something. I’ve had frostbite, it’s not fun. And now I’m rambling. I’m sorry. Sorry”

George was shaking his head at me and said, “You are so weird.”

Ouch. My chest tightened and the small smile I had been wearing dropped from my face. If I had been able to see past the tears forming in my eyes that were making my sight blurry, I would have seen George’s face do the same. Unfortunately, all I could focus on was that word. Weird. Strange. Abnormal. Freak.

Weird weird weird.

The walk back was silent. A thick tension surrounded you both as thick snow flurries began to swirl down in the midmorning air. Just as thick was the lump forming in my throat as I fought back tears. I know I shouldn’t let his words affect me. He’s just some guy. But deep down I also know that he’s not just some guy. This is George fricking Weasley. With his stupid perfect face and gorgeous eyes and his loyalty to his family. I couldn’t help but be enamored with him from the moment I walked in the Weasley’s front door. So it hurt to hear the man I liked call me that nasty word that has haunted me my entire life.

When we finally reached the Burrow, George tried to reach for my arm but I pulled away and ran into the house. I could hear that some of the others had returned and really wanted to avoid a confrontation. Once again, luck wasn’t on my side. Charlie came walking out of the kitchen and saw me in the entryway. His face immediately became concerned at the sight of me and he lowered the sandwich he had from his mouth.

“Draga?”, Charlie’s voice followed me as I finally reached the stairs and launched upstairs.

As I reached the first landing I heard him speak again, his voice rough and hard.

“What did you do?”

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter writing #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #charlie weasley #charlie weasley x platonic!reader #charlie weasley imagine #hp #harry potter

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chocolatecakecas · 3 years

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The Fabric of Your Life

@spnprideweek day 1: coming out/flags

warnings: internalized biphobia, implied past physical abuse, alcohol mention

The first time Dean watched Star Wars, he was ten and his dad dumped him and Sammy at some crappy motel with a promise that he'd return soon. Dad hadn't bothered to register either of them in the local school, since it was supposed to be a "milkrun", so by day four they were both climbing the walls. And Dean was sick of it, so he took the money he had left, after buying a box of cereal and a three pack of mac and cheese at the gas station, and dragged Sammy to the video store he saw when they drove into town. He rented, Star Wars: A New Hope because he remembered some kid at their last school wouldn't shut up about it, and wow was that kid right. Dean loved everything about it, especially Han Solo, with his fast ship, and his blaster and his cool hair and, smooth talking. Every time he was on screen, Dean got this weird funny, excited feeling in his tummy, and he assumed it was because he wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

(read the rest under the cut or read on ao3)

It was the same feeling he'd get later, whenever he caught an old western at the movies and Clint Eastwood or John Wayne would saunter across the screen, but he tried not to think about it too hard.

When Dean was fifteen they were stuck in some small town in Nebraska for four months. The town was shit, but Dean had luckily made friends with this guy named Jake Preston who was two years older than him. They were practically inseparable, sneaking into movies, late night joyrides in Jake's crappy pick up, swiping beers from Mr. Preston to drink under the bleachers. And sometimes when Jake would do a successful donut with his truck, or con their way out of trouble, or wink at Dean before he snuck them out of school early, he'd get that same funny feeling in his stomach. But Dean would just chalk it up to admiring the guy for being so smooth and getting away with anything. Of course until the night they were drunk on the bleachers and Jake grabbed Dean by the shirt, smashing their lips together. And after the momentary shock, Dean found himself pulling Jake closer for more. But then Jake angrily shoved him away, as if it was Dean's fault and left without a word, leaving him alone under the bleachers, terrified about what he had just done and wondering if Jake would tell anyone at school. But it didn't matter because they quickly left town the next day, his Dad saying he finished up the hunt, so for years, Dean would just shove that memory off as a drunken accident.

When Dean was twenty, he kissed Lee Webb for the first time. They had snuck off while their Dads wrapped up the hunt, swiping a few of John's beers before heading to their motel room. They acted like assholes, loudly recalling the antics they had got up to on the hunt. And Dean found himself unable to look away from Lee's smile, his eye, his arms, laughing loudly at his jokes and felt that funny feeling in his stomach whenever Lee would laugh. And the next thing Dean knew, he was kissing him like he'd done with girls hundreds of times, but hadn't with another boy sinc-not in years. But unlike with girls, Dean was quickly pulling away horrified at his own actions. But then Lee was pulling him back in, deepening the kiss as he struggled to get Dean's flannel unbuttoned. And just as Dean was starting to realize that Lee wasn't going to angrily shove him away, and that maybe this was okay, he heard the door unlock, and was met with a very drunk John Winchester, who quickly made his opinions about the scene before him, known. And Dean quickly realized that he couldn't just push off this off as some drunken mistake, because that's the moment when he first knew.

And now at age 42, he's happily married with a handful of kids that are his in every way that matters, living in the suburbs with a big kitchen and a deck out back, and it should make those moments feel like a lifetime ago.

But he's still somehow there. They're still fresh in his mind as if they happened a few days ago, the feeling of fear still fresh. Even though he's come so damn far, he's gotten farther than he ever thought he would, he still feels like that terrified little kid again.

All because of some stupid, flimsy piece of fabric.

And Dean knows it's ridiculous. He's married to a man for gods sake, a man who he kisses in public and fights with in the grocery store and who's hand he holds when they walk down the street. And it's not like he's worried about anyone's reaction, since they were all at the wedding, they've been to dinner at their house multiple time, not to mention it would be a little hypocritical of pretty much everyone he knows.

And Dean knows all of that, but he still just feels li-

With a heavy sigh, Dean sits on the corner of the bed running his hands through his hair.

Because it's not that he doesn't want the "label", or thinks that he needs to have it or thinks the label is wrong. He wants the label. He likes the idea of being able to call it something. And he knows it's the right one because during the very few times he was brave enough to google it, he realized it was the one that fits the best.

So why can't he just hav-

Pulling his hands away from his face, he slowly turns to look across the bed, heart leaping into his throat when he catches sight of it. And he finds himself frozen, unable to look a way, let alone reach out for it.

And Dean knows he's being ridiculous because he's faced far worse than this. He's died so many times he's lost count, he's saved the world multiple times, he's killed monsters, ancient cosmic beings, been to other dimensions, he's fought Heaven and Hell, and damnit he's even fought God.

But after all of that, he's still afraid of a little fucking scrap of pink, purple and blue fabric currently clashing with the floral comforter. Paralyzed by fear at the sight of it.

So with a grunt Dean practically launches himself across the bed grabbing the offending object and he's on his feet again pacing around the room.

It's just a piece of fabric. It's just a word.

But you know it's more than that.

And something drops deep in the pit of Dean's stomach, as that familiar feeling of fear continues to creep over him, consuming his thoughts.

Because it's more than just a piece if fabric, it's more than just a word and Dean knows that. To him it means something more, and god he wants to have what it means.

Why can't he just let himself wan-

Dean's footsteps stall, and he finds himself standing in front of the mirror.

And when he meets his gaze, all he can see is that confused little boy looking back, that terrified fifteen year old kid, the twenty year old who was just caught and nearly killed by his own Da-no.

Dean shuts that thought down while he's ahead. Because he learned a long time ago not to let his father dictate his life choices, he learned how to stop letting his ghost prevent him from doing what he wants. He's already worked through and made peace with that trauma, well as much as you can work through that kinda crap, that is. But he's come a long way, he's married, he's got kids, he's got a family, he's got a life that he's damn proud of. So he's sure as hell not not gonna let John Winchester have a place in this.

Because this is about Dean. And what Dean wants.

So shaking his head, Dean finds his eyes in the mirror again.

It's just a piece of fabric. It's just a word. And it's a word Dean wants to own. It's a piece of fabric Dean wants to hold. So why the hell can't he just le-

Because you still can't let yourself have what you want.

His heart skips in his chest as he grips the dresser attached to the mirror

After everything he's been through. After saving the world, and Cas's confession, and the wedding, and the house in the suburbs. He let himself have Cas, but he can't let himself have this thing and-

Oh.

Dean can barely admit it to himself most of the time, but he's aware that he believes that wanting, is selfish. That he thinks his wants are inherently selfish things and so he can't let himself want. And logically he knows that's crazy because everybody wants something, but he jus-can't let himself. And for years he could barely let himself think about wanting Cas, and then after everything that happened he jus-he to let himself be selfish just once and want him. But that was only after he knew Cas wanted him too, which made Dean's want, "unselfish" because it would make Cas happy too. That want was technically for both of them, and that's what he told himself.

And that's why Dean hasn't been able to let himself want the label too.

Because wanting the label is something, just for himself.

And Dean chuckles lowly at the irony. Dean Winchester has free will for the first time in his life, and he still just can't let himself have what he wants.

He rubs a hand down his face, pausing when he spots the fabric in the mirror. Dean slowly looks down at his other hand to see it clutched in a white knuckled grip.

And he thinks of the way he felt when he first saw it on some website, after finally convinced himself to open his laptop in the late hours of the night all those years ago. And he thinks of the smile on Sam's face when he handed it to him after their weekly Friday night dinner, as he was on the way out the door. And how he never specifically talked about it with him, but Sam seemed to know anyway, like always. He thinks of Cas' understanding smile as he softly told him he definitely didn't need it if he wasn't ready or didn't want it, and how he didn't even have to come today. And how he never expressed any of this to him, but Cas seemed to know, like always.

And he thinks of how he might feel, holding the scrap of fabric a little more gently. And he thinks of how he might feel holding it today, where everyone can see.

And he makes his choice.

So with unsteady hands he releases his iron grip, and carefully threads it through one of his belt loops. He squeezes his eyes shut, as he tilts his head back up towards the mirror. Then he slowly opens them.

Dean's breath catches when he sees as the flag hanging at his hip, stopping just above his knee. He takes a moment just to stare at the way it sways slightly, side to side. Then his eyes continue their ascent upwards until they meet his face in the mirror. And he finds a small smile pulling at his lips, reflection becoming a little blurred.

Because for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester is going to let himself have what he wants.

Simply because, he wants it.

He spends the next few minutes just staring at his reflection like an idiot, and that thought causes the smile to grow wider, tipping his head back as a soft laugh bubbles up his throat.

But god he's felt lighter than he has in years.

"Everyone's here, are you ready to go?" Cas asks suddenly appearing in the doorway with a soft smile as Dean meets his eye in the mirror. His hair is a mess like always, but he's decked out in a rainbow striped shirt and socks, and he's even got a little flag painted on his cheek, and his smile grows even wider as his eyes pan down to Dean's waist.

And in three strides Dean's across the room and wrapped in his arms, staring into those wide eyes.

"I'm bisexual" Dean chokes out suddenly, voice thick as he releases a shaky breath he didn't realize he was holding. He quickly looks down, unable to meet Cas’ eye, unable to look at his reaction. Then hands are cupping his cheeks, slowly tilting his head upwards.

"I'm so proud of you" Cas whispers, thumbs wiping away stray tears Dean hadn't realized where falling. It pulls a watery laugh from his chest.

"Cmon, let's go before Sam starts bitchin’ about how late we are" Dean laughs, trying not to think too much about how big of a deal what he just said was. And he knows Cas can see right through him, but he thankfully lets it slide. But not before pressing a soft kiss to Dean's lips, and leading the way into the living room.

And later when Dean's standing downtown, he realizes he's more relaxed than he thought he'd be. Luckily nobody made a big deal about the flag at Dean's hip, and hell he even let Jack paint three little stripes on his cheek, but he definitely didn't miss the wide smile on Sam's face. And when they got to the small Pride event, Dean was surprised see a decent amount of people sporting the same colors, one girl even had her hair dyed the same colors, each person shooting Dean a small smile of acknowledgement. And now with Cas' arms wrapped around his waist, watching Claire, Kaia and Jack all dance around to the music blasting in the streets, as he wonders where Sam and Eileen have gone, he tries to memorize how he feels at this exact moment. Because he rea-

His thought is cut short by Cas suddenly pulling him down for a kiss, like he’d done a billion times before, but one of his hands comes to rest by the flag at his hip.

"I really am so proud of you" Cas whispers into the kiss, and Dean can feel the smile stretching across his lips, pulling him closer.

Yeah. Lighter than he's felt in years.

Tag list:

(please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed💛)

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @shelikestv @bichaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @subbydean @organicpurplepants @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @writtendevastation

@tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @sinnabonka @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @icefire149 @dakiaty @seffersonjtarship @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @jewishdeanwinchester @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @aestheticflyer26

@slipper007 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-novak @lyonessrampant @angelic-bee-enthusiast @nguyenxtrang @idiot-on-the-hill @fandoms-and-things @doreschary @confix @itsanending @thiscowboyisbisexual @milfcodeddean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @smokerdean

#okay fuck it. here it is #i really wasn't going to post this because like. this is a LOT and a lot of this is me projecting my thought process so pls be kind if its #shit or doesnt make sense or seems a little out there asffhakfha #i wasnt gonna write anything bc i knew this would make me insane and i was right. it did #this is quite literally so much projection.#literally this is 90% me projecting my 'bisexual journey' onto dean but i do think this would be his thought process i do #my bi dean manifesto #basically. deans bisexual journey with a psychoanalysis #bisexual #<<<<yay colors #bec writes #dean winchester #destiel #spnprideweek #destiel fic #castiel #jack kline #claire novak #sammy #eileen leahy #kaia nieves #deancas #casdean #destiel fanfic #qaslight #userzaddy #seraphcastiel #rambleoncas #offbeattraxx #friendshapedcastiel

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probably-not-a-rocketscientist · 3 years

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calculated love and complicated confessions

summary: your time on cloverfield station has lead you to two conclusions: love is complicated and not everyone is who they seem

warnings: mutual pining, slight angst with a happy ending, mention of harm to others, one (1) german phrase that i'm pretty sure i butchered

a/n: did i write this all week when i should have been studying for my finals? yes. also, i saw this movie three years ago in chinese so i might have gotten some details wrong. english is not my first language so constructive criticism is encouraged. enjoy!

——

As an engineer, you knew the importance of trial and error. However, you did not expect for it to keep you in space for nearly three year with seven other scientist. You all found a sense of family with each other, but you couldn't help the need of being on earth grow every day.

One crew member you payed particularly close attention to was Ernst Schmidt. You noticed the little things about him; like how he would comb his fingers through his hair when it fell to his face because he insisted on keeping it long, or when he would curse in his native tongue when he got frustrated with his work.

After a while, the whole station seemed to have caught on to your fondness for Schmidt, except the physicist himself. He was oblivious to the constant teasing by the other crewmates, thinking it was only because of how close you two were as friends.

However, he wasn't the only clueless person on the station. You had failed to notice all the advances that Schmidt had made — like his hands lingering on to yours for a second more when they touched, or always insisting on being paired with you when you all were sent to do assignments throughout the deck. He found your presence to be intoxicating, but didn't push too far in fear that you didn't feel the same way.

—

The day before another test, you stayed in the dining room all night reviewing your calculations. You were almost positive that they were correct, but it would kill you if you were the one responsible for the accelerator being unsuccessful.

You were so focused on your work that you didn't notice how quiet the station was. You checked your wristwatch and it was well over midnight. Sleep wasn't a priority for you right now, but you knew you needed to be well rested for the test in a couple of hours.

Right as you were about to get up, Schmidt entered the room. His hair was messy and he was in sweatpants and a t-shirt. A pair of wire-framed glasses sat on his face, something he only wore when he forgot to put in his contacts — or in this case, retrieving an item from the kitchen at this ungodly hour. You forced yourself to look away, worried that you were starring at him for too long.

"Why are you still working? It's very late," he comments as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water.

"I'm just nervous about tomorrow. We don't have a lot of firings left and I want to get this right," you responded.

"You've been working non-stop for the past month, I'm certain you will do just fine," he reassured with a smile. "And if not, I will take over your post."

"The last time I checked, I had one more PhD than you."

"I'll catch up eventually, you know."

He was fidgeting with his water bottle, unsure how to prolong this conversation. "Let me walk you back to your quarters, you need the sleep."

Without hesitation, you rose from your chair and began walking beside him. Walking through the halls of the station at night usually made you uneasy, but Schmidt's presence made it slightly more comfortable. The heavy clanking of your steel-toed work boots contrasted the light thumps of his sneakers.

After a few more paces, you arrived at your room. You punched in your passcode and the door slid open.

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for making sure I got back safely," you joked.

"Of course," he responded.

You could tell that he was also tired so you didn't want to hold him for too long. "Goodnight Schmidt," you bid.

"Goodnight liebling," he responded. He began walking back to his own room before you could process what he said.

"What does that mean?" you questioned.

"You'll understand soon enough," he answered without looking back.

Even though you were confused by his response, you closed your door and locked it. Exhausted, you fell onto your mattress without taking your boots or jumpsuit off. Within a few seconds you felt your eyelids getting heavy and slipped into your sleep.

—

The control room was silent, worried that any movement or noise would cause the dial to turn in the unfavorable direction. The particle accelerator was fired less than a minute ago and the dial was slightly moving in between the red and green zones. This was first time the machine had been able to turn on and to have it successfully work would be nothing short of a miracle.

All of you held your breath as the dial began to turn again, this time in the green. Suddenly, it lowered significantly towards the safety levels.

It worked.

Cheers and laughter filled the room as you all celebrated the victory. After years of failures and dead-ends, the feeling of achievement was exhilarating.

—

You were thrown into chaos when you got back to earth. After the return shuttle landed in the Atlantic, a helicopter took you all back to mission control in London. Everyday consisted of either physical test to make sure the artificial gravity didn't have any negative effects on your body, or press conferences about how the eight of you solved the energy crisis. You couldn't turn on the news without some mention of the Shepard, but you were just glad to be home.

By the end of the month, you and the rest of the crew were burned out, both mentally and physically. You, Tam, Hamilton, and Mundy decided to stay in London and lead a team at mission control to monitor the Shepard's status. Kiel, Acosta, and Volkov were to return to their families and respective countries tomorrow. You hadn't heard much from Schmidt, but you assumed that he would return to his life in Germany. Since today was the last day all of you be together for a while, Hamilton decided to take you all to a pub downtown.

You watched the others play, or at least attempt to play, billiards closely from the bar. Your feet were aching so you decided to sit down but you were still actively encouraging them. After a couple rounds, Schmidt walked over towards you.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked politely.

"It's all yours," you gestured. He pulled out the stool and sat with his back facing the tabletop. You notice his outfit, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark trousers. It was a change from his usual jumpsuit uniform and a polo shirt with jeans.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, letting the soft conversations of the pub fill the empty space between you. It was almost a bittersweet moment; one of the last moments you would spend together.

Almost as if he read your mind, he answered your thought. "I'm not going back to Germany," he said.

A sigh of relief rang through your head, but you still couldn't help but be curious about his decision. "Why not? You probably have hundreds of women lining up to be with the 'German man that saved the world'," you joked.

He was unresponsive to your comment as he gathered his thoughts. His demeaner changed and he shifted in his seat so that now he was facing you. "Can I make a confession?" he asked.

"Of course, Schmidt," you replied. Now you were worried that something was wrong. He wasn't one for serious conversations so you knew this was important.

"As you may know, my country has been trying to start a war with Russia for nearly a decade. When the Shepard was built, the government sent me as a spy to prevent it from working. I was suppose to send logs of my progress back to them, but I never did. The day before we activated the device, I received a transmission ordering me crash the station into the ocean with all crew member on board. If I go back to Germany, they will have me arrested for treason."

You were shocked by his words and couldn't think of anything to say. You knew that Schmidt would never betray the crew, and apparently the cost of that was being exiled from his own country.

He was now looking down on the floor, worried that he would see disappointment in your eyes if he looked up. "Can you please say something?" he pleaded.

"Why didn't you do it? You knew this was the result, yet you still made the sacrifice? Why?" you asked. You brought your hand to cup his face, tilting his gaze so he was now looking down at you. Your thumb ran over his cheek as an attempt to comfort him.

"I did it for you. And I would do it all again if it meant I could see your smile, even for just one more minute. I understand if you want nothing to do with me after today, but you deserve to know the truth."

It wasn't until now that you realized how close in proximity you were to him. You could smell the cologne he was wearing; citrus with a hint of firewood. Flammable items like fragrance and hairspray weren't allowed on the station, but you could still identify the scent as his own.

"I guess it's my turn to make a confession, right? To even things out," you half-whispered. You continued to move closer to him slowly, seeing if he showed any sign of resistance. His eyes were now fixed on your lips, and yours to his. Deciding to take the final step, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

The kiss was slow but filled with passion, the result of bottled up feelings for the past three year. He tasted like cigarettes and tap beer, exactly how you imagined him. His hands traveled down to your waist and attempted to pull you in as close as he could from the awkward position you both were in. A small moan escapes your lips from the contact, a sound that he found to be his favorite.

You pull away moments later to catch a breath of air. His quick breathing was in sync with yours and you let out a slight laugh of relief.

The intimate moment was interrupted by cheering and whistling coming from the billiards table. It was a mix of 'finally's and 'about time's. Your crewmates had a habit of embarrassing you and apparently it applied to public spaces as well. You put your head on Schmidt's shoulder to try to shield yourself from them.

"Should we go over there and say something?" you asked. The lighting in the pub wasn't great, but you could've swore you saw Mundy hand Tam £20.

"In a minute. I want to savour this moment for as long as possible."

#the cloverfield paradox #ernst schmidt #ernst schmidt x reader #schmidt x reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl x reader

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obwjam · 3 years

Note

Ok so I loved your ‘Anakin gets shrunk’ thing but now I’m also imagining a scenario in which the tiny is suddenly as tall as their giant friends.

AH THANK U i’m glad you liked it 🥺🥺 but also yes i think about this all the time too..... mayhaps it would go something like this

————

It happened suddenly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where only a few people were paying attention because nobody thought it was going to work. They had finally made significant progress on their mission to reverse engineer the Separatist weapon that shrunk Anakin Skywalker to just a few inches tall, and a few members of the Jedi Council were eager to see if the nonstop work had paid off. Standing near him was Jayla, his lifelong tiny friend who had helped keep Anakin sane during the worst month of his life. There was a non-zero chance this antidote wasn’t going to work, so she was on standby in case something went wrong.

It worked, though. Maybe a little too well.

There was a blinding light that filled the medical bay as the growth ray was activated. Anakin felt like his body was being torn apart before the pain melted and his eyes adjusted to the room. Wow, everything is so much brighter.

“Anakin!” came the excited and relieved voice of Obi-Wan.

“Did... did it work?” Anakin asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, thank the Force, it did— oh my...”

Sitting on the table to Anakin, there was a new person in the room. It was Jayla, who was no longer four inches tall and instead seemed to be taller than even the five-and-a-half-foot Ahsoka. A splitting headache was all that was left after the fire in her body subsided. No matter how many times she blinked, she couldn’t see clearly.

Anakin turned, following Obi-Wan’s gaze. His jaw just about hit the floor. “What the...”

“Ugh, why do I feel so—woah...” Jayla slurred through her words, and her voice suddenly sounded like she was screaming. It felt like the words were traveling from her brain to her mouth in slow motion. Through the pain in her head, she strained her eyes to try and make out the figures in front of her. She took a shortened breath. Why did everything feel so closed in?

A concerned Jayla? was the only thing she heard before her eyes rolled back and she passed out right on the table.

Anakin and Obi-Wan rushed to help her as Ahsoka, Yoda, Plo Koon and Mace Windu watched in subdued shock.

Ahsoka was the one to break the silence. “Uhm... what just happened?”

Nobody really had an answer. They threw out speculations as Anakin stood at Jayla’s bedside, making sure she was okay. It didn’t take long for her eyes to start fluttering.

Anakin waved his hand and shushed the group as Jayla stirred awake. At first, her eyelids remained heavy and she could barely make out what she was seeing. But suddenly, the face in front of her took shape. Anakin was shockingly close to her, and yet, he didn’t look big at all. It must not have worked.

“Anakin...” she muttered, finding her voice. “What happened? I got the worst headache... oh kriff, that thing didn’t work, did it?”

“Jay,” Anakin cut her off. “It... it did work.”

Jayla blinked, thoroughly confused. “Um, are you joking? You’re still tiny.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Then why—“ she started, but once she looked over to where Obi-Wan’s voice was coming from, she nearly swallowed her tongue. Obi-Wan was eye-level, but he wasn’t bending down, and his face didn’t take up her entire view. In fact, he was several feet away, but it felt like he was right next to her. She tried to reach into the Force to figure out what was going on, but she flinched away when a thousand different sensations flooded her mind. It hurt almost as bad as the headache.

“Take it easy!” Anakin cautioned as Jayla shot up, her eyes wide. Stars flashed briefly in her vision. Her limbs felt like jelly. “You don’t look so good.”

“Stop, stop...” Jayla squeezed her eyes shut as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “You’re talking too loud.”

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, a look of concern passing between them. The Jedi in the corner stayed put, partially so they didn’t startle Jayla and partially because they were still in shock.

Jayla stared at her feet and took a few deep breaths as she allowed the world around her to normalize in her brain. Even though the floor was so far away from her now, she could still see it in excruciating detail. She swung her legs a few times, gasping when the tips of her toes brushed against the cool tile. When she remembered the Jedi standing in the corner of the room, she glanced up, only able to hold eye contact for just a few uncomfortable seconds before moving her head back down. The Force confirmed what seemed too impossible to be true — not only did the antidote grow Anakin back, but it grew her, too.

“I’m... uh. Wow. I’m really... wow,” Jayla breathed, eyes still trained downward. “This is... really weird.”

“How do you feel?” Obi-Wan was now standing next to the bed. His mind was racing to find a potential explanation for what was in front of him.

“Um. Confused,” she said, still getting used to the projection of her voice. She was too afraid to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “Everything feels loud.”

“How can something feel loud?” Anakin questioned.

“I dunno! It’s... it’s like my senses have been dialed up to 100. Like something is bound to happen at any moment.”

“Sounds like you’re just a bit anxious,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t blame you.”

“No no, it’s more than that. Like... like I can hear what’s going on outside the door. All the people walking by, how their footsteps sound. And how Rex is standing in the hallway and trying to act like he’s not nervous but he’s really freaking out ‘cause he doesn’t know why it’s taking so long and he’s assuming it didn’t work. And the medical droid — the one over there, across the room — it’s making some sedative. Mixing bacta with... something green. It smells awful in here, too, and it’s really distracting.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. Neither of them had sensed Rex outside the room, much less what he was feeling, and the medical droid was too far away to make out the labels of what it was mixing. They certainly couldn’t hear anything going on outside of their little huddle. And the room didn’t even have a smell.

“Hmm.” Obi-Wan calmly rubbed his chin, casting a sideways glance at the other Jedi masters in the room. They seemed to all be thinking the same thing. “We can discuss this later, Jayla. Right now, we need to make sure both of your vitals are stable.”

Jayla nodded, again closing her eyes in an attempt to reduce her bubble of perception. She couldn’t take all the noise.

“Ahsoka, please keep Anakin and Jayla company and let me know if there are any anomalies in their readings. Masters, if you don’t mind?” Obi-Wan jerked his head to the door. Yoda, Plo Koon and Mace Windu, who had stayed surprisingly silent through the whole ordeal, followed Obi-Wan into the hall. They were a little astounded to see Rex as described: leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his fingers gripped tightly around his armor. He perked up when he saw the group of Jedi, but didn’t say anything as they moved off to the side. If they didn’t know any better, they would have just assumed he was tense about being in the Jedi Temple.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” Obi-Wan started. “What went wrong?”

“Too close, she was standing, when we fired our antidote,” Yoda said with confidence. “Caught in its range, she was.”

“I agree,” Mace chimed in. “Though that doesn’t explain why it has the exact same effect on her when it was only intended to reverse what had been done to Skywalker.”

“Maybe the effect wasn’t the same. She seems to have this... heightened connection to the Force,” Obi-Wan offered. “I knew she was strong with it before, but now...”

“It seems that the strength of her abilities grew with her physical body,” Plo finished.

“But Skywalker’s connection to the Force was never diminished,” Mace said. “Besides, that’s not how the Force works.”

“Possible, it may be, that this is not a matter concerning the Force,” Yoda said, drawing the attention of the other matters. “Hyper-attentive, her species is. Always like this, she could have been.”

The four Jedi considered that possibility. It made sense on the surface — she had always been quick and perceptive, and seemed to sense things coming before they happened. Now that she was their size, she was just interpreting her surroundings like normal, but on a much bigger scale, which allowed for picking up on things that humans or togrutas or anyone else would miss.

“If that is the case, then I’m afraid our little Jayla is going to be very overwhelmed by her new world,” Obi-Wan posited. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

“We don’t even know how long she’ll be like this,” Mace stressed. “The truth of the matter is we have no idea how either of them will react to this antidote in the long-term. We need to keep a close eye on both of them, at all times.”

“Leave that to me,” Obi-Wan said. He was growing increasingly worried about how Jayla was taking all of this. He wanted to be there for her.

“Master Yoda and I can analyze the readings to see if we can find anything helpful,” Plo looked down to Yoda, who nodded in acknowledgment. “It will take some time, but as long as their vitals are stable, I see no reason to keep them cooped up in the temple.”

“We still have this war to deal with,” Mace grumbled.

“We can’t send them back out there. Especially Jayla. Not yet,” Obi-Wan protested. “We need to run more tests first.”

“With all due respect, Master Kenobi, there’s only so much a medical droid can tell us,” Plo responded. “We may have to see them in action to get a better sense of their boundaries.”

Obi-Wan considered this. “For Anakin, I suppose I agree with that. But we don’t know what our antidote did to Jayla, or what it will do. We should keep her here for a while.”

“She won’t like that,” Plo said.

“It doesn’t matter what she likes or not. We have a responsibility to keep her safe.”

Mace turned to Yoda, who had stayed silent in the debate. “Master Yoda, do you feel comfortable letting Jayla go out on the battlefield with Skywalker and Padawan Tano once she settles down? If she’s really as perceptive as you think, she could be a huge asset.”

Yoda hummed. While the idea of throwing Jayla back into battle like nothing happened felt odd to him and he was concerned with putting too much on her plate, he also agreed with Mace’s reasoning. The situation in the galaxy was dire, and they needed all the Jedi they could get to fight off the growing influence of the dark side. Plus, he knew his former padawan would adamantly refuse to stay in the temple.

“She may go. But careful, we must be. Know not how she will react to such a chaotic environment.”

“Very well, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said. If Yoda thought it was okay, he supposed he could go along with it. “She’ll have me, Anakin, Ahsoka and Rex with her. She’ll be well protected.”

The Jedi all nodded, feeling slightly better about the situation. Obi-Wan watched as the other three filed back into the medbay. He made his way over to Rex, whose anxiety was easily sensible now. He sure had a lot of explaining to do.

————-

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? I don’t think you understand how weird this is for me right now.”

“No, no, I think I understand perfectly. Did you forget the last month?”

“That was different!”

“Please! I wasn’t going around touching everything like I just woke up from stasis.”

“I’ve never held a book before, okay? I had to see what it was like!”

Anakin and Ahsoka were taking Jayla on a grand re-tour of the Jedi Temple. The place was almost unrecognizable at Jayla’s new height of five feet and eight inches. She didn’t understand how she was still so much shorter than Anakin.

“Come on, master,” Ahsoka dared to interject. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little unfair?”

“Psh, no way. Suddenly being tall is way less awkward than suddenly being small.”

“Is it, though?” Jayla said, finding a windowsill to lean against. She wasn’t used to this much walking. “I feel so... exposed. Everyone can see me now.”

“Isn’t that nice, though?” Ahsoka asked. “I mean, don’t you want people to notice you?”

“I guess...” Jayla trailed off, tracing her finger along her wrist. “It’s just really overwhelming. It feels like everyone’s staring at me.”

“I think they are,” Anakin muttered. Word traveled fast in the walls of the temple.

“I never realized you had a tattoo,” Ahsoka said, noticing for the first time the intricate symbol on Jayla��s wrist.

“Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s something everyone in my village gets. Or, got. Here.” She held her wrist out, still getting used to the fact that it was the same size as everyone else’s. “These symbols here, that’s a language. I never actually got to learn it fully, and I’ve forgotten almost all of it, but it means al’hora dessili. Clan of Al. The animal-looking thing is a corano. It’s part of ancient legend. It symbolizes intuition, which I guess was the trait that was most prevalent in me when I was young.”

“How could they have known?” Ahsoka asked. “I mean, didn’t the council come and find you when you were an infant?”

Jayla sniffed a laugh. “I think I was almost 10 when they found me.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Anakin. “And I think it was entirely by accident.”

Ahsoka blushed. “Oh. I had no idea.”

“That’s by design,” Jayla smirked. “Master Windu was the one who discovered me. Hah, out of all the things I’ve seen, that might have been the scariest day of my life. Even now, when we’re almost the same height, I’m still kinda freaked out by him.”

A gust of wind caught Jayla’s hair and she lost her words. Something like that used to knock her off her feet, or at the very least, push her back a bit. But now, that breeze was like a kiss on her cheek as she gazed out in wonder at the busy world below. The towers still towered, but in a majestic way instead of an imposing one. Everything seemed within reach.

“Excuse me, sirs.”

The three whipped their heads around to find Rex standing with his helmet resting between his arm and his side. Obi-Wan was deep in conversation with someone else across the way, answering many of the same questions that Rex had posited on the way over.

“Rex,” Anakin smiled.

“General Skywalker. It’s so good to see you back to normal.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Are you feeling alright?

“Yeah. A little sore, actually. And just a bit tired. But if that’s what it takes, then I don’t care, because I’m just glad to be me again…”

Anakin trailed off when he realized Rex was no longer listening to him. Once he had locked eyes with Jayla, neither of them could tear their gaze away from the other. They both felt like they were looking at an entirely different person. Jayla’s stomach kept turning.

“Hey, Rex…” Jayla said slowly, as if she had just learned those words and was trying them out for the first time. “You’re, uh. You’re taller than I expected.”

Rex blinked. “I could say the same for you, sir.”

Jayla bit back a smile. “Yeah.”

Several beats of silence followed.

“Well.” Ahsoka could barely take it. “This is awkward.”

Anakin tapped Jayla’s shoulder. “I think she short circuited.”

“I think you should stop poking me,” Jayla retorted, playfully punching Anakin in the shoulder. Well. She thought it was playful.

“Ow! Kriff,” Anakin reeled back. “That hurt, yknow.”

“What? Really? M’sorry,” Jayla stammered, staring at her hand. I didn’t hit him that hard.

“If this is how strong you’re gonna be, then you’ll have to take it easy on the punches,” Anakin jested. “Save it for the Separatists.”

“If that’s how strong I’m gonna be...” Jayla repeated anxiously. “I don’t know how much I like that.”

Rex gave the two Jedi next to him a concerned look. They didn’t need words to know that it was time for one of them to change the subject.

Ahsoka spoke first. “Hey, why don’t we go to the dining hall and get some grub? I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

“Uhm, I don’t really think I should,” Jayla said tentatively, rubbing her neck. “I have no idea what eating food could do to me. Or Anakin, really.”

“I didn’t even think of that,” Anakin muttered. “Well, what about the gardens? We still need to finish our grand tour. Rex, why don’t you join us?”

Rex’s face flushed red. “Oh, I--I shouldn’t, sir.”

“Come on, it’ll be nice! How often are you in the Jedi Temple?”

“This is my first time, sir.”

“See? Now you have to come. Jayla thinks it’s her first time in the temple too. You can touch the plants together.”

“Okay, listen--” she started, but stopped when she realized how exhausted she was. Getting angry took up a lot of energy. “Ugh. Can we take it slow? We’ve done so much walking already.”

“We’ve been out of the medbay for an hour!”

“Well, when you suddenly grow 15 times the height you’ve been all your life, you tell me how you feel!” Anakin wanted to keep poking fun, but nothing about that sentence was funny. Jayla sighed. “Sorry. I’m just… really tired.”

“Fresh air will help,” Rex interjected, daring to enter the conversation. “Trust me.”

Jayla gave him a small smile. The butterflies in her stomach were still there, but not as bad as before. “Okay. Let’s go.” She turned to Anakin. “Oh, and I will be touching all the plants.”

Anakin snickered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, if this is gonna be a long-term thing, then I’m gonna have fun with it. And half the fun comes from annoying you.”

“I wish I could get away with that,” Ahsoka muttered under her breath.

“Come on, kids! The tour continues!” Anakin waved the group forward. Jayla chuckled and even Rex cracked a smile.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#lol this turned into a whole ass thing #the power of size swaps #and the power of me launching into excrutiating detail #it’s like if you were to grow an ant #mfs could carry like 1000 pounds by themselves #jayla’s hulking out #also really just jumped at the opportunity to dive into jayla lore #dont flame me for copying anakin's story beats it has a purpose #me: i will be answering more prompts!#also me: spends the whole day on this #it's not a phase mom this is just who i am #okay that's enough #obwrites #star wars g/t

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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my-darling-boy · 4 years

Note

what about California suits you poorly?

A LOT and I’m so stressed I’m just going to vent about it, I’m sorry I need to let this out:

1. Weather is fucking awful in so many counties, especially where I live. It gets to 110-120F in the summer for 2 months, half the year it’s 90+. We get rain/grey skies MAYBE in total for 2 weeks out of the entire year. I’ve suffered for years from reversed seasonal depression (where you get so much sun you get depressed) which means my mental health is only at it’s best in the cold or with grey skies and gloomy weather, can’t take pills for it because of the side effects. I also have a skin condition that flares up in the heat which means I can’t go outside, at the worst part of the year, for anymore that 30 seconds without stinging horrible pain over my whole body, can’t get the injection to take care of it cos that’s just one more injection I’d have to worry about

2. We’re on constant wildfire watch about half the year, sometimes more. We’ve been at risk of evacuating 3 times but thankfully haven’t had to ever evacuate. However, my grandparents have had to twice and I have family that lost their houses in the Tubbs Fire which also destroyed my home town and so many people are still displaced from the fires. Even counties that don’t have to evacuate suffer from the purple-red zone for air quality due to smoke and I have high sensitivity to smoke which means I have a constant sore throat for all of fire season which is like 7 months out of the year and I would prefer not to look out my window and see a charcoal sky or a burning Star Wars Tattooine red sunset so often that it becomes normal.

3. I dunno what ads are shown in other states about California, but unless you are a millionaire, but I’ve found it’s near impossible to live here without at least two roommates all working a 40 hour week. Everyone my age has roommates or a partner mainly cos it’s so difficult to live on your own. It is in the top 3 most expensive states in the country. Low income housing 2 minutes away from me is priced at $600,000-$700,000 and the homes just next to those in gated communities are $1,000,000+. “”“Affordable””one bedroom flats just near me are $2,500-$3000 a month. And I don’t even live in a major city. If I moved out now, I would be classified as living in poverty with what money I have. For a look at how bad it’s gotten, my dad’s childhood home in the 70s was once $100,000 and it just sold last year for over $1,500,000.

4. There are no outlets for my career or job wants. At all. My main interest/knowledge is in Western Europe around that 1880-1920 period and mainly around WWI, and I reenact a British soldier. I love that history, theatre, art.... but on the off chance I had $60,000 a semester to go to the universities here I wanted to get a degree after transferring from a junior college, I have nowhere to apply that here. There are practically zero WWI events for me to reenact here, minus Newville and a couple others and there is no target audience for all my WWI writing and art because barely anyone gives a damn about WWI here (the Joke I’d always hear in school was “WWI? What even was that?” and we would learn about it for MAYBE two weeks out of 12 years of schooling). There aren’t museums I’d want to work at here, there aren’t shops I’d love to work for, there aren’t historical places I feel attached to to work there. I cannot tell you how fucking ECSTATIC I was to see actual WWI items in museums in England because I’d never seen anything like it here!! Like??? I could’ve fucking cried because I was so happy to be in a place where my interests had meaning to people?? Like last time I was there, literally a man in an elevator got into a Deep conversation with us about how sad WWI was and how it’s still emotional for people which was WILD because here I’m always told to “be smart and get interested in something that actually matters”. Like I’m sorry but it is SO draining to be so passionate about something it feels like no one around you ever cares about

5. The Style I specifically have is SO unnecessarily pricey to have here. California never had an Edwardian Period the way they did in the countries I studied, which means that there are, surprise, pretty much zero places to buy clothing/items from that period and if you do happen to find them, they’re outrageously expensive and the cuts of the garments aren’t even the ones I’m looking for, for instance, because America had slightly different fashion. No one here sells the clothing I dream of having, I have to order a majority of my stuff from England meaning it costs A LOT and I pay like $80+ in shipping for some things. My reenactment gear is so expensive to have shipped here as well!! I’m also so ://// cos I see all my friends from Europe just going out and causally finding items I’d love to have at decent prices cos they’re just staple antique shop items there which would be classified as rarities here. Like...... to know I could just walk into a physical shop somewhere and pay £15 for a collar or something that would’ve cost me $45 to have shipped here is just AAAAAHHHH??? Like the only reason why my dream life Brand isn’t as developed as I would like is because that Brand just doesn’t exist anywhere here and it’s so disappointing

6. Additionally, I plan on going to Europe when it’s much safer to travel anyway throughout my life just to visit all these places I want to, if I don’t end up living there somewhere, but flights from California to these places are so expensive because I’m always traveling so far and my flight is always 11-12 hours straight which would be fine if it wasn’t in cramped quarters filled with strangers

7. Ultimately, I just feel so alone and empty here. I look out around me and see an American capitalist wasteland, Hollywood drama in my backyard, stark blue skies with a blazing unforgiving sun, no places I Vibe with, no place I feel interested to live, no place I feel interested to work at, and nothing to be happy about. My parents are planning to move after my dad retires, my grandparents on both sides are getting quite older now, and my family on both sides I’m not all that close with, I used to see a lot and now I see maybe once every 1-2 years. I’m not a little kid anymore and it’s just time for me to leave and everything just feels so wrong about living here in ways I don’t even have words for

8. Adding: the job situation here has been so bad for a long time and because of that, I’ve reached a point where I’m selling my car to have the money I need to move out! I’m either going to have to find a place to live where I can walk or take the metro or something because I don’t have cash left over to by another car once I sell the one I have so RIP

#AND done Vent Over #asks

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popwasabi · 4 years

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“Who are you?” The scene that defines Chadwick Boseman’s legacy

Yesterday, the world lost a bright and promising, burgeoning talent in Chadwick Boseman.

I had wondered privately for a while if something was wrong with him, as others had as well online, as he appeared increasingly sicker with each interview he gave over the last two years. I thought maybe I had been looking too much into it, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who he was but now gravely we all know why.

The much too young star of films such as “42,” “Marshall,” and of course, “Black Panther” had been fighting a largely private battle with colon cancer for four years.

It was devastating hearing this news yesterday, the man who undeniably left behind a legacy of playing prominent black heroes, both historical and fictional, passed away just as he was starting to truly hit it big. When you begin to realize the man was dealing with cancer as he performed physically demanding roles in the MCU you begin to see the character and determination of a man unwilling to quit in the face of true adversity.

But he clearly wasn’t just doing it for himself when he continued making and promoting NINE more movies despite his diagnosis, afterall no one would’ve blamed the guy for taking it easy these past four years. He’s had many scenes that define his legacy over his all too short career but I feel it can really be summed up in one particular moment from by far his most famous film; “Black Panther.”

Those who know me or have read my work know that I have a fairly cynical relationship with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. While I would not say most of them are “bad” per se, I would say a ton of them are largely interchangeable action comedies with pretty straightforward messages about good vs evil for general audiences. They are largely popcorn escapism and though there is nothing technically wrong with that, I was starved for an MCU film that was sincere about its story finally and had something real to say.

Enter “Black Panther” in early 2018.

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“Black Panther” was everything I had long been waiting for in the MCU; a film with a real sense of vision and theme, a killer soundtrack, great supporting characters, a complicated and nuanced villain, and a story that didn’t feel the need to add a joke after every single scene like more typical MCU movies. The tip of that spear of course was Chadwick, who had already proved to be a great Black Panther in one of the few other sincere Marvel flicks “Civil War.” His natural charisma, physicality, and dramatic presence in this role made him a huge standout in frankly the best ensemble cast of any superhero movie ever.

The scene that truly sums up not just the mark “Black Panther” left on Hollywood but Chadwick’s own legacy comes at the very end though (the first of three, of course. It’s an MCU movie, afterall).

T’Challa has defeated his usurper cousin Erik Killmonger, his rule restored in Wakanda but clearly a changed man from the story’s beginning as he reckons with the complicated legacy of his father. He travels to Oakland, the birthplace of Killmonger, with his sister Shuri who he explains the crime committed by their father in this place and how it set off the events of the story. He turns to Shuri, tells her that he has decided to help this afflicted community by creating a Wakandan outreach center for the youth to give them a new hope in life. As he says this he decloaks their ship nearby, surprising the youth already in the area who are immediately in awe of it. One of the kids turns to T’Challa, smiling, a sense of inspiration and intrigue brewing inside, and asks “Who are you?” to which the young King simply smiles, then the credits roll.

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It’s a simple scene but it truly speaks to the impact left behind by Chadwick and the importance of representation.

“Black Panther” is hardly the first starring vehicle for a black man, it’s not even the first black super hero movie but what it made it different is it was the first blockbuster to truly lean unapologetically into its African identity to focus on the inspiration of a story centered around that culture. It showed Hollywood that an action blockbuster not just centered on a black star but centered on African culture had vast widespread appeal.

White kids will never have a shortage of white superheroes to grow up with on the big screen; a diverse palette of Supermans, Spider-mans, Captain Americas, and shit we’re even getting our sixth new Batman actor since 1989 soon. But Chadwick gave black kids their first real Superman of their own.

In the years since this came out, I have seen the influence, at times, firsthand among the youth. I work part-time as a kids martial arts instructor and each Halloween party we’ve held I’ve seen a few more T’Challas among the costumes represented. When I ask kids, black, white, or Asian, what their favorite superhero is, it always warms my heart to see a kid light up when they say “BLACK PANTHER!”

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(Seriously, cute AF)

This goes beyond just my anecdotal observations of course; the film grossed a billion dollars, and there are countless videos online of kids yelling “Wakanda forever!” at the top of their lungs while rocking a Black Panther suit or reciting one of the movie’s memorable lines. It’s beautiful because it speaks to that last scene’s key message; inspiration.

Growing up myself, as a half Asian American, there weren’t a ton of role models who looked like me to take inspiration from. I didn’t really understand how much this could affect me until I finally did start seeing people like myself occupy positions of influence. I didn’t start caring for baseball until I saw a slugger named Hideki Matsui smash a couple dingers in a Yankees’ uniform in the early 2000s. I didn’t care much for martial arts, outside my very early youth, until I witnessed a half Japanese Brazilian named Lyoto Machida KO Thiago Silva at UFC 94 in 2009. I didn’t care much for soccer until a striker named Keisuke Honda played out of his mind in the early rounds of the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Sometimes you gotta see something happen in order to believe and be inspired by it and it’s easier to visualize it when you see someone who looks like you do it. That’s what representation means and why it’s important.

It’s easy for white America to dismiss the need for representation in media when theirs is so saturated in the culture everyday. Cries of “wHaT aBoUt wHiTe HiStORy mOnTH?!” delivered unironically while their history is proudly given front seat consideration in all forms of media, film, and influence every day. This is why it drives me so crazy when a white person tells me “representation isn’t important” because apparently, they “don’t need it.”

Well motherfucker, of course you don’t need it. You fucking got yours already!

(What every non-white person wants to say when confronted with this tired, out of touch argument...)

“Black Panther” delivered a superhero that not only black children could be proud of and love but someone they could draw inspiration from. Kids are going to want to become film directors cause of this movie, actors, stuntmen, martial artists, scientists, engineers, and so many other different things that the world of Wakanda proudly showcases and it’s all thanks to Chadwick’s leading man performance that made it possible.

Some jokes I’ve heard frequently on the internet is that Chadwick was on somewhat of a quest to play every major black role in story-telling history, what with performances as Jackie Robinson, Thurgood Marshall, James Brown, and of course Black Panther. But I think his 2018 speech at his Alma Mater of Howard really explains why he kept looking to play these major positive black roles.

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(I encourage you to listen to the whole thing but the part that’s important here begins at 21:55)

Hollywood likes to pigeon hole certain demographics of people (aka non-white) to play stereotypical roles forever until they are proven to be lucrative in different ways (Qualified Immunity of film-making if you will…). Black people largely could mostly play thugs and drug dealers, Latinx can only be gang bosses and poor servants and gardeners, Asians are either kung fu masters or some other offensive perpetual foreigner. And in worst cases no role at all, instead whitewashed for general audiences (aka white folk).

Chadwick took a stand that the color of his skin did not define who Hollywood narrowly believed he could perform as and set out to play characters and people who could inspire a new generation of African Americans and show the rest of the country that they were more than a stereotype.

When that young kid in that final scene asks, “Who are you?” and T’Challa smiles its because he knows he’s already changing hearts and minds for the future, just as Chadwick did playing this truly inspirational role.

“Black Panther” is not a perfect movie. I could discuss the ways it could’ve been better and even, less problematic in parts on a different day, but the legacy it leaves behind is one that’s undeniably positive and Chadwick was able to make that a reality. Perhaps he understood that if the world knew his diagnosis it would blunt the impact of “Black Panther’s” release, that if little kids and African Americans alike knew their superhero was already dying it would mar the film’s positivity and influence. I can’t speak for the dead obviously, and in no way am I saying one should just push through a cancer diagnosis and keep it secret, but I can see Chadwick understanding what it would mean for the audience if they just believed for as long as possible that they would have their king of Wakanda forever.

As Robert Downey Jr. said on social media last night “He leveled the playing field while fighting for his life.”

Though I will never know him personally, by most measures Chadwick seemed to be exactly the kind of hero he showed up to be on the big screen and his legacy will ultimately be that of one who looked to inspire others, particularly the next generation until his final breath. If that doesn’t make him a hero, I don’t know what does.

Rest in power, King. Wakanda Forever…

(Via BossLogic)

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crobby · 4 years

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i’ve got your back

for @broskepol

summary: peter and tony have a phrase they use whenever peter’s in danger and can’t outright say it. they have to use it more often than either would like.

word count: 2767

The bell signaling the end of the school day is a wonderful sound to Peter, who’s been practically dying to go out as Spider-Man since third period. He takes up a brisk walk, trying to make it outside as quickly as possible without full-on sprinting.

“Hey, Peter,” Betty calls out, jogging through the hall to catch up with him.

Peter waits for her, eyeing the clock on the wall. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party at Flash’s house this weekend and he told me I could invite whoever I want, so I’m inviting you. Do you wanna come?”

Peter hesitates. “You know that Flash kind of hates me, right?”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Betty says, flicking her hand.

Peter narrows his eyes. “Penis Parker ring a bell?”

“Okay,” she concedes, “Maybe you’re not his favorite person. But I still think you should come. It’ll be fun! Also, I doubt you’ll even have to talk to him--a ton of people will be there, so you can totally avoid him.”

“I… guess?” Peter rubs the back of his neck. He’s not really sure why Betty’s so insistent that he be there. He thinks it might be her way of trying to become his friend, which he’s definitely okay with. Having friends is nice.

He shrugs. “Why not? I’ll be there. Text me the deets, yeah?”

Betty grins. “For sure! I’ll see you there!” She turns to walk back down the hall, waving at him.

Peter smiles to himself. Huh, he thinks, a party. I got invited to a party. Maybe his social life isn’t so doomed, after all.

---

Nope, his social life is forever doomed. He can’t just be normal and talk to people. It’s like the universe singled him out and said “You! You’re going to be a loser!” and, frankly, he’s tired of it. He wishes Ned or MJ were here, but Ned’s babysitting his baby cousin and MJ’s out of town. If they were here, he wouldn’t be struggling so much.

There’s music blaring and lights flashing and both are too much for his enhanced senses. There’s so much kinetic energy in the room that Peter can almost feel it. It’s hot. He’s schvitzing. He doesn’t like to schvitz.

He’s just about to call it quits and head home when he hears Flash’s voice above everything else.

“Hey, Parker!” Flash comes to stand in front of him.

Peter groans. “What, Flash?”

“Have you ever played a drinking game?”

Peter furrows his brow. “No, of course not. I’m underage.”

“So? That doesn’t stop, like, every other teenager.”

“I don’t know, Flash…”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. This is an olive branch, man. You gonna take it?”

Flash must be tipsy, already, if he’s trying to play nice with Peter. He’s pretty sure Flash is joking about the ‘olive branch’ thing, but still.

“You should loosen up,” Flash says, “Learn to live a little.”

“I--” Peter starts to object. Then, “Alright. I’ll do it. What’s the game?”

“It’s called Fuzzy Duck.”

“Fuzzy Duck?” Peter laughs. “Come on.”

“No, really! I’ll explain it when everyone’s listening.”

Flash leads him back to a corner full of couches. A bunch of people are already there, some Peter recognizes and others he doesn’t.

Flash takes a seat in the middle of the biggest couch, while Peter perches on the arm of another couch next to some people he’s pretty sure are in his trig class.

“Okay, so we’ve got to get in a circle--which, we already are--and I’ll start by saying ‘fuzzy duck’ to the person to my left. It’ll keep going like that, saying ‘fuzzy duck’ to the person to your left, until someone says ‘does he’. Then, the person to the right of that person has to say ‘ducky fuzz’ and then it’ll keep going in that direction--to the right--with people saying ‘ducky fuzz’ until someone says ‘does he’ again. At that point, the direction switches again and people go back to saying ‘fuzzy duck’ until the next time someone says ‘does he’ again. It’ll just go back and forth like that. Anytime anyone messes up whatever they’re supposed to say, they have to drink.”

There are a few vaguely confused nods.

“It’ll make sense when we get into it,” Flash assures them.

He turns to the girl to his left, “Fuzzy duck,” he says, entirely seriously.

She turns to the girl next to her. “Fuzzy duck.”

Eventually--and after many mess-ups and subsequent drinks--they reach Peter, who, in true idiot fashion, blurts: “Duzzy fuck.”

Everyone’s laughter ringing in his ears, he downs a gulp of whatever Flash handed him. He smacks his lips, unused to the bitter taste of alcohol. As the game continues--and Peter drinks more--he feels his throat get warm and his brain go fuzzy. Fuzzy, like the ducks, he thinks.

At least he isn’t such a nervous wreck anymore--he hasn’t felt so relaxed in a long time. He doesn’t even think before saying things, which is wild.

He jumps when Iron Man by Black Sabbath starts blasting out of his back pocket. He scrambles to grab his phone, recognizing the ringtone. More specifically, who it belongs to. Mr. Stark shines up at him, along with a photo he and Tony had taken the day they made his internship official.

Peter brings the phone up to his ear, the noise of the party loud in the background. “Uhh, hey, Mr. St’rk.” Woah, since when are his words so slurred?

Tony doesn’t seem to notice. “Hey kid, I was just calling to see if you wanted to bring the suit by tomorrow. I’ve got something I wanna try out. Happy can pick you up from May’s.”

“That--that’d be great, Mr. St’rk.”

People are starting to look at him, wondering who on Earth he’s calling ‘Mr. Stark’. Peter would very much like to go home now, thanks. Drinking’s not so fun when you have to make normal conversation with your mentor/father figure/it’s complicated guy in front of a crowd.

“Are you good, Pete? It sounds like there’s a lot going on over there. Are you at a party?”

“Pshhhh, no. Are you at a party?”

“Why would I be at a--”

Peter cuts him off. “Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“You know I have. What’s going on with you, Peter? Is everything alright?”

“D’you remember when the Starfleet came to help the rebels in episode 5?”

“Okay, you’d never mix up Star Wars and Star Trek. That’s it, I’m coming to get you. FRIDAY, what’s his location?”

Peter hears FRIDAY give Tony Flash’s address in the background, extremely grateful that Tony realized something was up. He didn’t want to outright say anything--he’s trying to get these people to like him, not think he’s some kind of weirdo who needs to be picked up early from a high school party.

A few minutes later, Peter receives a text from Tony.

I’m here.

Peter quickly stands up and immediately regrets it when his vision swims. He takes a second to get his head on straight before stepping back from the circle. “Thanks for the party, Flash. I’ve gotta jet,” He gestures towards the door with his thumb before taking off. Well, he staggers towards the door more than anything, still figuring out how to actually do things while under the influence.

Tony’s standing next to one of his Audis when Peter finally makes his way outside, leaning against it with a concerned frown on his face. He stands up straight when he sees Peter, making a beeline towards him and checking him for injuries. Peter lets him, knowing that Tony will calm down if he sees for himself that Peter’s unharmed. Tony nods to himself, seemingly satisfied with Peter’s lack of injuries, before pulling him into a tight hug. Smushed against Tony’s chest, Peter smiles. Peter knows that Tony cares about him, but it’s still nice to get a physical reminder of that fact. Tony pulls back, keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders.

“What happened?”

“Well, I--”

“You smell like alcohol,” Tony interrupts, “Why do you smell like alcohol?”

Peter shoots him a pair of finger-guns. “That might be all the alcohol I drank.”

Tony sighs. “Let’s get you home, yeah? We can talk about this when you’re sober.”

Peter looks down. “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. Believe me,” Tony offers him a half-smile, “I get it. But it’s still something we need to talk about. You, me, and May.”

“‘Kay,”

Tony leads him to the car, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Throughout the whole drive back to the apartment, he keeps checking up on Peter through the rear-view mirror. He tries to start some idle conversation but drops it when he realizes that Peter’s too worn out to be all that interested in responding.

They pull up to the curb outside of the apartment building and Tony helps Peter up to his apartment, one arm around his shoulders. He uses his free arm to knock on the door.

May answers. “Tony? What’re you doing here? It’s really late.” In her tired state, she fails to notice Peter until Tony gestures to him. “Aw, hon, what’s wrong?”

Peter slides out from under Tony’s grip to fall into her arms. She immediately grasps him in a hug, mouthing Is he okay? to Tony, who mimes drinking. May nods in understanding, mouthing Thank you.

Tony smiles. “I’m gonna get out of your hair. The kiddo needs a good night’s sleep.”

“G’night, Mr. St’rk,” Peter says, his voice muffled.

Tony looks at him fondly, his eyes soft. “Goodnight, Pete. You, too, May.”

Peter hums before falling asleep on May’s shoulder.

---

Months later, Peter’s briskly walking out of school again. This time, his interruption is a chloroform towel pressed against his mouth, rather than a (un?)friendly invite to a party. He drops like a sack of bricks into the arms of a man, out cold.

---

Peter wakes up in an abandoned warehouse, his arms tied up above his head and his limbs aching. He presses his wrists against their bindings, sure that he could easily break through them if he tried. He can’t, though, because that would reveal his identity--or, at least, the fact that he has super-strength. He’ll do it if he has to--but not until he knows there’s no other option.

He hears two sets of footfalls coming from behind the door across the room.

A man and a woman enter through the door, both wearing a bandana over their nose and mouth. They stop in front of Peter.

The woman crosses her arms. “We want information. You’re going to give it to us.”

Peter stares, eyebrows raised.

“We’re replicating the arc rector,” she says, “We’ve almost got it, but there’s something missing. You intern for Stark. We know you’ll know.” She dives into an explanation of their design and what went wrong. At the end of her speech, she looks at Peter expectantly.

Peter frowns. “I don’t know, actually.”

The woman slaps him across the face. His head jerks at the motion, his cheek stinging.

“This isn’t how I wanted this evening to go,” she says, “You were supposed to tell us everything. You will tell us everything.” She exits the room, returning with a large case.

She places it on a table and opens it to reveal a collection of knives and such.

Peter doesn’t like the way this is going.

She runs her hand over the many knives. “Will you tell us what we want to know, now?”

Peter tries to think of a way for him to get out of here without revealing his identity, but he falls up short. It looks like he might have to kiss his anonymity goodbye.

He’s mentally preparing himself to break his restraints and fight his way out of the warehouse when a phone rings loudly.

The sound is coming from the man’s pocket. He pulls the phone out. Peter recognizes his case. Since when do they have his phone? He guesses they took it when they grabbed him.

“It’s for you,” the man grunts. Peter can’t help but think that he sounds like he gargled cement. “No caller ID.”

The woman tilts her head. “Let him answer.”

The man lodges the phone in between Peter’s raised shoulder and his head before stepping back.

“Hey, Pete, you’re in a weird location. Just calling to check up on you--made sure there was no caller ID, just in case you’re with someone. Is everything alright?”

Peter glances up at his kidnappers, who are glaring at him. He can’t say anything that implies that he’s not alright unless he wants them to hurt him.

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I was actually just thinking about.... uh,” he thinks back to the party when he was in a similar situation where he couldn’t say anything outright, “Star Wars. D’you remember when the Starfleet came to help the rebels in, uh, episode 5?”

Tony pauses. “Wait, so you are in trouble?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Tony’s voice sounds strained. “I’ve got your location. Sit tight, I’m coming to get you.”

Peter tries not to slump over in relief, because that would definitely alert his kidnappers. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Peter hears the Iron Man suit power-up in the background.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the woman snatches the phone out of Peter’s hand and ends the call. She drops it just out of Peter’s reach.

Peter purses his lips. As Spider-Man, he’d make a quip and get out of here without Tony’s help. As Peter Parker, though? He can’t bring himself to say or do much of anything. It’s different, being in this situation without the mask. Normally, he’d have it handled in no time. Now, though, everything just feels… different. Off. He feels stuck.

The woman takes a step towards him. “I’m only going to ask you this one more time: what’s the secret? We’ve got it all figured out, except for one part. You know what’s missing--I know you do--so you better tell us before I bring out the big guns.” She gestures to the case.

Those aren’t guns, Peter thinks, those are knives. “I don’t know. I don’t work on arc reactors. I’m an intern, I bring people coffee.”

The woman scoffs. “Stark wouldn’t hire a high school intern unless you were something special. Tell us, or so help me God I will make you.” She picks up a thick knife and brandishes it threateningly.

Peter’s heart rate skyrockets. Then, he hears the sound of repulsors.

Tony smashes through a wall, terrifying Peter’s kidnappers. Peter grins in relief.

“Really guys?” Tony says, his voice robotic through the suit, “You thought you could steal my kid and get away with it?” He flies over to grab Peter, who snaps the restraints like they're rubber bands. Tony picks him up around the armpits. “Have a terrible night,” he says before shooting into the night.

Peter looks up at him. “Mr. Stark, won’t they get away?”

“The police are almost there. They won’t make it out in time. How are you? Any injuries?”

“I’m all good--nothing worse than I get on patrol, anyway. I’m really glad you called, ‘cause I thought I was gonna have to reveal my identity for a second there.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. Where am I bringing you? Home?”

“Yeah, home sounds nice.”

Tony flies him to his apartment building, letting him down gently before retracting the suit. He gestures for Peter to start heading inside.

They make their way up the stairs and knock on the door. May opens it, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

She looks up at them and balks. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Minor kidnapping, nothing too serious,” Tony jokes.

May smacks him on the arm, “That’s not something to laugh about.” She pulls them both into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you for saving him.”

She pulls back to smack Peter’s arm. “And you! Why didn’t you save yourself? What’s the point of those spider powers if you don’t use them?”

Peter shrugs. “Secret identity.”

May considers it. “Okay, that’s a valid reason.”

She pulls them both into another hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Peter lets himself melt into the embrace, always happy to be with both of his adults. “Can we watch Star Wars?”

May and Tony share a fond look.

“Of course,” she says.

And if the three of them stay up all night binge-watching every Star Wars movie, no one has to know.

#eek i know someone else already wrote this for you but here you go anyway haha #irondad #peter parker #spider-man #spider man #spider man fanfiction #fanfic #mcu fic #mcu #tony stark #iron man #may parker #because we love may parker #prompt #my fic #mcu fanfiction #my writing #mine

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years

Text

don’t wanna hand you all my trouble (don’t wanna give you all my demons)

TW: descriptions of nightmares about eddie's time in afghanistan, description of a panic attack

read on ao3

The nightmares don’t start after Afghanistan. They start when Eddie is seven and there’s a monster under his bed.

It wakes him from a dead sleep, and he swears he can hear the scratch of claws on the hardwood, the gnashing of teeth just beneath his head. He yells for his mom, who comes racing in like a knight in shining armor, even if her armor is just a bathrobe. She scours the underside of the bed and finds nothing, but stays with Eddie until he’s asleep again. He knows if that thing comes back, she’ll protect him no matter what.

He yells for her every time, and every time she comes.

Until one night, his dad comes instead.

That night, he sits Eddie on the edge of his bed, tells him that monsters aren’t real, and that boys shouldn’t yell for their mom every time they’re scared. That boys will one day turn into men who will have to fight off truly monstrous things on their own, so it’s best to start now so Eddie is prepared.

He stops yelling for his mom, but the monsters don’t stop coming.

They change as he gets older — from creatures in the night to fears of losing his friends or his family to worries about failing classes to worries about his future. Sometimes they’re so abstract he doesn’t remember details beyond the ice cold terror in his veins. They wake him every time, sometimes several nights in a row, and every time he fights the urge to yell, to find comfort somewhere other than himself. Reminds himself that he’s a man, and that men have to save themselves. He breathes deeply, tries to slow his racing heart and go back to sleep. He gets better at it, at calming himself down, until he eventually forgets he ever needed someone else to help him in the first place.

Then he goes to war. He sees the monstrous things his dad warned him about, and he’s not even close to prepared.

By the time he comes back, he’s seen and done things that would keep the scariest, gruesomest monster from sleeping soundly. He’s left chunks of himself behind in sand dunes and medic tents, drying into dust, disappearing into the desert. And he’s waking up in a cold sweat almost every night, mind foggy with images of the people he couldn’t save, everything he did wrong. But he still can’t make himself cry out for help, because he still remembers that he has to save himself. Even more so now, because saving himself means saving the people he loves from being exposed to every terrible thing that he sees every time he closes his eyes.

So the nightmares don’t start after Afghanistan. But they don’t get any easier, either.

~~~~~~~~~~

He gets a few years of peace. Maybe less peace and more pure exhaustion from working nonstop and raising a kid on his own. He rarely falls into a deep enough sleep to feel rested, and there are still some nights where he wakes up to a vague feeling of panic sitting like lead in his stomach.

The whirlwind of moving halfway across the country and starting his life over again keeps him just as tired. They’ve been in Los Angeles for six months before Eddie finally starts to feel settled. Chris loves his school, they have Carla, and Eddie has the 118. His new family and his new...Buck. For the first time in a while, he feels like he’s on his way to something like happiness.

So of course, one day, one seemingly good day where calls are light and Buck keeps shooting sunny smiles his way, he goes to take a nap in the bunks and is met with blood and screams. He’s trying desperately to move nameless bodies to safety, but he’s not fast enough, not strong enough. They’re screaming his name now, trying to get his attention as they’re picked off one by one. They get louder and louder and louder until—

“Eddie!”

He wakes with a start, doesn’t see bodies any more, just Buck, his brow furrowed in concern, hands held out placatingly towards Eddie. His head whips side to side a few times, remembering he’s at work and he’s safe. He sits up on the bunk, still shaken, crossing his legs as Buck moves to sit down beside him, slowly, like he’s waiting for Eddie to tell him to leave. Eddie doesn’t.

“Sorry Buck, I didn’t mean—”

Buck shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Are you okay?”

It’s been a while since anyone has asked him that.

“I’m fine, just a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No one’s ever asked him that.

And the thing is, his first instinct is to say yes. Because he does — he wants to expel some of the pent up terrors so that maybe he can sleep soundly again. He wants to drain it from his mind, watch it all swirl down the sink and into the ocean, get rid of it for good.

But he knows it’s not that easy. And he still hears his dad’s voice telling him to save himself.

“I’m alright man, but thanks.” Buck doesn’t look like he believes him, but he lets it go, heads out of the bunk room with one last glance at Eddie, brow still furrowed. The door shuts behind him, and Eddie falls back on the bed. Lays there for another 30 minutes but can’t fall back asleep.

He stops napping at work after that. It’s easier to deny the nightmares when no one can see them.

But then Shannon comes back. Then she’s gone for good. Then Buck gets crushed by a ladder truck. Then he almost loses Chris and Buck to a tsunami.

Suddenly real life is more of a nightmare than anything he sees in his sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The solution, it seems, is exhaustion. After back to back shifts, after staying up with Chris as he cries through his own nightmares, Eddie is able to sleep for at least a few hours at a time. He hesitates to call it “peaceful”, but he doesn’t hear any screams, at least.

But as Chris slowly starts sleeping through the night again, he has to find other ways to tire himself out. Sometimes it’s a midnight workout in the living room, sometimes it’s deep cleaning the kitchen at 1:00am. Sometimes it’s just staring listlessly at the TV until his eyes are too heavy and he passes out on the couch, woken by sunlight and reruns of Golden Girls. It’s not perfect, it’s probably not healthy, but it keeps him rested enough to make it through the day, and he doesn’t feel ice anywhere.

He should have known it was too easy, too good to be true.

He turns off the TV, spreading a blanket over Buck where he’s dead to the world on the couch, passed out halfway through the baseball game they were watching after Chris went to sleep. His curls are soft on the pillow and he looks relaxed like this, far more relaxed than Eddie can ever remember seeing him when he’s awake. It’s overwhelmingly tempting to run his fingers through those curls, trace down his jawline, over his birthmark, but Eddie shakes the thought from his head and quickly heads toward his room. He sticks his head into Chris’s room, smiling as he hears his heavy breathing, sees him star-fished on his bed. As he gets into bed himself, he can’t help but marvel at how normal tonight was. His best friend and his son eating dinner together, watching a movie, sharing easy jokes and laughter like the past few months hadn’t scarred the both of them, physically and emotionally. And Eddie got to witness it all, felt a contentment settle in him that follows him as he closes eyes, that almost makes him forget what can happen when exhaustion isn’t forcing him to sleep.

Almost.

He feels the bullets whizzing past him, feels the scratch of sand underneath his hands. He looks around at the carnage, but the bodies aren’t nameless this time. It’s his platoon, the 118, Shannon, Christopher. Buck. They’re all lying motionless and it’s his fault, their blood is staining every inch of him and he can’t scrub it off. He hears screaming and crying, doesn’t realize it’s his own until his throat is raw and he tastes salt. He failed again, and no amount of tears will fix it.

He’s still crying when he wakes up, gasping for air, still feels sand between his fingers. He tries to calm down, taking shuddering breaths in and out, but it’s too much and not enough and he feels light-headed. He hears movement down the hall and quickly slips out of bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, sinking to the ground. He’s shaking so bad his teeth are chattering, and he clamps a hand over his mouth as another scream threatens to fall out of him without his permission.

This is far and away the worst he’s ever been after a nightmare, and he’s not sure what to do. He feels even more lost and helpless than usual, and he has no idea when it will stop.

The first knocks are so soft he misses them, mistakes them for his body shaking the door as he leans against it. The second knocks are louder, a little more urgent, followed by a twist of the doorknob.

“Eddie? It’s me, can I come in?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, just shifts to lean against the bathtub so the door can open. The knob turns again and there’s Buck, looking wide eyed and a little scared himself, like he too just woke up from some horror in his sleep. Eddie meets his eyes and sees them soften as he takes him in — he’s not sure what he looks like, but his face feels puffy and he can feel dried tear tracks, so it’s probably not pretty. He looks away as Buck moves towards him, sliding to sit next to him against the bathtub. He’s close but they’re not touching, which is good because Eddie is fighting down another wave of agony, another scream is trying to claw its way out, and he doesn’t think he can handle any kind of interaction just yet.

Buck must feel it too, somehow, because he waits. Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say anything, just waits.

Eddie calms down — not completely, but enough to feel like he can function — and leans his head back against the cool edge of the tub, taking a deep breath. He chances a look over to Buck and sees him watching. He tries to smile, reassure him that this is nothing, but it feels like more of a grimace. It’s too much this time, even for his well-conditioned brain, and he can’t fake it.

Buck’s eyes search his face, and Eddie sees his hand twitch toward him out of the corner of his eye.

“Can I touch you?” Buck asks softly. Eddie freezes — he hadn’t ever really considered that that’s a thing you can ask at a time like this, something he could say no to — before nodding, because his whole body is still buzzing and he thinks Buck might be able to ground him.

He usually does.

Buck reaches his hand out slowly, wrapping long fingers around Eddie’s before sliding them together. He brings Eddie’s hand into his lap, holding it between both of his, slowly tracing his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. He still feels like a live wire, but he doesn’t want to scream anymore. He meets Buck’s eyes and sees understanding and sadness and other things that Eddie’s always hoped to see but can’t process right this moment. He hopes he’ll get to see them again soon.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s that question again.

And Eddie does, actually truly does. It’s clear he can’t save himself like he’s been told he’s supposed to, and maybe he shouldn’t have to, so he wants someone’s help. He knows Buck will help him, will protect him from whatever he can’t handle on his own.

He always does.

But Eddie’s tired and ripped open and doesn’t want to think about or relive anything right now. He squeezes Buck’s hand where it’s still tightly clasped.

“Not yet. But I will.”

Buck’s shoulders relax just a bit, like he’s relieved it wasn’t an outright refusal. They stay on the ground together until Eddie moves to get up, holding tighter when Buck tries to disentangle their hands. They walk towards Eddie’s bed together, and Eddie scoots to the far side, still not letting go.

“Will you stay? Please?” Eddie asks, whisper loud in the quiet room.

Buck pauses for a moment before climbing in as well, settling under the covers on his side, facing Eddie. Buck looks nervously down at their hands then back up to Eddie.

“Can I—”

Eddie’s grabbing Buck’s shirt before he finishes, pulling them as close together as possible, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist and burying his face in his chest. Buck doesn’t hesitate to press his face into Eddie’s hair, hands rubbing is back slowly, soothingly.

“Of course I’ll stay, Eddie. I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me. I promise.”

For the first time in too long, Eddie falls into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he talks. Not much, but more than he has since he was seven. He feels a little less tense afterwards, breathes a little easier.

The next day, he talks more.

The next week, more.

So on and so on.

And Buck stays. Just like he promised.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 fox #this is 75% me wanting to use this lyric as a fic title #the other 25% is my general eddie emo-ness #also who doesn't love hurt comfort??#ficcery #soft eddie rights

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evilbeanghost · 4 years

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Snapetober

Here is my participation #6: Day 14 Abandoned (Moonstone fix it part 1/2)

You can also find it on AO3.

So, this is a kind of fix it for my saddest OS "Moonstone". The original is available on AO3, but this can be read separately too.

Be warned: Moonstone ending is really sad. This is what I call the "happy-sad" AU ending ;)

It's in two part, using two prompts! Today is PART 1: Abandoned.

But before we start: thanks a lot to @ailec-12 for her support and help with this one! She helped with my motivation and my english, an impossible work indeed! She’s a star and also a very good writer who I admire a lot.

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It had been exactly three months since that weird trip to St Mungo with Snape and Sirius couldn't stop thinking about it; about the broken man he used to hate so much, about the fact that he hadn't been able to hate him that day, nor ever since. He just couldn't summon the old feeling anymore; that had been a surprise. Even weirder, Sirius was absolutely certain that Snape had felt the exact same way, he just knew; he had felt it.

He couldn't get over the strange sense of comradeship he had felt during the whole peculiar trip… a sense of belonging he had been missing for so long, kinship even. He wanted to say since Remus, but maybe even before that, before Azkaban… because even the few years he had had with his old friend in the end were tainted by a war and old scars that had needed more time to heal than what they ended up having.

Why was Sirius unable to stop thinking about fucking Severus Snape? He guessed his life had always been a fat fucking joke.

At first, he had tried to think of it as pity: what with the obvious pain and misery the other man seemed to live in now – if that day together was even a little bit representative of his life – and also what with the frankly brutal assault he had suffered as stoically as if it had been something normal for him when they were at that pub? The fucking cowards! Sirius still angered instantly at the thoughts of those guys thinking they were distributing justice by beating up an invalid four on one.

Harry had told him since that it was indeed quite usual sadly, and the reason why he had asked Sirius to take Snape to St Mungo in the first place when he hadn't been able to do so himself. Apparently, among other atrocious things Harry was able to tell Sirius, there had even been an occurrence of a street mob trying to hang the greasy bastard, what was wrong with these people seriously? Was that why they had all given their youths and sanity in a war? For the people they were trying to save to become the monsters themselves?

What a fucking waste. How could Sirius not be seething about that, about it all? Nothing was worth anything anymore and he just wanted to scream.

No, it wasn't pity; not only that anyway. Sirius knew now that it had to do with that sense of "we're the only ones left" that he had felt that day. Apparently, an old enemy from a dead, happy time could still be the only lifebelt for a very lonely man, the last of his kind, lost in a frightening new sea.

It was in this state of mind that Sirius ended up making quite an irrational decision. He just couldn't stay here, in his big London flat – so comfortable and well equipped and so fucking empty and cold whatever Sirius bought to try to warm it up – stewing in his thoughts, wondering, trying to understand the big shift under his metaphorical feet. He just needed to go and see the git, he needed to know that the man was still there, somewhere, well enough, that he still existed somehow. Sirius needed to know that he wasn't alone, that the oppressive loneliness that had been killing him since Remus, since he could take a minute to feel it, since the war had ended, that that crushing feeling he was fighting against every day, even in the presence of friends, of Harry, of all of James' wonderful great-children, could be lifted again, if only for one single day, one hour… just like it did that weird day three months ago. And damn it if it meant he had to go see if fucking Snape was alright.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Severus was lying on his old uncomfortable sofa, on his back, trying not to move while the pain potion did its work. Unfortunately, the fact that he was still breathing was not sitting very well with the not moving part of his plan. One more thing to add to his pile of reasons why he should just have stopped the breathing thing as soon as that fucking snake had had a taste of him. How unfortunate, really.

Closing his eyes, he tried to empty his mind, not having been able to let go of the old habit despite not being able to occlude anymore, since the damn snake, again. It wasn't completely ineffective though, but when it had been a really efficient way to ignore anything from anxiety to physical pain for some extent of time in the past, it was now more a kind of soft meditation, helping with things, even if only a little, but definitely not as good as occluding was. He missed it very much.

The potions were helping a little less every day and Severus could sense his background panic rise a little more at each new progress of the pain. Every day he thought he just couldn't deal with any more than this, he just couldn't. And then, the next day was there and it was just that tiny little bit worse, and he endured it anyway. It wasn't good news. It was a growing despair in his very soul and Severus knew that he was near the end of his endurance, that he just needed it all to stop, that nothing was worth this and especially not his pitiful life. But the thing was that it just didn't stop, it kept getting worse and he was slowly losing his mind to it. Why couldn't it fucking stop? It wasn't fair. Well, life wasn't, right? His had never been anyway.

Severus jumped suddenly from his restless slumber. He had apparently ended up asleep when the potion had finally kicked in. It wasn't a surprise in his weakened state. Wondering briefly what had woken him up so suddenly, he didn't wait long before the answer came to him in the form of an insistent knock on his front door. Fucking great.

Grimacing, he sat down as quickly as possible in his current state, then he quickly threw a hair-slicking charm, and a cleaning spell on himself, before trying to soothe the angry wrinkles on his clothes in an attempt to appear somewhat presentable. He really needed a shower…Rubbing his eyes slowly, he was again interrupted by a firm "tap tap tap", his visitor having surely heard his moving around by now.

"One minute please, I'm coming", the sound of his grating broken voice startled him more than he would have admitted. He just didn't use it a lot these days. This was his first visitor in around two months after all.

At least Moonstone was quite content with his daily murmuring… his soft words, always delivered under his breath, being enough to get him a cuddle from her every time. He hoped she hadn't been spooked by the knocking… she tended to be spooked by a lot of things; cats were weird like that.

Finally on his feet, he dragged himself toward the door, using the walls to help him along the way. The unpleasant creaking of his front door made him grimace again – it was fitting somehow though.

And it was then that Severus got his second startle of the day.

"What are you doing here?", he asked bluntly, bewildered by the identity of his visitor. He knew he shouldn't have agreed to letting him know where he lived.

"Hello to you too Snape, I see that you're as pleasant as ever," replied the stupid man, smiling like the idiot he was.

"Don't fuck around Black, what are you doing at my house?"

"And here I thought we were pals, why are you hurting me this way?"

Taking his nose between two fingers in exasperation, Severus just took a side step, freeing the other's path into the house in a silent – if somewhat still hostile – gesture of invitation.

"Thanks! You took ages to open the fucking door Snape, I was starting to think that you didn't want to see me!"

Severus summoned all the strength he was still capable of before closing the door behind him. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

"Do you want some tea Black?" Severus asked, feeling compelled to play host despite himself.

"Why not? The one you offered me last time was quite good, I wouldn't say no to a bit more of that!"

"Tea it is – just sit down and don't touch anything."

Severus let his guest sit on the sofa he had just vacated to go make some tea in his derelict kitchen. It gave him a little time to process what was happening. Sirius fucking Black was waiting for some tea in his living room and he was actually making it. Surely the world couldn't take such a thing?

That surreal road-trip to St Mungo some months ago had definitely shook the laws of the universe. Him and Black… what was this new thing between them? Severus knew that it wasn't exactly friendship, but it definitely wasn't the animosity of their past either. It was… something else, something like the sense of belonging that soldiers felt in each other when they had fought a war on the same side.

Something that wasn't the loneliness that had been permeating Severus's entire life, the loneliness that seemed only to grow with his physical weakness those last few years, gnarling at his tarnished soul a little more each day, living that raising despair in its wake that was becoming unbearable lately. And everything that wasn't that was welcomed, even if it was in a Sirius Black shape of all things. Anything that didn't make him feel like the world had definitely abandoned him after he had tried so hard to save it, anything like that was nice – underserved since he was the one trying to destroy it in the first place, but nice. He didn't have enough will to protect anything of himself at this point, to do the right thing, he would take nice against painful any day. He didn't have any pride left anyway.

When he got back in the living room, Black was busy petting a furiously purring Moonstone. The cat was on the man's lap, showing her belly shamelessly. What a furry little traitor. Severus remembered then that she had acted the same way the last time too… He had apparently rescued the only cat in the world who was fond of stupid mutts – lucky him.

Black raised his head at his appearance, using his wand to summon the heavy tray from Severus's shaking hands without a word. It landed softly on the coffee table, not a drop falling outside the teapot, which was quite impressive from an unsubtle grunt like Black.

"Your cat is the cutest thing I've ever seen Snape, I swear, how did you endup with this fine specimen?"

"I found her," replied Severus, quite defensively. It made Black laugh for some reason.

"Well, she's adorable… if a little clingy."

"She's not clingy. She just seems to have horrible tastes in human beings," said Severus, including himself mentally in the statement.

Severus sat on the battered armchair, offering a cup of tea to his unexpected guest.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Sirius was once again walking briskly through the depressing streets around Spinner's End, trying to reach the little hiding spot he had been using as an apparition point for weeks now. He really didn't like this neighbourhood, he felt like every person he passed on the dirty streets were out to mug him, or worse.

He couldn't believe he had been going to visit Snape at least twice a week for more than two months now. And the other man had let him in every time, to Sirius's surprise. Oh, he did protest a little at first, using the same old insults in a new way that seemed to take the worst of the bite from them. It was somewhat the state of their new relationship. They still did the old things, the name-calling, the mocking, the insults, but everything turned into a sort of warm banter that was way more companionship than sworn enemies. Sirius certainly was still completely baffled by it. So out of his comfort zone that he hadn't told anyone so far that he had been visiting Snape. Not even Harry… He wouldn't have known what to say really.

Turing left for the last time, Sirius finally reached the spot he had been walking towards. Looking around to be sure no muggle could see him, he took his wand from his pocket, frowning a little when it came out with a clump of dark fur – that damn cat! – before apparating directly into his flat.

Compared to Snape's, his home looked like that of a Prince – which was somewhat ironic now that he knew a little more about Snape's family. But despite the cleanliness, the costly furniture and equipment, despite all the stuff cluttering his nice and cosy home, it still felt lonely after an entire afternoon spent on Snape's uncomfortable sofa, just talking with the prickly git.

Sirius knew that he ought to apologize to the man for some things… he had tried a few times but in the end he didn't find the words that would have fitted their new found dynamic. They just didn't seem to have that type of relationship.

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It was around seven months after the initial disastrous road-trip, fourth months after his first afternoon tea with Snape, and Sirius found himself in front of that dingy front door once again, having fell into a Monday-Thursday-and-sometimes-even-Saturdays routine at this point.

Except that today the git was taking a very long time to answer the door.

At first, Sirius had shrugged it off, trying to make his knocking more insistent. After all, Snape sometimes fell asleep unexpectedly and it could take him a while to wake up and make his painful way towards the door. Sirius still remembered that first time, when he had been about to renounce when the door had finally creaked open, revealing a very rough-looking Snape behind. He had smelled a little rough too that day but Sirius had not commented on it. Now that he was thinking about it, his host had always seemed at least somewhat cleaner after that, if still rumpled around the edges. Sirius chose to think that it was because their new little arrangement was as beneficial to Severus's health as it was to his own. He knew he wasn't so far off, why else would the other man let him keep this up?

Knocking again impatiently, Sirius began to frown. It was getting ridiculous now, what was Snape doing? Taking matters into his own hands, Sirius knocked again loudly, adding for good measure:

"Snape, get your skinny, ugly arse to the door! It's freezing outside!"

When five minutes had passed and still nothing happened, Sirius started to worry. Severus had not been well in a long time and Sirius knew, even if they never talked about it – Hell, he didn't even know exactly what was wrong with him – that it was serious.

That's when he heard Moonstone. She was mewling behind the door in a distressed sort of way that he hadn't heard from her before. Really alarmed now, Sirius didn't think, he took his wand out of his pocket – thanks Merlin he was now included in the wards – and simply vanished the front door, immediately being greeted by what looked like a very distressed cat indeed.

Sirius took her with one arm, immediately petting her against his chest, enjoying her warm little body.

"Where is your human little cat?" he asked her softly, looking around for Severus.

The man wasn't in the living room, the sofa was empty and the room cold and dark. The kitchen was the same and Sirius didn't waste any time before revealing the hidden-staircase and running upstairs, his throat constricting painfully. Please please please.

The bedroom's door was ajar and Sirius let go of the wrangling cat when he saw that Severus was lying on his bed, pale and shaking, breathing heavily with his eyes closed too hard for it to be only with sleep.

"Snape!" called Sirius while entering the room hastily, kneeling by the bed, not knowing what to do.

When the lying man didn't answer, he touched his shoulder lightly. Snape was wearing a horrible grey nightshirt that was now twisted around his legs tightly, immobilizing him in what looked like a very uncomfortable way. He was drenched in sick-smelling sweat. He didn't react to Sirius's touch, apparently in the throw of some painful episode.

"Severus, please wake up!" repeated Sirius while shaking his friend a little more forcefully.

Snape's eyes shot open, before closing again, accompanied by a pitiful whimper. He shook his head slowly, as if to convey to Sirius to just let him be. Well, Sirius wasn't going to abandon him like that.

"Severus, please, tell me what's wrong?"

Snape's eyes opened slowly again, and Sirius was soon enthralled in the dark gaze he had once thought was empty. Sirius couldn't count the number of emotions he could now read in the other's eyes. Pain first, and despair, and sticky distress that smelled like someone in the process of giving up for good. But also "sorry" somehow, and "please go" coupled with a strong involuntary "don't leave me alone".

Understanding now that Snape was not just in too much pain to reach the door as he had been on a few past occasions, but that something was really wrong with him, Sirius didn't waste another minute. He took his thick outer-cloak off and hastily wrapped the thin man in it, atrocious nightshirt and all. Lifting him off the bed, he took him outside the house's wards, quickly transfigured the bin's lid into a basic replacement-door to keep Moosntone in until he could go back for her, and immediately apparated to St Mungo, hoping that the risk of it was worth it.

#severus snape #sirius black #snapetober #snapetober 2020 #snapedom #Moonstone #AU ending sorta fixing the sadness #but not completely!#part 2 tomorrow #I hope someone will be interested anyway #I hesitated about the two-parts thing #but it's so freaking long and it is using two prompts anyway #I hope it's ok that way #I will maybe reblog this later tagging some people who enjoyed Moonstone in the firstplace #just in case they are interested in this #This was HARD to write #I suffered a lot #but not as much as my punctuation lmao #but it was written quite fast too

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averyrogers83writes · 3 years

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Destiny

Title: Destiny Authors: @endrega23 & @averyrogers83 Warnings: Fluffiness Rating: General Pairing: WinterHawk: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton Summary: Clint is a sex-repulsed asexual - he falls fast for people, but since he doesn't want to have sex with them, they sooner or later leave him, because those just seem to be the kinds of people Clint would find for himself. Bucky on the other hand has a hard time falling in love with anyone and finds he’d much have a “friends with benefits” setup with Nat then to go out and find someone. That is until Nat knocks some sense into him and makes him realize something she’s known for a long time. Words: 2904 A/N: This is a collaboration between @averyrogers83writes and @endrega23 for the Marvellous Ace Valentine’s Collab Link: Here

@kimmycup @one-crazy-writer @shield-agent78 @hotoffthepressfics @chuuulip @buckysforeverprincess @thorfanficwriter @the-soulofdevil

There were three things Clint couldn’t function without. Coffee, pizza, and pretty much Bucky. Clinton Francis Barton, AKA Hawkeye, was a mess when Bucky wasn’t around. On his own during his down time he could be a basic basket case. He was like a kid with ADHD on steroids. It was probably all the coffee in his system. If he could, Clint would put an IV filled with coffee straight into his veins. It’s pretty much why Bucky often made two mugs of coffee before he left the apartment and would meet up with Clint on their way to work.

Bucky sat down on his couch, looking out across the street through the very conveniently placed window. On the other side, he could just see into another apartment: Clint’s, who for some reason was extremely animated as he talked to Lucky. Bucky shook his head fondly. He never knew what Clint was up to at any given moment, but whatever it was, he could be sure to be amused and and exasperated.

His phone pinged. Bucky glanced down reflexively and his heart stopped for a moment.

Nat - 1:1

Any plans for Valentine’s, yet? I’m excited to see what you come up with this year ;)

Shit, Valentine’s was next week, wasn’t it? He needed to figure out what to do for Nat. She was hard to come up with ideas for. In fact he really couldn’t remember what he did for her last year for Valentine’s Day, but either way it was only right to do something nice for her.

Just as he was scrolling through his phone for ideas, there was a persistent pounding at the door.

“Alright, hold your horses, I’m coming!” he called out He reluctantly got up from the couch and opened the door without looking up from his phone. He knew it was Clint - no one else knocked quite so enthusiastically.

“Bucky, dude, I need your help.” Clint pushed his way past Bucky, and Bucky looked up. Clint sounded… frantic, somehow.

“What is it this time? Please tell me you didn’t find another cat for me to adopt. Alpine is more than enough for me, thank you very much.”

“No,” Clint shook his head, practically jumping on his toes. He didn’t even rise to Bucky admitting to liking Alpine. What the hell? “I’ve found the one.”

“The one what?” Bucky asked, but damn he knew what the answer was gonna be. Not again.

“You know..the one I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. The one I’m going to marry.”

Bucky sighed. “Yep, exactly what he thought”. Being Clint’s best friend came with some exclusivities, mainly being privy to how chaotic his love life could be. Bucky knew everyone Clint was ever involved with because it seemed like he was with a new partner constantly. When Clint fell, he fell hard, only to break up with them a month or two later. All through college it was the same thing. Clint didn’t fall in love with someone because of what they offered physically, but more emotionally. It’s one of the things that Bucky and Clint had in common.

That wasn’t the only thing they shared, though. Clint’s dad messed him up so badly that the poor kid ended up partially deaf in one ear after a beating. After that Clint swore that he’d find a way to get out and he did. Bucky’s dad was an alcoholic that was more mentally abusive than physically, but he was known to toss Bucky around a time or two. It sucked that their shitty childhoods are what they had in common, but it allowed them to understand each other more where others couldn’t.

“Yeah? And what makes this one different?”

“She’s hot, smart, makes gravity her bitch - I mean have you seen her dance moves? I just know she’s the one for me and I need your help to plan the perfect Valentine’s date. I’m going to ask her to marry me.” Clint shrugged, and Bucky pinched his nose. He could feel he was going to give in. “Please, dude, you’re my best friend and I really need your help on this one. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Bucky sighed again. How could he deny his best friend his assistance? Besides, maybe they could help each other out in trying to figure out the best dates.

“Fine. I’ll help you, but you’ve got to help me with setting something up for Nat.”

“Are you two finally getting serious?”

Bucky just grunted. Where Clint could fall in love with someone quickly, Bucky found it hard to fall in love. He fantasized about it, don’t get him wrong - but finding someone? So far, it really seemed impossible. It was easier to find someone that he didn’t mind hanging out and occasionally having sex with, but anything long-term was nothing more than a dream and the sex - well. He didn’t really care if the relationship was physical at all, but it certainly seemed like the only kind of intimacy he could get. So for the majority of the time he would hook up with Nat.

Natasha was another one of their long time friends. Where Nat and Clint would often partner up on projects, Bucky would be the one to help make their vision a reality. It was what made the three of them such great friends. It was also why Nat and Bucky were so good for each other. They both pretty much wanted the same thing: a friends with benefits situation where there was no real commitment to each other, just an occasion meet up for sex.

The rest of the day the two spent throwing ideas back and forth on what to do. The ideas went from the simple to the down right over the top. Bucky settled for a more simple route for Nat. She wasn’t one that liked frills and fancy stuff so a nice dinner and maybe some flowers would be enough.

Clint, on the other hand, wanted it to be a night Jessica would never forget. So Bucky helped make reservations at one of the most expensive and hard to get into restaurants in the city. Lucky for them they knew someone that could get them a table. Of course then he had to hire a violinist down to the best wine and champagne. But the more Clint talked about how Jessica was the one, the more Bucky felt agitated. He tried to help with getting the reservations set up or the flowers ordered and just found himself getting frustrated faster.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to or liked helping Clint, but the longer he had to deal with it, the shorter his fuse got. When Clint asked Bucky to go with him to the jeweler to help pick out the perfect ring, Bucky finally felt close to breaking. But it wasn’t like he really had a reason to be frustrated, right? Clint would do the same for him. So he made himself take a few deep breaths and went.

-------------------------------------------

The next day Nat invited him to the new Star Wars movie at the mall. The movie was fun (though Bucky would always swear by Star Trek), but what was really worth it was their usual sushi place next to the theater.

Bucky wasn’t quite in the mood, though. He was quiet, he knew - he just didn’t feel like talking. He could feel Nat’s eyes on him, studying him, and he knew it would bite him in the ass, but…

“James.”

Bucky grunted.

“Do not do this with me,” Nat poked at him with her toe. “You are better than this.”

Bucky glanced at Nat and shrugged. “Am I though?”

“James, what is this?” Nat frowned and set her bowl down. “I thought we were over this. What brought it up?”

Bucky let his head fall back.

“Just… I don’t know, Nat. Clint is getting married and all I can feel is annoyed. It’s not like him getting married is so rare,” Bucky waved a hand in the air. “This is the third time I can remember, and you’ve known him longer. Just.” He rolled his head over to look at Nat. “Why can’t I be happy for him?”

Natasha blinked. "James…” she trailed off, then took a harder look at him. “Please tell me you’re just playing ignorant. Dummy, you're in love with Clint."

"What?" Bucky blinked. "I'm not... What?

He couldn't be, what was Natasha even talking about? Clint was his best friend. Sure, they hung out all the time, but it wasn't romantic. Was it? Noo, no way. It wasn't.

"James Buchanan Barnes." Natasha glared at him. Shit, full named? "Tell me you knew that.

"Nat, come on," Bucky pleaded, his eyes going wider. It couldn't be, right? "You're joking, right? Clint is my best friend, I'm not in love with him.

Natasha stared at him. "You're not kidding.

"Uhm..."

"I can't.” Natasha shook her head. “Just... Think a bit about it. I'm going to get ice cream.

"Rude," Bucky muttered to Natasha's departing back. Leaving him in an emotional crisis and getting ice cream without him? Rude. He should be the one getting the ice cream.

But Natasha couldn't be right, right?

October, 2014

Bucky stared out of his window. If he stood just so, he could see into Clint’s apartment on the other side of the street. Of course, Clint could also see into his, but where that would have bothered him with anyone else, with Clint, it was fine. Clint was fine.

Except right at that moment, Clint wasn’t right, because just as Bucky was preparing to turn away and settle in for his solo night in, Clint tripped right in the narrow strip Bucky could see. Probably over Lucky. The poor dog always got in Clint’s way whenever Clint was getting ready for a date, and really, Bucky couldn’t blame him. He often had the urge to trip Clint up, just so he couldn’t leave on his newest date.

Which was stupid. Clint was an adult, and they’ve known each other long enough that Bucky knew Clint didn’t appreciate others directing his life for him. So Bucky wouldn’t, really. Clint had the right to go on date after date, fall for person after person, and every time he got dumped, Bucky and Natasha would be there with ice cream. Because that’s what friends were for.

Clint tripped right in that narrow strip again, and Bucky sighed. Maybe he should go rescue Clint from Lucky. Maybe Alpine wouldn’t even mind, and that way, at least he’d have a cuddle buddy, even without Clint.

August, 2015

“Hey!” Clint shouted as he pushed open Bucky’s door. “You ready for our pizza night in?” Bucky sighed. “In the kitchen!” he called back. “You know, I distinctly remember locking the door.” “Oops?” Clint grinned at him from the kitchen doorway. “What are you making?” Bucky sighed again, but he couldn’t stop the smile curling his lips. “Just some salad. Natasha threatened again to force-feed you greens, thought I would preempt it.” “Awww, you’re my hero,” Clint fluttered his eyelids, and something in Bucky’s chest squeezed. “Yeah, well,” he said brusquely to cover it up, and pointed at the spare chopping board he set up. “Get chopping. The onions are yours.” “Aw, onions, no,” Clint complained, but obediently stepped up to the board. “Do you have to make me cry?” Only fair, Bucky thought, but bit his tongue before it slipped out. Where the hell did that even come from?

December, 2015

“Come on, Clint!” Bucky shouted to the kitchen, twisting impatiently. “The episode is starting!” “Shit!” Clint cursed, and something crashed. “I’m fine, don’t have to come!” “Sure you are, buddy,” Bucky muttered to himself. The day Clint would be fine in the kitchen was the day they married. Instead, he twisted back to look at the TV, playing the intro of Dog Cops. Why Clint loved that series, he’d never understand, but it made Clint happy so it didn’t much matter. “I’m here!” Clint announced and plopped down next to Bucky. “I think Alpine ate the chicken wings. Sorry.” “Well, whatever,” Bucky grumbled. “Come here.” “Yes, sir,” Clint grinned, and threw his head down on Bucky’s lap. “You’ll have to feed me, I can’t reach the popcorn this way.” “Oh no,” Bucky deadpanned, but obediently reached out to grab a fistful of popcorn. “Now shush.” He dropped the fistful into Clint’s open mouth. Clint grinned up at him, cheeky, but his mouth was full so Bucky just shoved his face to look at the TV. “Dog Cops. Now.”

As if on cue, the intro ended, and then suddenly Clint wasn’t that interested in annoying him anymore.

“Aww, I didn’t miss it!” Clint crowed from behind the popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, dummy,” Bucky snorted, and sank his hand into Clint’s hair. Really, getting to pet Clint might be his favorite part of watch parties.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky whispered. “I’m in love with Clint Barton.”

“What?” a voice came from behind him, and Bucky turned, confused.

“Jessica?”

“Yeah, dummy,” Jessica frowned at him from the door to the sushi place. “What did you just say? Because to me it sounds like you just professed love to my boyfriend.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky cursed. Jessica was staring at him expectantly, but Bucky’s mind was blank. He could feel his heart start to race and his breath coming shorter. He couldn’t believe that he said that out loud, for fuck’s sake.

Jessica sighed. “It’s true, isn’t it? You know, I should thank you. You made things so much easier.”

“What?” Bucky frowned.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Jessica smiled tightly and turned.

“What? Jessica…!” Bucky finally sprang into motion, but it was too late; Jessica was gone.

What the hell had she been talking about?

------------------------------------------

Bucky was going out of his mind. He wasn’t able to find Jessica in the mall, and she wouldn’t answer her phone. He wasn’t able to find Nat, either, and when he called her, she just laughed at him and hung up. Honestly, he should just call Clint, but…

But he was a coward. What if Jessica told Clint? What if Clint now hated Bucky? There was no way Clint felt the same way - Bucky knew what Clint in love looked like. It came quick, it was flaming, and it was over just as fast. They’ve known each other for years, now. He should just go to sleep, right? He had work in the morning. But when he looked around the apartment, it was… empty. Specifically, it had a Clint-shaped void gaping at the center. Well, that wasn’t going to change. He might as well get used to… Loud banging on his door interrupted Bucky’s train of thought. What the hell? He rushed to open the door before the banging woke the whole building. “Clint?” Shit, Clint looked awful.

“Jessica broke up with me. She just got up and broke up without any warning other than that I needed to talk to you.”

“Clint I…”

“Bucky what the….What did you say to her! Tell me!”

“Clint I didn’t realize that she was near and she...she apparently overheard me.” Bucky’s heart was racing, he knew he had to come clean, but… “Come in, at least? The whole building doesn’t need to hear us.”

“Oh,” Clint smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

They walked to the couch in silence, but Bucky could feel the tension bubbling up in Clint. To be fair, he wasn’t much calmer.

“Tell me what she overheard,” Clint demanded once they reached the couch.

Bucky took a big breath. Well, here goes nothing.

“She overheard me come to the realization that I love you. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to. Honestly, I just want things to stay the same; I value your friendship more than any romance.” Bucky’s face flushed. “But I’ve never felt more like myself with anyone else, and, well. You wanted to know.” His palms were sweating and he felt like he was going to faint, and Clint was just staring at him with an open mouth. An actually, comically open mouth. “Clint?”

“Where the fuck did you get the idea that I don’t love you?”

“Wha..what?” Bucky blinked.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met,” Clint said, and a shit eating grin started to appear on his face. “You were everything I ever wanted from a relationship.”

“But…” Bucky blinked again. This was… this didn’t make sense. “You kept falling in love with people!”

“Polyamory,” Clint shrugged, and oh, that made sense. “I kept hoping someone would turn out half as good as you. No one did, though.”

“I… Okay, okay.” Bucky took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this is a lot to process. Oh my god.” Relief started to fill him. A stupid smile stretched his face, and it felt like he could fly away. Oh god, could he really get to have this? “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Clint grinned back at him, then leaned over to kiss Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky’s face erupted in flames. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

“We’ll have to talk things over.”

“I know.”

“Things can’t be this easy.”

“Can’t they though?”

“Wanna cuddle?”

“Hell yes.”

#marvellous aces valentines event #clint barton #bucky barnes #aces #natasha romanoff #jessica drew #sex-repulsed #greysexual #get together #ace characters

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saeyoungs-sunflower · 4 years

Text

A Piece of You: Chapter 3

Pairing: Zen x MC

Synopsis: After the death of his sister, Zen is entrusted with raising her daughter. Six years later and MC has settled into RFA, but she just wants to be back on the roof with the love of her life like she was two years before. But dealing with teenage years, dragged out engagements and a lot of unsaid feelings, you start to lose a piece of you. Or, perhaps, find a piece you had that had been missing the whole time.

Warnings: None!

A/N: Heya! So I know this series isn’t getting a lot of notes or anything, but I still have a lot of ideas/inspiration for it so I’m gonna keep it going, even if it’s just for me haha! Also want to say a massive thank you to @sunshinejihyun for saying such kind things about this series and being so enthusiastic for it, as well as just generally being a lovely human being. She’s given me a lot of motivation to keep writing this so thank you so much for that! Love ya!! <3

⇦ Previous Chapter

***

��Oh, two can play at that game, buddy!” MC cried as she threw a handful of flour at Saeyoung, who was currently rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach as tears of laughter rolled triumphantly down his cheeks.

“Honestly, MC! It was an-an accident!”

“Ah okay, so the egg just accidentally got crushed on my head, did it?” you questioned, finger tapping expectantly on the counter, raw egg white now trickling down your forehead.

“Well,” Saeyoung tried to speak, but kept being interrupted by his own laughter, “I guess…you could say you have..” he bit his lip, “egg on your face.”

“You have five seconds to run,” MC said eerily calmly, but Saeyoung knew what was coming and did not miss a beat to bolt out of the kitchen. MC promptly followed, arms held out ready for the most fierce tickle war anyone had ever seen.

“So childish,” Saeran mumbled, perched on the counter-top as he scooped batter out of the mixing bowl before licking the spoon.

Saeyoung was finally caught by MC on the couch, shrieks of laughter filling the house as MC mercilessly tickled his stomach - his most ticklish spot, she’d learnt.

The three had grown remarkably close over the past year or so, after MC spent most of it living with the twins to help the two grow closer together, and to help Saeyoung when Saeran was at his lowest. She always knew how to calm Saeran down whilst also reassuring Saeyoung that he was not at fault. They had become more like triplets, and MC adored her little family. It wasn't a family until she found them, and Saeyoung willed himself to believe that such an immense kindness was nurtured in a place of warmth and care.

But MC was not an open book. She was a brand-new novel, placed prettily on a coffee table to be admired and shown-off. In order to read the contents, the spine would have to be broken, edges curled, pages stained. To understand her would be to break her, which was a price MC wouldn’t dare bid.

Saeyoung thought that such a warm heart would never survive the biting ice of the world, and therefore wearing it on her sleeve would be suicide.

And that’s where he went wrong. That’s where he lost his chance. Because the world wasn’t as cold as either of them initially thought, you just had to look in the right places. Saeyoung had found his place now, and the taste of remorse lingered bitterly on his tongue when he realised he couldn't be that place for her, and that she still didn’t know where to look.

But that thought was for another day. Outward gratitude spoke louder than inward regret.

“Okay! Okay okay OKAY MC I’m sorry! Please, have mercy!” Saeyoung pleaded.

“Hm, sorry’s not good enough.”

“What about if I promise you the love and affection from your favourite tomato - God Seven!”

“I get that anyway. And besides, Saeran’s my favourite tomato.”

Saeyoung let out a cry of disbelief, but Saeran snickered from the kitchen, “Idiot. Know your place.”

He sighed, giving in, “Fine, I’ll stop giving physics lessons in the chatroom for at least two months.”

“Now that’s a deal I can get behind.”

The two shook on it, giggling like children as they headed back into the kitchen, clearing up the absolute bomb site they had made. MC idly glanced up at the clock before letting out a loud gasp, startling both twins. “Crap, I gotta get ready! And get this stupid egg out of my hair!”

“Ooooo,” Saeyoung sung, the corners of his mouth curling into a smug grin, “has someone got a date?” he joked.

MC stayed quiet, suddenly peaking the interest of the red-heads who promptly stopped what they were doing, “Wait, are you serious, MC?!” Saeyoung burst, voice cracking (adorably) at the end, “You actually have a date?”

“Did that punk finally ask you out?” Saeran said nonchalantly as he finished scraping out the remainder of the batter.

MC quirked an eyebrow, “What do you mean? What punk?”

Saeyoung shot his brother a pointed look before turning back to MC, “Ignore him, it’s the salmonella talking. So who are you going out with? Do we know him?”

MC tried to busy herself by checking the cupcakes in the oven, suddenly feeling a little coy about the subject, “I doubt you know him, he's a friend of Zen’s. They’re co-stars in the play he's in, actually.”

Saeran gave Saeyoung a perplexed look, which went completely missed by MC. Saeyoung brushed it off, though he knew he felt the same way as his brother, “Awwww MC! You’re all grown up!” MC groaned, but this only encouraged him, “So, what’s his name?”

“His name’s Chul. And don't you dare go snooping around and doing background checks or whatever. I can figure him out for myself, thank you very much. Promise?”

Saeyoung whined like a toddler, but agreed anyway, “Well, you better get going or you’re gonna be late! Do you want a ride home?”

“It’s okay, I have to stop at the shop on the way,” MC said as she put on her coat and slung her bang over her shoulder. She was also incredibly grateful that she remembered to bring a hat today to…you know, hide the egg and whatnot. “You better save me a cupcake!”

“We’ll bring some round tomorrow,” he called after her, “and you can tell me all the juicy details!”

“Not a chance, Choi boy!” she called out from the doorway before slamming the door.

“She’s seriously going on a date with another guy? I could have sworn she was all loved up by Mr ‘God’s mistake’ or whatever.”

“She was,” Saeyoung sighed, cleaning up the remnants of their shenanigans, “but that was what, two years ago now? Zen hasn’t shown any indication of wanting to go further, she has the right to move on.”

“Sure,” Saeran started as he hopped off the counter to help his brother, “but isn't she going to ask him about it? Just in case?”

“Something tells me she already has.”

Her visit was completely welcome, but unexpected. MC had called the night before asking if they wanted to hang out, when she’d usually just text an hour or so before to check that they weren’t busy and then just turn up. It was like she needed the reassurance, like she needed to have the certainty that she would see them. Like she needed it to get through the night.

It could have been written off as pre-date nerves, but Saeyoung suspected it went deeper than that. You learn a lot from living with someone for months, and Saeyoung knew that MC wasn't acting like herself. The thought made him chew on his lip as he continued to wash up.

Saeran noticed this, lightly punching his brother in the arm, “Hey, she’s a tough girl. I’m sure she's perfectly capable of handling boy-drama.”

Boy-drama? Probably. But Saeyoung knew very well, from his own experience, the look of someone in love, as well as the look of someone heartbroken. He saw the first look fade away from MC’s face, being replaced by the latter. It felt like a punch in the gut.

Once everything was cleaned up, Saeyoung opened up his laptop and started typing away.

He was going to have to break his promise. Just this once. For her sake. He couldn’t fail her for the second time.

He never wanted to see that look on her face again.

***

“So, how long have you known Zen?” Chul asked casually as the waitress brought the bill.

“About two years now, I think?” MC replied, taking a sip of her wine.

“Mm, and how much of that time have you been in love with him?”

MC almost choked on her drink, her eyes darting to his. Chul chuckled, handing her a napkin, “Sorry, I suppose that was a little forward.”

“Just a tad,” MC said, trying to recover, “What makes you think I was in love with him?”

“I saw the way you were looking at him on stage, and the look on your face when he was doing the kissing scene,” he took a sip of his own drink, “I just connected the dots.”

“Ah…I see.”

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything to him. I just want to know what he did to make you look so defeated, so upset,” he stared directly into her eyes, “Were you guys together at some point? Did he hurt you?”

“God no! No no, we were never together,” she felt a sharp pang in her chest, “and he never did anything to hurt me. He’s always been such a sweetheart…”

Chul nodded, listening intently, “So why did you never get together? You both clearly care for each other.”

Why did they never end up together? Ah, yeah, because Zen clearly didn’t want that. Maybe she wasn't his type, maybe he saw her more as a sister, maybe she just wasn’t good enough for him.

Ouch.

“I…We just weren't meant to be, I suppose.” And why were they talking about this anyway? Bit of a weird topic of conversation for a first date, MC thought, “Why did you want to know?”

He smiled, “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t getting in the middle of anything. And I’ve been worried about that look since I last saw you. I wanted to know if you were alright, and if you weren’t, if it was something I could help you get over.”

MC smirked, “Oh? You think you can help me get over him?” she said jokingly.

“I do,” Chul said gently, “If you let me.”

The night was surprisingly pleasant. Not that MC doubted that Chul was a nice guy, she just thought that going on a date with someone considering her current situation would be too weird, but she actually had a lovely time. They had a fantastic meal at a beautiful restaurant, which despite MC’s protests, Chul paid for. She said she’d pay for the next one, which made Chul smile at the confirmation of a ‘next one’. He walked her home, slowly strolling under the warm glow of the streetlights they passed, hands occasionally brushing against each other, chatting as though they were old friends.

He kissed her softly on the cheek at her doorstep before wishing her a good night. As he turned away, his words from before rang in MC’s ear.

If you let me.

He was already halfway down the block when MC caught up to him, grabbing his arm to spin him round to face her. After a moments hesitation, she balanced on her tip-toes to land a chaste kiss on Chul’s lips, which he happily returned with the same gentleness as before.

MC had never been one to kiss on the first date. Hell, she had never been the one to date full-stop. But she saw an opportunity for adventure, for companionship…for love. She obviously didn’t love Chul, but she knew she could. She would no longer wish upon a shooting star, now she would shoot after it herself.

She broke away from the kiss first and slowly untangled her arms from around his neck, “Goodnight, Chul.”

He smiled softly at her, loosening his hold around her waist, “Goodnight, MC.”

As she walked back to her apartment, she swore she felt the ghost of Chul’s hand on the small of her back, his lips on her own. She suddenly missed his voice, his scent, his touch. She suddenly missed him. Or did she miss being wanted by him?

MC took out her phone once she made it through her door, her thumb hovering over Zen’s number. Usually it was instinctual to call him the second she felt the pull of loneliness, and she knew he would have been worrying about her. But she couldn't bring herself to press the button.

If things were going to work out with Chul, she needed to give him the best chance. She needed to give him her attention, and needed to confide in him rather than a love that never was.

She knew that you can’t get over the hurdle if you never leave the starting line, and she knew that Chul could help her get over it once she did.

If she let him.

***

Masterlist || Next Chapter

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger fanfiction #zen x mc #zen ryu #hyun ryu #mm zen #mystic messenger zen #my writing

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tcm · 4 years

Text

Rediscovering Bob Hope by Susan King

I once turned down Bob Hope’s offer to take a piece of his pumpkin pie. It was a week after Thanksgiving in 1991. I had been dispatched by my editor at the Los Angeles Times to interview the comic legend, then 88, for his upcoming Christmas special on NBC, Bob Hope’s Cross-Country Christmas, which featured Macaulay Culkin, Reba McEntire, Miss America and the Associated Press All-America Team (football).

Hope had been with the Peacock network for 54 years at that time and he had been doing holiday specials for them since 1953.

All press interviews took place at his famed mansion in Toluca Lake in a Vermont Country Store-decorated family room that overlooked his expansive backyard which was spread over several acres. Lunch was served during the 30-minute interview. Though he was extremely hard of hearing, Hope refused to wear his hearing aids. So, interviewers were placed on his left side at the table because his hearing was better in that ear.

We were served a delicious warm chicken salad with bacon. But the highlight of the meal was a pumpkin pie with warm homemade whipped cream. All conversation stopped while we ate the heavenly dessert. Hope still had once piece left when he forked it and proffered it to me.

“I’ll give it to you for 25 cents,” he said laughing. I didn’t have any change, so I politely turned down the offer. He smiled as he popped the piece into his mouth.

Most baby boomers like myself grew up with Hope. I remember my mother taking me at the age of five to see his last good movie, 1960’s THE FACTS OF LIFE, which also starred Lucille Ball. And on early Sunday evenings, one of the TV stations had a Bob Hope/Bing Crosby Theater, which featured their slaphappy Road comedies (1942’s THE ROAD TO MOROCCO is my fav), as well as such solo Hope hits as 1940’s THE GHOST BREAKERS and 1949’s SORROWFUL JONES, with Ball. And in the 1960s, Hope’s NBC specials, especially the ones where he entertained the troops, were must-see viewing.

When I was old enough to finally see the Academy Awards, I found him the perfect Oscar host. In fact, he would host the ceremony 19 times either solo or as part of a team. Though he always joked that he was never nominated for an Oscar, he actually received four honorary Oscars as well as the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award.

But the quality of his movies dropped drastically in the 1960s. I remember sitting in horror in the theater during 1966’s BOY, DID I GET A WRONG NUMBER! and 1967’s EIGHT ON A LAM. And I rarely watched his specials from the 1970s on. He seemed out of touch and too conservative. Hope’s once fun shows seemed wheezy.

When I talked to Richard Zoglin for the L.A. Times in 2014 about his biography, Hope: Entertainer of the Century, he noted that the comic alienated viewers during the Vietnam War.

“He was so sure that we were doing a good thing over there in Vietnam,” he said. “He had been convinced by the generals he met over there that the military was being hamstrung by politicians and if we went all out, we would win this war in a couple of months. He hated that there were protesters out there picketing. He was from the World War II generation. He started speaking out. He would bad-mouth picketers.”

Hope died July 27, 2003, just two months after his 100th birthday. There haven’t been any major retrospectives of his classic films. In fact, the Bob Hope Airport has been renamed the Hollywood Burbank Airport. (Its legal name is still Bob Hope Airport). In a 2016 interview with the L.A. Times, Burbank commissioner Don Brown said that “Bob Hope isn’t doing it. We’ve been told by our travel agencies here and been told by the airlines that we’ve got to do something, and the name Bob Hope just doesn’t identify with this airport.”

I think it would be great if the new decade started with a rediscovery of Hope, who not only conquered film, but vaudeville, Broadway, radio and television. And he was the complete package. Not only was he funny, but he could sing and dance.

Even before he made his feature film debut in 1938’s THE BIG BROADCAST OF 1938, he had starred on Broadway in 1933’s Roberta. Hope and Eve Arden introduced the standard “I Can’t Get Started (with You)” in Ziegfeld Follies of 1936, and he and Ethel Merman turned Cole Porter’s “It’s De-Lovely” into a major hit in 1936’s RED, HOT AND BLUE. “Thanks for the Memory,” the Oscar-winning song from his first film, became Hope’s signature song and a decade later he introduced the Oscar-winner “Buttons and Bows” from his hysterically funny 1948 farce, THE PALEFACE.

Hope really came into his own with the 1939 mystery-comedy THE CAT AN THE CANARY with Paulette Goddard. It was the first time he played what would become his on-screen persona of the brash, wisecracking coward who loved women. Woody Allen later admitted his reel-life character was inspired by Hope.

Hope told me in 1991 that he had been offered a return to Broadway after he came to Hollywood, but “I got lucky after my third picture, THE CAT AND THE CANARY. I turned into box office. When Cat and the Canary came out (people) started running to the theaters. Then Paramount ran over to my dressing room with a contract for seven years. So, I signed up for seven years.” He made one hit after another in the 1940s and 1950s.

“They were not great films, but Hope is great in them,” Zoglin told me. “You can see how focused he is as a performer, how in character he is all the time. He’s good physically, and verbally he’s absolute perfection.

Film and TV historian Stan Taffel also explained to me in 2014 that Hope was as “perfect as Chaplin was. He knew where the camera was, and he knew how to pose for the camera. He didn't take his character so seriously, so we could have fun with it. I think his movies in that era are the best things he ever did.”

Save for the wan 1962 THE ROAD TO HONG KONG, the Road comedies with Crosby and Dorothy Lamour are perhaps his finest achievements. The comedic chemistry between the three is hard to match. Hope noted in my interview that he and Crosby had no idea that 1940’s THE ROAD TO SINGAPORE would kick off a successful franchise. “We didn’t care,” he said. “We used to do anything for a laugh. After about a week [into production], the director, Victor Schertzinger, went into the commissary and sat down at the table and said, ‘I got the easiest job, all I have to do with these guys is say ‘Start.’ But I don’t want to say ‘Stop.’ It was fun.”

The last time I saw Hope in person was at the taping of the special Bob Hope: The First 90 Years in early May, 1993, executive produced by his daughter Linda Hope. The special would go on to win the Emmy for Outstanding Variety, Musical or Comedy Special.

It was an extraordinary evening. I was at the front table with Karl Malden ad his wife and Telly Savalas and his wife. Les Brown and His Band of Renown was to my left. Michael Feinstein and George Burns were sitting behind me. Lamour was at a nearby table and so was Ginger Rogers. I looked to my right and saw President Gerald Ford sitting with Walter Cronkite.

Johnny Carson, who had retired from The Tonight Show opened the special in what would be his last monologue. He told the crowd that it was “astonishing” how much Hope had accomplished over his near seven-decade career, adding that the world is a “better and happier” place with Hope in our lives.

There wasn’t a dry eye int the house when veterans of several wars talked about what it meant to them when Hope came during the conflicts to entertain them.

Back in 1991, I asked if he would ever retire.

He smiled: “Not as long as I feel good. It is too much fun. God, you just have fun just doing things with people. You have fun writing. …It keeps your mind alert and keeps you thinking.”

#Bob Hope #Road to Morocco #Bing Crosby #comedian #vaudville #war #entertainer #troops #television special #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #Susan King

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southern-belle-outcasts · 3 years

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4, 5, and 20 mun views

Mun Views

4. On your fandom.

Which one lmao....um, well X-Men? Cool, a lot of the fandom to some degree is drawn cuz they can relate be they part of some type of minority group. Don’t see too many assholes, I think most of the jerks that were on here fell off during nippocalypse. There is a divide with the comic elitists vs xmcu and it’s dumb. I used to be an xmcu blog cuz I WANTED to read the comics but I was a broke ass college student who had literally no access to that, but I’d seen Wolverine and the X-Men, plus the movies that were out at the time. If I’d let those asses run me off, well, wouldn’t have continued to build my comic book collection (I’d already read Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, I’m talking specifically X-Men comics).

Arrowverse? I don’t follow many of the blogs, I have a select few I follow. My fandom experience is pretty much my friends with fairly similar views so I can’t speak on the fandom outside of the fact there’s a loooot of veiled hating on women of color under the guise of griping with the crappy writing. I try to avoid it. I don’t hold with Iris and Cecile hate, they’re good characters subjected to the writing of white men, what do you want.

Star Wars? NOPE. Hell naw. No thank you. Bye. I have no interest. I make it very clear this is a “the prequels are the shit, TCW is a fucking joke and trashes the characters, not!Star Wars mouse sequels are non-existent, the og EU is not legends it’s the only recognized canon” blog, and I’m this unapologetically. I have extremely strong opinions, I’ve literally been in the fandom since I was 6, I’ve spent hours reading EU content, visual dictionaries and encyclopedias, concept art of the movies books, comics, novelizations, etc. If you’re a stan of the other...stuff, I’ll probably say shit that will offend you and it’s probably for the best you don’t follow me cuz I’m not censoring these opinions, ever, at all. And for the love of all things holy, if you want to call R*ylo okay, or Anidala toxic, we meeting up behind Denny’s, yo.

Supernatural? Kinda sorta, considering I don’t link Nil and Farrar to any of the show canon besides using some of the monster lore. Like we don’t do the appropriation of native spirituality on this blog, so there’s no use of W*nd*g* cuz you’re not supposed to write or say that, like no. I have major problems with the show, that’s a mile and a half long, past season 5 it went downhill, they really should have left Swan Song as the finale. The queer baiting and bury the gays, the trash trash trash finale, the way any poc and female characters are handled, there’s so much oof. I stay away from it. Honestly kind of nice to see the SPN crowd was mostly quiet, it was RAMPANT when I first got on here, and there was a looot of drama. The way the extreme crowd of the fandom conducts themselves with the actors and stuff tells you a lot. Another nope. I prefer to stick to fandomless urban fantasy.

5. On exclusivity.

If that’s someone’s jam, that’s cool. Doesn’t bother me. At one point I was exclusive to a few versions of characters. Not anymore, but I can understand how sometimes someone just clicks for you to the extent it rubs you wrong seeing a different version. It doesn’t stop me from writing with other people so I literally give no fucks and don’t see why anyone else should either.

20. On 'popular' blogs.

Here’s where I piss a lot of people off, and I don’t really fucking care, as having at one point been an even more actively sought out blog back when the MCU was taking off in 2012-2014 and having tons of asks and thread requests, I can more than speak on what it’s like being a popular blog.Technically still am, you don’t have to take my word for it, just look in my thread tracker, and that’s not even all the threads cuz some are in drafts cuz they’re starters and I can’t add yet.

There’s nothing wrong with people enjoying your writing and following you. Awesome, good for you. It often proves to be a lot for people and I don’t like when I see people biting off more than they can chew but still pushing for more followers and asks and threads. Frankly, it’s really, really rude. I get wanting to make people happy, or wanting to try new threads and stuff, but you should also be reasonable with how much you can manage. If I see someone complaining about having too many drafts and asks and then not being able to write because of the pressure, but then daily pushing their promo or their wire or memes...and nothings coming of it...and they’re admitting they can’t get their muse to reply...then STOP. “You don’t owe anyone anything” means you don’t owe anyone respect and obligations that aren’t due.

When you decide to join a collaborative writing hobby, you’re still committing to your partners to write to some degree. Now if that means you’re going to be slow, and super minimal with which followers you actually interact with THAT IS FINE...as long as you have that communicated and make it very clear to the people who follow you they’re probably just following to be lurkers. But I can’t get with constantly pulling for interaction then within the same day the whole inbox is being dumped, drafts are being dumped, the same three people are the only ones ever getting a reply for the past three months, etc.

There’s been times I’ve said I can’t plot right now, there’s been weeks I bump all the memes in my queue further down so that they don’t post so I can catch up. I’m so secure with partners I don’t follow back unless I get my rules code sent in (newsflash: 9/10 I never see it). I never post a promo. I really don’t need to, if I see someone I really want to interact with on my dash, I’ll follow first, but I can’t in good conscious promote myself when I’m at a decent spot keeping up with a LOT. Sometimes I’m really glad I’m a multi with OCS and mostly female muses, it helps avoid ever reaching the point where I’m just getting too many followers to keep up with, but giving yourself a cut-off isn’t a bad thing people. Trying to do too much is.

There, I have successfully pissed off a ton of people, but I’m not taking it back. There’s way too much immaturity on this matter on here, and it’s really a litmus test of the people who HAVE been in group hobbies that are interdependent of cooperation of all members offline, and those who haven’t. “It’s my hobby” isn’t this get of of jail free card you get to wave everywhere when you want to ignore people. You can’t pull that in most hobbies that involve more than one person, whatever it may be, if it’s a DND group, rec sports, chess, whatever. This is my hobby too. I just probably take hobbies and commitment to other people to a more...respectful level. If I have real life, or physical issues, of course that takes priority, but here’s a little secret...we ALL, like 99% of the community, have some degree of mental health, nuerodivergence, jobs, home life, chronic physical issues. I want you to single me out the mun that doesn’t have any of that impacting their writing capabilities to some degree. Please, find them for me. You having those things doesn’t make you special and if you can’t communicate that it’s too much, you need the “flood of follows” from your promo circulating but can’t ever write...I’m just sighing over here.

If any of these opinions rub you wrong, I don’t mind you just unfollowing,that’s fine. No one is forcing you to remain. I strongly believe the people that don’t want to remotely take it seriously, and the people that do take it more seriously, should just keep to themselves, that way no one is getting offended by the other for how they choose to enjoy their hobby. You should enjoy it, goddamnit!!! But NOT at the expense of stringing other people along. Communication is kind of essential here, as much as people want to go “I’m too shy, BLOCK”, but y’all I have ADHD, RSD, social anxiety (I used to live in an anxiety attack it was so bad), and I still do my best to communicate with people even on uncomfortable topics. If I can manage, so can you. And if you CAN’T be mature...and communicate...then mayhaps stick to fanfic until you learn how.

#;out of the south #;munday #DUMPTRUCK OF SALT ALERT #watch my follower count go off the cliff i really don't care #hey nonny nonny #;little asks are made of gunpowder and lead

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szopenhauer · 4 years

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What star sign is the last person you text messaged? Aries

How did you feel when you woke up today? not well

Do you know what the person you're dating is doing at this moment? napping

Who was the last person to make you cry with laughter? my gf

Who was the last person you talked about sex/love with? either her or my father

Who introduced you to the person you're in a relationshop with? my high school classmate K.K.

How many brothers does your father have? two

When was the last time you did something which you knew was wrong? I don’t know what’s wrong and what not, ugh...

Do you still speak to your first crush? nope

If you could get your own house with one friend, who would you pick? dad but I’d prefer to live alone

Which is worse, too-tight clothes or much too-loose clothes? too tight are worse

What is something that you are willing to fight for? hmm...

If you jump, can you touch the ceiling of the room you’re in? noooo

Which do you think is worse: ear aches or tooth aches? tooth aches

How many different colors are you wearing right now? 3 (4 counting panties)

You can only listen to one band for the rest of your life, who do you pick? omg I can’t choose :o

Do you like big or small cars better? big

What store do you get the majority of your shoes from? *shrug*

What place, in your mind, is heaven on earth? How about hell on earth? there’s no such thing as heaven on Earth to me as I would bring myself there and ruin everything but almost whole planet is hell mostly because of people

Do you think there is anything scary about midnight? midnight is the time of ghosts but no longer minute before and/or after :P

Can you snap with both of your hands? yep

In your opinion what is the absolute worst house chore? laundry?

How young do you think is too young to get married? definitely under 20 but I think it’s best to get married 30+

Who do you think is the dumbest superhero? I can’t believe Green lantern is an actual superhero...

Would you rather be a hair stylist or a clothes designer? clothes designer

Would you rather be 3 inches taller or shorter than you are now? taller

Are there any foods that you think smell good, but taste bad? possibly

Would you ever stay overnight at any of your neighbors houses? why would I?

Do you think it would be cooler to play a hero or the villain in a movie? hero

If you had the last name of your favorite actor, what would your name be? I like many actors so...

how many syllables does your first name consist of?: 3

do you know someone who is allergic to chocolate?: used to know

have you worn a dress [casual, formal, etc] within the past week?: not within the past week

when was the last time you saw the last person you kissed?: days ago

is that person your significant other?: yup

last person you talked to on the phone and what was it about?: mom, I informed her she probably didn’t take out the matches from my pocket and now she’s washing my shorts with ‘em inside the machine and my instinct was right so she turned it off in the last moment, minutes or even seconds later water would soak the package and that could ruin the clothes, I wish she checked or asked while taking my stuff away

got any plans today?: been to laboratory, done shopping but am too tired to help my parents in carrying wood

were you born in an odd or even numbered year?: even

did you drive anywhere at all today?: took the bus

which of your parents did you see last?: both at once

describe your current shirt: black tee Nie każdy musi mnie lubić w końcu nie każdy ma dobry gust with Lil My

are you currently listening to music?: I’m very picky about songs today

do you fill out your own surveys or do you think it’s just weird?: I do

where did you buy the shoes you last wore?: Biedronka (Tom & Rose)

last disappointment?: health issues

do you still talk to the person you first kissed?: yeah

did you seriously believe that the opposite sex had cooties in elementary?: I didn’t think about that

did you take a nap today?: I barely ever take naps in general

name something random in your car: I don’t own a car

would/did you cheat on someone for revenge or if they wouldn’t find out? neither

would you rather be remembered for something bad or forgotten? forgotten

would you date someone twice your age for money? only if I really had to survive and there was no other way but not forever?

rate your self-confidence, 1 being insecure, and 10 being cocky. I’m insecure but not sure how much

are you content? I wish

would you knowingly be who someone cheats on someone else with? cheats with me on someone they pretend to love? hell no

would you sleep with a teacher to pass a class you were failing? ewww, yuk

have you ever contemplated physically hurting yourself or another? mhm

are you prejudice against any groups of people? I am

is there anything you chose to be ignorant about? (war, animal rights, etc) maybe

would you replace any family members if possible (& who)? oh well...

do you lie when asked how you’re doing? what for? to blame then for not noticing? to be an ass who’s lying?...

do you have any plans for tomorrow? meeting with M.

are you able to get a tan? not much

the next time you are on an airplane, where will you be traveling to? umm... no thx

are you satisfied with the picture on your id card? could be worse but also could be better

what are your chances of getting with your crush? I'm taken

what color is your car? no car!

is the song you’re currently listening to being sung by a male or female? two women

where did you get the shirt that you’re wearing? it was a gift

how tall is the last person you kissed? taller than me

is anybody in the room with you right now? not rn

how long have you been with your significant other, if you have one? 3 months

do you enjoy dried fruit? meh

How’s your day going? blergh

What does your umbrella look like? I borrow my parents’ umbrella, I hate umbrellas

Do you share a room with anyone? there are furniture with stuff inside that don’t belong to me

Do you have socks on? Describe them. grey

Are you one of those people who has like a hundred apps on their phone? I have spotify, choices, tumblr, tik tok, fb and messenger

Do you have good reflexes? I guess

Picture you think is cute.

Do you like blowing bubbles? sometimes

Are you better at posing good questions or coming up with outrageous dares? depends

Has there been a celebrity death that really affected you? I cried after some celebs but that’s all

If you’re out of high school, have you stayed in touch with your high school friends? I haven’t :(

Do you think, if it came down to it, that you’d be able to kill someone? I believe I might

Are you good at rating things? am not

Do you get into a lot of arguments? :x

Can you pass for older than you are? can’t even pass for my real age lmfao

Do you talk a lot? at times

Are you capable of finishing a game of Monopoly? it’s not that hard

Do you own any tie-dye clothing? I hate tie-dye

How much soda do you drink in a week? - Do you like being asked questions? love Are you nosy? slightly

How well can you pay attention to someone talking? depends What is the closest yellow thing to you? rosary Would you mind living on a farm? I’d try Are you a patient person? wouldn’t say so What annoys you the most about people? what doesn’t... Does your computer freeze a lot? my browser freezes right after turning on the computer and my internet dies often

Have you ever ate glue? wtf

When is the last time you took a picture? this day

If you could know one thing about the future, what would it be? when will I die for example

Do you like Ellen Degeneres? she’s awful

Are you comfortable dancing in public? whatever

Would you like to live to be 110 years old? I wanna die already

Do you like getting your picture taken? I’m ugly

Do you like being the X or the O when you play tic tac toe? X

What do you think is the most popular name for a girl? I checked:

Zofia Hanna Julia Zuzanna Alicja Maja Helena Maria Oliwia Pola

What about a boy?

Jan Franciszek Antoni Aleksander Stanisław Jakub Adam Leon Mikołaj Szymon

*do ya like any?

How many people are around you right now? my family’s in the kitchen eating so I’m alone

Do spicy foods give you heartburn or make you make you gassy? both and more

Is body hair attractive or unattractive to you? it’s normal/natural?

Do you prefer bare feet or socks? socks

Hard wood floor or carpet? hardwood

Would you ever want to work in a toy store? yasss

Do you like asking questions better or answering? answering

Do you follow your head or heart more? head

Would you rather give up your hand or your foot? foot

Have you ever tried crowd surfing? too risky and no fun

If you could have 16 wishes, tell me just one you wish: I don’t need 16, 3 are enough

Do you like the movie Bambi? If so, who is your favorite on there? I don’t remember Bambi

Would you rather be on the computer all day or watch TV? computer

Would you rather be a police man or a firefighter? police

Do you like jokes or riddles better? jokes

Do you like onion rings? disgusting

Do you like odd or even numbers better? even are easier to count

Last song you heard? Marroon 5 - Animals

Ocean or lake? lake

Do you know a lot of people with the middle name Marie? weird but no, Anna is more popular

Do you like loud or quiet people better? smth in between unless in public - quiet strangers are better

Taking pictures or getting your picture taken? taking

Do you like chocolate? meh

Favorite day of the year? New year’s eve?

Favorite holiday? same

Crayons or markers? markers

Snookie or Vinny? Snookie

have you ever been to an animal shelter? that would break my heart

are you tired right now?

who is the worst actor or actress in your opinion? there are plenty have you ever bought someone else lingerie? nope where are your parents right now? run around the house like crazy if you have a dog, does it bark a lot? luckily not, he howls rarely too have you ever seen a magic show? sure can you juggle? I tried to learn but failed

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