#but like fuck i cant wait for the next decade youre supposed to enjoy your thirties right

[yourcalamity]

being in your 20s sucks i dont want to work through this trauma i want to wear the hatchet over my head forever now pass the damn joint

#not true ill come out of it #but like fuck i cant wait for the next decade youre supposed to enjoy your thirties right #i know it will be over eventually but it isnt now #and when youve always lived through chaos and multiple traumas you know that cycle of anger why did you specifically have to start life with #all of these hurdles and then its like well i should just not care and move on but it more than that you dont know any other way to live #i just want to live a life where im not looking for the vantage point in every room #or always aware that anyone at any time can turn on you for any reason

[missymurphy1985]

The Extra (part 2)

Warning - smut (eventually....)

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

You were finishing up your coffee, grateful that Cillian didn't hang around after grabbing his. Suddenly you heard Anto shouting in the yard outside. You told Liane you'd find her later, and headed out to him. He was pacing the grounds on his phone, the anger evident in his face. With an abrupt "Fuck you!" down the line, he hung up, kicking a rock across the courtyard in frustration.

"Anto? What's wrong?" You approached nervously.

"We start filming in three hours, and one of the cast had dropped out!!"

"What? Who?"

"Rachel Foster. She was supposed to play Tommy Shelby's girl."

"Oh shit.."

"Oh shit in-fucking-deed. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?! I can't call someone in at this short notice!"

"I don't know anyone who's even available.." he suddenly looked at you, you squirmed a little, you recognised that look.

"You know, it's not too late to reconsider my offer y/n."

"Anto we talked about this, I'm not an actress."

"But you used to be! And you were the best I knew!"

"When you offered me a role in this I was flattered beyond belief, I truly was, but my role is as a professor now, not an actress. I gave that all up nearly a decade ago!"

"Think about it - you're here anyway! She was only meant to film this week, it's a few scenes with Tommy, nothing major.. she's not even lasting the whole series it's just a few scenes I swear it. At least let me do a casting call with you? I'll pay you for your time, even if you don't want to do it? It's win-win! I'm desperate here y/n..."

You thought about it. You enjoyed the theatre shows you used to be involved in years ago so much, but then you were offered the job at Birmingham University and it was too good an opportunity to miss - a steady wage, guaranteed income.. the thought of going back to being a struggling actress made you very nervous.

"One casting call. If it doesn't work, I'm out and you'll have to find someone else Anto."

"Oh you fucking legend... You BEAUTIFUL legend!!!" He scooped you up and spun you round in a circle, before dragging you over to costume and makeup.

An hour later, you were in costume, hair done, makeup on, ready for the camera. You stood in the set for the Garrison, Anto giving you the once over for the short scene he'd got planned for the casting call.

"Anto you didn't say anything about kissing Tommy!" You groaned, reading the paper he handed you.

"It's one kiss - we need to make sure you have chemistry. You know these scenes are always filmed first y/n."

"You fucking owe me Byrne." He grinned his cheesiest grin yet, allowing you time to get to know your lines and the scene. You were lost in it, focussing on getting yourself into a character for the first time in years.

"Y/n?" An Irish brogue suddenly dragged you out of your prep, and you nearly dropped the whiskey glass you were holding as you were practising a scene.

"Holy fuck..."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you - " he held out his hand, chuckling at your outburst. "I'm Cillian. I'll be playing Thomas Shelby."

"I, uh, I know who you are, I'm Y/n..."

"I know, Anto tells me you're Rachel's replacement? Really appreciate you stepping in like this, I know it's all a bit weird. Just take your time, okay? There's no rush, and no pressure to get it perfect, just relax. I know how intense these things can be."

"Thank you. I'm sorry if I'm shit..." You laughed, your stomach in knots.

"You won't be! You wanna stop at any point, tell me. No pressure, remember that. I'm looking forward to it."

"To what? Me throwing a whiskey glass at you?"

"No, not that bit," he smiled, his blue eyes glittering in the stage lights behind you.

"Right then you two, are you ready?" Anto called, and you pulled yourself together. Taking a deep breath, the scene began.

"You promised me Thomas. You said you were going legit!! Now I find out you have guns hidden away from the fucking IRA??"

"Clara, you have to trust me! I AM going legit but I need money behind me to do it - this is our way out of here!"

"You're a fucking liar Shelby. Four years I waited for you. Four fucking years you wrote to me promising me a life of safety, no more having to watch our backs, no more Peaky fucking Blinders, and you lied through your fucking teeth!" You threw the glass, missing his face by a mere inch.

He ducked, and approached you carefully, hands out to catch your arms as they flailed around. A sudden flick of your wrist in the wrong direction caught him off guard and you hit him. Full force on the side of his cheek.

"Oh fuck!! Shit I'm so sorry!!"

"Quite the left hook you've got there!!" He laughed, regaining his composure, rubbing his face. A decent shade of red now blossoming across his cheek. Anto was in stitches the other side of the camera and you shot him a glare.

"I can't believe you've just smacked the star of the fucking show!" He laughed.

"You're certainly feisty enough for Clara's character, I'll give you that!" Cillian smirked. You were mortified.

"I really am sorry..."

"No harm done, I'm fine. I've had worse. Come on, let's finish this yeah?" You were convinced you'd screwed it up, but Anto calling Action brought you back into the scene.

Cillian cleared his throat and approached you again, you could see him trying not to laugh though and you couldn't help but giggle a little, which set him off too.

"I'm sorry, really I am!" You panicked.

"That was my fault, I was too busy watching her arms!" Cillian smiled.

"Guys I really like what I'm seeing here. There's definitely chemistry on screen. Why don't you two go rehearse a little more together and come back in 30 minutes?" Cillian nodded and turned to you.

"Fancy a coffee?" He asked. You nodded and he led you over to the trailers behind the set.

"Are we not going to the cafeteria?"

"Not unless you want to rehearse in front of your Uni class?" He smirked. You shook your head and followed him into a decent sized trailer at the back. He flicked the kettle on, telling you to take a seat while he made the coffee.

"So why did you give up the theatre? You're clearly very good, else Anto wouldn't have requested you?"

"It wasn't going anywhere. I was in the West End, Broadway, Galway.. just seemed to be bouncing around with no real direction. I wanted to get into film or TV work but the roles were in high demand. And it became very clear very quickly that I wasn't the right kind of actress the movie makers wanted as a leading lady."

"Really? Why?"

"I wasn't prepared to get my tits out at every audition like the others I guess?" You shrugged. "I auditioned for a horror movie once in Hollywood. Some big budget thing that never ended up happening anyway, but the director wanted me to audition in this skimpy little dress - barely covered my ass never mind my thighs. Wouldn't audition me unless I wore it, so I threw it at him and walked out. Kinda blacklisted from then on."

"That's horrendous? Which director?"

"Cant even remember his name now it was so long ago. It doesn't matter anyway, the movie was scrapped before production and I landed the job at the university. Secure, stable, good money - couldn't ask for more really. And the kids are so great, Cillian, full of passion and enthusiasm! They're so inspiring they really are!"

"I'm meeting some of them later, I'm looking forward to it. My youngest wants to get into the industry. Been trying to put him off for years but he's such a little showman. Exactly like I was at his age."

"Is that Jack?" You asked.

"Yeah. His mam is keen on him getting into it but she hated me going off for months on end filming. One of the reasons she divorced me last year."

"I heard about that. I'm sorry.."

"No don't be! We get on better now than we ever have. Only stayed together for the kids you know? Milk and sugar?" You nodded, and he handed you the cup.

"This scene is awkward, I've never done a scene like this before," you confessed, taking a sip.

"Like what?"

"A kiss? How do you kiss someone without actually kissing them?"

"You just do it, I guess. Once you're in character it just happens. I won't use tongues I promise - nothing personal, it's just one of my rules."

"That makes it less awkward I suppose!"

"Exactly. Although didn't stop Scarlett Johansson that one time... Nearly got me shot by the wife that one did!" You remembered that scene in Girl with a Pearl Earring and laughed.

"You know, I've learned over the years that if you do those scenes first it makes all the others much easier," he said, putting his coffee down and taking yours from you, placing it on the table next to his. He took your hands and stood you up in front of him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"What?"

"Not like that, I'm going to 'movie-kiss' you. Show you how it's done. Trust me - you won't feel awkward after this."

"I beg to differ..."

"Come on y/n, what have you got to lose?" My senses? You thought. My mind, maybe? You were hesitant, massively hesitant. You weren't even sure you were even going to go through with this. He glanced at his watch.

"We have five minutes, close your eyes and trust me." He nodded at you, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes.

His fingers back on your cheek, this was just a reenactment of the scene but those fingers felt like lightening bolts. You could sense him moving closer, and his lips brushing yours. You were almost frozen to the spot until he whispered for you to relax.

"Okay, okay... I'm relaxed.. try again.." he leaned in again, your lips meeting properly. His hand in the back of your hair pulling you a little closer. You fell into it, your hands reaching round his back. As promised, he didn't use his tongue, which felt really strange at first but you quickly got used to it. Your mouths meshed together perfectly as you found your rhythm. A few minutes of this, before he pulled away, another gentle kiss against your lips as he did.

"Wow..." You gasped, opening your eyes. If someone had told you this morning you'd be kissing Cillian Murphy by lunchtime you'd have had them commited to the local loony bin, yet here you were. He didn't speak, and his hand was still on your cheek, brushing it lightly.

"Didn't plan on making you blush so much."

"Didn't plan on kissing Cillian Murphy when I woke up this morning," you laughed.

"Ready to do that again?"

"Again?"

"Just to make sure we got it right, of course."

"Yes.. of course.." he moved in quickly, but it felt different this time. His lips crashed against yours, and you definitely felt his tongue brush your lips a couple of times but you didn't reciprocate. You both moved backwards, your thighs hitting the table behind you, coffee nearly spilling over.

"Fuck, you okay? I'm sorry.." he pulled away to make sure none had spilled on you.

"I'm fine, it didn't fall, I'm fine... I uh, I think we've got the kiss nailed down though..." You brushed your hair out of your face and looked to the floor.

"Yeah, I think you're right.." your eyes met again and you both smiled. Before he could speak though, Anto was at the door knocking.

"Ready for round 2 guys?" He called. Cillian nodded at you, and you nodded back, both of you heading out to try the scene again.

#cillian murphy #cillian smut #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fanfic #cillian x smut #cillian murphy x smut

[im-a-star-boy]

Charity Gala

Another parksborn fic!!! Yes I know I need a new fandom!!! Will I search for one? Absolutely not!!!!!

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Summary: Peter Parker-Stark, the adopted son of Tony Stark, is brought to his first Charity Galaand he doesn’t enjoy it. But things manage to take a turn for the better when he meets another boy, named Harry.

Word Count: 8,446

Date Of Completion: Thursday, January 9th, 2020 (First fic of the New Decade my guys!!!)

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Peter tightened the tie around his neck. “Is this really necessary, Dad?” He called from the bathroom. 

Tony Stark stepped into the bathroom and scoffed at the sloppy bowtie, before stepping over to straighten. “Yes, it is Pete. I know it sucks, but we gotta keep up appearances and you,” He emphasized by tapping his nose lightly, “need the experience.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen galas before though, Dad! They’re really boring.”

“You’ve seen them but you’ve never been to one.” He chided lightly before stepping back. 

He analyzed his handiwork on the bowtie before smiling in satisfaction. “Trust me kid, it isn’t that bad.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

It was that bad. It was so definitely that bad. All the smells, sounds, and sights collided at once, giving Peter a massive headache. Pepper had noticed his suffering and had guided him over to the bar and ordered him an iced lemon water. He had very much appreciated it as he laid back and watched the party continue. There wasn’t much going on, just investors talking to one another. After a moment, a young man approached him. He may have been young, but he was in his late 20’s at best. “Hello there young man, you’re Tony Stark’s kid, right?” He greeted happily.

Peter internally cringed before nodding. “Uhh, yeah? Who’re you?” 

The man perked up. “I’m Gaige Thomas, I’m with Perkinson’s, we were hoping to speak to your father if-”

“I don’t know where my dad is. If you wanna talk to him, go find him yourself.” Peter muttered, turning away from him.

“Excuse me?” He forcefully turned Peter’s chair around. “You need to-”

“Hey, screw off!” An unfamiliar voice snapped.

Peter looked up to see a somewhat familiar figure. It was a young boy, around his age. He was tall, black haired, blue eyed, somewhat muscular, definitely good looking. Peter watched as the boy stood in front of him, staring dangerously at Mr. Thomas. The man hesitated before scowling and turned around and walked away. “You okay?” The boy asked, turning to him. 

Peter felt his face flush slightly, before he nodded. “Um, yeah. Yeah I’m- I’m okay. Are- are you? Are you okay? I’m- I mean-”

The boy laughed. “I’m fine. That Thomas is a sketchy guy, kind of an asshole. Sorry about him.”

Peter shrugged. “He’s the one being an ass, not you. Thank you.”

The boy sat down beside him. “You’re welcome. I’m Harry.” He said, extending his hand.

Peter smiled. “I’m Peter.” He replied, shaking his hand happily.

Harry grinned. “Two shirley temples, please!” He called to the bartender. 

The bartender smiled and nodded, pouring two with an amused grin. He tossed the drinks to them. Harry smiled as he took a sip. “So what’s a cutie like you doing here?” He asked, an amused look on his face.

Peter turned bright red and scooted backwards slightly. “UM-! I-I came here with my dad actually, what about you?”

“Same here.” He replied, an amused look crossing his face.

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking the shirley temples. “So what’s your dad do?” Harry asked, finally breaking the silence.

Peter looked up. “Science stuff, mechanical engineering and all that jazz.”

Harry nodded. “Same here. Do you like doing that stuff?” He asked.

Peter nodded. “I like engineering and chemistry, but my favorite is definitely biology. There’s so much that we’re capable of if we figure out how to use our bodies to their full potential. Like being athletic! The only reason people are more athletic, faster runners, stronger physically, is because of their mitochondria count. Cells have thousands of mitochondria- people really underestimate how much is actually packed into our tiny cells. But the more mitochondria you have, the more your body can handle, think of them like batteries! Hundreds of batteries, more power to your device, hundreds of mitochondria, more power to your cells, you know?” 

Harry chuckled at his rant. “Yeah, I get it. You’re really into this stuff.” He chuckled.

Peter shrugged. “It’s mostly because of-” He paused for a moment before shrugging. “Nevermind. What about you? Do you like doing this stuff?”

Harry hesitated. “I like engineering, that’s fun to say the least. But I’m always reaching a goal I don’t think I’ll ever achieve.” 

Peter laughed gently. “Well you won't get there with that attitude. Keep your head up and you’ll get there eventually!” He encouraged. 

Harry smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

Peter grinned. “No problem.”

The two sat in silence again for a moment before Peter straightened up. “So what do you like? Other than work stuff and all that.”

He hummed for a moment. “I like milkshakes.”

“Oh my god you���re lame! What shows, movies, video games, ANYTHING!” Peter shouted playfully.

Harry laughed loudly as Peter sipped his drink. “Okay, well how about this. I like Star Wars.”

“There we go! Progress! I do too.” Peter replied firmly. “What else?”

Harry put his hands up in surrender before humming. “I like musicals, and most of the books by Rick Riordan.” 

Peter straightened up. “Have you read the Red Pyramid?”

“Duh, that’s one of my favorites.”

Peter grinned. “I started reading that one a while ago but I haven’t finished it.”

“Have you been to Cup of Joe?” He asked curiously.

Peter shook his head. “No, what is it?”

“It’s a nice coffee shop and lounge. One of those places that has a library in it- god what’re they called-”

Peter shrugged. “A college dorm?”

“Hardy har, they have an actual name, I just cant remember it.” Harry replied sarcastically.

Peter laughed for a moment. “But yeah no, why do you ask? If I’ve been to Cup of Joe?”

“I hang out there a lot. Its a nice cafe, they have good food and drinks.” Harry explained. “I go there to relax for the most part.”

Peter hummed. “Sounds nice there. Maybe I’ll have to hijack your days off.” He joked.

Harry laughed. “I don’t have a problem with that, you’re cute.”

Peter blushed again. “Well you aren’t half bad looking yourself, Harry.” Peter attempted.

Harry made a face before grinning, as the bartender approached. “Refills?” He offered.

“Yes please!” The two replied in unison, before looking at each other and laughing.

The bartender laughed and refilled their drinks. He stopped as he looked at the cherry jar. Most of the juice was out but a few cherries remained. He shrugged and looked at Peter. “Want them?”

Peter nodded excitedly as the bartender laughed and dumped them into his drink. Peter happily reached for a toothpick and stabbed at one, putting it in his mouth happily. “I love maraschino cherries.” He said happily. 

Harry laughed as Peter stabbed another one. He pulled the toothpick out with a happy smile. Harry grabbed his hand, catching him off guard, before biting the cherry off the toothpick with a grin. Peter’s face turned red as Harry moved backwards. “Hey, you got all the cherries, you gotta share.” He teased.

Peter flushed and turned away, looking into his drink red-faced. Harry chuckled. “Hey, whaddya say we ditch?”

Peter’s eyes widened as his head snapped up. “W-what?!”

“Oh come on, it’s okay. I ditch these things all the time, nothing bad will happen.” He promised.

Peter stared at him wide-eyed. “Wh- but- my dad, he’ll-”

“Relax. If he gets mad you can blame me. Come on, if you come with me you won’t regret it.” Harry said, a grin crossing his face.

Peter hesitated for a moment before sighing loudly. “Let me finish my drink.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Peter hesitated at the doors. Harry stood outside in the crisp autumn air. He had a massive grin on his face and was staring at Peter. “It’s now or never, Pete.” 

Peter hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and following Harry out. “It’s now or never.”

Harry grinned and took Peter’s hand. “Are you ready for the night of your life?” He asked, a smirk crossing his face.

Peter felt his face turn red. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to. But let’s start with ice cream.” Harry said, pulling him along.

Peter yelped, but followed after Harry with a loud laugh. “Wait up!” 

He ran down the streets, racing Harry to the nearest subway stop before nearly falling down the stairs in an attempt to get to the station before Harry. He laughed loudly and leaned against a pillar, catching his breath. Harry was wheezing beside him, holding his sides and gasping for air as he attempted to recollect himself. Peter gasped and sat up straight. “Oh my god that- that was- that was fun.” 

Harry laughed. “And the night is just beginning!”

Peter grinned at the taller boy before taking a deep breath as the next subway pulled up. “Come on.” Harry called, stepping onto the subway.

“What? Where’s it going?” Peter asked, running after him.

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t you listened to don’t stop believing? Midnight train going anywhere baby!” He shouted.

Peter laughed, somewhat in hysterics. “You’re kidding! We’re just on a random train?! This thing could be going to Jersey!”

Before Peter could get off, the doors closed, locking them in. “Then we’ll screw around in Jersey Peter, it’ll be fine.” He replied firmly. 

Peter stared at him for a moment. “God you’re insane!”

Harry laughed and sat down, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “Who’s your dad anyway?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What caused a question like that?”

“Well he must be a stickler to give you this much anxiety.” 

Peter shrugged. “It’s Tony Stark.”

Peter watched as Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh shit.” He said aloud.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh fuck well this just became much more complicated.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, feeling a bit of anxiety.

Harry laughed awkwardly. “My dad’s Norman Osborn.”

Peter froze for a moment before he began to laugh. “Oh my god we are so fucked!”

Harry began laughing as Peter ran his fingers through his hair. “If this is gonna be the last night of our lives, we may as well make it a good one!” Harry yelled decisively as he stood up.

Peter smiled. “I vote ice cream.” 

Harry nodded while grinning. Peter stopped for a moment before realizing where he recognized Harry from. Magazines, posters, billboards, news articles, how had he not recognized him before?! He shook his head, deciding not to think about it too hard, before turning to the attractive Osborn beside him. He was much more different than Peter expected him to be. He watched him quietly, before turning to his phone and idley scrolling through Instagram. He wondered if his dad was looking for him, or maybe Pepper. He silently debated on calling her, until the subway came to a stop and Harry spoke. “Come on, let’s see where we ended up.”

Peter looked up to see Harry standing in front of him, with his arm extended, and a grin still plastered on his face. “You don’t ever stop grinning, do you Osborn?” He asked amused, taking his hand.

Harry pulled him up. “Not when I have someone to impress.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed that you have enough confidence to ditch like this. I’ve heard your dad’s a bit of a… control freak.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t mind if I ditch so long as I show my face a bit and don’t cause trouble.”

Peter stared at him as the taller led him off the subway. “Doesn’t he worry? It doesn’t look like you have an escort or bodyguard. Doesn’t he worry that you’ll get hurt?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at him, a curious look on his face, before he let out a sigh. “Like I said, he doesn’t care so long as I don’t do anything stupid.” 

Peter frowned. “Sounds like he doesn’t care too much.” He mumbled.

Harry turned and gave him a hard glare. Peter put his hands up in surrender. “Woah- I-I didn’t mean to offend you- I just-”

“It’s okay. I get where you’re coming from.” Harry interrupted.

Peter hesitated but nodded. “Okay…”

Harry stopped at the entrance of the subway and pulled out his phone. “Hey siri, directions to the nearest ice cream shop.” He said into the mic, changing the subject.

His phone dinged, before directions appeared. “Hey we’re close to one!” Peter yelped, looking over his shoulder at his phone.

Harry laughed slightly. “And see? We haven’t even left Manhattan.” Harry replied.

Peter stuck his tongue out playfully, before looking at the time. It was 10:30. “Is the ice cream shop even open?” He asked.

Harry nodded. “Yep, one of those late night date places from the looks of it.” 

Peter flushed slightly at the idea. It was a date place? He shook off his blush and smiled. “Sounds good!” 

The walk there was comfortable, the two telling jokes on the way there and making fun of the names of some businesses. Peter walked aimlessly, rambling on about Star Wars, when Harry grabbed his collar. “We’re here.” 

Peter looked up to see a large colorful building with the name “Scoops of Love” plastered onto the front. “Oh.”

Harry chuckled and opened the door for him. “Cuties first.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow at the flirt. “Then shouldn’t you be going in?” He attempted.

Harry laughed, a light pink dusting his cheeks. “Wow that was awful.”

When he didn’t budge, Peter rolled his eyes and gave in at the prospects of ice cream. He stepped into the building. It was comfortable, not hot but not cold either, there was a display case with several different flavors of ice cream in tubs. There were booths along the sides of the building and a few two seated tables here and there. There were two girls in the corner chatting, their fingers intertwined as the talked quietly, and a boy and a girl sitting on the other side of the shop. The boy’s eyes were red and he looked like he was holding back tears as the girl comforted him quietly. Harry stepped up to the counter looking at the different ice creams. “C’mon, Pete.” He called softly.

Peter looked up and followed quickly, standing beside Harry wide-eyed. He looked at all the different flavors as Harry made his decision quickly. “I’ll get a bowl of vanilla and carmel please.” He requested politely.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Way to pick the lamest option.” 

Harry laughed and nudged him gently. “It tastes good!” He defended.

Peter put his hands up in surrender, before looking back at the options. “Can I get a bowl of chocolate fudge please?” He asked, reaching into his back pocket.

The woman nodded. “Of course, what size?”

“Large.” Both boys replied in unison. They exchanged surprised looks, before chuckling.

Peter pulled out his wallet and began opening it when Harry grabbed his hands. “Stop, I brought you here, I’m paying.” He said, fishing his own wallet out of his pocket.

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Harry grabbed his wallet and held it over his head as he attempted to fish his debit card out of his own wallet one handed. “Harry!” Peter yelped, jumping up to grab it.

Harry laughed and took a step back. “I’m paying!” He shouted, grabbing his card with his teeth. “Back off!” His shout was muffled as he dropped the card onto the table. “Scan!” He shouted quickly, as he began playing a game of keep-away with Peter’s wallet.

The cashier laughed and quickly scanned his card. When the deed was done, Harry returned Peter’s wallet. “Was that so hard?”

Peter glared at him. “You’re a bad person.”

“All this over what, $20? $10?”

“$15.” The woman cut it, an amused look on her face.

“See? You’re losing your mind over $15. Both of our dads are literal billionaires. Relax.” Harry teased, poking his nose lightly.

Peter moved his head back and barely refrained from hissing at Harry. Instead, he made an irritated face and turned away. “You’re a bad person. A very bad person.” He repeated, a pout on his face.

Harry laughed as the woman handed handed him a receipt and began working on their bowls of ice cream. The two watched quietly as she scooped swiftly, and handed them each the bowl and a spoon. “Caramel Vanilla and Chocolate Fudge.” She said happily.

Peter smiled as he took the styrofoam bowl of chocolate ice cream from the woman's hands. “Thank you!” He replied.

Harry took his bowl and led Peter to a booth beside the windows. The two slid into opposite sides of the booth and grinned. Peter immediately took a spoonful happily. Harry watched amused as Peter dropped his spoon back into the bowl and made a face before swallowing. “Goddamn this is good.” He said, taking in another spoonful.

Harry chuckled gently. “This place has four stars so I’m glad to see it lives up to its reputation.” He acknowledged. 

Peter nodded. “I think that review is missing a star.” He snorted, taking another bite.

Harry laughed and began enjoying his own ice cream. Peter sucked in air to say something, but began coughing as he inhaled some ice cream in his mouth. Harry watched him, beginning to panic slightly as Peter coughed loudly and began laughing. "Too much air-"

Harry laughed as Peter leaned back and coughed again, before he cleared his throat. "Are you okay?" 

Peter nodded. "Yeah, just dying."

Harry chuckled before smiling. "Hey, if we're gonna keep in touch we should exchange numbers." He sneered. 

After a moment of recovering, Peter looked up. "Do, ahem. Do you think that's a good idea? What with our fathers' feud?"

Harry shrugged. "Who said our dads would know?" 

"What if they search our phones?"

Harry watched him. "Does your dad search your phone?" 

Peter shrugged. "Not really but sometimes. Yeah every now and then…" 

Harry frowned. "That's not cool." He replied. 

Peter looked at him. "He just does it because he's overprotective."

"Still that's not okay." He repeated. 

Peter hesitated and turned away, before looking up. "I mean… maybe. But still I-"

"Let's, let's just forget that for a minute… If your dad catches you it'll be okay. He won't, he wouldn't hurt you, right?" He asked. 

Peter stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. "What?! No! Never!" He yelped. 

Harry nodded. "Okay that's good, I got worried for a second."

Peter shook his head. "Yeah no, dad would never hurt me." He promised. 

Harry nodded quietly as Peter gave him a hesitant look. "Your… your father doesn't hurt you? Does he?" Peter asked quietly. 

Harry hesitated but shook his head. "No, I wouldn't say that." 

Peter watched him carefully. "He… does he say things?" 

Harry didn't reply, but took a spoonful of ice cream. Peter took that as his answer. He stayed silent as he shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. After a few moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence, Peter sat up. "Let's go to Central Park."

Harry looked up and raised an eyebrow. "What now?"

"I've heard Central Park is beautiful at night. Dangerous, but pretty. I can defend us if we get mugged." Peter ranted happily. 

Harry laughed, thankful for the change in subject. "You? Defend us? Sorry babe but if you're our only defense, we're gonna die."

Peter laughed, ignoring the comment, and raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what I'm capable of."

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not much what with your size.” He teased.

Peter felt the hairs on his neck raise and a part of him wanted to punt Harry just to prove a point. “You wanna throw hands, Osborn?” He threatened playfully.

Harry chuckled. “I’ll take you on, Stark.” He sneered.

The two boys laughed, an unusual comfort rolling over them. The joking, it was like they’ve known each other forever and they’ve only just met. It didn’t take Harry long to realize it was because they were treating each other like normal human beings, and not the kids of billionaires. If they had started with the godawful formalities, or introduced by their parents, Harry was certain they wouldn’t get along like this. Harry didn’t think about all the times he’d heard his father cursing Stark’s name for whatever reason, and Peter didn’t think about all the times he’d heard his dad complaining about Norman’s manipulative behavior. Right then, it was just the two of them laughing, and enjoying an ice cream together.

Harry looked up to see Peter grinning at him. “Well, come on! These ice creams are in styrofoam bowls, plastic spoons, we already paid, lets go Harry!” He yelped, as an excited look crossed his face. 

Harry sputtered as the brunet stood up. “Wait what?! You’re serious?!”

Peter nodded firmly. “You took me away from that stuffy Gala, I’m taking you away from an ice cream shop. Come on, I trusted you, return the favor!”

Harry laughed ridiculously. “You are insane!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or not?” 

Harry stood up. “Hell yeah.” And the two were off.

Peter led him to the subway station, happily eating what was left of his ice cream. Harry watched the small brunet fondly as he skipped ahead of them. Peter walked with an extra bounce to his step as he made his way towards the station. Harry followed him closely, eyeing him down happily. Harry was carefully eyeing Peter’s figure. Not only was the boy good looking, he was incredibly kind and smart too. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t developing a small crush on him. Even if he’d just met him. “Harry!”

“Hm?”

“You got a little distant there, something on your mind, Osborn?” Peter asked playfully.

Harry shook his head. “Nah, just thinking about something.”

“Well share with the class, what were you thinking about?” Peter pressed.

“That you’re insane for going on a walk in Central Park at,” He paused to check his watch, “11:00 at night.

Peter laughed. “Oh come on. You’re gonna love it, it’s beautiful.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You talk like you’ve been there before.” 

A smirk crossed Peter’s face. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t.”

Harry shook his head. “God it’s a miracle you aren’t dead yet.”

Peter laughed. “You can say that again!”

“It’s a miracle you aren’t dead yet.” He repeated.

The two laughed good naturedly as Peter stepped onto the subway. Harry followed him with a grin. They sat down and smiled, engaging in small talk, occasionally laughing as they ran out of conversation topics. Finally, the train pulled to a stop. The boys were up and off the train in an instant, running to the top of the stairs. “Come on, it’s just a short walk from here.” Peter said, leading the way.

Harry followed happily as Peter began humming a soft tune happily. It was familiar to Harry, he wasn’t quite sure where he’d heard it, but he’s heard it somewhere. As Peter stepped through the gates to Central Park, Harry couldn’t help but pause to admire him. The sky wasn’t clear, it never was in New York City, but the moon had managed to burst through just enough to create a silver halo around Peter, who smiled. He looked up at the moon and Harry felt his entire body shiver. It was like a picture out of a magazine, or a comic, or a photo gallery. Something almost impossible, but yet, here it was. In front of him. He couldn’t help but stare on in amazement.

It was dark, but the moonlight provided a blue-silver glaze over the scenery, as yellow lights from the nearby lampposts cast shadows onto the trees that swayed gently in the wind. In the center of Harry’s vision, stood Peter who was staring up at the moon, a large, gentle smile on his face. The silver moonlight reflected off his fluffy brown hair and his bright green eyes, as his dark smaragdine suit with a dark sapphire vest. He was standing up straight, a kind and confident look on his face. It was like a scene from a movie, and Harry felt breathless.

After a moment, the thick clouds and smog that often covered up the sky took their place in front of the moon, darkening the scenery, breaking the illusion. Peter frown slightly, before turning around. “The moon was really pretty.” Peter said smiling, as he took the chance to throw away the styrofoam bowl and plastic spoon.

“Not as pretty as you were just now…” 

Harry froze as he realized what he said, before he flushed and turned away. Peter looked up, and saw his bright red face, and felt his own face begin to burn. He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly. “Uh- heh… umm… thank you…”

Harry’s face turned an even darker shade of red, as he meekly replied, “You’re welcome.” Before stuffing another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He wasn’t quite finished, since he was a slow eater.

Peter, attempting to shake off his flush, shook his entire body before straightening up. “Come on, I know a really nice place by the lake.”

Harry followed Peter who began treading the walkways, an embarrassed flush still gracing his features as he found the spot he was looking for. He jumped off the path and onto a large rock and began pulling himself up to the flat surface of it, as Harry approached the side. “How the hell did you even do that?!” He shouted, looking over the rough surface.

Peter glanced down before taking a sudden deep breath. “I come up here a lot, I’ve got a technique down.” He replied after a brief hesitation.

Harry raised an eyebrow, before nodding. “Alright then,”

Peter leaned over and reached his arm out, as Harry jumped to place his ice cream on the rock. “Do you trust me?” 

Harry stopped half way. “Did you just quote Aladdin?”

Peter began laughing as Harry stared at him ridiculously. “I SWEAR TO GOD STARK, DID YOU JUST FUCKING QUOTE ALADDIN?”

Peter laughed harder and nearly fell off the rock as he grabbed his sides, wheezing. Harry began laughing with him, seeing his hysterics. He rolled his eyes. “Oh my god what the HELL!”

Peter looked up and Harry could see tears of laughter cascading down his cheeks. “OH MY- OH MY GOD YOUR- YOUR FACE WAS-” Peter shouted as uncontrollable laughter erupted from his lips. 

Harry laughed as Peter gasped and coughed. “I can’t, I literally can’t. Oh my god, that was priceless.”

He rolled his eyes. “Help me up there you nerd.” He teased playfully.

Peter choked out one more laugh, before reaching over the side and helping Harry up. As Harry was pulled up onto the boulder, he couldn’t help but stop and gaze at the view. It wasn’t very tall, but you could see clearly over the entirety of the lake, and the bright NYC lights that pierced through the veil of trees reflected beautifully off the surface of the water. “This is…”

“Beautiful?” Peter murmured as Harry trailed off. “Yeah… it is.”

Harry turned to say something, but realized Peter was looking at him, a dark blush on his face. “S-Sorry! I-I-”

Harry shook his head. “No, i-it’s alright. I don’t mind.” He stuffed another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth as a weak attempt to cover up his blush.

Peter nodded and avoided his gaze. There were a few moments of silence, before Harry took a breath. “You know, you never gave me your number.”

Peter looked up in surprise. “And you never gave me yours.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand expectantly. Peter rolled his eyes and dug into his pocket for his phone, before handing it to him. Harry handed Peter his own phone so he could put in his number. The two punched in their numbers, when Harry froze. “Your dad’s calling.” He quickly said.

Peter quickly dropped Harry’s phone into his lap, and snatched his own phone back. He fumbled for a moment, before answering the face time. “Peter Benjamin Parker-Stark where the hell are you?”

“Uhhh… hi dad-”

“Where are you.” His father emphasized every word.

To say he looked upset was an understatement. He felt a cold chill run up his spine, before he turned to Harry. “Ummm… I ditched.” He admitted, turning back to his dad.

A startled look crossed his father’s face. “Are… you mad?”

“Not mad, just… surprised, and- YES ACTUALLY I AM MAD!” He shouted, after his confused expression disappeared. “YOU SHOULD’VE TOLD ME THAT YOU WANTED TO LEAVE! WE WOULD’VE LEFT! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE GONE OFF ON YOUR OWN, YOU COULD-”

“Tony, calm down.” The familiar voice of Pepper broke through. “He’s taking after you.”

There were a few moments of silence as Tony was staring off-screen, whispering violently and looking very unhappy. “Peter, where are you. We’re coming to pick you up.”

Peter hesitated for a moment. He was having fun, he didn’t want to go! Not yet… “I-I’m staying the night at Aunt May’s.” He finally lied. 

“Who’s with you?” Pepper asked.

Peter perked up, slightly surprised. “W-what? N-nobody, why do you think someone’s with me?”

“You keep glancing off screen, you’re with someone.” Pepper pressed playfully.

Peter hesitated, before turning the camera to Harry, who was mid-bite of his ice cream. “Uhh… hi.” He said through the mouthful.

“Peter is that Harry fucking Osborn.”

“Uhhh… in my defense I didn’t know it was him when I first met him.”

“You left your very first Charity Gala, with an Osborn.” His father replied slowly.

Peter hesitated before nodding. “Yeeesssss?” 

“Peter, tell me where you are, I’m having Happy drive you home.”

Peter gave Harry a panicked look, who just shrugged, looking alarmed. In a rush of panic, Peter hung up. He stared at his phone for a moment, before screaming. Harry’s eyes widened as Peter struggled to turn off his location, as he looked up wide-eyed. “Please tell me you have a pocket knife or SOMETHING.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Why?”

“I NEED IT!” Peter wailed.

Harry scrambled to reach into his pocket, before pulling out a nail file. “Will this work?”

Peter quickly grabbed it and opened up the back of his phone, pulling out the battery, and taking off the secondary casing, revealing the circuit board. He searched in a panic for a moment, before using the nail file to wrench out a small chip. He dropped it in his hand and returned the casings back to his phone, and chucked the chip into the water. “What the hell was that?” Harry asked as Peter let out a loud sigh.

“My dad’s gonna be tracking my phone, come on, we gotta run before he gets the suit. I just took out the tracker.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You have a tracker in your phone?”

“Every phone does. My dad just has access to it even when it’s offline.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Overbearing much?”

“We gotta run before he gets here- come on!” Peter shouted, leaping off the rock.

Harry shouted in alarm, grabbing what was left of his ice cream, and running after Peter. The two began sprinting away. Harry dropped his finally empty bowl and spoon into a trash can as they fled the scene. “Where do we go?!” Harry screamed.

“ANYWHERE BUT HERE!” Peter yelled happily, running through the gates with a carefree and amused look on his face.

Harry laughed loudly, attempting to keep up. “YOU WANNA GO ON A DATE?” He shouted loudly as the two reached the streets, but continued running down the walkway.

Peter gasped at the question but nodded. “OKAY!”

Harry ran to catch up with Peter, who was far ahead of him. After a bit, Peter nearly collapsed against a wall, gasping for air. Harry staggered to his side. “God, for a small guy you can RUN.” Harry shouted through his laughter. 

Peter laughed along good-naturedly, but it sounded more like a wheeze than a laugh. Harry laughed and smiled at Peter. “I was being serious.” He managed to get out.

Peter smiled back. “And so was I.”

The two stopped breathing for just a moment to stare at each other, before laughing happily in unison. "So when… when do you wanna go on a date?" 

Harry shrugged. "Right now?"

Peter laughed. "Wait, seriously?"

Harry shrugged. "Sounds like your dad's gonna kill you the second he sees you, I wanna be able to do this before you're six feet under." He teased playfully. 

Peter shook his head. "You know what? This night has already been a chaotic mess. What's the worst that could happen." He decided. 

Harry grinned. "Plus it's not like he'll tear down a movie theater to find us."

"Oh, so we're going to the movies?" 

Harry nodded. "Cliché, but fun nonetheless." He replied.

"That's true." Peter resigned. 

Harry chuckled lightly before going silent to finish catching his breath. After a few moments, Harry stepped forward and grabbed Peter's hand. "Come on, let's go see what the theaters got." 

Peter flushed lightly as Harry squeezed his hand lightly and pulled him along to the nearest theater. It was a relatively long walk, but Peter didn't mind. Harry's hands were unusually warm for the chilly air. It was comforting and Peter couldn't help but trust him wholeheartedly. When they arrived at the theater, Peter smiled. Harry led him to the counter where a girl, probably just a year or so older than them, looked up from her phone. She straightened and smiled. "Hey, how can I help you two?"

Harry smiled and looked at the screen that was displaying the movies and their showtimes. The only one that would be on within the hour was Frozen 2. He nudged Peter lightly. “Wanna watch Frozen 2?” He said in a joking tone.

Peter laughed. “Anything to avoid dying by my father’s hand. Sure.”

Harry snickered. “Two tickets to Frozen 2 I guess.”

The girl sighed and printed the tickets out. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Harry looked to Peter. “Still hungry?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I was planning on eating at the Gala, but you pulled me away you jerk.” 

Harry laughed at the comment. “Fine, what do you want?”

“Pretzel.” 

“Alright. We’ll get two pretzels then, with cheese, a large bucket of popcorn,” He glanced momentarily at Peter, before chuckling, “four bags of twizzlers, and two drinks.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “Why are we getting four bags of twizzlers, Harry?” He asked in a deadpan tone.

“Snacks. If we’re facing death we may as well die happy.” He remarked.

Peter stopped. “You have a point. Order away.”

“Well if you’re gonna be like that, we’ll also get four bags of skittles.” 

Peter began giggling as the girl stared at him in disbelief. “Wha...what drinks do you want.” She finally said, after recovering herself.

“I’ll take a root beer. Peter?”

“I’ll get an orange soda please!”

The girl shook her head, before turning to her coworker who was laying in the back. “JEFFRIES!” She shouted, catching the boy off guard. “We got an order!”

Peter pulled out his credit card, attempting to pay, when Harry smacked his hand away again. “Stop! I asked you out, I’m paying!”

“But-”

“It’s my dad’s card anyway, relax, it’s okay. Let me pay.” Harry demanded.

Peter hesitated, about to argue again, before remembering what Harry had said about his father before. “Lets get so much shit his card gets cancelled.” Peter decided aloud.

Harry began laughing. “We are not driving my father’s business into the ground.” 

Peter laughed along as the girl and her coworker, Jeffries apparently, began working on their ridiculously sized order. After a few minutes, they had all the food handed to them. Peter couldn’t help but laugh as he stumbled into the showing room and found a good seat. The room was relatively empty since how late it was. Peter made himself comfortable in the cold room as Harry settled down beside him, distributing drinks, candies, and pretzels with cheese. A chill ran up Peter’s spine. It was colder in the theater than it was outside and Peter wasn’t enjoying that. 

As the movie began, Peter found himself gravitating towards Harry and pressing into his side, enjoying the warmth. He smiled as he snacked on the twizzlers first. By the end of the movie, the two were practically cuddling, with Harry’s arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulder as he rested his head on top of Peter’s, who was as close as the chair would allow him to be. When the credits appeared and the lights turned back on, Peter felt himself burn at the closeness of him and Harry. Harry released him after a moment and laughed awkwardly. “Sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, i-it was cold anyway.” Peter interrupted, his face bright red.

Harry smiled and looked down awkwardly. “We still have a few snacks leftovers. Wanna get refills and watch another movie?” He asked.

Peter smiled. “Okay.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The two boys had watched two more movies after that, before realizing it was 4 in the morning. Peter had decided to go to Aunt May’s house, just like he told Tony he would, and Harry was walking him home. Harry walked beside him. They had taken the subway, but now they had to walk to a bus stop and take the bus. Peter sighed fondly. “Harry Osborn, that was one of the best nights of my life. And I have lived through many nights.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Peter. We should definitely do it again.”

Peter snorted. “Agreed.” 

The two walked in silence as they sat down at the bus stop. “So, on a scale of 1 to 100, how upset do you expect your father to be when you get home?” Harry asked.

Peter immediately laughed. “Somewhere in the upper 7,000 range.” 

Harry chuckled along with him, before sighing. “Damn, and I was hoping for a second date.”

Peter flushed lightly at that. “Well then I guess I’ll have to systematically avoid him for as long as it takes for him to calm down.”

Harry looked up and chuckled as a bus pulled up to the stop. The two stood up and boarded the bus, sitting comfortably in the front seats. There was nobody there other than one or two businessmen preparing for the day, looking tired. Peter leaned into Harry, it had become somewhat of a habit over the course of the night. Harry looked down at Peter. “You know, I think this has also been one of the best nights of my life too.”

Peter felt a grin grow on his face. “Is that so, Osborn?”

Harry chuckled. “That it has. I think only one thing could top this night off.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

Harry turned to him slowly, a small smile crossing his face, before leaning forward. Peter felt his heart jump as Harry’s lips connected with his own. He almost forgot to kiss back as the realization set in. He began kissing back, slowly at first, before deepening the kiss. He felt Harry cup the back of his head with his hands, before the two pulled away for air. Peter took a deep breath and he felt Harry’s breath on his lips. “Damn you’re a good kisser.” He whispered.

“You are too…” Peter whispered back.

He had barely gotten the sentence out when their lips were connected again, the kiss being much more hot and heavy this time. They were leaning into each other, hands trailing over each others bodies as the kiss grew deeper and deeper by the moment. 

The two were finally pulled out of their imagination when the bus stopped. Peter jumped and looked around, wide-eyed and flustered. The two were gasping for breath as the doors opened and Peter cursed. “This is my stop.”

Harry stood up and helped Peter off the bus. Peter began leading the way back to his house, and stopped in front of the large building. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way…” Harry stuttered, embarrassed from their makeout session.

Peter nodded, still flustered, before beginning to show him the way to his house. After reaching it, Peter laughed awkwardly. “Uhh, you know, umm… It’s pretty late and… your father… do you, umm… doyouwannastaythenight?” Peter squeaked, flustered.

Harry felt his face burn bright red and Peter saw his somewhat stunned expression. “NO NOT LIKE THAT- I MEAN- IT’S LATE OUT AND I’D HATE FOR YOU TO GO HOME AT THIS TIME!” Peter yelped, his face turned even redder.

Harry laughed, feeling his own blush grow. “Y-yeah! I mean, yeah, I’ll just… I’ll just stay for a bit and I can… go home later.”

Peter nodded. “Okay… Yeah, okay.”

He unlocked the doors and let Harry in first, his flush never disappearing. Peter stepped upstairs before sighing loudly and rubbing the back of his neck. “I, umm… I have some t-shirts and sweatpants you can wear, I’d hate to let you sleep in these stuffy suits.”

Harry nodded. “Alright, thank you.” He replied, as Peter began digging in his drawers. He pulled out a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants and handed them to Harry. 

“The bathroom is down the hall just before the stairs to the left.” Peter mumbled, trying to hide his blush.

Harry nodded and thanked him, and quickly made his way down the hallway. He changed and was somewhat alarmed at how comfortable the clothes were. He found himself nestling into the clothing. They were soft and freshly washed by the smell of them. He picked up his suit, folding it neatly, and exited the bathroom, making his way back towards Peter’s room. He knocked lightly and heard a small, “Come in.”

He stepped through and froze when he saw Peter standing there in a light blue t-shirt and a pair of oversized sweatpants that he would almost certainly trip over. He blushed at the sight and smiled lightly. “Hey there…” He whispered.

Peter smiled, a flush crossing his face that was thankfully hidden by the shadows. “Hi…” 

He coughed as a weak attempt to hide his embarrassment, before moving towards his bed and patting beside him lightly. Harry stepped towards him and smiled. “Are you sure this is okay?” He asked, setting his suit down on an empty space on the dresser, before sitting beside him.

Peter smiled and nodded. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

Harry smiled and flushed, before looking down. “Alright, umm…” 

Harry felt Peter touch his cheek, turning his head, and press a kiss to his lips. Harry felt a jolt of electricity run through him and kissed back. The kiss quickly deepened and Harry found himself gently pushing Peter down, pinning him to the bed. Peter moaned softly into the kiss as Harry rubbed his crotch gently with his knee and straddled him, deepening the kiss even further. Harry stopped when he felt Peter’s hand press against his chest, pushing him back lightly. He pulled away and looked down at Peter. He was flustered and obviously embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. “I-I think… I don’t think it’s a good idea to do...that. I mean I-I just met you today and-”

Harry immediately pushed himself off of Peter. “Oh my god I’m so sorry- I didn’t realize what I-”

“It’s okay- it’s not that I didn’t like it I just-”

Peter and Harry both went silent, staring at each other with flustered expressions. “I’m sorry.” They both replied in unison.

Harry straightened. “Don’t you dare apologize, I was the one pushing you to do… that. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I did just meet you earlier today.”

Peter nodded. “I was the one who initiated the kiss. It's alright.” He said, trailing off quietly. Finally, Peter began laughing and hiding his face. “Oh god this is so weird now.” 

Harry laughed awkwardly beside him. “I mean, do you want me to sleep on the floor?”

“No! We can still share the bed, I just-- god. I’m sorry if I made it weird.”

Harry immediately shook his head. “Stop apologizing, I don’t wanna do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Peter smiled lightly. “Thank you.” He murmured.

“It’s okay. And if you don’t want me to sleep up here, I’m just fine with moving to the floor.”

Peter shook his head. “No, I don’t mind, just no touching in weird spots.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “Those are terms I can comply with.”

Peter let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The brunet chuckled softly. “So, shall we sleep?”

Harry chuckled along. “We shall.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Peter felt himself begin to wake. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked rapidly. It was dark in his room, the curtains were drawn shut and the christmas lights that lined the walls were off. He took a deep breath through his nose and sat up, rubbing his eyes with his palms for a moment. He looked around his room and did a double take when he saw Harry asleep beside him. He felt his face begin to burn red and he turned to his alarm clock, which read 12:43pm. He rubbed his eyes again, checked his phone, and felt his heart sink. 132 missed texts from several people and 59 missed calls. “Oh my god I am actually going to die.” He stood up, careful not to wake the sleeping Osborn, and crept across the room to the hallway.

He closed the door quietly and stepped out of the room. He stepped down the stairs and saw Aunt May in the kitchen on the phone. She looked up and smiled knowingly. “I gotta go, bye.” She hung up.

“So? How was your night out?” She asked playfully.

Peter felt his face burn. “It was… It was good. How- how was- how was your day?” He stuttered.

May grinned lightly. “My day was fine. Your father got a little worried when you threw away the tracker.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “He’s gonna kill me, May. Please don’t let him end my life.” He wailed into his hands.

May laughed. “Don’t worry Peter, he’s just worried about you. I called him and told him you made it home safe. And no, he doesn’t know anything about Harry Osborn sleeping next to you.” 

Peter sagged with relief. “God I’m actually going to die May, he’s gonna kill me!” 

May laughed. “Go to Pepper first, she’ll be able to calm him down. It’ll be fine.” She reassured.

Peter whined sadly before looking down at his phone. May pat his head lightly. “I’m glad you woke up before I went to work.” She hummed lightly. 

Peter smiled softly. “I’m glad I did too. You have a good day Aunt May.” He said as she kissed his cheek, before leaving the house. 

He stared after her, smiling, before turning to the cabinet. He pulled out a box of wheatcakes and a bowl and began making them. Peter hummed softly as he mixed the batter and dropped a bit onto the greased pan, which sat over the burning flame. He quickly turned and grabbed a plate out of the cupboard and returned to the stove, flipping the wheatcakes. He hummed a soft tune as he made cooked all the batter into something like 23 wheatcakes. He laughed at how overboard he had gone, but he didn’t mind much as he stored several of them in a tupperware and put them into the fridge to reheat later. 

He heard footsteps behind him and looked up to see Harry standing there, looking slightly confused and curious. “Hey Harry.” He said, waving the spatula with a smile.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Hello there?” He said, seeming confused. 

Peter laughed and pointed to the wheatcakes. “Breakfast! Well, lunch. Brunch!”

Harry laughed. “You made pancakes?”

Peter glared at him. “Don’t you dare ever utter those words in front of me ever again.” Peter warned.

Harry sputtered. “What?! What words!?”

“Pancakes! Never say that cursed word ever again!” 

“What?! Why?” Harry demanded playfully.

"Its awful! They're called wheatcakes." Peter demanded firmly. 

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "They're pancakes, Peter!" He shouted. 

Peter whipped around and chucked the spatula at him. "HUSH!"

Harry mock-screamed as the spatula bounced off him onto the floor. He gasped loudly. "Did you just throw a goddamn spatula at me?!" He screamed in faux anger. 

Peter glared at him, barely biting back a grin. "Yeah? What're ya gonna do about it?"

"We're breaking up." 

Peter slapped his chest and yelled, "Noooo! The only relationship I've ever been in!"

The two stopped and laugh, a light blush crossing both of their faces. "How many do you want?" Peter asked, turning to the plate. 

Harry smiled. "Three please."

Peter smiled as Harry sat down. Peter smiled and used a fork to put three wheatcakes on the plate. “Butter? Syrup?” Peter offered.

Harry smiled and nodded. “Yeah, both please.”

Peter used the fork to cut a slice of butter and threw the slice onto the wheatcakes, and handed him the syrup, before leaving the fork on his plate. “Enjoy.” He said grinning, before getting his own plate.

Harry thanked him as Peter made his own plate. After placing 5 pancakes on his plate, he drenched them in syrup and sat beside Harry and began eating happily. Harry raised an eyebrow at his large plate. “How do you eat so much and keep that figure of yours?” Harry asked teasingly. 

Peter flushed and replied, “I have a fast metabolism,” He explained.

Harry nodded and continued eating. The two engaged in small talk, learning more about each other, and chatting lightly, before Harry sighed. “I should probably head home.” He said, taking his now empty plate and rinsing it off in the sink. “It was really nice to meet you, Peter, and I was hoping, maybe we could have a more official date, say, this upcoming Friday?”

Peter felt his heart jump in his chest and he nodded. “Alright, yeah, that sounds great!” He said, a smile crossing his face.

Harry grinned. “Alright, let me go get my suit and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Peter smiled and watched him disappear upstairs. He pulled out his phone and tapped the familiar icon. His phone rang for a moment, before he heard a familiar voice answer. “Hello?”

“Hey Pepper, do you think you could help me with something real quick?”

#parksborn #parksborn fanfic #fanfic #fic #irondad #iron dad #iron dad fanfic #MSM #msm 2017 #marvels spiderman 2017

[detroitbydark]

Title: A Collector

Characters: Mob!Haz/Reader

Word Count: 2400+

Summary: Sometimes love means being blind. Sometimes it means having your eyes wide open.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I blame this completely on @hazshauntedbelle​  (also the moodboard is all hers because she's a genius.) Never intended for this to be as long as it is but it kind of wrote itself. I suppose it could be a precursor to my other Mob!Haz piece.  

You walked into love with Harrison Osterfield with eyes wide open, never under an illusion he was anything other than what he was, a killer and a mobster. For his part he didn���t try to force rose colored glasses over your eyes or blinders to hide the shit he did.

The day you’d met him you’d been sent along with one of the galleries appraisers to look at a piece he was thinking of auctioning at an upcoming charity event. You were young, barely out of school with an art history degree and a ton of student debt. You’d been hired on as a junior appraiser, an understudy of sorts to the paunchy old man with the droopy face who’d held the position since the days of methuselah. Your heart ticked up a notch as the towncar passed through the iron gates with armed guards on either side. In your line of work confidentiality was of the utmost importance but the guards and the wrought iron O on the gate had been an easy giveaway. Osterfield. The name was synonymous with the London mob and decadence. Even before the heir to the throne, Harrison, had taken over the family business it was a known fact that you didn’t cross an Osterfield or turn down one of their invitations. An invite to an Osterfield party or even was worth its weight in gold. Everything they did was exclusive. Everything they were was high end. 

You’d followed dutifully behind the appraiser as he was welcomed in, keeping your head down and taking notes as you’d been instructed. A baby faced brunette with a gentle smile had shown you into the study where a handful of paintings had been set up on stands to be assessed. You’d nearly had a heart attack at the names that surrounded you. Matisse. Picasso. Pollock. Klimt. It was almost too much for you to bear, so much beauty in such a small space. You missed Harrison when he’d entered but he hadn’t missed you as you stepped softly from one painting to the next, your fingers ghosting over strokes and absorbing the colors and textures.

“Beautiful, yeah?” His voice had startled you and you nearly dropped your notebook. It had brought an easy smile to his face. You shot the appraiser a look but he was already moving about looking at the different works.

“It’s a wonderful collection.” You’d said softly.  Harrison had moved closer to you, nearly shoulder to shoulder as he turned and looked at the painting you’d stopped in front of. It was one of Pollock’s. 

  “Why this one?” He’d asked and  he expected an answer. Men like him always did. 

“I like the abstract expressionists.” you answered softly and felt rewarded but his hum of agreeance. “I like beautiful things.” you added as an afterthought. 

“So do I.” He turned his head, blue eyes boring into yours. ”But why this one?” 

You were never sure what made you answer so honestly, what made you answer the way you did.

“The red reminds me of blood spatter.”

When an Osterfield liked something they didn’t let anything get in the way. Harrison moved quickly securing you as his own. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew you were meant to him, hand delivered by the Gods. You were a delicious package both gorgeous and wickedly intelligent. You kept him on his toes. You made him want to take over the world if only to offer it to you on a silver platter. 

 He liked that you weren’t a society girl. You didn’t come from money. You’d  worked to get where you were. He liked that you appreciated everything he did for you. He enjoyed lavishing you with gifts and taking you to nice dinners and parties and the way your eyes would light up when he surprised you with box seats to the theatre. He enjoyed your wonder at the finer things in life, you never seemed to grow accustomed or jaded. You never questioned his life style, never tried to talk him out of his life of crime. You stood by his side regardless of what wicked things he’d done and would do in the future. You had a zest for life and the beauty in even the darkest parts of it. Harrison liked to collect beautiful things, surround himself with them, and you were his pride and joy. 

You knocked lightly at the office door and heard a muffled call for you to come in. The morning sun was just beginning to spill in through the window at Harrison’s back and it bathed him in light more becoming of an angel than the devil you knew him to be. He was your devil though, your fallen angel, and your heart sang as he beckoned you in. you press the solid wood door shut before padding over to his desk. He pats his knee, never glancing away from his open laptop on the desk. Obediently you sit down and his arm comes to wrap around your waist, his fingers brush against the soft sild of the robe you’d worn. He holds the phone away from his mouth just long enough to place a pair of soft kissed against your collar bone where your robe had fallen open. You lean against his chest, fingers toying with the fine hair at the back of his neck as he continued to talk on the phone. 

“Two things William.” he growls out, the sound reverberating through his chest. You hear the talking on the other end cease. “First, you don’t ever interrupt me when I’m talking to you. You got me?”

You hear a muffled response on the other end of the line. You loved seeing Harrison like this. When he was alone with you he was soft and doting but outside of your little bubble he could show no weakness. He was the boss and anyone who didn’t listen was likely to find themselves wishing they had. He demanded respect and obedience or else there was a price to pay. 

“Second” He continues, “Figure out how to unfuck this situation…” Something about the control in his voice, the threat in his tone did something to you. You squirmed lightly in his lap, feeling the beginnings of your own arousal start to dampen your panties. Harrison’s hand squeezes your hip, stilling you. You bite your lip lightly. 

“William, I don’t want to hear your fucking bullshit, yeah? This is your fault…” Harrison sighs loudly, it’s a bored sound but you know it’s really the sound he made before he was done with whomever he was dealing with. 

“Interrupt me again and I will come down there and put a bullet between your fucking eyes” he promises with a sudden burst of anger that has  goose flesh breaking out across your arms, you clamp your thighs together. It was sick to be so turned on by your boyfriend threatening someone but you didn’t care.  He glances over at you and raises an eyebrow. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A knowing smirk grows across his smug face. “Good that’s more like it.” he says into the phone after a moment of watching you. His attention goes back to his computer as you try to wait patiently. 

The conversation continues for another few minutes, your nipples are hard and peaked, pressing against your robe and you are unbearably wet as he wraps it up. When he sets the phone down he turns to you. 

“Good morning, Angel.” He says lightly, a hand trails from your knee up your inner thigh, nudging you open. 

“Good morning, Darling.” You respond with a soft inhale as his fingers reach the damp fabric of your panties and stroke lightly over them. You’ve always thought his hands were a magical experience. Dexterous fingers with a knowledge of what it took to drive you wild, fingers that would just as soon wrap around his enemies throat as he choked the life out of them. 

“Angel, you're absolutely soaked.” He notes,  teasing your sex through the fabric. He plays like he’s shocked. “The thought of me putting poor William out of his misery get you all hot and bothered, love?” You sigh out his name softly.

 “Love seeing you take charge. It gets me every time.” You admit as a finger slips under the hem of your panties and dips into your folds. You cant your hips trying to get him to touch your clit or slip a finger inside of you but he doesn’t and you pout prettily.  “Haz…. I want you baby.” His warm breath tickles against the column of your throat as he chuckles. 

“Such a needy little girl for me, aren’t you?” You feel his fingers slip away from your body and you whine at the loss, than they’re pressing against your lips demanding access. You suck his fingers, slick with your own arousal as he watches. Your eyes flutter shut as you think of something else you’d like in your mouth, imagine the tang of your juices is actually the bitter bite of his release. 

Harrison removes the digits from your mouth, lets them trail down over your chin. Moving lower, they slide between your breasts and stroke softly before he’s pushing open your robe. He tuts quietly. 

“Naughty girl. Just your panties and robe? Did you have something on your mind when you came in here?” The smug grin on his face lets you know he’s pleased with you and it makes you that much more desperate for him. You loved making Harrison happy, loved giving him what he needed. You nod silently. 

“Why don’t you slide off my lap and put your hands flat on the desk. Can’t leave my girl such a needy mess can I?” His strong hand strokes against your cheek as you smile brightly at him. He always knew what you needed. He always made sure you were taken care of.

You let the robe slip from your shoulders as you stand, your hands going flat on the mahogany desk in front of you. Harrison’s hand smooths along your bare back and you can’t help but arch back at the feeling. He chuckles darkly as you hear the familiar ‘shink’ of the switchblade he always carried on him. The cool metal against your skin makes you whimper as he slices your panties at each hip. They fall away and you’re left bare and open to him. 

He takes his time admiring you. His hands squeeze the round globes of your ass and he quietly hushes you as your whining gets louder.

“Almost time, Darling.” he soothes as you hear the rustle of his belt buckles and the zipper of his pants. The solid length of him presses against the cleft of your ass and your ready to beg for it, wherever he wants to put it just so long as it’s inside you. A strong hand pushes your upper body against the desk as he guides the tip of his erection up and down your sopping folds. The wood of the desk is cool against your breasts in stark contrast to the heat radiating from his cock as It bumps against your clit.  You nearly cry out as he strokes his head over the tiny bundle of nerves.  Finally after he’s brought you to the edge of sanity he slowly readjusts and slips inside you. It's a stretch to accommodate him. He’s thicker than any man you’ve ever been with. He doesn’t give you time to adjust as he begins rocking into you, hands dropping to your hips as you press back to meet his thrusts. 

“That’s right. You needed this didn’t you?” 

You cry out “yes” and how much you’d wanted him inside you. 

Harrison liked keeping a running commentary. When you made love he was full of soft encouragement, whispered affection, words of adoration. When you fucked he praised you, told you what a good girl you were for taking his cock so pretty or how good you were going to look with his seed dripping out of you.  It had come to the point where you were sure his voice and the words alone were enough in themselves to get you off. 

“My sweet girl.” He breathes out as a hand moves from your hip, tangling in your hair. He pulls back. Your chest comes off the desk. You feel the buttons of his shirt press along your spine as his body melds to yours and he mouths at you neck. 

“Mine.” he growls, “Say it, Angel.”

“I’m yours! Only yours!” Your cries are broken as his other hand leaves your hip and moves to your breast. His fingers twist and pluck at you nipple. You feel your body clamp around him, hear his ragged groan in your ear. 

“I would kill for you, Darling” He rumbles in your ear, nipping at the lobe as he fucks up into your willing body. “It makes you hot knowing I’d fucking end someone for messing with you, doesn’t it?”

“Haz...God...yes…” You manage to choke out as your own hand slips between your thighs and begins circling your clit in quick, light strokes. 

“I’d fucking die for you love, before I ever let another man lay his hands on you.” 

He is all but snarling as each snap of his hips presses yours against the desk. You feel a ball of pleasure growing low in your belly, wrapping around your spine, your muscles tightening with each thrust. 

“Tell me what I need to hear, love.” 

“I love you Harrison….fuck…. I love…” the words are cut off as the building tension suddenly snaps and your falling apart. Only Harrison’s strong arms banding around you keeps you upright as his own rhythm falters. You're panting and shaking in his grasp. “Please, love, fill me…”

You hear a choked sound escape from him as he buries himself deep inside you. Your body squeezes him as he pumps every drop of his load against your cervix. 

You both pant heavily as he begins to soften inside you. His hands run adoringly over your naked body, his touch like that of a ghosts. It reminds you of the way you’d been with the paintings the first time you met. 

He slips out of you and quickly fixes his pants. When you finally have the strength to stand up you see he’s sat back down and is watching his cum slide down your thigh with rapt attention. His eyes follow your index finger as it scoops some up and you lick it off.  A groan escapes his lips as his eyes flutter shut. You smile innocently at him as he scoops your robe of the floor and holds it open for you to slip into it. When your back turns to him he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your head softly. 

“You know I was serious about what I said. I’ll fucking end anyone that ever tries to take you from me.” he murmurs against the crown of your head. You snuggle back into his protective embrace. A smile plays at yours lips as you turn in his arms.

“I know.”

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #mob!haz #detroitbydark #harrison osterfield fic #haz osterfield fic

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Your Secret Admirer: Part 1

Fandom: Marvel (High School AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’ve admitted to your friends that you’ve never gotten a love note until you begin to find love letters on your desk from your Secret Admirer. 

A/N: i need to fucking chill with bucky. i’ve neglected my babe, poe, and i feel bad...but i cant stop...like...i’m just so soft and weak for bucky rn...also.......................this is gonna be a mini series. oops. I WON’T BE TAGGING FOR THIS. SORRY.

You and Wanda sat on the bleachers by the pool talking and somewhat watching Bucky and Steve during swim practice. Other students were around you, but they all minded their own business.

With notebook in hand, you both discussed your current History project which was to make an online magazine related to a decade of your choosing during the 1900s.

“So I was thinking we could do the 50s or-”

“Oh. My. God!” Nat grumbled angrily as she stomped over to the two of you, every step echoing a loud as she climbed the bleachers.

Wanda cocked a brow, “What’s wrong?”

Nat pulled out a small stack of folded papers and slapped them onto the bench, “That! That is what’s wrong!”

Curiously, you picked up one of the folded papers, unfolding it. As you read the written words, you realized that it was a love note dedicated to Nat, “What’s wrong? It sounds like someone really likes you.”

“Oh, I know who that someone is and I’ve told him time and time again that I’m not interested in him.”

“Who is it?” you asked.

Nat scoffed, “Brock Rumlow,” which resulted in you and Wanda making grumbles of displeasure. 

“Brock Rumlow wrote these?” Wanda asked.

Nat shrugged, “I’m pretty sure he threatened someone to write them for him. Everyone knows he’s an idiot.”

You and Wanda nodded, “Yeah. True.”

You set the note back down with the others, “At least you get love letters. I’ve never received one in my entire life.”

“No way! Really? You’ve got to be joking!” Nat exclaims just as Bucky heads over to you guys, towel wrapped around him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, using the towel to dry off his hair.

Nat points at you, “Y/N’s never received a love letter before!”

You roll your eyes at her, “It’s not a big deal, Nat. Sure, I’d like to receive one, but it’s really not the most important thing ever.”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” she mumbles as she grabs her notes and shoves them into her bag.

Bucky stood there looking at where the notes previously laid. He looked very concentrated. It wasn’t until you threw a paper ball at him that he looked back at you, “Were you saying something?”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I was asking if you wanted to walk home with me, if so, then I’ll wait for you to shower and dress.”

He shot you a smile, “Yeah. That’d be great. Thanks, doll!” he then walked back down the bleacher steps and towards the showers. A plan was brewing in his mind.

______________________________________________

The next day you walk into your first class which is algebra. Sitting on your desk is a folded piece of paper with your name on it. You sit down and cautiously open it to find writing which read:

Y/N,

You’re so smart. It blows my mind how intelligent you are in every class you take. I adore how you always shyly raise your hand to ask/answer a question. It always brings a smile to my face.

I hope you have a wonderful day, like how you always make my days wonderful.

-Your Secret Admirer

You look around at the few students that are already sitting in their seats. You tap on the shoulder of Scott Lang, who was currently napping until his head shot up, “I’m up! I’m up!”

You winced a bit, feeling guilty of waking him up, “Sorry, Scott, but you don’t happen to know who left this note on my desk, do you?”

He shook his head, “Nah. I saw it there when I walked it and I was the first one here.”

Your shoulders sagged in disappointment, “Oh. Okay. Thanks anyway. Sorry for waking you up.”

Scott yawned and waved at you, “It’s fine.”

You sat at your desk staring at the letter wondering who could possibly have left this for you. Too concentrated, you didn’t see realize Bucky was calling your name until he tapped you on the shoulder. 

You sat up more and turned to face him, “Hm? What did you say?”

He points to the letter, “I asked what the paper was.”

“Oh. Um, it’s a letter from a secret admirer.”

Bucky looked at you curiously, “You have a secret admirer? Since when?”

“Since now, I guess. Look,” you hand him the note and watch as he reads through it.

He nods in approval, “I mean I gotta agree with them. It blows my mind too how smart you are in everything.”

“Besides that, do you have an idea who it could be?”

He shakes his head and shrugs, “No clue. There was a bunch of other people around you yesterday. Someone might’ve overheard?”

“Do you happen to remember who was there?” you asked desperately.

Bucky shook his head again, “Sorry, doll, I don’t. But anyway, enjoy this for a bit. You said it yourself you’ve never received love letters before. Now you are! I think that’s pretty sweet.”

You softly smile, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right, but if I find out this is Brock Rumlow’s doing, I’m burning these.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt it.”

Part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #marvel #au #high school au

[bucky-is-a-hero-fightme]

In Your Heartbeat (16/16)

IN YOUR HEARTBEAT MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky/Reader, Natasha/Sister!Reader

Word Count: IT’S A LONG ONE, like 13k approx. Sorry.

Warnings: ... :) Nothing that hasn’t been common to previous parts of the story: mentions and descriptions of torture, death, and violence. And angst.

A/N: Last chapter, people! I hope you enjoy and...yeah. I’m sorry for my prolonged absence, but now I am here to stay (kinda).

Italicized bits are either (or and in some cases hehe) a memory, dream, or one of the futures the Reader sees. I tried to make it as clear as possible, if there’s something you don’t understand or seems confusing, don’t hesitate to let me know.

Taglist: @learisa @lixbean @quiessilva-meriff @miss-i-ship-it @221bbands @darkblueeyedperson @beansparker @fairislesheets @aunty-peggy @me-myself-and-i-4-the-win @checkintoreality @dontwintilligetthere @neuschwanstein

“The moment you put a gun in my hands I will shoot you, and if I can’t do that, I will shoot myself.” You snarl back, jaw clenched and fighting back impotent tears that rise in your eyes.

“We’ll see about that, girl.”

__

It’s been three weeks, and you have never stood on more unstable ground.

All you have done is train, and though Karpov holds a gun to the back of your head for most of the time, and guards follow you closely everywhere, no one has laid a hand on you.

But that’s all there has been to it, for almost three weeks. Wake up, train, report to Karpov, sleep, repeat.

Considering Hydra’s hierarchy, that you are awfully familiar with after years of running away or towards them, you cannot help but notice you are being treated not as a soldier, but as an officer. A high ranking one, at that.

Your quarters are on the farthest end of the facility, with full accommodations -aside form the comms that were ripped off the wall before you were brought in- and your bed is as soft as that in the compound.

There’s agents around you at all times, yes, but they are respectful and almost…fearful towards you. When soldiers are sent to train with you, training is all there is to it, no unnecessary brutality, no cruelty.

Despite your efforts to run away, despite the agents you have killed in the multiple attempts to get out; Karpov has remained patient, his men obedient and you…you are left terrified.

Karpov has managed to get you on a tight leash, without even lifting a finger.

You have tried escaping, of course you have.

You disarm the Colonel as he approaches, raising the gun to his head and smiling in triumph.

“I told you that you shouldn’t leave me near a gun.”

“Go ahead, shoot me. But do one thing for me first, see what you can see happening afterwards,” His voice is calm, too calm even, as he nods your way, “Use your powers, Y/N.”

You do, and the rush of images of blood and screams following Karpov’s death fill your mind, countless soldiers dead at your feet but never enough, your body being forced down and the sound of that damned machine that still stands in the middle of the containment area of the facility starting up fills your ears.

You drop the gun, but keep your eyes on Karpov, waiting for his move.

“I will not become your weapon.” You snarl as the guards ready themselves to escort you to your quarters. The Colonel merely smiles, with a confident and mocking smirk you know too well.

Too many times to count you have tried.

The sound of the knife swiftly leaving the holster wakes up the Colonel, and you hold back a smile as you watch the middle-aged man rise in bed.

You say nothing as you approach, knife in hand and aimed at his throat.

His big hand traps your forearm before you can do so, and Karpov brings his face close to your own.

“You will not. You are too good.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You spit back, adjusting your grip on the handle to strike, but you feel a thread strengthening suddenly, and reach for your energy to see what will happen.

You see yourself running away from the facility, quickly taking over a snow truck and reaching Kiev in a matter of days.

You see your eyes watching in horror at the screens on a train station: Black Widow, original member of the Avengers, rumored to have been sniped and killed while in Stark tower. Tony Stark imp-…

An enraged scream leaves your throat at the way Karpov has outplayed you again, and let go of the knife, but not before piercing his clavicle with it, embedding him on the bed.

And too many times you have failed.

So silent you remain, and you take on the training sessions, and you report your progress to the Colonel each night before going to sleep. And you go to your bed, close your eyes, wait for the facility to fall asleep, and sneak out.

You have studied the Winter Soldier book Karpov kept close to his heart for all these years. You have learnt about the practices in the facility more acutely in these last weeks than in over a year of researching Hydra’s Ghost.

The files on Project Cataclysm are impressive in on themselves too, although the development of the serum and its applications were merely Hydra stumbling in the dark, so no important data was found in the old files within Siberia’s underground base.

You have ten words memorized in your head, a dozen others meant for emergency reactions safe within your memory. You know Karpov will not meddle with it. Your memory, you mean. He has told you time and time again that he wants an agent, a voluntary one, not another Asset. Assets fall from grace, break programming, but someone loyal to the mission, even if not its ideals? They will handle Hydra the world once again.

Still, you know what this man is capable of, experienced it through the eyes of your soulmate one too many times; and you know that despite his claims to want you to be compliant by choice, there’s nothing stopping him from punishing you for your attempts on his life, or the lives of the agents you have cost him.

Yet, he doesn’t much as raise his voice at you. It scares you, and not because you fear Karpov himself, but because you know whatever makes him fear the repercussions of harm falling unto you is something out of nightmares.

A sharp pain spreads through your side when one of the soldiers tries bringing you back out of your thoughts and into the sparring session. You unsheathe a knife and throw it his way, letting it find a home in his thigh before he can even correct his stance.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“We are supposed to spar.” He growls out, taking out the bloodied knife and throwing it somewhere behind him. Your lips twist into a snarl as you approach him, already playing with another throwing knife between your fingers.

“Wanna spar? I bet you make a great bullseye.” You tease, easy smile on your lips as you see the man’s eyes fill with fear.

There’s a second too long, even as you back down and drop the act that has become too much like your own skin in these last weeks, where you see in him the fear that you will slice his throat open in the middle of the training ground.

His fear unsettles you much less than it should. But you try not to linger on it, Karpov’s guards are here, with their gazes set on you. A slip and he will know you are crumbling, and he can’t. Your only advantage over him is that you refuse to agree to his terms, bow down to his demands. You cannot allow him the satisfaction of seeing the monster take over the girl.

At least not until the time is right.

Your powers have been strengthened more than you thought possible, the futures you can see now, although maybe a little blurrier and more uncertain, go into the farther future. And you have felt, in snippets, broken edges that are slowly being pieced together, the way Siberia’s cold will graze your arms as you walk out free. That is enough to make you wait, to make you plan and weight the choices before jumping into battle.

That, and Karpov’s thinly veiled threats to your sister and your soulmate. He knows what he is doing, even if some sick part of him is still out for blood when it comes to you and Bucky for what you did decades ago, even if he still wants the Soldat at his feet.

So you grit your teeth and go through the motions, waiting for the crack in the Colonel’s armor, waiting for the day you can finally see his eyes dim with the just and unescapable touch of Death.

The man in question sits in front of you in his office, datapad on his hand as he scrolls through some file.

“Have your powers improved in any way?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Try seeing what I will do next, girl. And then ponder about lying to me again.”

You narrow your eyes with a scoff, but do it anyways, reaching for his energy and trying to feel the tangled tendrils of his intentions.

You are brought to the upper levels of the facility. The hissing sound of a cryo chamber opening scratching your ears.

They drag a blonde woman out. She is quickly restrained, but a few barked words in Russian make her stop trying to get free, make her eyes stop bubbling with that animal rage.

Her eyes set on you for a second, and she smiled, a terrifying turn of her lips as they twist on a silent growl rather than a smile, the same edge of Kseniya’s unhinged certainty shining in her clear eyes as she regards you.

“Она мягкая. И ис��угался. (She is soft. And scared.)” The woman sneers, but Karpov is quick to stop her on her tracks.

“Она также защищена.” (Protected too.)

“Но я хочу играть” (But I want to play.)

You blink past the images in your head, and stare at the Colonel with wide eyes.

“Are you putting me up against a Winter Soldier!?”

Karpov smiles, leaning back and regarding you with the rejoiced expression of someone with a winning hand.

“No. I’m sending her to New York.”

Live footage, right from the Soldier’s attached camera, shows her way into the compound, sneaking right into the heart of the facility. You are forced to stay still on the chair where they put you, watching with fearful eyes as the Russian Winter Soldier enters the compound.

Quickly placed bombs, set to detonate on her mark. She continues stalking the corridors. Wanda’s room is not even opened as the blonde shoots through the door and ends the Sokovian.

You choke down a sob, but tears are streaming down your eyes as you watch.

An alarm. Four soldiers standing in front of her. The recognition in Bucky’s eyes. The fear in Natalia��s.

Vibranium knife lodges right in the place where skin meets metal on Bucky’s arm. Before the blonde can move in for the kill, a redhead moves in, gun in hand and shield in the other.

“Where is my sister?”

“мертвый”

It is enough to stagger the Widow, the Soldier’s knife going right through her chest. Natalia’s mouth opens with a scream, but blood dribbling down her parted lips quickly quietens her voice.

The sound of your own gasping breaths brings you out of the future your powers provide, tears brimming in your eyes as you face Karpov with a mix of rage and pain.

“Now, tell me about your new limits in your powers, Y/N.” He states, cold and professional demeanor as he regards you with a glint of triumph in his tired and dead eyes.

You do, through gritted teeth and with bare minimum details, eyes defiant on his. When the Colonel motions for you to leave, you lean on his desk, towering over his sitting form.

“I will kill you at the end, you know it, right?”

“Have you seen it?” He teases, easy smile on his lips that makes bile churn your stomach.

“I don’t need to.”

He chuckles, as if dealing with a child, and motions for you to be escorted out of his office.

____

On these last few weeks, Karpov has pushed you to try to find a link, a trace of the energy you follow to find the possible futures pertaining to one person, in objects of emotional significance to them, one way or another.

It has worked. And the Colonel is disgustingly happy with the achievement.

He makes you try and see the futures of old agents, sometimes runaway ones. The notes taken on your reports are vast and quick, but they are never shown to you.

And this blinding success is what allows you to breach into the network of one of the mining facilities Karpov takes you to, being the dog at his side as he monitors the situation.

The Doctor is focused on the results in your recent exams, reading over and over the words in your reports over your powers and their use, when you are cleaning their trace in the net. Leaving what you hope Natalia finds, the perfect absence you left behind when you wanted your sister, but no one else, to find you.

You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut at night, hoping to whatever is willing to listen that they can find you. You can only hope, and you fear the destruction that terrible and dangerous hope can leave behind.

___

It comes a day when you fear they will not find you, that the message was not enough and they will not find the trace back to you. They do. But it is already too late.

Karpov is tipped off by one of his men that Captain America is incoming. Only a slight nod is all the answer the Colonel gives, before he is left alone with you, and turns slowly to you.

You try telling yourself it is not fear what runs through your veins the moment you stand face to face with the bloodthirsty Colonel you remember almost killing when you were young. You try telling yourself it’s adrenaline, excitement…but there’s no hiding the trembling in your hands, the erratic beat of your heart when the familiar sounds of fighting approach the facility and Karpov stands silently before you, dead grey eyes on yours.

“You made a mistake, girl.”

A smile is all you give in return, before reaching for the knife at your back and rising your arm in defense.

“Don’t come any closer.” You warn, backing towards the door. The Colonel smiles, a frightening, sinister smile.

“Scared?”

Before long, you move to strike before he can decide to. Going for a clean cut in his torso, which he quickly deflects, you lose your balance for a second.

Hand grabs your arm, twisting the wrist and having the knife fall from your grasp.

You move your wrist out of his reach, but his hand never moves to grab it. Instead, long fingers wrap around your throat, lifting you up.

The knife changes hands, and you reach up with your left hand, slicing the inside of his elbow, forcing a grunt out of his lips and setting you free.

The bloodloss makes him dizzy, the uninjured arm tries swinging your way, but fails.

Predicting his clumsy moves, you try bolting for the door, hoping the team outside has any sort of long-range support to cover you once you are out.

But Karpov’s heavy boot lands painfully on your calves, forcing your knees to buckle, but before you can fall to the ground, the Colonel pins you to the wall, his forearm pressed roughly against your back and breath rough on your ear when he growls,

“Too slow, girl.”

Despite the pain on your head from where it hit the wall, the way your body still sings with a mixture of fear and the relief of finally facing off the monster under your bed; you keep your jaw set tight and your eyes dry when you are forced to turn and watch Karpov in the eye.

Moving up your arm before he can completely immobilize you, you press the blade to your throat.

And as expected, the man lets you go.

“I know your weakness, Karpov,” You purr, turning around and forcing blood to drip from the small cut you trace on your skin, all the while ignoring the sharp sting of it. The man’s eyes are focused on it, prompting your smile to turn a little less false, a lot more cold. “You have played all your cards.

You walk slowly away from him, circling him as he gauges your stance, your expression, trying to predict you. Like one predator against another, you stand still, the knife against your throat still, his eyes distrusting and almost fearful too.

“Your weakness, it’s a thing as human as fear. It’s the natural fear, the one that you can’t shake off, the one that haunts you no matter what you do to avoid it…that’s the fear that will burn you down, Colonel,” You watch his hands clench, his eyes travel to the door behind you separating you from freedom and the chaos of battle, when you tighten your grip on the knife, and force more blood down your throat. “And you fear what is away from your reach, what you can’t predict, what lies beyond your control.”

“I control you, girl.”

But you shake your head, a mix of joy and cold satisfaction running through you like an electrical current. You just have to buy yourself time before Natalia, judging by the light and precise steps approaching the hallway, finds you.

“You said it yourself, Karpov. You know better than to mess with a soulbond,” The smile in your lips widens, “Prove me wrong, let me bleed, let me hurt. Let me be in so much pain that I turn to Hydra for reprieve.

You cock your head to the side, the sting of the blade on your neck nothing compared to the great feeling of victory settling over you.

“You won’t, will you? Because you have tried the same before. Burning me out of existence. I remember,” There’s a moment when you think the Colonel will interrupt you, speak up. But he doesn’t, so you continue, “You won’t touch a hair on my head and I know why, Colonel. You don’t fear me, you don’t even fear Bucky, or my sister. You fear what happens when he feels me in the other end of the bond, suffering. You fear what happens when Natalia is out for blood. You fear what I will do with you once I know they are out of your reach. You fear us.

Although there’s a strong pull to reach for the strengthening bind to the future, you ignore it for the time being, being sure to put on a mocking smile on your face when you state,

“Like I said. You fear what you can’t control.”

You feel your heartbeat settle in your chest with painful beats, the name-less tune forced and struggling as you stumble back, your powers taking over your senses.

There’s a strange pull taking your focus away from the fight out of the facility holding your sister’s hand on one of your own and skillfully maneuvering your gun with the other.

You try shaking your head, getting rid of it, but a bullet flying past your head from a place at your back has both you and Natalia tumbling forward to cover, and when you turn around you feel your heart stop.

It’s stupid, it’s reckless. God, you know it is.

But there’s still hope clinging to your words, like the blood tainting your lips, dripping slowly into your voice.

“Bucky?”

The Winter Soldier moves in for the attack, not even waiting for you or your sister to move. Natalia pushes you away from the blunt of the hit from his metal arm, your back hitting a wall as you watch with wide eyes as Natalia is hit square in her chest, falling to the floor and crawling away from the advancing soldier like a scared child trying to find refuge in her parents’ arms.

“Sestra!” You scream, the word torn off your throat in a desperate attempt to make the world stop spinning, to make time freeze for just one instant, to make the mistresses of fate realized they have punished them enough.

A moment of hesitation, a breath caught in your throat.

Bucky turns to you, and you see some flicker of recognition flash behind the Soldat’s cold gaze.

The sound of the gunshot is something that your soul knows somehow, you will never forget.

When Bucky falls, there’s tears in your sister’s eyes, and a smoking handgun on her trembling, guilty hands.

You try warning Natalia, you try reaching out and doing something to save either of them, but your eyes fall closed, your body tumbling down, before you can even utter a sound.

__

Kseniya chases you through the streets, agile legs carrying her over the roofs as she catches up to you. Letting herself fall down right in front of you, although a few feet away, the blonde points her gun at you, dead eyes set on yours, and you do the same thing.

“You want me alive,” You state, praying she doesn’t hear the tremor in your voice. “I won’t let you take me.”

“I can make you,” She smirks, pretending to advance, and managing to set you even more on edge as you try to keep an eye on both her and the threads referring to each possible future.

You take a step back, “You can’t. What do you want me for?”

“You are needed, girl. The miracles failed, is time to go back to good ol’ weapons.” She sing-songs, making the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. In what seems like a puff of smoke, she is standing right in front of you.

You shoot. One, two times.

But the bullets go through her like she is made of mist.

“What…?”

She smirks your way, taking out a picture from your backpack and pretending to study it. You can only stare at her with wide eyes.

“Nice picture, dolly,” She lifts her eyes to yours, and only then you notice the way some sort of dark mist is swimming inside of them, like the red you saw in the new girl in the Avengers group. She presses her palm to your chest, over your heart, and leaves the picture pressed against your jacket. “Better give it back to its owner, pretty thing. It’s never too late, is it?”

“Kseniya?” You whisper. She looks at you, now her clear eyes shining with unsheded tears, her mouth trembling. Her expression is that of the broken girl that killed her soulmate and begged a stranger with whom she shared a distant past for forgiveness.

But there’s a strange fierceness in it too, a flame trying to ignite a fire past Hydra’s ice.

“It’s not too late,” She whispers, the distinct sound of crackling fire reaching your ears. “You had to take my place to set me free. But there’s still time.”

“Time?” You ask, watching numbly as flames engulf her form, her hand still stubbornly pressing the picture into your heart.

Her silver eyes set on you, a broken relief flooding them, and she falls down at your feet. The flames die surrounding her, a last rite to another victim of Siberia’s cold, and what is left is a girl with a bullet on her head, lying dead on the ground, somewhere on a lost island in the Indian Ocean.

You look down at your hand, the picture now in your hand as you press it into your heart, trying to somehow keep it safe.

The face of the past looks right back at you, and the words embedded in the back swim in your head.

“Bucky. Bucky. Don’t forget that. Count the beats, don’t forget that. Bucky.” You whisper.

You smell the clean and spiked scent of a hospital room before you even open your eyes. Your first thought is whether or not the team made it out of the facility you sent them to, if they found anything to lead them to you, and how to erase the trail before Karpov can do something worse than death upon any of you.

A doctor greets you with a tight smile and fearful eyes, prompting you to get up and walk a few steps, checking your blood pressure and letting the small clip still be attached to your finger, so you can heart the maddening beat of your heartbeat, driving you crazy.

The incident in the facility replays in your brain like a broken record.

Karpov worked around my ability to predict him.

When you ask the doctor what was the reason you collapsed, she states something about low blood sugar and the air pressure in the mining facility before giving you your new schedule and escorting back to bed.

You are set to train almost twice as many hours as before, with so many of the time invested in training being focused on your abilities instead of your combat techniques. You say nothing when she asks if you have any questions, but there’s a part of you that cannot help but notice you have been liberated of reporting to Karpov each night.

The doctor leaves, promising you that you will be ‘home’ soon, and it is only then that you realize you are in a vehicle. When you open your eyes again, you notice you still are in one of Hydra’s underground trains, you can tell by the damp smell that still clouds the wagon. There’s a presence next to you, but you refuse to acknowledge him.

“What is it going to take for you to accept it?”

“That I’m not getting out? Death, Karpov.” You answer back, eyes still on the black nothingness of the tunnel as it flies past your widow.

“That you may get out if you do as you are told.”

The resilient silver of childish hope rises within you, but you are quick to tame it with the reality of who you are dealing with.

“How many people have you asked for their souls in exchange for freedom, Colonel?”

“Not many that could pay up for said freedom,” You turn to him, not saying anything, but the interest subtly shown in your moves. The man is dressed in civilian, although almost formal clothing, his hands folded in his lap and eyes set on the front of the empty wagon as he continues, “I want you to find a former agent. Rumlow, Brock Rumlow. He has gone haywire, and I fear he will…tamper our name.”

“You want him dead.”

“I’m not sending you into the field.”

“Smart.” You admit, wry smile twisting your lips.

“I want him found and tracked, girl. You will see it is easier if you comply.”

The word in itself makes bile rise in your throat, acid churn in your stomach. Karpov stands up, straightening his clothes before setting off to walk out of the wagon, but not before stating,

“And no tricks, girl. I get word you are bringing them to us, and I won’t stop them, I won’t escape. I’m going to have the Soldat rip them apart as you watch. And then put a bullet in his brain. If I’m merciful.”

You don’t say anything, clenching your jaw and looking ahead as the man leaves with measured and heavy steps. Helplessness and fear battle within you, making your hands shake and lip quiver stupidly.

But you push past it, you try seeing the light at the end, the possibility of maybe freedom. You don’t think you can live on without that stupid hope.

And you are not counting on Karpov for your freedom, oh no. You are counting ghosts.

While searching for Rumlow, you sneak in small pieces of data on Kseniya, her work with Karpov and the events that led to her awakening by the Colonel more than a year ago to find you.

You study what you remember of the girl, her words, her actions.

You study what it takes to make someone kill their own soulmate. You study what they did to her, what left no marks but made her so pliable to Hydra’s whims.

You study what is so important they want out of you.

You study what will make you their soldier.

There’s countless files on the Winter Soldier Program scattered through your room, pages upon pages on Hydra’s insight on their perfect weapon.

You study what Bucky told you of his time as the Soldier. The training, the mind tricks, the lies.

You study the techniques they used to control him, their plans for his future. You study their intent to conjoint Hydra’s most powerful sources when they sent him to the Red Room, the project your death inadvertently stopped.

You study what they wanted to make out of the girls in the Red Room. The children in Project Cataclysm.

You study what they wanted, and want still, to make out of you.

____

It is somewhere in the middle of the night, almost a week after the incident in the mining facility, and you still haven’t seen Karpov. You haven’t reported to him, interacted with him.

All you do is train. Train and track Brock Rumlow in his mad path through Europe.

And research what the girl Karpov woke up, the girl that killed her own soulmate, wanted out of you.

You hold a picture, almost as old as the one Bucky has of you, of Kseniya Nikolaev. Third child of a family of five, taken at the age of sixteen and turned into an experiment by Hydra. Her soulmate was Adriana Donati, dead at the age of twenty one, sniped while she was assisting refuge efforts in northern Italy after an earthquake.

She smirks your way, taking out a picture from your backpack and pretending to study it. You can only stare at her with wide eyes.

“Nice picture, dolly,” She lifts her eyes to yours, and only then you notice the way some sort of dark mist is swimming inside of them, like the red you saw in the new girl in the Avengers group. She presses her palm to your chest, over your heart, and leaves the picture pressed against your jacket. “Better give it back to its owner, pretty thing. It’s never too late, is it?”

There’s a heavy weight in your stomach as you stare back at the face of the girl you killed without hesitation.

“Why did you drive me to him? Karpov didn’t plan on either of us killing each other, he said it himself.”

“I’m not here to be your enemy, I’m here to offer you an out.”

“You know the kind of information I’ve got. If I have the names of the highest ranking officers, you know I know every dirty trick in the book that can ruin your sister’s and the Soldat’s lives. I want something simple and easy. My silence, in exchange for your abilities.”

“It is better if you just come home, and we both know it. I’m not calling yet, but I want you to know I have the advantage, always will.”

Understanding falls on you with the rush and electricity of a free fall from the tallest height, the vertigo rushing through you and forcing a gasp out of your throat.

“You were stalling. All this time, you were buying time,” You shrug off the pull of sleep and exhaustion, standing up from your position on the floor and walking towards her file. “Why?”

Kseniya’s heartbeat rhythm stares back at you, and a conversation with Bucky you two had while somewhere in northern Romania is brought to the front of your mind.

“Karpov didn’t want you to remember me. If my sister hadn’t changed my name, he would’ve killed me.” You start, eyes on one of the specks of cinnamon floating in your swirling coffee cup.

“Why wouldn’t he stop my heart and re-start it?” Bucky finishes for you, to which you only answer with a shrug. It still scares you a bit how easy it is for him to talk about things like these, to speak of himself as nothing more than a target, a weapon.

That is the way Hydra sees him, it frightens you how disconnected from himself he is sometimes.

“I mean, it would be the smart thing to do. Memories erased, name gone…the whole package.”

“But Hydra wasn’t the one to come up with the name erasure technique.” He argues softly, finally sitting next to you on the couch and lifting your sock-cladded legs to rest in his lap, both metal and flesh arms resting gently over your calves.

“They didn’t come up with many things they used during the years. What’s your point?”

“I don’t know. Natalia knew of the procedure by luck, and even though they planned on doing it to the Black Widows, it never pulled through.”

“But why?”

“Maybe they know more of heartbeats that we do.” This time it is his turn to shrug, prompting you to put up a fake affronted look on your face as you turn to him.

“I earned a living from heartbeats, for almost fifty years. I’m insulted, dear.”

A small smile teases at the corners of his lips, the first unburdened smile you have seen on him since you pulled the trigger on that damned facility.

“They use our beats. Not the names. The rhythm.” You pondered out loud, hands quickly reaching for the intel on Project Cataclysm.

That’s why Hydra didn’t go through with their erasure of the girl’s heartbeats on the Red Room. That’s why so many kids died on the facility you were held on, even though the serum was easily survivable.

That’s why Kseniya killed her soulmate.

That’s why Karpov is so adamant in keeping you here, even if you cost him his men, his resources. Because they found a way to control the heartbeats.

Because there was more than the enhancement of abilities in Project Cataclysm.

Your heartrate spikes, as if your body knows the rhythm you thought a curse for so long is really so much more than that. And it wants you to listen. As your heartbeat fills your ears, resounding within your head in that nameless song, you realize something.

The picture of Kseniya still trapped within your hand, your eyes filling with tears at the realization.

That’s why you didn’t give away my heartbeat rhythm until the end. That’s why you said we would be soulmates if I killed you.

Because I would take your place. Not only your name, but your spot under the Colonel’s control.

The way Karpov always pushed you to use your powers when you were in the brink of overpowering him. The combat training without your powers he forced you to try.

The fight in the mining facility. The way your powers told you something, but he did something completely different.

“Oh, God. How much of it was real?” You whisper, trembling hand covering your mouth as the papers fall from your hands, sliding to the floor and joining countless others.

A sound coming from your -monitored- computer brings you out of your own head and, rubbing shaking fingers over your eyes to get rid of the dampness in them, you stumble to the monitor.

You are pressing the intercom button before you can think about it too much.

“Girl, I hope you have good news.”

“I found Rumlow, Colonel.” You sing back, a small smile taking over your face.

___

When the Doctor walks into the room, you are expecting her, holding to vials of liquid in one hand and the handgun in the other.

“Miss Romanova.” She greets, not even phased at the gun aimed at her head.

There’s a special kind of fear running through your veins right now. Like the fear you had the first time you left the Union when you found Natalia, like the first time you settled and made a home after your adoptive parents were killed, like the first time you looked into Bucky’s eyes. Like the first time you kissed him, like the first time you made love, like the first time you dared speak of a future so darn perfect it seemed impossible.

A special kind of fear, the kind of fear that makes you weaker, yes, but somehow more stubborn, more resilient. Maybe even braver enough to do what is needed.

“I’m gonna go on a limb and say you are not going to agree with me.”

“I might. What are you offering, Miss?” The woman replies, sitting calmly at her desk.

And suddenly you are in front of a lowlife in some unknown street of Austria, his valiant face asking something in return of his intel. And the words about the name on her heartbeat are at the tip of your tongue, but this time you do not let them out.

“What do you want, Doctor?”

“To disappear.”

You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest, but keeping your grip on the gun tight and secure.

“You will have to be more specific.”

“I read your file, Y/N. You evaded the Winter Soldier, the whole of Hydra, and even greater enemies I may not know of,” She states knowingly, hands carefully placed in the desk. But you notice the slight nervous twitching of her fingers as they are intertwined with one another. “You are good, of not the best.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Now, I would appreciate it if you made your point.”

“I made it. You went off the radar. Every radar there was. You can do so again, this time for me.”

A small laugh leaves your lips. Mocking, practiced, prodding. “You want your heartbeat off the charts.”

She nods,

“I want my life, my work, to vanish. As if it never existed.”

“Your name is in someone’s heart, though. My…disappearance was aided by the fact that no one knew my real name.”

“The heart with my name on it was stopped, a long time ago,” Before you can even ask the first question that runs through your head, the woman snaps, “No, it was never restarted.”

“Hydra?” You ask, eyes narrowed.

“The criminals I joined Hydra to kill.”

“So romantic.” You tease, cold smile still in place although the closeness to grasp your freedom, this time once and for all, makes your insides tremble.

“I read your file, Y/N,” She repeats, turning her back to you and paying attention to a heart monitor near her, and taking out some equipment and sterilizing it as she looks at you over the rim of her glasses, “Don’t pretend you didn’t dance with the Devil for your love’s soul.”

“I danced. I didn’t lay with the Devil, Doctor.” You spit back, the silent oath understood between you and the woman. I am not Hydra, so don’t equal me to you.

“Different circumstances, different results. Same intent.” The woman shrugs, making blood boil under your skin.

It is with a sigh of concession that you remain silent for a few seconds, before clicking the safety of your gun once again, rendering the gun as harmless as it can be in the hands of a woman with the lastname Romanova.

“I want your heartbeat, Doc. Your name and history would make a nice addition.”

She motions for you to hop onto the table, after musing your response and finally nodding in agreement. You are taken aback by her disposition, and suddenly you are a girl again, standing in front of a scary Doctor in a Hydra facility, not sure of what they plan on doing to you.

“Miss, please take a seat.” The man orders without even turning his head to look at you.

“Did you kill my parents?” You ask, although you know the answer. At this point, you think asking questions and reminding yourself of the life outside these horrible, dark, and damp halls is what will keep you sane.

Keep you remembering.

“We did what we had to, Miss.”

“Is my sister alright? Are you taking me to her?”

“I’m afraid not.” The doctor retorts, tone bored and unchanging as he clearly focuses his attention on the papers in front of him. The ones with your vitals on them, probably.

“The Winter Soldier, then?”

That gets him to turn around.

Harsh brown eyes study you for what feels like an eternity, and the small, stupid silver of hope within you that this was going to be over in any way soon is stumped down when the Doctor takes a few steps towards you, studying you.

“What do you know, girl?”

You remind yourself of what happened when you let others see what you feel, what you know. You remind yourself of the Colonel’s mocking laugh, of the dead soldiers at your feet, of your mother’s screams as she sees her adopted child being dragged away.

You remind yourself who you are playing with.

You remind yourself Hydra, the monster with no face, the legend of death and torture; they do not stand for threats.

Your sister, your soulmate, were proof enough that with people like these it is that survivors are broken.

So you shrug, “I heard some of the kids talking about it.”

He nods, lowering his gaze to the board in his hands. After reading in silence for a few seconds, he motions for you to sit on a scary looking chair with too much resemblance to one that has haunted your memories of nightmares not your own for too long now.

“What is that?” You ask, and the man tsks his tongue, clearly running out of patience.

“I have to get you healthy. Sit, and I will give you some fluids.”

“Why should I?” You retort, but he only sighs in response.

“You’ll find pain soon, girl. Make it easier for yourself and don’t make it start now.”

“Now?” You ask, stupidly. The woman sneers your way, the creases around her eyes deepening with the movement.

“I’m sorry. Do you have a date you don’t want to miss?”

Ignoring her, and, frankly, ignoring your own stupid question; you walk on unusually shaky legs to the table.

“Karpov will not be notified of the change.”

“Of course not.”

“The traces of the new rhythm will be destroyed, Doc,” She hesitates for a moment, clearly not expecting that demand, and a part of you rests assured that as far as you know only Karpov is aware and in power of controlling people, Cataclysm’s survivors, through their heartbeats. So, it is easier for you to add the forced lightheartedness in your tone, “And you better bring me back.”

“Don’t fret, girl. I’m not stupid enough to try to kill you. Like I said, I read your file.”

The brace-like clasp is set around your left arm, and the woman readies both the poison and the mix of adrenaline and epinephrine to bring back to life the heart the poison is set to stop.

You watch avidly the process, the way she reaches to settle a clasp around your chest. You hold her wrist tightly in your hand, and her eyes meet yours.

“You will convulse when the heart stops. I can’t have you moving.” She explains, forcing you to let go of her and fastening the clasp around your chest. You take a few deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from panicking when she reaches for your other arm, strapping you to the table and leaving you unable to move.

The Doctor asks if you are ready, an unlikely and surprising gentleness in her tone as she settles near you, ready to start the process.

“I’m ready.” You whisper, more to yourself than her. Panic claws is way through you, whispering in your ear about how she cannot be trusted, about how there’s so many things that could be wrong, about how maybe your heartbeat will stay the same after what your sister did fifty or so years ago.

But you try ignoring it.

“Okay, stopping your heart in three…”

You close your eyes and think of your sister, easy smile and a mischievous glint in her eye as she links her arm with yours, a slight bump of her hip to yours as you walk together.

“Two…”

You clench your hands into fists and think of Bucky, gentle heart and this awed and loving depth to his gaze as his arms wrap around you, his warmth spreading to you and his heart seeming to beat in sync with yours when you press your chest against his as you lean up to share a kiss.

“One.”

You feel the initial shock, the shattering feeling of your body, your whole being, shriveling up to nothing as something else takes control over it, and your mouth falls open in a scream that never leaves your lips, your skin breaks as the animal part of you tries to fight the bonds, tries to be set free to fight an even battle against the infinite and invisible curse of death.

You bite past the pain, and let yourself think of the futures you let yourselves wonder, dream, picture, in these last few months since coming back to your sister and, unknowingly, to your soulmate.

Somewhere in the States, Natalia finds a group of peace fighters and convinces you to join them on their van as they travel the country.

You cannot help but notice the way your sister’s gaze lingers on the eldest couple, Elsa and Jeremy, around their mid thirties and seven months along their first pregnancy. Natalia’s green eyes seem to be glued to the embraced couple, her lips curved in an unconscious, sad, smile as she watches Elsa run her hands over her swollen stomach.

“Think you’ll ever have that, Solnyshka?” Your sister whispers, resting her head on your shoulder as she continues to watch the scene unfold.

“Maybe,” You concede, even though you cannot imagine bringing a child to this world of chaos and death, of running and jumping at shadows. But, the image is there, the golden future with the white picket fence teases you form the distance. “What about you, Nat?”

Her smile turns bitter, and she swallows tightly before answering, “I can’t.”

“You can still be a mother, Natalia. They didn’t take that from you.”

“I’m not talking about the…the sterilization. I am not…soft, I wouldn’t-…I can’t have this.” She mutters, her silver tongue tangled in the pain and anger of a past life never hers.

You reach for her hand, squeezing softly before resting your head over her own where it still lays on your shoulder.

“Well, you better be there for the little me’s running around. They are going to need their Auntie Nat to spoil them rotten.”

She laughs, a broken but hopeful sound leaving her smiling lips. Her eyes remain in the couple, though. There’s a few moments of silence, where you reach up to not-so-subtly comb through the messy red bangs in her forehead.

“If you name the first girl after me.”

“Which of the hundreds of names, sestra?” You tease back, chuckling when she pinches your arm lightly in retaliation.

A pained sound leaves your throat, leaving behind a trail of fire and gravel. But you clench your hands into fists and focus on anything that isn’t the way your lungs aren’t filling with air anymore.

“Remember the first night you spent at the compound?” Bucky whispers, eyes closed even though his fingers trail over the bare skin of your arms and back as if trying to memorize the pattern, as if trying to commit your body to memory.

“The time I yelled at you, ran off, and then had a ‘stern Steve’ glare thrown at me?”

He laughs lightly, a silver of his bright eyes peeking through his hooded lids.

“You never told me about that.”

“About how your bestfriend is a big momma bear when it comes to you?” You tease with a smile, “Honey, I think you should be aware of that already.

A breath, and then, as the hand that is not under your head traces over his profile; you add,

“’Sides, I deserved it.”

“You had every right to react how you did. Hell, I’m still amazed you don’t hate my guts, doll.”

There’s a rue smile on your lips when you answer,

“I don’t think I ever did, honestly. I hated not remembering, I hated that…that I couldn’t recognize my past self because…” You fail to put your thoughts into words, so you sigh and try explaining it from the beginning, “The Ghost Hydra’s inner circle boasted about controlling, the one I learned and read about, he…he couldn’t be my soulmate,” There’s a very subtle wince Bucky makes at your words, only noticeable because of how close you are to him. You reach to turn his gaze back to yours before the doubt and guilt can even try to settle on his eyes; gentle fingers on his cheek as your eyes ask him to listen to you. “I couldn’t bear a world, a version of myself, where I didn’t give everything to keep you from that pain, a version of me that failed to keep the people I love safe.

 You try to keep the pain out of your voice, the creeping feeling of having failed him from taking over your heart and your voice.

“I couldn’t-…I think refusing the idea that we were soulmates helped me deal with the idea that I wasn’t…enough.”

Bucky intervenes quickly at your words, sitting up slightly and frowning your way.

“Not enough?” He repeats. Shaking his head, he looks into your eyes as he says, “Angel, you kept me…as sane as I could be. You gave me hope, babygirl. Way before I even met you.” The earnestness in his tone, the way his grey-blue eyes search yours and try to make you understand put a small, teary smile on your face.

But you still shake your head as you sit up too to be able to face him. Your eyes follow your fingers as they trace the scars over his shoulder, right where skin meets metal, where the boy that fell from the train met Hydra’s Ghost.

“I should have done more.” You insist softly.

“Y/N, listen to me,” He whispers, warm flesh and the somehow soft metal framing your face as he takes it in his hands. “I am not lying when I say you kept me alive, doll. You did all you could, and the fact that I can see you right in front of me and hold you right now is more than I ever thought I would have, even before Hydra,” He smiles softly as he rests his forehead on yours, his eyes falling closed, “You are my soulmate, Y/N.”

There’s a softness in his tone when he says it, like a secret between you two, like a treasure to be kept. A smile forms on your lips as you close your eyes as well.

“Wish I could have been there, though.”

“You were,” He insists, “Knowing that I had you, somewhere, somehow? It gave me peace, even when I was…trapped in there. Hearing you, feeling you on the other side of the bond when I thought I was going to give up gave me a reason to stay,” He states simple, not a shade of uncertainty in his voice, making your throat close and a pitiful sniffle break the silence between his words. “And…if having now you means having to survive all that? I’d take the deal a thousand times.”

You open your eyes, and you hear it, beating wildly on the machines, as if singing its own anthem of victory.

Your heartbeat. The new name it spells.

-... ..- -.-. -.- -.-- / -... .- .-. -. . ...

Bucky Barnes.

____

You bide your time, you let your body rest and heal from its second dance with death. You plan, with observing eyes and burning rage building under your skin.

On the morning Karpov sends his best men after Rumlow, you move.

Stationed in Siberia ever since your failed attempt at staging your own rescue in the mining facility, you know every nook and cranny of this god-forsaken place.

Which works in your favor when you corner Karpov in his office, a gun in your hand and once again the barrel of it pressing against his forehead.

Only this time, you don’t hesitate.

You don’t shoot, he doesn’t deserve the embrace of death yet, but you don’t hesitate either.

The last of his guards falls to the ground with a sickening sound, but you don’t give yourself time to ponder on it, already reloading the handgun and strapping it back to your thigh. Taking the semi-automatic from your back and aiming carefully as you stroll into the room, you try calming your erratically beating heart.

“Karpov!” Your voice echoes loudly in the room. “You better come out, you son of a bitch.”

No answer.

Reaching a simple desk, you let the rifle rest in your bicep, holding it with one hand as the other takes one of the files from his desk.

Y/N Romanova.

You let it fall with an angry sigh, eyes lifting to scan over the room.

“Karpov?” You try again, and at the deafening silence of your own voice echoing back at you, you close your eyes for a second. Taking a deep breath, you whisper, ignoring how your voice trembles at the name you haven’t dared pronounce in so long, “James?”

The answer is an arm firmly wrapping around your neck, trying to pull you back.

The Colonel’s hot breath traces your skin, making bile rise in your throat.

“I’m afraid he is unavailable at the moment, girl.”

The rifle in your hand is quickly discarded as you reach for the knife strapped to your thigh. Slicing swiftly over the man’s arm and ribs, you put distance between you, turning around and looking for the first time in your life into the eyes of the monster that gives a face to the horror that is Hydra for you.

There’s an edge in the Colonel’s anger, a madness lurking behind his gaze. It is enough to freeze you on the spot, sealing your voice behind tightly closed lips.

“You are the girl that took my family from me.” He states, disbelief clouding his words.

“You are the man that took everything from me!” You yell back, voice catching in anger and years old pain. The man smiles your way in response, lines around his eyes deepening, forcing you to suppress a shiver.

“Are you here to take revenge, little one?”

“I’m here to get James out.”

“You are not,” Karpov answers, smile still in place and a small shrug accompanying his words. Taken aback, you open your mouth to ask what he means, when the older man shakes his head your way, as if proving to himself -or you- how naive, how unknowing, you are. “You will fail.”

“I will not.”

“Trust me, I know you will. My family, the men and women you found on your way here; they should be dead, or worse,” He explains, walking slowly towards you even as you take out your handgun and point it at his head. “You are not fierce enough.”

A snarl twists your lips upwards as you stalk towards him, anger boiling under your skin and making your hands tremble as you press the end of the barrel on the man’s forehead.

“Where is he!?”

The smile turns predatory, haunting the part of you that still hopes for a way for this to work out, “Nowhere to be found.”

“I will kill you, I swear I’ll-” You start, despite the way your hand trembles, despite the way the Colonel looks at you like he has already won. Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks, but you clench your jaw and take the safety off.

Still, the words die in your throat, the threat falls flat as it shows you are nothing but a girl, scared and pushed to the limit. The tears fall and you are nothing but a failed experiment, a broken doll that cursed the man with her name on his heart, because she would never be as strong as he needed her to be, because she would never be enough to push back the demons reaching for his soul.

“You should have killed them. You should kill me. But you won’t.”

Twin streaks of tears stain your face, eyes shining but voice sure and rageful as you spit back, “I won’t become a monster to win!”

“You need to be one just to be able to fight back against Hydra, girl.”

But you proved him wrong. Now your soul is still yours and so is justice.

The alarm ringing through the facility shakes you out of your memories, bringing your focus back to the escape, however easy it may be now that the head of the snake if gone.

Not cut, only two more would grow back. You made sure to burn it off this time. Let the ghosts try to make venom out of ashes. They will only fail.

You can almost feel the sting of Siberia’s cold on your skin as you sprint towards the exit. Before you actually leave though, your eyes fall to the surveillance cameras, and you see four of Karpov’s elite guards run into the room you are running through.

A curse leaves your lips in Russian, quiet as your steps as you press your back to the nearest wall, and ready your knives.

You haven’t established a link strong enough to the new beat of your heart to be able to use your powers to their fullest extent. Or trust them, for that matter. If there’s anything Karpov taught you in these few months, is that you are much more than your powers, than what they tried to make out of you.

So, you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and move in as they are about to turn the corner.

Karpov is down. So is Kseniya. All by my hand. I can do this.

You manage to land a few shallow cuts in the first man’s torso and arm before another guard grabs you from behind, forcing you into a headlock and cutting off your air.

“I don’t see how I will need this experience. Soulmate trackers usually don’t go around handing CV’s, Buck.” You grumble from the floor, covering your face with your arm as you feel the soreness of training spread through your body.

“Call it…covering the bases, preparing for the worst.” He says, prompting you to lift yourself up; and you do so, but not without complaining wordlessly but loudly as you do.

“I would rather call you paranoid, but I’m gonna go with it,” Smiling his way to soften the blow, you ready your stance again. Before Bucky moves to attack you, you call out, “And I can hear you, Steven.”

A soft chuckle is all the response you get from the blond supersoldier, and your smile is quickly wiped off as you focus back on the training exercise.

You are able to counter Bucky’s attacks, and even though you know he is holding back the strength of his prosthetic you avoid and dodge almost every hit. Still, you are painfully aware how pushed you are, constantly in defense and unable to land any hit.

With an angry growl, you move for a punch right after blocking a hit with your forearm. Bucky grabs your hand, however, fast reflexes stopping your hit.

“Too slow, doll.” He teases, smirk on his face.

“Against a supersoldier? Well, duh.”

“Be smarter, then.”

Before you can answer, you feel Steve’s forearm around your throat, Bucky still holding your hand and rendering you immobile.

Well, almost.

Using Steve’s grip as a lever, you pull yourself up, landing your bare feet on Bucky’s chest and pushing him back, turning your smaller body over Steve’s head and shoulders, breaking free of his grasp.

“Shit,” You gasp, landing on shaky legs on the floor. A stunned Steve gives you an arm to stand straighter, and you smile proudly at the soldiers, “Smarter it is, then.”

“I’m impressed.” Steve smiles your way, and you shake your head in response.

“You shouldn’t be. I pissed of Hydra, more times than I remember; I had to be able to beat their best.

You shrug, leaning back into Bucky’s chest when he wraps his arm around you gently, pressing a kiss against your hair with a sigh.

You have the not so sneaking suspicion that there was more than a way to spend time behind Bucky’s intentions to train you to fight against a supersoldier, but you choose to ignore them for the time being, aware only time will make the -however unstable- peace he has found something he trusts to remain.

Pressing a kiss to Bucky’s jaw, you add, “’Sides, it doesn’t hurt that you taught my totally-not-overprotective sister how to beat you.”

You shake off the guard, falling behind him and destabilizing him after using is own strength against him. You try not dwelling on how easy it is when you plunge your knives deep into his chest from your place at his back.

The man falls quickly to the ground, and for a second too long the remaining soldiers look at you in something akin to fear.

“Aim to kill.” The leader growls, before two assault rifles are pointed your way, and he launches himself your way.

You make quick work of him, though, as his trigger-happy subordinates try shooting at you the moment you get the upper hand, allowing you to move his frame to cover you and have his men kill him.

 You use his handgun to take the other two down, following his order and aiming to kill. Taking a moment to breathe,  you take cover behind a pillar and count your bullets.

But there’s a new, coordinated sets of steps approaching the room again. Trying to keep them from hearing you, you hold your breath and stay still, and seconds tick by in silence as you wait for them to move on.

But you hear their breathing change, the rustling of combat clothing as they signal to one another. They heard you.

You move in ahead despite the fear of being overpowered after all that has happened, knives aiming for the chest and neck, but your right arm is forced back, and the clicking of a gun’s safety makes your heart beat painfully fast in your chest.

Refusing to admit defeat so close to…to whatever is expecting you out in the world; you let go of the knife in your right hand, the magnets pulling it to the one on your left and making a double-bladed dagger. Turning your wrist and, although painfully, freeing yourself from their grasp; you grab a hold of the metal wrist and force them forward, their throat at the end of your knife.

The action stops as soon as the blade teases the thin skin of their neck, the one holding the gun…

Is that metal you feel under your fingers?

Your gaze finds for the first time the face of the attacker. For a few seconds, a few empty and achingly hopeful seconds, you cannot find it in yourself to react.

Broken grey eyes search yours, and it is only then you realize your knife is still at Bucky’s throat, your gaze dead and your stance that of a soldier.

Your name is a breath on his lips, the same name that branded you both, that cursed you both. But it has never sounded so much like salvation.

“Bucky.” A smile trembles in your lips as you look at him, and before you can think twice about it, the knife falls from your hand, the now free hand reaching up to his cheek.

Buck flinches away from your touch, eyes now frantic, scared, as they take you in. You repeat his name, a question now, a disbelieving plea.

Someone speaks up, someone that sounds like Steve, and you turn your eyes to the blond supersoldier when he intercepts you. The way he too stares at you like he has seen a ghost makes realization set on your stomach with the weight of a stone.

I stopped my own heart. Just like the first time.

Bucky’s words about how it felt to lose you the first time, whispered in the darkness that surrounded you in that peaceful cabin in Brasov, in what seems like a lifetime ago are brought forth in your mind, the guilt and pain mixing within you and forcing tears to rise in your eyes.

“I had to do it.” You whimper, voice cracking in the middle of the sentence as your eyes take in the man you love. The man that faced Hydra and didn’t back down, stares back at you with a fear unlike any other shining in his grey eyes; the hopeful soldier you said goodbye to in Vienna holds a new darkness to him.

The most resilient man you have ever met, the one with the quiet strength, with the stubborn push for survival…he looks completely and utterly broken.

Your focus is forced away from him, though, when your sister breaks the spell of disbelief that settled over the three soldiers when they saw you on your feet in front of them.

“Solnyshka.” Natalia breathes right by you, before you are wrapped up in her arms, her characteristic scent of the waxy smell of lipstick and coppery smell of gunpowder reaching your senses and prompting your whole body to relax, as if some primitive part of you is now safe because your big sister, your protector, your right hand, is with you again.

Her slender frame trembles in your arms, prompting tears to trail down your cheeks as your eyes fall closed.

You know what to do, how to comfort her. You know exactly how she feels, because you went through the same thing almost fifty years ago, and the memory of that pain still keeps you up at night. The delight, the gratefulness that your sister was alive and in front of you, the crushing pain of thinking of what you could have done to have her in your arms sooner, to save her from the pain.

So you just hug her tighter, run a hand through her short hair, and whisper the nonsense you wanted to hear when you got her back form her presumed death, because you remember with painful clarity how the raspy cadence of her voice managed to make it real, managed to make it permanent.

“Hey, I’m here, it’s-…it’s over, Nat,” You soothe, swallowing past the knot in your throat. “I’m here, I’m okay.

You look over her shoulder at your soulmate, taking in the way his eyes show a heartbreaking mix of anguish and awe. So not unlike the same way he looked at you when you met in Washington, disbelief tainting the first words the Ghost had uttered, resilient hope shaping the letters of your name as it left his lips.

You do not know who you are talking to when you add in a whisper,

“It’s finally over. We can go home.”

__

Okay, I kinda can’t believe this story is almost over. This doesn’t feel like the end at all though, idk why. But I am...happy? Yeah, I am, I want to take on a few more projects that I have planned out, write Royals, start doing more oneshots and stuff. And I loved writing this so much and I thank you all so much for your support and for reading my story!

I hope you liked this chapter, please come talk to me! Love ya!

Also, the second chapter of Bucky’s version of events takes place almost directly after the end of this one, so it kinda works as an epilogue. But, if you guys want, I think I can work out an epilogue, there’s a few scenes that never made the final cut too, so...just lemme know, I’m at your disposal here hehe

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes soulmate au

[neo-shitty]

toffee!

ah yeah i suppose ur right. yeah i think quarentine has had that sort of effect on a lot of people :( sorry to hear abt ur strict parents, hopefully ur friend will be able to come back soon. small outings (even with family) are still good tho, make sure ur taking care of urself toff.

youre totally right! ah yes thats good advice (/gen) ill try and use that when im in a slump ty. any music suggestions?

lol sames. even some of the stuff abt seungmin, innie etc is a little uncomfortable, like theyre grown ass men for sure, but at the same time, theyre still young, still just over being a teenager in the grand scheme of things. (on that note, i do struggle with worrying that im infantalising them, obviously theyre adults but at the same time, theyre still young. i do treat all fictional characters as my children, but i guess its different when its real people. idk. what do you think?) yeah some stans rlly need to take a chill pill, some are rlly walking the wire between 'ah theyre attractive/that look rlly suits them' and making fucking smut fics abt minors, like... they do not see a problem with that?? yeah tbh i feel like unless theyre 18 they shouldnt be put into the spotlight, weve seen what it does to peoples mental health, but modern day kpop industry is a lot like old hollywood with a lot of popular child actors -_- hopefully the big companies will learn but i agree, its unlikely

suuuuure toff haha. ill go searching for them, but idk if ill be able to find the fluff needle in the angst haystack (jkjk) yeah, fair i groan and complain but you do write angst etc rlly well, so if its what ur comfortable with, then pls continue, it is one of your strong suits, well as you write fluff aside

ah okay good! ill continue to send you essays then

THE ALBUM YES. so ive been looking forward to it for literally months, this is actually my first skz album release as a stay (since the last on was 9 months ago) i was sitting there hitting refresh on my spotify the second 6pm kst came around. (speaking of which, how did you do the release? i couldnt decide whether to watch or listen first but i ended up on listening cos there would be more material) okay: so cheese was super cool, very skz ya know? tho i almost wish theyd made domino the title track, tho obv it was a more experimental track and would have been a bit controversial (much like whistle for bp) i looooved domino and thunderous was absolutely impeccable. all the songs were amazing but standouts were- secrets, secrets which lowkey made me tear up idk why, red lights which almost killed me (it did not have to go that hard, but it did) and OT8 WOLFGANG omgggg i wasnt sure if hyunjin was going to be included in it but i was hoping and, ya know people had said hed be in there, but the further i got in, the less i was sure and then BAM hyunjin started what had been jisung's part and i just sat there grinning for about 5 minutes. surfin was absolutely adorable and gone away almost made me cry AGAIN. star lost was so touching, almost a nod to hyunjins little star? silent cry was relatable beyond anything. SSICK was funny? for some reason I was laughing while it was playing, idk the combination of added cheering and minhos aggressiveness and the totall seriousness they sung it. but i rlly enjoyed it. sorry i love you showcased their vocals like nothing else. the view is THE BOP of 2021, absolutely going to be stuck in my head for the next decade, that hook is genius. what did you think?

also did you watch their grow up performance? with all the stays and ALL THE TEARS? ;n; i feel like this is the end of an era of skz and tbh im kinda happy but also sad. super excited for their promotions but super bummed they wont get to tour. ah well

<3 w.a. 🐺

answer under the cut bc i gave an equally long answer to this already long ask HAJSH

oh yeah, abt quarantine having an effect. my friend and i talked about this earlier actually. i didn't realize the world was moving so fast until the pandemic happened. being in quarantine gave me time to think and i got to know myself more. it's just the sole good thing i got out of the isolation lmao. and abt my strict parents, ironically i got to go out today so i got to hang out with a few of my bestfriends. i had fun but my legs are a bit sore from walking. but they're a different set of friends. i'll get to hang out with the others when my getaway driver comes home in december.

hmm music recommendations for writing? depends on the plot you're writing. care to share what story you're working on and i'll try to rake my brain for a song that might match the vibe. i listen to classical / lo-fi if i don't have song inspo for a fic because lyrics sometimes distract me.

i don't think that's infantilizing tho. for me, it has something to do with my environment and the way i was raised. maybe it's the same the other way around? like this certain age (for the ones above 18 but below 20) is thirst-able for them. idk really. it's just not for me ?n? what i do NOT condone is writing smut for minors??? like get checked : D // i agree with everything with the idols being 18+ before they debut simply because it's for the best for their well-being like. how can young idols decide that this shit is the thing they want to do for life? or at least until their contracts last. idk :// it's unfortunate that it's unlikely to happen.

WELL. i have a list so you won't have to go search for them! in class (minho), in the rain (seungmin), gladius maximus (chan) and you've read five star already. and i just realized that most, if not all, of my upcoming fics are fluffs and i'm fond of all of them :D i used to focus a lot on angst because fluff disgusted the living shit out of me. i think things changed when i wrote champagne problems and hurt myself so bad i wanted to drop angst entirely. i didn't, of course, but i allowed myself to be self-indulgent now.

for the release of the album, i was on twt and watched the vid at 12 views (if i remember correctly, i watched back door at 14 so HASJH) i’m gonna talk by track so it wont be too confusing? bc i wrote this in paragraph format and it just ???? beware im very picky with tracks even if they’re my ults. so no offense if we have opposing opinions and i’m not fond of reading lyrics so these are all music wise.

cheese - oh god i hated cheese at first listen but it grew on me easily. i was singing the yeahyeahyeahyeah bit all day today :D

thunderous - i cant say that it’s my favorite title track. it felt really dry sometimes, both mv and music wise. but at the same time, it’s not that bad. the choreography carried the song tho o.O it’s so fucking cool. but like go live, another track has my heart and it’s

domino - AND YES I AGREE THAT THEY SHOULDVE MADE DOMINO TITLE TRACK UGHHHHH WHAT A WASTED FUCKING OPPORTUNITY. WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW FOND I AM OF THIS SONG. it stands close to the level i love easy.

ssick - was a skip on first listen too because i found the chorus underwhelming but it grew on me? not that much but i can bear listening to it.

the view - it’s something the gen public like, hence its something i dislike. im not fond of songs that are structured like this? it’s not a bad song, just not the type of song i like. but i agree that the hook is very not catchy but it would get stuck in ur head.

sorry, i love you - it’s not as sad as i expected but i actually like it??? i can’t wait to write a fic out of it (1) HAJSHAJ it’s like a 3/5 for me. it’s angsty but chill?

silent cry - i’m pissed at this song bc it hits but sometimes it doesn’t?@?#!? but it’s starting to grow on me but definitely not my fave track.

secret secret - glad i found a secret secret enthusiast because my irls thought it was a skip?$?#@$? it gives me ikon vibes and i’m a huge fan of ikon’s discog so this was a win for me T_T +

STAR LOST - gives me bigbang song vibes and now im very sad :(( in case u didnt know, i’m a hUGE yg fan and 2ne1/bigbang introduced me to kpop so when i heard this track that gave me yg feels i just <3___<3 and it’s one of my favorite tracks anw moving on,

red lights - I WANT TO SKIP THE FIRST TEN SECONDS OF RED LIGHTS EVERY TIME IT PLAYS LIKE IT MAKES ME FEEL AWKWARD KDSJFSK but fine. i’m adding this to props and mayhem’s playlist LMAO it’s more aggressive than sexc tho. more enemies to lovers o. O

surfin’ - this coming right after red lights just wasn’t the best decision arrangement wise because how did we go from ooh sexc to aigh pARTAY. felix saying sheesh T___T it’s such a fun song i want to go to the beach ;n; do you like beaches?

gone away - i have yet to read the lyrics because i’m using this as inspo for a jeongin fic jskjash it’s not the type of ballad i like but it’s so fucking sad to listen to :’ ) the pitch change caught me off guard? still does. it’ll grow on me prolly.

wolfgang - I YELLED WHEN I HEARD HYUNJIN IN WOLFGANG. i didn’t like this song until recently. it gives me the confidence boost i need to pick myself off self-esteem crashes.

and no i haven't watched that performance and i prolly wont because i’ll cry. i’m excited for the promotions too. do you think they’ll still have a repackage?? i cant fucking believe that i just finished waiting for 12am kst for skz teasers and now i have to look forward to 12am for nct 127??@?#? NOT A SINGLE DAY OF REST FOR THIS STAYZEN

#toff.asks #wild anon 🐺

[sabraeal]

Some shidan and garrack ;w; discussing, drinking, just more of them and maybe have shidan ACTUALLY kiss the lady. Uhh idk if you’ve incorporated them modern au but if not canon verse is good! :)

“Higata.”

Garrack’s TA startles, and she stifles a laugh. He’s a high-strung kid, more limbs than sense at times, but a hard-worker nonetheless. He doesn’t have the natural aptitude of Ryuu, or the studious heart of Shirayuki, or even Obi’s gift of lateral thinking, but he’s the sort of kid that doesn’t give up. He’ll throw himself against a wall before he’ll walk away from it – or, she can’t help thinking a bit uncharitably, go around it.

Listen, they’ll be hand-pouring gels for month to make up the cost of the boxes he went through only to realize he was using the wrong fucking ones. For fuck’s sake, they have a chart.

Higata cranes his neck to look back at her, his chair creaking beneath him. She holds back a grimace. That thing is probably older than him. When was the last time the labs got new furniture? Before her time, probably.

“Is everything set for the conference?” she asks, leaning against his cube. For once the Eastern Wetlands Conservation Conference was withing driving distance; usually they chose much nicer places to have their February conference – like Miami, or Charlotte, or anywhere without windchill – but local politics, namely Brecker’s last appeal, had made the planners select a location according to the statement it would make.

“Ah-ah!” Higata pours himself out of the seat, all unrestrained limbs. It’s impressive he can organize them in a way that keeps him standing. “Yes, Professor. All set. And ah…” He scratches at the back of his neck thoughtfully. “I got Professor Weise’s rental through Monday. He can just drop it off at the airport before his flight.”

“Great.” Garrack taps on the corner of his cube with a grin. “Shidan will be going over his recent run of data with me this weekend, so can you schedule a lab meeting for when I get back?”

He nods, eager to please as always. She was always good at picking the obedient ones. “Sure. I’ll get it set up for Tuesday.”

He turns back to his work, and it’s testament to how inoffensive he usually is that she’s almost back to her office before she realizes the problem.

“Higata,” she says, poking her head around the corner of his cube. He nearly falls out of his chair, but she’s too focused to care. “Is there a reason you’re not setting it for Monday?”

He blinks at her owlishly. “Oh, er, I just thought you might…um…”

“We don’t have all day, Higata.”

“I thought you’d want to spend Monday with Professor Weise,” he blurts out, turning a ripe cherry-red. “If I, uh, saw my girlfriend as little as you saw the professor, I’d need a day for, um, just us…”

Garrack stares. “Shidan is my what now?”

“He isn’t –?” Higata looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else rigth now, and Garrack can’t help but find the feeling mutual. “I thought he was your boyfriend.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“Make the meeting Monday,” she says, spinning on her heel. “First thing.”

“Right. Oh, professor, by the way –”

She glances back over her shoulder.

“It’s supposed to snow tonight.” She waits for Higata to come to his point. “Will Professor Weise be all right driving in that?”

“Shidan?” She grins. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Shidan arrived two hours late, roller-bags wheels clogged and knit-wear choked with snow. He shakes his great mop of hair, spraying water and slush all over her and her mudroom, and says, “This place is godforsaken.”

“So dramatic,” Garrack teases, enjoying his struggle with his boots. That’s a better view than she’s seen in a while. “It’s just a little snow.”

He sends her a dirty look from between his legs, still locked in a tussle with one set of water-logged bootlaces. “There’s six inches of fluff out there. I nearly died twice.”

“Twice?” She lifts her eyebrows and shrugs. “That’s hardly a blizzard at all.”

“This place has changed you.” He tosses his boots onto the plastic trays she uses for drying shoes and sets himself onto divesting himself of his layers. “And not for the better.”

“You say that like a man who doesn’t want the brandy in the liquor cabinet,” she remarks, grinning as he drops his last coat to the floor. “You know, it’s just Massachuetts, not Alaska. You don’t need three polar fleece and a parka.”

“It’s freezing out there,” he insists. “Men die in these temperatures.”

“Men can also drown in an inch of water, but they have to be stupid to do it.” She jerks her head over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s warm you up.”

“Ugh,” he groans, rubbing his hands.He pushes past her into the living room, shoulder knocking against her. “Great idea. Brandy, right?”

Garrack frowns. “You’re not even going to read into that a little?”

“I’ve known you for almost fifteen years,” he calls back, collapsing on her couch. “Given the option between sex and alcohol, I know exactly which one you’re likely to offer me.”

She does not feel disappointed. “Well,” she grumbles, “you could at least pretend to be shocked.”

It takes two glasses for Shidan to thaw enough to ask, “Do you know what talks you’re going to?”

“Ah, yes.” She’s finally settled into her chair – a circular, pillow-nest thing, precariously balanced on top of its base – and he has another thing coming if he thinks she’s moving anywhere for the next few hours, especially to find her talk notes. Her back still aches from shoveling. “I printed out the schedule and circled a bunch.”

His mouth cants, smile sly. “Is it physically possible for a human to see all of them in a weekend?”

“I did that once – once – and suddenly I’m some sort of talk-attending robot?”She’s missed this, his teasing. She forgets how human he makes her feel.

He’s looking at her from out under hooded lids, his smile curving fondly. “You’ve done it three times, and you wish. I should be glad we didn’t do robotics, otherwise you’d probably built copies of yourself so you could go to all of them.”

“If I’d gone into genetics, I probably could do the same thing.”

“See,” he laughs, pausing to take a sip of his brandy. “The world should thank turtles, really.”

“And I’m guessing that you have no plan,” she drawls, watching as he ducks his head to hide his grin. “Are you just planning on following me around like a lost duckling?”

“I’m not lost if I mean to be following you around,” he says, so easily, in the sort of way she never could manage. She’s not good at affection; not the long-lasting kind, the kind that matters. “After all, I didn’t fly this far just for turtles.”

Her hands are nerveless around her glass, numb. She s trying excruciatingly hard not to think of Higata and his stupid, stupid comments “You didn’t?”

He sends her an incredulous look over his rim. “Garrack, I could go to any number of niche conferences in an academic year. Most of them in places god hasn’t abandoned for, I don’t know, the hubris of man. Whatever it is that makes him not like Boston.”

“The Patriots,” she supplies, though she’s not sure where it came from, since her mind is certainly not working.

He shrugs. “That’s fair.”

She times it just right; he’s taking another sip when she says, “You know, my lab thinks we’re fucking.”

Shidan splutters alcohol over her reclaimed-wood coffee table. “W-what? How did that happen?”

Garrack shrugs, a thousand times more casual than she feels. “I don’t know. Higata just assumed that I’d be spending Monday all day in bed with you.”

His eyes are wide, and he is so very, very still. She’s watching him so closely that she sees him relax each of his muscles individually, as if he has to remind each one that tense is not its natural state. “Huh,” he says finally, his voice an octave higher than normal. “Strange.”

“Mm.” She’s hardly thinking when she says, “But then again, he doesn’t know that you rejected me.”

“When I –?” Shidan bolts upright on the couch, his face flushed. “W-when I did what now?”

“In undergrad,” she clarifies, her heart is certainly not beating madly in her breast. She’s a grown woman, it’s been over a decade, she doesn’t care. It’s – she’s over it now. “When we were at –”

“You were drunk!” he blurts out, his eyes so wide she can almost see the white all around. “I thought you were – you never said anything the next day!”

“You said, and I quote, don’t make this weird.” She sets down her glass so its not so obvious how her hands shake. “Why would I go and bring it up sober?”

“I thought you – you didn’t remember.” Her runs a hand through his hair, leaving sweaty runnels through the strands. “You just said, I think we should fuck. That seemed like a very drunk thing to say! A very pass-out drunk thing.”

“Shidan, I was in my twenties.” She can’t even look at him; she has to stare somewhere toward her kitchen so he’s not even in her line of sight. God, she wishes she could conveniently stop existing for the next ten minutes. “I liked you, and I was not good at emotion!”

“You’re not very good with emotion now!” he snaps, voice cracking. “Why are you – why would you bring this up?”

“I don’t know, I just – it seemed funny I guess?” she tries desperately. “I didn’t think – I thought you wouldn’t even remember, I don’t know!”

The silence that stretches between them is painful; shewants to fill it with – with something,with anything that will make him forget that she ever brought it up. Shereaches for her glass, hoping it will at least numb the agony of this moment –

Shidan sits down on the table in front of her, handsgripping his knees. He’s inescapable this close, and one look at him tells herhe knows, that he’s not letting her squirm out of this witha few drinks and some comment about her big mouth.

“Garrack,” he says, so softly. She wishes he would stopbeing so close; she wishes he would lean in closer. “Do you still like me?”

She fidgets with the pillow, staring at his knees. “We’refriends, so –”

“Garrack.” He leans forward, wrapping his hands around therim of the chair above. It shudders a little under his weight. “Do you like me?”

She can’t avoid his gaze now, so she stares him right in theeyes, trying hard not to blink. “No,” she lies.”

She’s sure that will drive him away, that he’ll put spacebetween them, but –

He grins, and leans it.

Even though her eyes are wide open, she still doesn’tbelieve it’s happening until his lips brush over hers, until she feels just thegentlest flick of his tongue over the bottom of her lip.

“Shidan,” she breathes, leaning up into him, and that’senough, it’s enough; he’s putting aknee between hers, pressing down into her –

The chair tilts with a wooden shunk, and they both tumble back, stuck inside the nest. Shidan ishalf sprawled over her, half spilled off to the side, and he stares over at herwith wide eyes. Definitely not a partof his plan.

That’s fine. She’s good at improvisation.

“Oh good,” she says, twisting so that she’s above him. “I’vealways wondered if this chair could fit two.”

#anonymous #garrack/shidan #the wide florida bay #100 days of obiyuki (and more) #my fic #modern au #The Wide Florida Bay #i feel like in the manga #that we're going to find out garrack was just as hung up on him #as he was on her #and shidan is going to cuss himself out #for not making a move for literally forever #also if you have not seen these nest chairs #they are amazing #and dangerous #i have ended up in nest mode so many times i cannot even say #i've taken two or three smaller friends with me by mistake

[toomanyskeletons]

So, who are your OCs?

BOY that is a silly/weird/strange question to ask because i have SO FUCKIN MANYThe ones i tend to focus on are:Category One - Super Dead Brother Games OCs (from my novel-ish thing of the same title)Probably my newest OCs which are developed but not much. There are 12, kind of, and about 7 which are more important.Here goes:

Sad and Dead: basically a parody of Sam and Dean from Supernatural. They die every chapter, and are probably the laziest characters becauss i had to do JACK SHIT to make them vaguely real people. All I had to do was Sam and Dean and then exaggerate them slightly. I think. Every character in the SDBG is ‘exaggerated’ anyway, meaning that so far they have pretty strange reactions to things, which may be written out, or it may not.

Linda: started off as the 'I’m a vegan’ stereotype. I got kinda attatched to her though. Likes cooking. Soccer-mom type person without having any children. Sucks at cooking.

Lily: A chilled out kinda person. I realise here that actually i dont know much about my characters but hey that’s why im asking you all for questions. Wants to be a pro skateboarder. Victim to a heterosexual love triangle in chapter 3.

Ashlee: Foodie. Vaguely stereotypical white girl. Possibly autistic? I realised that she could be, and then tried to write her as so. Not entirely sure if it worked. Considered 'annoying’ by most of the other characters to be 'annoying’ because of her habits and her voice, which is often loud and screechy.

Marilyn: was originally a cotton ball with some wool and some eyes glued on, and before you look into that for meaning, i mean it literally. I made her in science class, starting as marilyn monroe, then a parody of marilyn monroe, then could be rose lalonde, then her own character ish. Can talk to eldritch abominations, which come up frequently in the story. Her best friend was an eldritch abomination named N'gwit, and during the story she befriends another one.

Clyde: an eighty seven year old man (though i may have changed that, i dont remember) with some form of memory problem. Believes he is multiple fictional characters throughout the story, including anakin skywalker, nemo’s dad and katniss everdeen. Befriends Dominus Apis (next on the list) under the belief he is Luke Skywalker.

Dominus Apis: google translated his name from english to latin to sound cooler, 'Bee Lord’. Super ripped, i think i described him as being built like dwayne the rock johnson sometime in the story. Can control bees with his mind, but is severely allergic to them.

Jeremy: he. I dont know much about jeremy. Mostly, he’s an asshole who doesnt like dogs or shakespeare, and he is willing to die for a girl he has only known for three days.(spoiler alert here, if you want to read the story i wouldnt recommend reading it)Or. Isn’t willing. Either way, he does. Dont misunderstand, its not for her protection. He tries to win her love and instead jumps head first into a pool of very sharp and non melty ice.(spoiler alert over)

John McJohn: also an asshole. Dies about 500 words into the first chapter so you cant blame me for not knowing about him.

Anon: based off the 4//chan// anon, is also a kind of asshole. Wears a hood over their head the whole time. Likes My Little Pony. Does not interact with other characters much. Mostly just exists to die. Their gender is never revealed.

Spencer: he likes weed. Thats basically his whole character. He’s a clone of another guy, though that never comes up in the story. Spends basically the entire story stoned.

So that’s the first batch of characters, i think there’s 12 there but knowing me i’m forgetting someone. Anyway.

WAIT, FUCK, I FORGOT TWO.

The Dungeon Master: started as a temporary name, then grew on me. Kind of like the game makers of the Hunger Games, except one person. They rush into decisions VERY quickly, as you will hopefully discover if you read the story. Never meets face to face with the first twelve.

George: the DM’s assistant. Spends most of the time being bossed around by them, and gets sick of that. Not much i can say here without spoiling an entire chapter lmao. He doesnt come up much anyway.

On to part two, the ocs of a universe which is called the Spectraverse currently, but has gone through many names.

I have so many characters in this universe, including eight gods, their children the eight archangels, THEIR children the Third Generation, and the god’s parent/s named Gaia and Xavier which merge into one being called Spectra.

The important characters are, mainly from the first book because i really think i will bore you if i keep going on like this. If you want to talk abou t spectraverse with me, do it in a specific ask. Otherwise i will talk f o r e v e r.

Taylor: Third Generation angel, if you want me to explain all the mechanics behind that just ask. He’s basically my first OC, if you dont count Marina, who he blended in from. Okay its a long story but basically, it was Marina, then Taylor for about 10 years but as a girl, then i discovered i was trans and decided that My Somewhat Self Insert should reflect me in that way, so he is now Taylor, a transgender guy whose dead name is Marina. Has been training in magic from the age of four, isnt good at much else. Has a large collection of vinyls. He currently has the abilities of fire manipulation and shadow manipulation, and he’s an illusionist as well. Was the strongest person in his country, where magic is basically a sport, but faked his death and didnt go back. Yes he is ENTIRELY one of the most overpowered characters but then again most of them are also ridiculously overpowered, so whatever.

Mystic: a third generation nephilim, which means his dad was an archangel and his mother was human. Taylor’s boyfriend. Has good control of his emotions, typically, which means he can reliably learn the magic of temperature manipulation, which is a sort of secondary magic to water manipulation. Stays on the sidelines and doesnt do much for the first book, which i am kinda angry about, but you get to hear his backstory in the second book, as well as a plot based on him.

Amelia: third generation half angel half demon. In the process of changing from one universe to another, her relation to the MC’s drastically changed which means that yeah i also basically dont know shit about her, either. currently the strongest mage in the country, which was basically the entire plot of the first book.

Gabriel: archangel, also known as the second generation. Bisexual. Autistic. Is proud of both of those things. Manages to convince the main character to do some things in the first book. He was supposed to have a plot line ans then i completely fucking forgot to write the subplot, so. Fucks off to god knows where in the second book, and returns in the yet to be written third book as a father figure to an orphaned child. Is the archangel/guardian of lightning, which is one of eight elements. I’m not going to go into that either.

Nathaniel: Taylor’s dad, also an archangel. is dating Gabriel. Known for his tendency to fuck off and disappear for decades at a time. Most of the other archangels hate him. Was an important figure in Taylor’s life, as the only family member who accepted him as transgender.

So. That was long. Im sorry i really enjoy talking about my OCs lmao, even if that isnt all of them. I have so many and yeah there ar e so many things i did not explain here for the sake of saving time on mine and your part. Did that make sense?Anyway. If you want to ask more about my oc’s, go ahead. Most questions, if as vague as this, will end in an answer like this.

lmao thanks for sending an ask i love you for it, feel free to send another bu t i wont answer it because i just spent like 1.5 hours typing this and i gotta be up relatively early tomorrow so i’d better go to bed.

Thanks tho

#long post #my writing #my ocs #sdbg

[thetotalfailure]

ok i dont feel like randomly bursting into tears ruminating on how stupid i am anymore

but i dont know if thats because ive had coffee and its 3am

which is another problem in of itself

my next counseling appointment isnt for another few weeks

but the first one feels like the dam broke

but it couldve been because of my intense hormone imbalance

but ive felt completely paralyzed

overwhelmed

i havent done anything all week and thats because i end up feeling like i want to cry instead of working so i go do something else which makes it worse

classic. there’s many articles about that online. fascinating. couldnt read them through the tears. why did i even try. i already know what i need to do.

but knowing and doing are two different concepts. ideas. actions.

i havent acted on any thought i have. good and bad. nothing

i dont know what to do at this point

i know venting isnt very productive because then i just end up getting stuck on the negative. and i dont want to shove the negative onto someone else. it helps no one.

its hard being nice to myself.

getting a proper diagnosis would get me on the path to not being like this

taking the steps to get such a thing is. i have so many other things i need to do.

i keep putting everything off.

the cycle

im trying but im not trying but i am trying but its really more like thinking about trying

how do i ask for help

i dont want any help. with doing things that is. i do want help. but not help to get to the help. which is ridiculous of me and why im stuck here not tearing up about it. 

i wish i wasnt like this. but wishing isnt doing. i just need. to. do. something. 

they told me to just sit down and stare at what im supposed to do for only a scheduled time. schedules. right. 

i even failed that. instead of just staring at what im supposed to be doing, i would do other things instead. i couldnt even not do what i wasnt supposed to do. ugh.

be nice to myself? how do i do that.

just turn something crappy in

i know that. i cant even get myself to do that. i cant even crap out the work. and now its late. i dont want to turn in crappy late work. but i know its better than nothing. but now im stuck in this stupid loop about it

its so fucking stupid. i cant use my own advice for myself. be nice to yourself. just turn in something crappy who cares. lower your expectations. dont care about what other people think. 

i dont. but i do. but i dont. but i really do.

i know what im capable of and i want others to know to

my standards for myself are high so i should lower them

but i dont want to seem low to other people

but i will seem low to people if i dont do anything. which is happening because my standards are high and now i have anxiety procrastination

so i should not care what others think and lower my standards for myself and turn in something crappy

oh my god why am i not doing this

and now im upset about me not doing something even after logicking everything out

im

so annoyed and upset and frustrated with myself

i dont think counseling will work but i know its a step in the right direction and maybe ill take the next step into making an appointment with someone else to get me more help because its probably just a chemical imbalance that would be fixed with medication but the complex system to get to that point takes up so much energy that i barely even have any emotional or mental energy to do what i need to do in the present time to get to step 50 and i know what im supposed to do is to break everything up into smaller pieces and delegation is a good step in the right direction but i dont want any help from anyone which is frustrating because there’s nothing wrong with getting help and i really feel like im losing it and i might just drop out of life and just. leave the state or something, not literally leave life. i wouldnt go that far. something silly like live on a farm. 

a decade ago i learned about a lot of psych concepts. rumination. ideas around self fulfilling prophecies and setting oneself up for failure. the big d word. 

although. a decade ago i had a vague unspoken idea about myself then. one i wouldve never allowed to fully voice itself even in my mind. which kind of doesnt make sense but i cant be poetic at the moment. just that. perhaps i wouldn’t exist in a decade.

i guess in a way, the me of the past truly doesn’t exist

but im still here. i exist. i have to deal with what i didnt do a decade ago. which is get help in some way dont get me wrong it isnt making myself not exist. 

it feels kind of awful. a decade of this nonsense with myself. a dance with high standards and letting myself fail from fear of failure. its a dark step in adulthood that i hope many don’t have to experience. the step of realizing that the future exists and i have to plan to exist in it. 

i think ive seen posts like that on this hell site. not having made plans for the future because they didnt expect to make it past a certain age, yet here they are.

it wasnt that . well. i guess in a way it is. i don’t know what i expected. but i certainly didnt plan anything for the future. it was anxiety about it. maybe i spoke about it in a previous entry. 

i hated. well. that might be a little too strong of a word. i disliked my so in hs because all they thought about was the future. their plans for it. their dreams. the little white fence with the 2.5 children and whatnot. i disliked thinking about the future. i enjoyed talking about Dreams for the future. oh lets live together with friends and who will be the DD and who will be the funny roommate and sitcom style adulthood with everyone graduating and having jobs and enjoying life. thats not a semi solid plan for a future. just a dream. something silly friends talk about. nothing serious. why think about what lies in the future when someone didnt really expect to. exist? im not sure what it was i thought. just my vague aspirations. 

wherever the wind takes me.

i still think like that. but i suppose i have a more solid plan/idea for what i want

but its hard. its been easier these days for the dark thoughts to creep back into my brain. easier in the sense that they’ve just taken over completely. why did i think i could do this or that when its easier to just lay in bed all day with the blinds shut and blankets blocking reality from sight. why bother when ive already set myself up to fail. i knew i didnt have to do this. why did i do this. i could just work my way up from the bottom and secure a job thats just barely above minimum wage. but i dont even believe i could do that. everything is so much energy. im even writing this instead of writing what im supposed to be working on. why am i like this

i dont want to talk to anyone else about this because. i already know its not productive the way i think so it would just come out the same nonproductive way. ill drop a thought here and there. but not the full struggle. why tell someone when i can tell a professional and yet i dont even tell the damn professional.

but be nicer to myself

its hard. its hard on my and myself and im hard on me and myself. another horrible cycle.

im tired of all of this. and i dont like being treated as fragile i guess. 

theyve been texting me the past few days with messages of affection and affirmations. its nice but. it just feels empty to me. which is frustrating. i know its just the bad side of my brain telling me to ruin it all completely. i dont know how to voice it without hurting anyone. i want to wait for my next appointment because i know its just my brain being illogical

but everything costs energy. i just simply feel like a time bomb. or maybe ive already gone off and im more like a candle thats burning out

i feel like im burning out

or that im already at the end and im just a whisper of smoke

i know that everyone can be compassionate or understanding and maybe accommodating, but im afraid ill only be met with sternness and a loss of respect somehow. like im just making excuses. especially because its not like im diagnosed officially or anything. i know im not the only one. but it feels like im the only one. and what if i am the only one. i dont want to be singled out 

i dont want to be treated differently. maybe understanding. but. not differently. not negatively.

they. i dont want them to stop but i dont even understand what i want instead, so i dont want to stop them. in a way it shows they care because they do care but. it feels shallow. i dont know what i want from them at all. which is probably why i want to press the self destruct button and ruin it for both of us. but thats unfair to them and thats unfair to me. so i should just talk to them about it. effective communication. 

back to step one i suppose. i need the energy to do. anything. anything at all. god d

be nice to myself. that’s hard.

[drkoestersmithrpg]

I CANT WAIT to share this one with you because it’s not done (happy ending!!) jsut a few more lines more but this is what I got - gotta go to bed.  Enjoy.

Peter’s “Damn Millennial Ethics” (Tony’s words) required him to check on his fellow Avengers (despite all Tony’s grousing and pleading – he left him in an adjacent bedroom and got as dressed as he could to find the others.)

He found Hawkeye and Black Widow asleep on the floor of the kitchen – tangled up in each other’s arms and fully clothed.  He wasn’t sure what to make of that but forged on.

From the huge bathroom where Sam and Cap had holed up there was silence, and when Peter finally got the nerve he tiptoed in and found both of them naked and asleep on the floor in a tangle of towels, the shower faucet still running.

Peter stepped into the shower and turned it off, then touched Sam’s bicep timidly until he woke up.

“Are you ok?” he whispered, giving Sam plenty of time to sit up shake his head and look around in a daze.

“I had the strangest dream,” he said, until he saw Steve Rogers laying on the floor next to him.

“What the hell happened?”

“I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourselves, just checking on…

“Wait wait wait….is that what the blood was supposed to do??” Sam was saying and Peter took that opportunity to head for the door.   As long as no one needed medical assistance it was up to the two men to figure out if they were ok or not.

“Where are Barnes and Nat?” Sam asked, his head in his hands.

“Asleep, fully clothed, in the kitchen.  Go figure. Any idea where Thor and Star-dude are?”

Sam’s head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

“Kid, neither one of us is old enough to know what that was all about.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Peter said as he headed toward the door, but Sam stopped him.

“Wait…kid…you’re the only minor at this turns-out-it-was-THAT-kind-of-party-party, are you ok?”

Peter stood up straight and tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.  “First off I’ll have you know I’ll turn 22 this year,” Peter retorted, trying to look dignified despite the fact that he was naked except for Tony’s boxers.  “And second, after Thor left I was the strongest Avenger left in this building thank you very much.  I’m fine.”

He looked down at thimsel, barefoot and bare chested and clad onlyin Tony’s boxers.

“….and I’m also apparently dating Tony Stark,” Peter said, with pride (and surprise.)  “So, that’s a thing.”

“Oh no….oh no no kid, no. Don’t do it.  

“The age difference.  

“You’re much too mature for him.”

Peter left Sam alone with his naked friend with both a smirk and an eye-roll (how many times was he going to have to hear THAT joke for the rest of his life?) and found his way back to Tony.  

 --------

“This is very tragic,” Tony said, greeting him at the door to the bedroom, taking Peter by the hands and leading him toward the bed.  He was whispering and wearing an exaggerated pout.

“I’m listening,” is all Peter said as he watched the man with curiosity.  Something was different.

“It’s horrible, it’s devastating…” Tony was saying, bending his knees and leaning to one side to indicate how devastating it was.  Peter watched warily – he had seen Tony drunk, and he had seen Tony dying, but he had never seen Tony like this.

As Tony walked backward and led Peter, by both hands, towards the bed Peter realized what it was – he had seen many of Tony’s personas, many of his put-ons.  But this was the most Put-On-iest of the Put Ons. Flamboyant.  Fae.  The words “limpwristed fairy” were echoing in his head but all Peter could picture was a mask put on top of another mask on top of another mask.

Less than an hour before he had seen another side of Tony, one he had only previously caught in glimpses.

He was amazed at how much he missed it.

He was amazed at how fast it went away.

He wondered how often he would have to live without it.

But “I’m still listening,” was all he said.

“You see the heartbreaking fact is, you lost your V-card deep inside my ass on the floor of the media room and I don’t remember a thing.”

“I can’t help you there,” Peter said as they arrived at the bed.

“Yes you can,” Tony whispered, glancing behind him.  “You can slip your huge cock inside me and come in my ass one more time on my bed, and in the morning when I wake up I’ll be far too confused to remember which time was which…”

Tony kept talking, saying things Peter had to steadfastly ignore if he wanted to keep his temper. In the media room something profound, something almost religious had happened between Peter and this man and now this man seemed to be making a joke about it.  Nevertheless Peter was climbing back onto the bed with him, allowing his borrowed underwear to be removed, allowing his cock to be stroked all while….

Suddenly, Peter pushed Tony down to the bed with one hand and held him there by the shoulder.  Tony reacted in a positive way (with a lewd suggestion followed by a magic giggle.)

Peter said nothing, but waited.  Finally Tony asked….”What?”

“I saw the real Tony Star….”  Peter thought for a moment, then phrased the question differently, trying to use a gentler voice.  

“I thought I saw the real Anthony Edward - back there in the media room on the floor of broken vinyl,” Peter said tenderly, lowering his voice to a whisper, loosening his grip and using that hand to massage Tony’s chest.  “Do you know where I can find him?”

Tony laughed and started to speak – clearly ready to tell a joke, but then something else happened. The words seemed to dry up in his mouth, leaving him breathless.

Then his face broke and he hid underneath his hands.

“Shhhhhhhhh, no no,” Peter gentled (slightly alarmed at what he had done but refusing to show it.) “Tone….” he started, then tried again. He attempted to say the name ‘Anthony’ but it didn’t feel right.

“Baby, please. I’m not mad, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly, kissing the top of Tony’s head and what parts of the face he could access.   “I’m just lonely for him, that’s all.  I was just hoping he might make an appearance again, someday.”

Tony let out a shaky breath. Finally he moved his hands from his face and placed them on both sides of Peter’s face instead.

“Oh kid, ‘Anthony Edward’ was beaten out of me a long time ago.”

“Kid... you just don’t understand,” he was saying (and Peter listened carefully, even though he was also laying his body upon Tony’s body, kissing Tony’s face and nuzzling against his ear as the man spoke.)

“God, your world is so different than mine.  I didn’t grow up on a planet where there’s a different flag for every queer day-of-the-week and every sexual orientation including some new ones we discovered yesterday and your LGBCEFG alphabet soup…..”  His voice was getting resentful - angry, even,  and Peter pulled up a bit to look him in the face.  He opened his mouth to defend his generation when Tony said something else.

“Yes, I’m hiding.  I know I’m hiding.  But I saw him back there…..back there where the carpet was boiling and solidifying and crunching, like lava rock, and everything was dark and I couldn’t see which way was up….”

“Wait, saw who?” Peter asked, caressing the side of Tony’s face, trying to comfort (and trying not to feel guilt that this was the man he was asking for, but apparently the only way to see the REAL Tony Stark was to hear him talking through tears.)

“I saw him, and I knew nothing could be real because I knew he wasn’t real, that’s why I screamed and tried to hide from you.”

Peter only shook his head. “You’re not making sense.  Saw who baby….?”

“The monster,” Tony whispered, taking the hand that was caressing his face and squeezing it.  “My father.  Not the real one, the other….the one.  The one I was sure would come out if I ever revealed what I really was.    I haven’t even…”  his laugh was broken and pained.  “I haven’t dreamed about him in decades – after my REAL father died I he was strictly rhetorical.”

“What does that mean, ‘rhetorical?’

“The rhetorical question – ‘What will Howard Stark do when he finds out Anthony  Edward is ….like this?’  He was disgusted enough by all the edges of me, and tried to beat them out of me, what would he say if he saw the center?  

“So the center got hidden – hidden deep – even with the guys that – even with the guys that fucked me in the ass never got to see that.”

“Oh god, this isn’t work, is it !?”  Tony cried out again in such pain Peter suddenly pulled his body weight off Tony’s body, looking to see where he was hurt.  The older man was hiding behind his hands again.

“What….what?”

“You’re a Millennial,” Tony cried out (But he was peaking between his fingers at Peter again, the way he had done earlier.)  “You’ve got to be all honest about all your trauma and you expect everyone else around you to be that way too…..”

#not done yet

[wordsbymz-blog]

4 Your Eyez Only... Through My Ears & Mind

J. Cole announced his fourth album just 8 days prior its release. I was happy, among many others, that I'll get to hear some new tales from an excellent storyteller, which can drag his listeners inside the narrative and make them easy to relate to. I looked for the album right after waking up in the morning on the 9th of December and instantly pressed play. As expected, Cole and his team created another mind blowing experience. 

 There are many ways you could interpret this album as a whole and each song separately. It can be viewed as a reflection and reminder of black a man's life and his enviroment, victims of stereotypical assumptions of society. Or it might be a tale of a rappers childhood friend, James, which was killed aged 22 years old. So this is just my version of understanding the album. 4 Your Eyez Only through my ears and mind.

 Two things I have to say first. I have never studied English grammar in school (nor have I self-studied for that matter). So at times I got lost in my own process of thoughts, just like in "De Ja Vu". Not sure if I'll ever fully understand it, but I do have my theories. 

 The record is open with James's prayer for a better tommorow, since he's afraid his days are getting closer to an end. Cole here, on the other hand, contemplates his career. In next they both are thinking about the immortality of an individual and his legacy, whether is the one who escaped Fayetteville or the other left behind. 

 Similar thoughts resonate in "Ville Mentality", where James and Jermaine ask themselves, how long they can survive with the mentality residing in their town. Cole can't wait to leave that place. James doubts his own life lasting long, surrounded by stereotypes and putting up a front. Just like the rapper isn't so sure about his longevity in the music industry with analogical settings.  

 Suddenly, James finds hope in new love, which feels amazing. He literally feels alive more then ever and is not willing to die anymore. He realizes that this girl is getting to know him better day by day and stops his fear of opening up to someone for the first time in his life. In the words you feel the mad love Cole has for his wife. 

 Both our protagonists like their newly gained positive outlook. They reminisce over their development from child to a man, that made one of them victim of stereotypes and the "I'd only fuck up anyway" attitude, while the other became one of the most talked about names on scene in past decade. They acknowledge that only dreaming and planing on changing for better isn't enough. One needs to work on those changes. They know spilling blood over women, money and respect is poison of communities. For James it is his daily reality. He's dying. Jermaine wakes up to undescribeable feeling, seeing TV reporting on his friend's murder. The outro of "Changes" is simulating James's funeral.  Pastor urges on mourners, promising revegne, to stop this from happening again. This vicious circle has gotten way out of hand. Circle, which Cole explains through out the album on various occassions. 

 Just like he does on the next track. "Neighbors" is about stereotypical prejudices of the society. J. Cole offers an example from his own recent experience. He rented a house in a "decent" neighborhood to escape everything and wind up this record. There were mainly black people coming into the house and occasionally blazing in the yard. Mostly white neighbors concluded they must be growing and selling weed in there and called the cops. S.W.A.T. team raided the house while the crew was at SXSW in Texas. In chorus Jermaine admits, he actually is selling dope product. He's well aware of cases, where this prejudice escalated and resulted in the death of innocent people. As an illustration he uses killing of Trayvon Martin. Some things you can't escape (in the US)  - death, taxes and a racist society, which makes Cole worry about his own life. Integration certainly didn't have the desired effect people hoped for in the sixties.

 James and Jermain serande their better halfs during pregnancy in "Folding Clothes". They want to make their life easier during these times and future ones too. They take it as preperation for fatherhood.  Both of our narrators notice how soft they are becoming. They dont mind, though. Outro of this song give us another reflection on the hypocrisy prevaling in the hood. Its everywhere - relationships, friendships and (not only) in James's case at job interviews. However he still hopes for a better tommorow. 

 There's new hope on the horizon with the birth of James's daughter. He isn't sure if he's strong enough or even deserves to be a father. James promises to defend her from evil or prepare her for it, as he can't stop everything from happening. So he decides not to celebrate Santa or Christmas, since it is only one of the ways to breed greed in people from childhood. He finally is experiencing the feeling of being needed and wanted for the first time, up until now he experienced the exact opposite. For him his daughter is the only positive thing he ever did. Because of her, he feels alive again, willing to fight for survival and doesn't want to die.

 Just as in sonet, even here comes the denouement at the very end. If the listener didn't quite catch the story behind the album, last and the most emotional song will uncover it for him/her. James is trying to live lawfuly. Though it's hard for the convicted man to find a job. He returns to what he knows, and to what will secure his baby girl for sure. The fear of the forthcoming end has sneaked back again. He knows that if it comes, it will be the consequences of his own actions and the stereotypicaly minded society. Will there be time for him to teach his offspring things he had to learn for himself? What if she finds out about his death from the news? Is she gonna find a man better then himself? Is she going to understand? Perhaps she'll hate, despise or even miss him. James just hopes she won't fall into same vicious circle as him. He is aware of the fact he isn't alive if she listens to this song. Although he would rather if such song never existed and he could be there for her. Still, he begs the Lord not to take him so soon from her. 

  Heartbreaking syntax is closing with J. Cole telling the story of a phone call he once had with James. Jermaine felt the panic in his voice, but his friend didn't want to tell him what was going on. James reminised about the old days, how he admired him for his goals and ambitions since then. He urged the rapper for a first and the only favour. He wanted him to tell his daughter, Nina the story of her father and the reason behind his actions, which (as he phrophesied) lead him to a premature grave. 

 Jermaine Cole did not betray his friend and created a whole album not just for James's daughter, but for all the children, victims of mass incarceration (if you aren't familiar with this topic, check the documentary 13th from the produced by Netflix). Everything finishes with Cole asuring Nina that her father was real. Not because of girls, how hard he was or for the fact he was in jail. Her father was real, because he loved her. 

 Summary conclusion:

 There is certainly no doubt, that the fourth album of native frankfurter is the realest one and for the matter the most personal as well. On 2014's Forest Hills Drive the artist took his listeners on a trip through his life. But this feels even more personal, vulnerable or exposed if you like. Cole, known for preserving his private life, has honored the memory of his late friend in a trully dignified way. 

 I cant shake the feeling we've heard about "James" already in the past (i.e.: "3 Wishes”). But the story of his life with such details had never been completely revealed, if I could put it this way. Now the right time has come to fullfil the promise Jermaine gave to his friend. It's possible, that the trigger could've been the fact of Cole and his wife expecting a daughter themselves. As I did mention before everyone can interpret the record in a different way. That's the beauty in music and J. Cole's work in general. 

Personally, I believe its the story of a rappers friend, parallely complemented by Cole's point of view or his own experiences. As he mentioned himself, even though this was meant for Nina, it is supposed to serve all the children in similar situations. Anyone could identify and learn from it could really. 

 The thing with me is: Being from the Czech Republic, it used to be hard for me to even  understand the words of any lyrics, wether it was pop, metal or hip hop. But in the past years I dug a little deeper. So for me its something still fresh to see all the double meanings or even hidden meanings behind words, whole songs and records. 

 It is part of the reason why "4 Your Eyez Only" is so strong for me. I enjoy his wordplay, despite it being a bit distressing in this case.  My mind is stuck on three  particular cases of such feeling, all in the song "Neighbors".  "Some things you can't escape - death taxes and a ra-cist society..."......marked part about society sounding as it is....but also as N.R.A. - National Riffle Association. A few bars later you can hear no less thought through  homonym - news sounding also like noose. Third case is in the background the repeated words "...don't follow me...", which are inspired by the late Trayvon. It would be foolish to regard to J. Cole as only a storyteller. He's considering each & every element thoroughly and his product is the proof. 

 Which brings me to the sound of the fourth studio record "4 Your Eyez Only". Which, at first, was being created in the afore-mentioned house in North Carolina and its provisional studio called "The Sheltuh". The works have later moved to the legendary Electric Lady Studios based in New York and built in 1970 by the late Jimi Hendrix. Ever since then, it has been used by the likes of Led Zeppelin, Kanye West, Lady Gaga, The Rolling Stones, The Roots, John Lennon and many others, now including J. Cole.  He produced or assisted production with the majority of the record himself. Not shying away from showcasing his guitar playing talents. 

Cole invited for production yet again colleagues from Dreamville Records - Ron Gilmore and Elite - which ,as proven in the past, has worked well. He also invites others such as Childish Major, Boy-1da and Vinylz. It's easy to see that Jermaine likes to work with people he trusts. From wide range of people I have to mention co-founder of Dreamville and manager Ibrahim Hammad, sound engineer Mez, fine-tuning rappers sound for nearly a decade, as well as CharGaux, bringing vocals and strings ever since 2014 Forest Hills Drive. 

 I'm enjoying the jazzy vibe on the album. There might not be a generic club banger for mass-market, but who's to say ,you need one to be succesful. Someone can possibly think that the instrumental foundation of this project is dull, when compared to his previous work. I dare to oppose. In this case, it seems to me that story or message was given absolute priority. It was confirmed to me by Cole himself in the Eyez documentary shot mostly at Electric Lady Studio and its area during the process of making he record. Here he states: "...You get to this point in [your] career, in terms of platform. Next one might go down or it could go up. You can't guarantee to be this high again. While I'm here let me use this opportunity I have to say the realest shit I ever have...". Same "critics" might say that Cole isn't saying anything new. Which unfortunately might be true, but those things are still happening. With that, I do not want to say that the album is weak from the side of lyrics or sound. Actually, it's the very opposite. Everything sounds and feels united and is eloequently illustrating the atmosphere of "4 Youre Eyez Only' filled with emotions. 

I doubt that J. Cole's platform would go down after this work of art anytime soon. He seems to be humble and always trying to become an even better man. If the media and the industry were to cast him away, his devoted fan base, to whom he delivers hope, will support for a long while. For many enthusiats, he's already now immortal. 

#j. cole #jcole #dreamville #4youreyezonly #4 your eyez only