#i wish america had more trains

[winterarmyy]

Sleepy Heads

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Words: 1.4k++

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: none? just a really short fluffy moment with bucky.

Inspiration: Commuting home via train after long day of work makes me wish i had a shoulder to lean on while on the journey. And so, this idea was born from that thought.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N’s gaze was empty, staring to the distance, seemingly being swallowed by the void within her headspace. She had another long day at work; like any other weekday, grinding through the endless lines of words for each of her client’s documents until her eyes blurred.

The platform was noisy, filled with the clamour of people, the distant roar of the approaching train, and the faint buzz of conversations. The lights above her head flicker occasionally, casting brief shadows that danced along the walls. 

The subway ride home was her daily ritual, one she usually endured standing among the crowded commuters. When she saw the train coming her way, relief washed over her. “Finally, I can go home,” she thought.

The doors slid open, and she was immediately pushed by the crowd behind her. It was as if her feet were lifted in the air, her body was effortlessly being dragged into the train. Since it  was rush hour, the train car was packed. She had expected that but still, she couldn’t help but to let out a long sigh of exhaustion.

She slipped and weaved through the mass of bodies, knowing that it’ll be pointless. There’s no way she could get a seat now; she had to endure the 40 minute ride standing on the ache of her feet. 

Her thoughts immediately stopped when she unexpectedly found an empty row of seats. Well, to be fair, there was one man sitting there, but regardless, it was empty enough for her to sit.

How fortunate she was.

A passing thought echoed in her head, questioning why it was empty, but she was too tired to think too deeply about it. The exhaustion from the long hours at work had dulled her curiosity, leaving her with just enough energy to be grateful for the peace and quiet. Too exhausted to question her luck, she sank into the seat, letting out a sigh of gratitude.

As she settled in, her mind couldn’t help but to dwell on the earlier question. Why does no one want to sit next to this man? She briefly considered the possibility that he might be a weird pervert or something. Thinking about it now made her slightly uncomfortable.

However, that discomfort didn’t last long as she overheard whispers around her, saying how brave she was to sit next to the Winter Soldier. Her eyes widened in realisation, and she discreetly glanced at him, noticing the telltale signs she had missed in her exhaustion: the gloved hands, the intense expression, the aura of danger that surrounded him. 

She had heard of him. James Buchanan Barnes. 

She studied about him in history class back when she was a school girl and saw him on the news in recent years. A member of the Howling Commandos. Steve Roger’s best friend. The Winter Soldier. The victim of Hydra’s atrocities.

Perhaps it was the fatigue numbing her instincts, or maybe it was the hint of vulnerability in his eyes that contradicted the ruthless image painted by the stories. Surprisingly, there was a burning sensation in her chest the more she heard the foul whispers around her. “These people really need to shut their mouths or…”  She didn’t finish the thought.

Honestly, she was too tired to care if the man next to her was the Winter Soldier or Captain America himself. She was simply grateful that he wasn’t some sort of creepy pervert.

Next to her sat a lone man, his posture tense and his gaze averted. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was accustomed to people avoiding him, their fear and whispers a constant reminder of his past. Today was no different, until Y/N sat down next to him without a second thought.

There were very few people who willingly sat this close to him: Sam, Mr. Nakajima, and perhaps his therapist. Strangers who were aware of him would never sit near him willingly. So when he saw her making a beeline towards him, he thought, “No way…” 

Now, he couldn’t help but be aware of her presence. 

Bucky straightened, expecting her to move away once she realised who he was. But she didn’t. She just sat there, her head lolling slightly as she fought to stay awake.

Bucky stole glances at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the way she seemed to radiate exhaustion . He noticed how her weary seemed to mirror his own, although for completely different reasons; hers from long hours of work, his from long hours of sleepless nights. 

Despite her weariness, there was a quiet beauty about her that captivated him.

His eyes widened in realisation that he’d been staring at her. He noticed the concerned looks of the people around them as they caught him, their thoughts clear on their faces.

He chastised himself for staring. “Stop it, Bucky. You’re being a creep.” But he couldn’t help it. When her head finally drooped and she fell asleep, he felt a pang of concern.

“Where’s her stop?” 

“What if she misses it?”  

“What if someone tries to take advantage of her while she’s sleeping?”

As the train jolted, her head swayed dangerously close to the pole beside her. Instinctively, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, catching her head before it hit. She didn’t stir, her breathing steady and soft; he could feel how close her body was to his own.

Bucky froze, his body tensing as he tried to process the situation. His eyes widened; he didn’t know why but he felt his heart racing in his chest. 

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, her head lolled to the opposite side, landing gently on his shoulder. He felt a surge of panic, his breath hitching, but then she snuggled closer, her hands roamed along his right hand until her arms wrapped around his like he was a pillow. 

Bucky’s heart continued to race, violently.

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, his eyes widening in surprise. His fists balled up into tight, clenched knots as he felt the softness of her breasts gently squishing his biceps in between them. “Oh god, what do I do now?” he panicked.

But time passed, feeling her steady heartbeat and the warmth of her body pressed against him, he found himself relaxing. 

He began to notice the faint scent of vanilla that clung to her, a soft contrast to the sterile, metallic smell he had grown used to. Her breathing, initially steady, became slower and deeper; a rhythmic sound that somehow soothed his frayed nerves. He could see the faint traces of paper cuts on her fingers, remnants of a long day at work.

Despite her obvious fatigue, there was a certain grace in the way she moved, a gentle determination that intrigued him. Her soft, steady breathing started to sync with his own, creating a strange sense of calm that he hadn't felt in a long time. He admired the delicate curve of her eyelashes, the way her lips parted slightly as she went deeper into slumber. 

This simple act of trust, falling asleep next to him, a man feared by so many, stirred something deep within him. It was a small, fleeting moment of normalcy that he found himself cherishing against his better judgement.

He relaxed into the seat, allowing himself to savour the unexpected comfort of her presence and touch. He decided to let her sleep. As the time passed, the crowd around them began to lessen.

The previously hostile atmosphere of the train car softened, and the once frenetic energy of the rush hour turned into a more subdued, calming environment. The stares and whispers faded into the background as Bucky's attention became entirely focused on the woman resting beside him.

His own fatigue began to catch up with him, his eyes grew heavy, a rare sensation for him these days. And before he knew it, his cheek was resting gently against her head, and he was drifting off too. His plans and destination were long forgotten, overshadowed by the soothing presence of the woman clinging to his arm. 

He didn't mind if they both missed their stop; the thought of walking her home crossed his mind. Maybe he could introduce himself properly, maybe ask her out on a date, and see if she wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

The idea, though fleeting, brought a sense of warmth and contentment he hadn’t felt in years. When his consciousness drifted further into the dreamland, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

And in the end, as the train continued its journey, people left the sleepy heads in their peaceful slumber, content in the rare moment of tranquility they had found together. End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading this very short drabble! Hope you enjoyed it ♡

[coco-loco-nut]

die first

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max’s wife is an international superstar, who’s anxieties tend to show up in her songs

Inspired by: die first by Nessa Barret

requests open! masterlist prequel

—————————

“What are you writing, Schatje?” Max asks, sliding onto the piano bench beside you.

“I wrote a song based on my vows,” you tell him, writing down the last couple chords, humming a rhythm to yourself.

Max, ever since I met you, I knew you were special. You’re my fire and my safety, you never try to break me, and you promise to always stay. I promise those same things to you. I don’t want to live without you, I never want to learn how to fall asleep without you, I want to be in love with you forever. You are my forever.

“Play it for me?” he asks when you finish, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You nod, gently pressing the keys, mentally noting the kinks to fix before recording tomorrow. “It’s beautiful, the fans are going to love it, I love it,” Max compliments and you grin at him.

“I’m excited to announce the album and tour, and I’m glad we follow F1 around Europe. I get to spend more of summer with you that way,” you lean on his shoulder. You dedicated the album to him, and your third record is set to be the best selling one yet.

You took the unconventional route and took his last name after marrying him this year, despite having two hit albums and international fame. You still publish under your maiden name, but the name change caused a lot of shock.

You became an international superstar with your first release and it’s only grown since. Despite your relationship with Max spanning most of your music career, the both of you are able to spend a relatively low profile life in Monaco. Everything you record in the studio down the street is sent to your Hollywood label and released from there.

The next few months see you doing press for the surprise drop that was your bestselling third album and hyping the tour. Tour rehearsals fell during training time for Max and the both of you were going nonstop.

“I have to go to bed, Schatje, love you,” Max yawns over Facetime, you wish him goodnight as you stretch for your last show in North America. Tomorrow you jet to Europe to pick up that leg of the tour.

By the time you reach London, your tour has officially lined up with F1, which means your personal box near the stage is full of drivers, who likely are being bombarded with autograph requests. You slip into your black, sparkly bodysuit and matching hells; hair, makeup, and nails perfectly done; and grab your matching microphone before heading to your mark under the stage. The roar of the crowd energized you as the intro video plays.

“Come on London, let’s have some fun,” you say into the mic before smoke fills the stage above you and the trap door opens, the platform beneath you rising you up. You launch into your opening act. Half an hour later, after prancing and dancing and singing around the stage you take a pause to introduce the next act. The crowd cheers loudly before you have a chance to speak. You look around, smiling at everyone even if you can’t see them.

“London, thank you, my name is Y/n Verstappen, that’s my show for tonight,” you tease, the crowd silences. “Nah, I’m kidding. I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that, not when you are one of the best crowds I’ve had on tour,” you tell them, giving them a second to cheer.

“Since you have been such a great host, I wanted to share something special about this next song, something not many people know, but not quite yet. Quick shoutout to the F1 drivers here tonight, including my handsome husband, y’all are cool. But not as cool as everyone else here,” you purposely leave them hanging a little, blowing a kiss in the direction of Max.

“Alright, so, this next song is not only the title of my new album, but I also took parts of my vows and wrote them into the song. I hope you like it,” you say and the crowd cheers as the first chords play behind you.

“Thank you, London! Goodnight!” After the concert, you rush backstage and into Max’s open arms.

“You were incredible, Liefje” Max kisses you. Charles jokingly gags behind you.

“Thank you, Maxie,” you whisper, hugging him tight. Your assistant hands you a towel to put around your neck and a bottle of water which you happily take.

“You had a great show,” the other drivers tell you, all complimenting the show and thanking you for the tickets. You thank them for attending and excuse yourself so you could change. Max reminds them of the post-show dinner and club plans and carries you to your dressing room. You collapse on the couch, as Max chuckles at your dramatics.

“I swear the best part of a show is laying down after,” you groan and Max gently takes off your heels causing you to moan in relief.

“Y/n! People are going to think we are doing things in here,” Max laughs, you wave him off, changing into comfy but club appropriate clothes. Max helps you take off your stage makeup, and redoes your hair as you put a little bit of normal makeup on.

“Ready, Maxie?” you ask, grabbing your purse. It is nice knowing that assistants will take everything back to the hotel for you.

“I promise I will always come back home to you, I know my driving style is agressive, but I won’t make you learn how to fall asleep without me,” Max says, his hands holding your face gently.

“I know, but I will always be scared when you are on the track. You can’t promise nothing will happen, but I know you will always try,” you tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You stay in his embrace for a minute until rejoining half of the paddock. I can be in love forever, if I die first…

[woso-dreamzzz]

Puppy

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a four-legged friend

After your contract with Arsenal runs out, you have a lot of options.

You could have had your pick of the WSL - United wanted you, City wanted you, Chelsea had made an expensive offer that you were more than happy to turn down. The NWSL had expressed an interest as well but America wasn't something you wanted.

It was only when you were wrapping up your last training session at Arsenal before the World Cup did you get a call from your agent.

"Barcelona," He says," They're interested. They're rivalling Chelsea in the amount of money they're willing to pay you."

You couldn't care less about the money. "Set up the meeting."

The meeting was merely a formality and soon, you were packing up your things from London, saying goodbye to Arsenal and flying to Barcelona.

Momma and Morsa come with you, helping you move in.

Morsa laments about the flight times. "It's a lot further than London," She tells you like you don't already know," Almost five hours from home."

You roll your eyes as you unpack another soft blanket. "Morsa, I'll be fine. If anything happens, I'll call Tia Tana or Alexia. I'm not completely helpless."

"Your Morsa is just having a hard time adjusting," Momma assures you," She doesn't like the fact that you're leaving properly."

You roll your eyes again. "I already left properly."

Momma cradles your face. "Try telling her that. You're always going to be her little girl."

You huff but don't argue any longer, preoccupied with placing little knick-knacks on your shelves. At the bottom of one of the boxes is your childhood pet, Rocky the rock. You look at him fondly before giving him pride of place next to your medals.

"You still have that?" Morsa laughs as she joins you.

You roll your arms. "Hey! The bond between a girl and her pet rock is indescribable. Rocky is an important part of who I am."

"You and that rock-"

"His name's Rocky!"

"-Are so cute. You used to take that everywhere with you."

You roll your eyes. "You wouldn't let me get a puppy or a kitten."

"I think a puppy or a kitten would have been too much for the three of us," Momma says," We already had our hands full with you."

You scoff. "I was an angel."

"Hmm," Morsa says, pressing a kiss to your temple," Most of the time."

She and Momma exchange a look briefly and you're instantly suspicious when you catch Momma's phone getting a notification that you instantly see her clear from her screen.

"What are you two up to?"

Both of them smile even more suspiciously as there's a knock on the door.

"This isn't finished."

"I think it is," Momma murmurs behind you as you swing open the door.

"Hola!"

"Hola, Tia Tana," You say before suddenly falling silent.

There's a wriggling puppy in her arms and you coo softly, hand out for it to lick.

It's a Spitz of some kind. You're not sure which but it's definitely a Spitz. Those are your favourite kind of dogs. It's got a kind of reddish fur that looks really pretty and he's full of little wiggly energy that's absolutely adorable.

"He's so pretty, Tia Tana," You say as she lets him loose," I didn't know you got a dog."

"I didn't."

You sit on the floor with the puppy. "He's so cute. It is a he, right?"

Tia Tana nods. "It's a boy."

"You're so cute," You say to him, letting him jump up on your lap," Yes, you are. A very handsome boy. Like a little prince."

"A prince for our princesse," Morsa says," How do you like him?"

You don't quite understand what she means so you just coo over your new friend. You wished he was Tia Tana's so you could see him more often.

"Are you puppy sitting?" You ask her," He's so sweet."

Tia Tana laughs. "In a way," She says," I'm handing him off to his owner today. He's had all of his shots. He's been neutered and everything."

"He's so cute. I'd love to have a word with your owner. You're too handsome to let go."

"That's good," Momma says," Because he's staying with you."

You look up in shock, brows furrowed. "What?"

"We'd feel better if you had some company," Morsa explains," So we got into contact with Aitana before you moved to see if she could find a puppy for you."

"He's a Finnish Spitz," Tia Tana says with a smile," His Mami was very sociable and his Papa goes on runs with his owner. I'm sure he could keep up with you."

You look between the three of them. "Really?"

"Yes," Momma says with the smallest of smiles," He's yours, princesse. Why don't you give him a name?"

"Prins," You say instantly and your mothers start laughing.

"What's funny?" Tia Tana asks.

"His name means prince," Morsa laughs," Truly, a little prince for our princesse."

Prins barks, his little tail wagging. You stroke your fingers through his fur.

"We need to go back out," You say suddenly," We have to get him food! And a bed! And toys!"

"Already done," Tia Tana says," It's all being delivered soon."

You look down at Prins. He looks up at you, curly little tail wagging happily as he nibbles at your shirt sleeve with his little baby teeth.

"This is the best gift ever!"

[samdeancass]

Grounding Him

Requested by @thelirofnorthlands

Pairing: Homelander x reader

Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst

Characters: Homelander, Y/N

Description: Homelander keeps his anger brimming at the surface whenever he's in an uncomfortable situation, but he can always count on you to keep him grounded.

A/N: Look at that lil' cuties face <3

Everybody always walked on eggshells around Homelander, afraid he would pop and laser someone's head off—everyone, that is, apart from you. Every time he raised his voice at you, you would flash him a look, and he would know how to tone it down. He was incredibly grateful to have you in his life; you kept him grounded and gave him love he had never had. He showed a different side to him when you were by his side, and everyone could see it, much to his dismay. He was happier and treated everyone better, even humans. Homelander would still occasionally kill someone if they got in his way or said something that really angered him. He did always keep his anger at the surface, but he always knew that you would pull him back. Homelander let out a nervous, shaky breath as he prepared to step onto the stage for yet another PR campaign for The Seven. He wished you were by his side, but you were in another country making deals with Vought's international clients. He closed his eyes, took deep, slow breaths to slow down his ever-quickening heart, and replayed your calming words in his head. He was always more nervous when you weren't around to ensure everything went okay. Homelander knew that if just one person said one wrong thing, his anger would take over, and he would kill everyone standing before him. He heard his cue to go on and made his way but stopped when he heard a flurry of footsteps hurrying behind him. His eyes lit up as he smiled wide. When he turned, he saw your flustered form hurrying towards him. "I'm so glad I'm not too late." Homelander gathered you in his arms and kissed you deeply. "I can't believe you're here; I thought you were still out of the country." He placed his hands on your cheeks, pecked your lips once more and grabbed your hand to go on stage. "I was up until 30 minutes ago. A-Train rushed me here, and he did a good job. Otherwise, I wouldn't have made it." You both plastered on smiles and walked on stage to a mixture of applause and boos from the audience. Homelander waved at the crowd and took a patriotic stance, still holding your hand. He began making a speech about the importance of The Seven and how America still needed them. He was doing an excellent job until somebody interrupted him and started hurling insults. Homelanders expression immediately changed, his lips forming a thin, straight line, an instant indicator that he was becoming increasingly angry, especially as others began to join in. You rubbed circles into his hand, which usually calmed him down, but it wasn't enough this time. Homelander's whole body began to shake with anger as he closed his eyes to try and contain it. Still, they shot back open again when somebody mentioned your name, and the rest of the crowd joined in. His eyes glowed red, but you managed to distract and pull him off stage before he could do anything disastrous. "Hey, calm down. C'mon, baby. I'm right here, they're not going to do anything." You hugged him and ran your fingers through his hair, a loving gesture that always calmed him down. "I know, but the things they were saying about you, I couldn't contain it any longer. They need to keep your name out of their fucking mouths! There would be a room full of dead fucking corpses if you weren't here, so thank you." He finally calmed down and pecked your lips before taking your hand and leading you out of the building. An angry mob surrounded the two of you as you opened the door to the outside. "Move out of the fucking way before the ground gets covered in your fucking guts." Homelander kept a stoic expression as he warned the group of people, who stepped a whole way back, letting you jump into his arms and fly to Vought Tower. You jumped down from his arms and linked your arm with his. "Thank you for being my rock; I would be in a whole ton of shit right now if it wasn't for you." "Anytime, honey."

[qqueenofhades]

I don’t understand. Why is not only the NYT but EVERYONE screaming in circles about Biden’s age? I mean I too would love a slightly younger president, but faced with Trump, I don’t understand how this is even a discussion. What can the motive possibly be?

First answer: Money. The corporate media is not your friend for many reasons, but especially because it will happily shill for open fascism, and sabotage Biden left and right, because the corporations and/or oligarchs who own the media (think how hard Elon has been trying to shill for Trump partly due to Biden's promised 25% billionaire tax) do not give a shit about American democracy. It's kind of nice in theory, maybe, but they do not give a shit as long as they get their tax breaks and "pro-business" legislation, which Trump has perforce promised to give them again. They are also not fans of Biden for other reasons, especially since he has been busy promoting unions, new labor laws, new industrial requirements/standards (even as fast as SCOTUS is trying to strip them away) and other things that interfere with the Reagonomics pursuit of the rich getting richer by any means necessary. Biden is the first US president since Reagan to openly call trickle-down economics bullshit, say that it doesn't work, and try to install a new economic model. Everyone who got rich under Reagonomics, therefore, has incentive to get rid of him.

First-continued, the money element also extends to the fact that Trumpists/MAGA love reading stories about how old and frail Biden is (especially if this distracts from their candidate being a raging fascist lunatic), so they will click on the story and read it and gleefully share it with other Trumpists/MAGA to shout about how terrible Biden is and how the Trump Vengeance Train is coming. "Biden actively dying RIGHT NOW!!" stories also make Democrats panic, so they will click on it and read it to find out how much they should be panicking, then share it with other Democrats to let them know that they should ALSO be panicking. Either way, it drives page views and advertising revenue, so the media is once more financially incentivized to produce these kinds of stories and to find "facts" that fit these stories, regardless of whether or not they are, uh, true. American media swings conservative in many ways, but especially if they can promote the "both sides the same!" or "Horserace!!!" narrative to keep Republicans gleeful and Democrats nervous.

Basically, no mainstream media outlet (even the so-called liberal ones like MSNBC) has any financial interest or incentive in supplying Americans with accurate information (we live in late-stage capitalist hell, etc) and many of them are openly pining for Trump back in office so they can be Principled Truth Tellers In Exile, get clicks and coverage from reporting on the crazy things he does (think the CEO of CBS saying that Trump was "bad for America but great for CBS") and other activities that drive the bottom line. This also adds up to an impulse to shill for Trump and sabotage Biden, who is competent but boring. After, American politics are a reality show and should be Driving Headlines!!!! Fascist America would be a great story!!! Think of the ratings!!!

.... anyway. We! live! in! hell!

Second, the media also loves to push "Democrats in disarray" stories, because there has always been a WILD double standard in regard to how they cover the Democrats vis-a-vis the Republicans. As such, they have completely given up on mentioning anything even slightly critical about Trump, and the 500 disqualifying and awful things he has already done and continues to do every day, in favor of driving as hard as they can at the "Biden should step down!!" story. Now, I'm not denying that obviously, I wish we had a better (and younger) candidate and that Biden's health is a legitimate issue, but trying to do it to the incumbent FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE ELECTION is an exercise in sheer insanity and something that the media wants to do because again, It Would Get Clicks!!, regardless of how insane it would in fact be. It's also insane because this is the same exact fucking thing that the media did to Hillary Clinton in 2016 (running MONTHS of stories about her health problems, her emails, how she was secretly ill and/or the Democrats should replace her, etc) and A LOT OF Y'ALL ARE FALLING FOR IT AGAIN. Which isn't terrifying or anything, but also.

Now, of course, the establishment Democratic party is partly complicit in the tone of this coverage, and that is also a problem. I personally want to smack every "anonymous Democratic adviser" or "Democratic politician" giving these Anxiety Concern Quotes to Politico, NYT, the BBC, and wherever else with a brick over the goddamn head and tell them to Shut the Absolute Fuck Up and dedicate all their energy to helping Biden win, instead of deliberately and unhelpfully perpetuating the narrative that he's about to die at any moment. (And also, if he did have to step aside before or after the election for any reason: THE ONLY DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED CANDIDATE TO REPLACE HIM IS KAMALA HARRIS. KAMALA HARRIS IS THE ONLY PERSON WITH ANY LEGITIMACY TO TAKE OVER THE NOMINATION AND/OR OFFICE OF POTUS FROM BIDEN. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT AND THINK YOUR MAGICAL WHITE MAN WILL PARACHUTE IN THERE INSTEAD, SHUT UP. THERE IS NO OTHER OPTION EXCEPT HARRIS. SHUT THE FUCK UP FOREVER.)

/deep breaths

Anyway. That is how you end up here: where the media is still diligently pretending this is an absolutely normal race between a terrible degenerate ancient Sekritly Dying Biden and.... some totally normal establishment Republican and not literally Donald Goddamn Trump. They are running many of the exact same hatchet jobs that they ran on Hillary Clinton for the same exact reasons, and ask yourself this: if Biden is just the status-quo stooge who will never change anything, HAS never changed anything, and is otherwise completely acceptable to the American/global power structure, why are they SO FUCKING DESPERATE to get him out? Why are they throwing absolutely everything they have at prying out a successful (albeit yes, old) incumbent when that incumbent is, by any reasonable metric, the most progressive president since at LEAST FDR, very definitely in any of the post-Reagan years, and possibly ever? Why are they so shit-scared of Biden as demonstrably the only candidate who can (and has) already beaten Trump, and therefore his entire ghoulish agenda of American fascism forever?

I just think it's worth pondering these questions. Yes, I had an awful anxiety attack today and applied to several jobs in Europe because the Fight or Flight instinct kicked in HARD that I needed to start working on a plan to get out of Fascist America, just in case. However, we can still forestall it. Yet again, as I will include in every post on the subject between now and November:

The end.

[mania-sama]

iwaoi, but's it's iwaizumi who had always wanted to leave japan. he found his every day life in miyagi stifling. he hated seeing the same classmates over and over again with their disagreeable opinions and close-minded worldviews, hated the way the people in his neighborhood all knew each other and their business, hated the way it rained and hated the way the sun rose every single day. he hated the very idea of staying in miyagi more than he had to.

he talked to oikawa about this regularly, ever since they could form thoughts that ventured outside of their little realm in japan. first, he told oikawa he'd move out of miyagi. he'd find an apartment in tokyo, or a job as a farmhand in hokkaido, or anywhere else that isn't miyagi and the life he's had to grow up in. then, as he got older, he went a step further.

china, he'd mumble oikawa during the first class of the day in middle school.

the phillippines, he'd shout at oikawa while peppering a volleyball.

somewhere further, he'd finally admitted to oikawa while walking home from a late-night home court game, his gaze trained on the ground with the most vulnerability he'd shown in years. like america. i've applied to a college in america.

oikawa had laughed at him on most times. iwaizumi knew oikawa liked life in miyagi; he got along with his classmates fine, girls liked him, he loved his family and their neighborhood, loved the sunrise and the rain. iwaizumi knew this because oikawa had always disagreed with him on those subjects.

but liking life wasn't enough when oikawa's goals were set further than what he would be constrained to at home. loving japan wasn't enough when japan didn't love him.

argentina, oikawa had whispered, miserable, to him for the first time near the end of their first year in high school. he'd seen kageyama around. he'd seen the way his serves had gotten better and better and better.

their planes left mere weeks from each other. oikawa first, to argentina, with tears in his eyes and a sharp call to not be stranger. iwaizumi left second, wishing his family a farewell with his heart full to finally leave.

iwaizumi had liked california enough. he was entertained, if not occasionally confused, by the manner of young adult americans. he had thought, originally, that he wouldn't miss japan. maybe he'd miss his family and the two friends he'd left, but nothing else. he thought the pang in his chest when his american roommate and newfound friends went out for a chicken wing restaurant and not onigiri, when they spoke exclusively english (sometimes spanish) and not japanese, when there were beds and air mattresses and not futons, that he was missing familiarity, is all. he only missed not feeling out of place.

oikawa had shared with him, over their many calls, his own struggles with homesickness. but, oikawa had told him over grainy Facetime, my team has done everything to make me feel at home. spanish isn't as hard as i thought it'd be! i'm going to make this work. even if i miss you and japan. i just... i need this. i need argentina.

both he and oikawa managed to make it home for christmas after only a few months into their respective journeys into the americas. they arrived at different times, though, so iwaizumi made the trip home from tokyo alone. he took two trains, then a taxi closer to his house. he saw the billboards in his own language. he watched people that looked like himself. they went to restraunts with onigiri. their seating would be chabudai and not high tables and booths. he saw familiar streets and familiar faces in his neighborhood.

he came to his house, where he knew exactly where the patch of grass his childhood cat was buried in the backyard. he could see phantoms of himself riding his bike up and down the road. he could see where he caught butterflies, where oikawa chased him with a handful of worms.

he came home, and his family was waiting for him. it all rushed over him, when he saw them again. all the anxiety of not being able to get to them fast if they got into an accident. constantly wondering what he'd be doing if he was in japan and not at uc-irvine. thinking about how much he preferred his home culture to the strangeness of the united states.

he met with oikawa next, who regaled him on his adventures in argentina as if they hadn't talked nearly everyday since their planes took them away from home.

i'm going to stay, oikawa told him during a late evening stroll after dinner, his eyes alight with happiness and success. i love it in argentina. it's everything i want and need.

iwaizumi was happy for him. but, iwaizumi knew he would not be content doing the same.

i'm coming back home after i get my bachelor's, he told oikawa after a second's pause, letting the coldness of the evening wash over him, watching the sun set in the way he'd spent hating his entire life. america is nice, but japan is where i'm meant to be.

he found that he didn't mind the rain when he was no longer seventeen and hating his classmates. he didn't mind staring out the window of the house he grew up in when he wasn't sixteen and desperate to leave. he'd been to the other side of the fence, and the grass simply wasn't any greener.

and he knew he'd be okay with that, eventually, even if a part of him wondered if he was giving up. even if that part of him wanted to riot and rage and scream at the idea of staying in the place he'd always told everyone he'd leave.

oikawa looked at him, then, with his eyes still bright but shining with a different kind of light. and that's perfectly fine, oikawa said to him, his voice low and earnest.

there was not a hint of condescension. nothing that said, you gave up. you are worth nothing. you will be nothing. oikawa meant it when he said that it was fine that leaving wasn't all iwaizumi had chalked it up to be. his tone said, in every way, nothing has changed. you will be just as good here as you would be anywhere else. you have not given up. there is nothing wrong with letting yourself be happy.

somehow, that was more reassuring than any of the faux comforts he'd been trying to console himself with.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

North Star.

It's New Years Eve. Jake is tired of waiting.

Pairing - Jake Seresin x female reader

Warnings - None

Word Count - 1638

Author's Note - Thank you so much for all the love on The Orange - I've been giggling and kicking my feet reading all of your comments and tags. I loved writing it, and I loved writing this one too. Please feel free to send me any requests, ideas, prompts, comments or questions - I'll always read them. If I could kiss you all, I would x

Masterlist. Requests.

Multi colored lights adorn the beams of the ceiling. Metallic streamers hang from the bar. Music is blasting from the jukebox. The Hard Deck almost looks unrecognisable. 

It's New Years Eve, and The Squad have agreed to spend it together. Hangman, Coyote and Payback are at the dart board, allowing Jake to show off his talent. Bob, Rooster and Fanboy are convened by the pool table, taking turns to shoot, unbothered by who's meant to be sinking what. You and Natasha are standing by the bar, waiting for Penny to serve you when she gets the chance.

"So, come on, who are you kissing at midnight?" Natasha looks at you with a glint in her eye. Mischievous girl. 

"Yeah. Right. You, if you're not careful," you warn her, teasing lilt in your voice. Honestly, you don't think she'd be the worst choice in the world. 

"As much as I'd love that, I don't think the squad could handle it," she winks at you cheekily. "Seriously, who?" 

"I don't know!" you laugh. But that's a lie. You do know. At least, you know who you'd like to kiss. 

Jake Seresin. Hangman. America's Sweetheart. 

Pilot, Texan, Heartbreaker. 

Your friend, your teammate, the man you've been in love with since you met him that first day of basic training. 

The two of you were partnered for the first few exercises that day, and you beat every other pair by a mile. You both figured out pretty quickly that you make a damn good team. 

That hasn't changed. If ever you have to pair up for an exercise, a mission, or just a class, Jake's eyes find yours immediately. A silent question. Shall we? And your answer, always - of course. 

You seem to have your own language, this shared communication. You don't have to speak to know what the other person is saying. On the ground, or in the air, you know each other's next moves. Predictable, but comfortable. 

Maybe that's the problem. 

You believe strongly that women are more than capable of making the first move. You've thought about grabbing Jake and kissing him stupid more times than you can count. But you don't. Every time there's an opportunity, you brush past it, let it go. Because the comfort isn't worth sacrificing. At least, that's what you're telling yourself. 

Your friendship with Jake has been built on years of trust, empathy, and reliance. You know that no matter what, he'll have your back. He's demonstrated it more than once. Countless times. Showing up for you, without fail. When you were harassed by a man at the Hard Deck, Jake showed up. When you had a family member's funeral and didn't want to go alone, Jake showed up. When you broke your wrist and ended up in the hospital, Jake showed up. He was your North Star. Always there, always guiding. Always comforting. 

So you can't help but repeatedly ask yourself - why hasn't he made a move? You're convinced you know the answer to that question, though. Because you're friends. He sees you as a friend. A teammate. Which you wouldn't change for the world, not by any means. But it doesn't stop you from wishing that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't hold his cards so close to his chest. Just for a minute. 

The Devil Himself sidles over to the two of you, still at the bar, and throws an arm over each of you. Natasha manages to wiggle under and away from him, but you stay put. You don't mind. 

"Hey pretty ladies," he beams, "whatcha whispering about?" 

"It's kind of impossible to whisper when you keep queueing Duran Duran on the jukebox at full volume, Hangman," Natasha barks back. 

He laughs, a real, full bodied laugh that shakes both him and you, still with his arm slung over your shoulder. You laugh with him. It's impossible not to. His laugh is contagious, you think. Unavoidable. He laughs, you laugh. That's the way it's always been. 

It's at this moment that Bob pushes his way through the crowd, grabbing Natasha by the hand. 

"Phoenix, I need you. Fanboy doesn't believe you can do that pool trick you showed me last week. Come and prove him wrong!" 

She grins at you, and allows herself to be pulled into the swarms of people, on her way to earn some respect. 

You turn back to Jake at the bar, and see that he's ordered a beer, and your usual. Observant boy. 

You take a sip of your drink, only for a drop to miss your mouth entirely. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just his impatience, but Jake decides he's tired of waiting. He leans in to you, and slowly, deliberately, follows the journey of the drop with his tongue, from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw. He pulls back, and watches you with that gaze of his. Measured, careful. Adoring. Mischievous. Just so Jake. 

You feel the heat rise from your chest and up to your cheeks, but you don't break eye contact with him. It feels like a confession. You're baring your truth to him, silently, and he's understanding. That shared language. You're both saying so much, without saying anything at all. 

It's then that you realise where you are. The Hard Deck has somehow become even more crowded, and you keep being bumped left and right by people attempting to get to the bar. The music is too loud, the lights are too bright. You need a minute. As if he can read your mind, Jake speaks. 

"Let's get some air. It's hot in here." 

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers with his, and leads you out of the door, onto the deck outside. 

The cool night air hits you both, and you sigh with relief. You allow the breeze to flow through your hair, to ripple your dress, to cleanse you of your worry.

Jake's still holding your hand. Tighter, now. As if he's scared you'll blow away. Or run away, maybe. 

You lean into him slightly, and rest your head against his arm. He's warm, soft. He smells like Jake. Like love. Like home. 

"You okay?" he asks. Always so worried about you. Attentive boy. 

"I'm good. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess."

He starts to rub circles over the back of your hand with his thumb, grounding you. It's all so intimate, you don't know whether to pull him closer or sprint in the other direction. 

He makes the decision for you - closer. He kisses your hair, and then rests his head atop of yours. You can hear the squad laughing and cheering inside, all of them completely unaware that out on the deck, two of their teammates are baring their souls to each other. 

You have no idea whether it's been two minutes or two hours when Jake speaks again. 

"You're the prettiest girl in that bar, you know." Then, he says, a bit quieter, "You're always the prettiest girl in the room."

He says it so sincerely, so earnestly, that you want to rip your heart out of your chest and place it in his hands. You want to give it to him so that maybe he'll finally understand - it's already his. 

You don't know what to say, so you bring your interlaced hands up to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles individually. He's so warm, so golden. Radiating light wherever he goes. Your North Star. 

You both listen to the gentle crash of the ocean waves, sitting with the weight of the moment. It feels like with every second that passes, silent revelations are being made. As if the love, the feelings, the comfort, are passing through your hands and into his. You're quite convinced that you could stay right where you are forever. 

Bury me like this, you think. Immortalise us here. 

All of a sudden, the sound of a countdown breaks through your solitude. 

Ten. Nine.

You smile gently, and look at Jake, to see him gazing down at you. Stars in his eyes. Cosmic boy. 

Eight. Seven. 

He glances inside, to see the squad all gathered together, arms around one another. His family. 

Six. Five. 

Jake turns to you, and cups your face in both of his hands. Those hands that have picked you up from the ground. Those hands that have wiped your tears. Those hands, so strong, but so gentle. That's him all over, though. Your gentle boy. 

Four. Three. 

He looks at you with promise in his eyes. You can understand, clear as day, what he's telling you. Life will never be the same, from this day forward. Neither of you can wait. 

Two. One. 

Jake leans in, and presses his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint, and the future. One of his hands travels to the back of your neck, to pull you in closer. Now that he has you this near, he knows he's never going to be able to let you go. 

Bodies pressed together as close as can be, you kiss him with so much love, you're surprised he hasn't fallen over. He's breathing you in, trying to commit this moment to memory. He knows he'll tell your grandkids about this. Hell, he'll tell any damn person that'll listen. 

"Happy New Year, sweetheart," he murmurs against your lips. 

"Happy New Year, lover," you whisper back against his. 

Bright beams of light appear above your head suddenly. Explosions of color dance across the sky, illuminating Jake's face. You look at him, and feel the urge to burst into tears. He's not watching the fireworks. He's watching you. He's gazing at you like you hung the moon. You're looking at him like he's the North Star, guiding you home. And that's exactly where you are. Home.

[rustedhearts]

my funny valentine (steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: the hand-written evidence of an affair between high school sweethearts, displaced and reunited after war.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the library

♡ the record store

tags: “darling” used as reader insert name; infidelity; mention of war/violence; darling + steve are 35 at the time these letters are written. the time skip signifies lost letters (as they might, in actuality, get lost over the years)

"you make me smile with my heart...stay little valentine, please stay. each day is valentine's day."

— my funny valentine, ella fitzgerald

May 22nd, 1961

My Darling,

Please excuse this intrusion….I got your address from a neighbor. It was so lovely to see you today. I just couldn’t stand the thought of going one more moment without speaking more to you.

I couldn’t believe you thought me lost to you. Though, I cannot blame you for this train of thought. I was gone so long. It was silly to believe you would have waited all your life. Two years was long enough….I don’t blame you for moving on. But did you need to move to London? My Darling, it’s so far from home. I can excuse the new husband given my absence and its circumstance, but the distance will not do.

Nevertheless, I’m rambling. What I truly wanted to say, what I have longed to say since I boarded that train, and what I have wanted to say all day since seeing you on that wet little park bench in your fur coat….I still love you with all my heart. Is there any chance you still love me, too?

Yours,

Steve Harrington

May 24th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

Of course I still love you. You can imagine how confusing a feeling this is to me. Given the circumstance of a loving, successful husband found after such a long mourning period in which I now ponder the merit of….how could I still love you? It goes against all good graces which that of Almighty God intends for me.

But it doesn’t change the way my heart soars for you. The way it did when I saw you approach from across the pond in that tattered coat you’re still clinging to. Your hair is longer. I find it handsome.

I feel a sting of wrongdoing course through me as I etch these words down. Though I love you, Steve, we must not continue to write. Please tell me once what you endured, and then never more. I must have the answers I went so long without. I am allowing myself this selfishness.

However, when the tale is done, I cannot allow myself the selfishness of going on. My life has altered greatly since our time together, and my duties and responsibilities now lie elsewhere. I hope you can understand.

Sincerely,

Darling

May 30th, 1961

Darling girl,

I will begin first by disregarding the words that pierced me so. I will find it difficult to post this letter and think of it as the last of mine that you will ever read. Perhaps, by the end of it, you will have changed your mind.

When I left for Germany, it was as though we were thrown to the wolves. Peril and anguish and torment were all we knew. Myself, the men boys I fought with. We were all so young. Eighteen, twenty, the youngest seventeen. I cannot explain to you the horror of watching a young man’s arm blown off.

But you do not want to hear this. You want to hear of matters obtaining to you, of course. Answers you asked for and answers you shall retain. You’ve waited long enough.

When I returned to America two months after D-Day, I was bodily unscathed but no longer the man you knew. I found myself bound to fits of emotional and physical violence. Days of hysteria and madness that alarmed even my hostess. I was in no fit state to see you. I was, as well, thousands of miles away in California. So, when we were told to board for our way home, I did not go.

California was far enough that you could not find me and the man I had become.

My Darling, I wish I had sweeter excuses than these. I wish I could scrawl something of manly note, but…I owe you honesty. This, my sweet dear, is the honest truth. I was a hollow shell of the man you once knew. And I was afraid to return home to you.

Time in California fell like a whirlpool. A year had passed, and then two. By the time I had some handle on my fits, had worked through my madness and set home for you, you were gone. Your mother said ‘off to London,‘ and with a new beau to accompany you. A husband.

Something I was supposed to be.

Where I failed, I suppose he thrived. I hope you are happy, sweet girl.

Please, feel obliged to reply.

Yours still,

Steve

June 12th, 1961

Steve,

You always knew just how to sweeten the bitterness of goodbye. So much sweetness that I grow too sick to move through with it. Alas, that is why I’ve picked up my pen to write again. Curse you, Steve Harrington. You have such hold over me.

Now, I think it only right that I answer the questions you have not asked, but that I know you are curious of. Reggie is my husband, and we met two summers after the end of the war. I went so long pale and sick with grief, thinking I lost you to Heaven. I had come to terms with this, buried any idea that you might come home.

Reggie was a businessman, in town for dealings. He hails from London, which is the swift explanation for my immigration here. Our love was quick and easy, and when he asked me to marry him on our fifth date, I had no reason not to say yes. You were, in the mind of a young girl engaged to a soldier that did not come home, gone. There was no vow or promise being broken.

I would, however, be breaking all promises of honesty under God if I were to say I have not thought of you in these past years.

I feel an indescribable ache for your suffering, and all the suffering of young men in a similar state to yours. I take your words as oath, as I promised to do so many years ago...which is why I can assure that my heart weeps for you so. Not just for your suffering, but for your company. I think it always might.

Might we allow ourselves one more act of selfishness? An act in the park, Sunday afternoon?

Please return soon.

Darling

June 14th, 1961 Darling,

I would be happy to oblige you in the park on Sunday. Will 2:00 do? Though, you were always an admirer of early morning strolls. Perhaps 10? You always did love a bird call.

Every post from you makes my heart soar, Darling. Did you know? The prospect of keeping your company for even a few hours has me yearning for a busy week, if only to keep the impatience at bay. I meant it truly when I wished your happiness. Fondly, Steve

June 15th, 1961

Steve,

Yes, 10:00 will do. I will be there, wearing my fur coat.

Eagerly awaiting,

Darling

June 20th, 1961 My Darling, Oh I cannot scrub my mind free of this torment. Our act of selfishness I knew to be tempting, but now I am delirious. If I thought my need for you was strong before, it is insufferably so now. You were so beautiful in your coat, in your plum dress. The color compliments your skin so well. I have not seen your eyes that closely in years. Only in photographs, that I horde and selfishly admire in the depths of dark nights, have I seen those eyes of late. And now here they were, staring up at me. With such blatant love as they did once before. Yes, my Darling, I saw all of it there. Are we to go on lying to ourselves, saying we're better off? Our time has passed, it has been so long, yes. Yes, I know it. But I know also that I cannot go another day without making up for the time lost between. Darling girl, please be selfish with me. Please live our days selfishly for as long as we might have. Yours, Steve

June 22nd, 1961

Steve,

I pride myself for honesty, so I will satisfy you with my brief agreement. My heart thumped so wildly in the park on Sunday that I thought it might break free from my body. Would you catch it in your hands if it had? Would you crush it? Oh, Steve, it has always belonged to your hands. The love you detected was not an illusion. It never died, not even across the sea.

Yet, what of Reggie? I love him dearly, as well, though maybe never quite like I did you. He is, nevertheless, my husband. We have grown to live such a wonderful life. And yes, we cannot have children, but we are finding ways to fill this void. The void will only grow, I fear, if I continue to be selfish with you. I will find new gaps and black holes in our life together, and I cannot be unhappy in a marriage that is sufficiently content.

Please do not ask this of me. My heart cannot bear to say no.

Yours,

Darling

June 24th, 1961 Darling, I know you are frightened, but might our love be stronger than this fear? Please do not deny me, I might break entirely apart. Do you not see the predicament we are in? To lose so many years, yet find each other in a completely different part of the world from where we were born. Is it not an act of God stringing us together again? One night, my sweet Darling. If not an eternity as we once intended, one night will suffice. Please do not say no. Yours waiting, Steve

June 27th, 1961

Sweet Steve,

I have been awake for days, ailing over your proposal. Know I do not intend to make any decision without a full realization of every consequence. To deny you would leave me with an ache like no other forever plagued on my heart. To accept, I would part ways with the very peace of mind that my marriage is pure of all faults as it is now, and was before you.

Attach the address of your hotel.

Yours,

Darling

June 29th, 1961 Oh my Darling, I believe I read over your words so frequently and at such a swift pace that my eyes are still sore. Attached is the address of my stay, and know I will be waiting no matter the hour. Come as you please, whenever you wish. I will be at the door. To hold you in my arms again is all I can live for in the hours between. Yours, Steve

July 3rd, 1961

Steve,

The loveliest of nights has passed between us, and yet I feel sick with the wrongness of our sheer audacity. Entangled in your arms, wrapped in those cotton sheets just feeling your breath and your flesh as it always was...I cannot think of a better mercy. For our suffering, for our loss. But will I obtain God's forgiveness when the day is to come? For what I have done to Reggie, I think this always a stain on my conscience.

Yet, some sort of delirium has come over me since that night. I seem incapable of clear thinking. If it is stained, let it be stained.

Please write to the attached P.O box from now on. I cannot risk interception, but I cannot risk a silence from you.

My darling Steve, will you stay?

Yours entirely,

Darling

July 5th, 1961 Darling, You cannot fathom how long I have waited to hear these words. Yes, I will stay. Yes, I will be yours, if you shall be mine. The hours allowed to us are the brightest of my days. I will find permanent residence somewhere in traveling distance so long as it allows me proximity to your love. Please come soon. I miss you terribly. Love, Steve

September 19th, 1961 Darling, You were upset last we parted, and my wish to quell your ailing grows stronger by the hour. I have grown to know your marriage and your Reggie as you have told, and I know now he cannot make you happy. I could make you happy, delightfully happy. The children you have always wanted are in our future, I know this is true. Please, change your mind and say yes, and we can have it. The future you crave, the future you deserve. Adventure, and intrigue, and passion that he cannot fathom. I have stared into the depths of your soul, and have bared all parts of my own. Can you say the same of him? Please, my Darling girl. I only think of you. Yours, Steve

September 22nd, 1961

Steve,

It is with aching eyes and a sore, sinking heart that I have prepared this for you. Know the walk to post it felt like a march to the death. In some way, this is death. Part of me, sealed away by your sweet kisses, and tender touches, and all those long hours whispering secrets in the dark. Part of me will always live in these moments, and that part of me has died.

I cannot leave Reggie, and your request of such leaves nowhere for our selfishness to go. We must not go on like this. Not if we are to live full and fulfilling lives without secret and pain. It is too much for one heart to bear. Were we to go on, it would kill me entirely. I must sacrifice a small part to save the whole. Oh, my love, I hope you understand. I hope you can forgive me.

Yours, now and always,

Darling

[aurumacadicus]

"Miss Widow, I need you to be my partner in crime," Peter said, dropping from the ceiling. He waited for a beat, expecting a rolling of eyes or an exasperated sigh. When he received nothing but a raised eyebrow, he hesitantly asked, "Aren't you going to correct me, or..."

"It's good that you have some fear of me, Peter," Natasha told him simply. "Has the crime already occurred? If you want a body buried, ask Bruce."

"...Hmm," Peter hummed, deciding he wasn't going to unpack all that. "Mr. Hawkeye said that you're the resident matchmaker."

Natasha sat up straighter. "Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Peter thrust his phone at her. "I have video evidence of Captain America being totally gone on Mr. Stark."

"Explain," Natasha said, clipped, even as she opened up his phone.

Peter did not ask how she knew his nine-digit code. Instead, he dutifully recounted, "So Mr. Stark decided we should swap playlists, ostensibly so I could listen to 'good music' but I think he wanted to see what the kids are into. I get some of my songs from TikTok and I think one of them is a bit of an ear-worm for him."

Natasha thumbed open his gallery and went directly to his last video, taking only a moment to turn the volume up. In it, she saw Tony in the common kitchen, fixing himself up a cup of coffee. He was swaying slightly like he did when he was humming. Steve was sipping a protein shake at the table, as if he was not glancing at Tony every other shift back-and-forth.

"I, wish I could synthesize, the picture perfect guy," Tony suddenly mumbled out loud, in that way he did when he had no idea his brain-to-mouth filter had stopped working. "Six, feet tall, and super strong--"

Steve perked up, sitting straight from where he'd been leaning on table.

"--We'd always get along--"

Steve flopped back onto the wood surface and took a morose sip from his protein shake.

Natasha felt her mouth drop open in shock as she watched Tony, oblivious, go back to humming and turn to leave the room. Despite Steve's obvious disappointment, it didn't stop him from tipping in his seat to be able to see Tony's ass properly.

"I'm going to kill him," Natasha decided.

"That's not the crime I wanted to be partners for," Peter cut in.

Natasha lifted her gaze to him, scowling. "He will express his feelings for Tony or die."

"...Hmm, " Peter hummed again. If he remembered correctly, both Sam and Bucky had said that Natasha expressed her affection to the people she cared about with cheesy jokes and threats to their lives. Steve would be fine, probably. "He didn't even sing the best part," he sighed instead.

Natasha slanted another sharp look toward him. "Oh yeah?"

"'He'd pick me up at eight, and not a minute later, 'cause I don't like to wait,'" Peter recited. "'Kind, and ain't afraid to cry, or treat his mama right. That's right, that's what I like.' Which, like, Captain America would rather bleed out than cry, but he doesn't sound constipated when he tells other people it's okay. Also I wish he would be less punctual," he added mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Aunt May keeps raising her eyebrows at me when he shows up to pick me up for training and I'm not ready."

Natasha bit back the urge to howl in rage. Of course Tony would get a song basically about Steve stuck in his head and not notice. Of course he wouldn't notice Steve panting after him like a dog. They were both stupid. That's why she was there, though, she supposed. "I will do the actual crimes," she told Peter firmly. "And you will keep your mouth shut."

"There will be actual crime!?" Peter yelped.

Natasha ignored him, instead returning to his phone and scrolling for more blackmail on Steve. He was the weakest link in this chain of idiocy. "Keep that up, Mr. Man."

"Oh boy," Peter sighed, shoulders sagging. There was some regret in his tone.

Good. It would solidify that modicum of fear he should keep about her.

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Just Another Notch

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Reader Masterlist

Summary: If Bucky thinks his charms will work on you, then you’re gonna put up one hell of a fight to prove him wrong. PART 4/? Part 5

An: Hey all, sorry I haven’t updated this baby in months. Gonna try and work on it more from now on. Hopefully it’ll be finished before the end of the year 🤞💜

Word Count: 1,278 (not proofread)

You never found him. After trekking through a path of destruction you realized, you didn’t know where exactly Bruce lives; better yet anywhere besides the lab he considers home. Once large foot prints and fallen trees ceased, so did your trail. You haven’t yet trained on tracking, so someone on foot could allude you indefinitely.

When you made it back to the compound, Friday announced “Stark will see you in his office, Ms. Y/L/N.”. You hadn’t even walked in the door, and already Bruce’s mess was piling up on your lap. As if you had control over a gamma radiated mutant.

Tony had another thing coming If he thinks you’ll pay damages. Your salary consisted of room and board, and a part time paycheck that you sent home to help your parents. Solid wood floors weren’t in your budget.

When you make it to Tony’s office it looks crowded. You can see Natasha, Steve and Bucky all standing around his desk, arms crossed with annoyed looks on their faces. This isn’t good, and it’s all your fault, you should’ve swallowed it, never mentioned it to Bruce.

You knock on the glass door, catching the attention of the the most attractive people you’ve ever seen. Their harsh gaze made you wish your X gene was invisibility. “You wanted to see me, Stark?” You pipe up, hoping the faster you get this over with, the easier it will be. You brave your face to the room, not putting your head down in shame. You won’t let this destroy you, you won’t let bullying ruin the workplace confidence you’d grown.

Tony rolls his eyes, “You know why you’re here, don’t play coy kid.”. Without hesitation You immediately start defending yourself, “I want to be the first one to apologize for the gym floor. I cannot excuse Bruce’s actions, they were not justified in any manor. Destruction of property over measly feelings, if not already, should be a fireable offense. I however have done nothing wrong. I played a part in telling Bruce about the situation, but I never could have foresaw this outcome.” Your chest is heaving when you finish. You’ve kept a neutral look on your face the entire time, meanwhile Tony’s face morphed into confusion, suprise, confusion again and then agreeance.

“Wow, the things I miss not living here.” He laughs, like it was some kind of joke. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, but I’d love for you to tell me the full story later.” You straighten your shoulders, what had you just done? Not only did you snitch on Bruce and yourself, but your pathetic plea was witnessed by three devils. Why are you here then?

You hadn’t done anything else wrong, you haven’t even been on a mission in forever. “Oh, my apologies then, I don’t know why I’m here.” You admit. Now you were unbearably nervous, you didn’t know what to expect. Tony opened a tab on his touch pad inlaid desk, pulling up the picture of an obviously foreign man. His menacing scowl only meant one thing, Hydra.

“Bruno Müller, age 37, served as a hitman for Hydra, much like yours truly.” He waves over to Bucky, giving him stank face. You nod your head, trying to take mental notes. “He was seen last night, on a yacht off the Florida Keys. Intel is saying, he’s hosting a party this weekend, and I want you to be in attendance.” Your head is spinning, you struggle to find the right words.

“What- I mean why me? You have many more capable agents at your disposal.” You’ve lost that workplace professionalism in place of confidence. You know you shouldn’t speak to your boss this way, but who does he think you are, Captain America?

“I would agree to disagree on that. Do not sell yourself short, your capabilities are more than qualified for this mission. But the truth is, no one knows you. You’re faceless.” You try to not let his last words hurt, but you suppose he’s right. It would be a simple plan, get in and get out, right? “What am I doing?” You ask, trying to fit the other three people into the plan somehow. “I need you to first, immerse yourself into this party, let everyone know you’re there. Talk with the women, flirt with the men, drink but don’t get drunk. If someone on this boat has a suspicion of you, it will take a minute for renforcements to arrive. Meaning, fighting off 30+ angry Hydra all by yourself.” He was blatant.

Your anxiety was starting to pick up. You’re not sure you can do it. The two super soldiers behind you instantly notice the shift in your mood. They see the hair on the back of your neck stand, and they can smell the sheen of sweat covering your body. Steve genuinely feels pity for you.

Tony continues, “Infiltrate his office, access his computer and download all of his files onto this bad boy right here.” He pulls a bracelet out of thin air. He gently unclasps it, revealing a usb drive hidden inside. “The second you plug it in, a virus will download onto his computer, corrupting the files, for any further use, and it will immediately download them, bypassing any need for passwords.”

Once he finished you had nothing to say. Well, you had plenty to say, but you couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further. “So, why are they here?” You finally ask, daring to make eye contact with Steve. His eyes weren’t as harsh as you expected.

“Every secret agent needs an intel team, and a guy in their ear, these two are your intel team, and Barnes is your new conscious.” Great. Now instead of playing along with him, you’re forced to be in their presence. You let the heroes behind you groan in place. They must’ve already debriefed, they had no witty remarks or protests.

“When do I leave?” You ask, just wanting to get out of the room at this point. You need to let yourself process everything, before you overload and overstimulate. “Tonight.” You give him a curt nod and leave before your team could ask you any questions. There would be plenty of time for that on the flight there.

Your brain is racing. Maybe it’s the combination of everything happening so far today and it’s only 9am. Or it’s the straps on the sports bra absolutely obliterating your shoulders. You’re pacing down to the simulation room, the only place you can go to escape.

You’re manically talking to yourself when you swing the door open. “How the actual fuck does he expect me to do this alone?” You ask no one. Seeing the empty desk chair Bruce left in its exact spot was enough to send you crumbling to your feet. Pressing your back against the door, squeezing your knees as close to your chest as possible. Bruce isn’t even here to console you because you fucked that up too. You bang the back of your head on the door, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”.

You doubt you’d see Bruce before you left, which meant you wouldn’t see him till you returned, which is never promised, better yet scheduled. You needed answers, why did be react like that? Wrapping your head around it was impossible, unbeknownst to you, Bruce sat pressed against his front door, his head in his hands, wondering why he can’t control his anger. Wondering if he’d scared you away forever, you’d never seen him as hulk before, just Bruce. He knew you liked just Bruce, but now there’s no telling.

[timeoutsoup]

Dig You A Grave

For @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 propmt

Klarion was enjoying his current mission for The Light. He was sent to a small city somewhere in America’s Midwest, to retrieve a magical tome that was currently in the hands of an eccentric billionaire. Imagine his surprise, when what he originally believed to be a boring errand, turns into an exciting night, because it turns out this city, Amity Park, reeked of Death magic and was infested with ghosts.

Giggling, the witch boy scratches his familiars chin as his eyes grow wide and his face splits into a mischievous grin. In front of him people were running in various directions, attempting to escape what looked like a giant ghostly cat, being ridden by a young girl.

“Oh, Teekl, this town is much more interesting than I originally believed.”

Watching mortals panic, as the ghostly cat destroys part of the street, and damages buildings, Klarion notices some pesky thorns in his side. Young Justice. Scoffing the witch boy decides to continue his mission.

“Well while it was fun watching, I should use this lovely feline as a distraction and continue my mission, don’t you agree Teekl.”

What Klarion, Teekl and Young Justice didn’t see was a teenage ghost fighting what appeared to be a genie, off in the distance, defeating her, and returning everything to normal.

Danny had just defeated Desiree, capped the Fenton thermos, and was looking for a place to detransform as the ghost genie’s wishes disappeared. He had noticed some superheroes fighting one of Desiree’s granted wishes and wondering why they were here. Sighing Danny notices where he is. Of course, his fight had to end in the back of fruit loop’s mayoral mansion, just his luck. He quickly ducked into an alleyway to change back.

Once back to his normal self, the young halfa heard yelling, and what sounded like a fight going on.

“I literally just defeated Desiree, and already another ghost appears.” Danny grumbles as he sticks his head out from the alleyway, and to his surprise it is not a ghost wreaking havoc on Amity, but a teenage boy, wearing a suit, glowing hands, and hair shaped into devil horns. The cute guy was taunting Vlad and Danny need to know.

Checking the streets, no one was around, the young halfa dashes through the open gates and crouches behind a bush.

“I do not care who you are, leave this property at once.” Vlad commands, glaring down his opponent.

“Oh quiet. You are interfering with my fun.” The young man says. “Now look what you’ve done. The Justice babies are here.”

Danny watched as Vlad was picked up by a guy in yellow and red spandex and is carried away in a flash.

“What are you doing here Klarion? Why are you attacking these people?” A young man with glowing tattoos askes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know water boy!” Klarion responds, raising his glowing palms, getting ready to attack.

Danny watches in amazement as Klarion fights the group of teenagers. Standing up, he leans on a near by tree and just watches the battle unfold.

No one noticed him until he let out a laugh at some of the banter going on. “’Aster.’ Who says ‘aster’?” the teen wheezes, as all eyes turn to him.

Klarion glances at the boy. “And who are you supposed to be? Another wannabe hero trying to stop me?”

Danny rolled his shoulder getting ready for a fight. “Alrighty. If you want to fight, I’ll fight you, and if I win let’s go on a date?” The halfa askes, smirking at Klarion.

Everyone froze. No one new what to do or how to react. It was Danny who broke the silence he made. “Well can I get an answer?”

Klarion regains his composure. “Alright Fine! But if I win, I’ll make you a grave!”

“Aw, you’re making me a grave already?! How sweet of you!” A hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks, but before they could continue, Danny is roughly picked up and is zoomed out of their by the same guy, who grabbed Vlad.

“Hey, kid that was super dangerous what you did. You need to stay out of it and let those of us who are trained take care of this.”

Before he even had a chance to respond, the speedster zipped back to the fight, leaving Danny on the other side of town. Determined to return to the fight, Danny whips his head around searching for a safe place to transform. It took a bit to find a spot, but he eventually did. Changing back into his ghost form, Phantom raced back to the mayoral mansion, and the fight that was raging, making sure to turn invisible on the way.

By the time Danny made it back, the fight had ended, and Klarion was now where to be seen. The team of teenage heroes was nowhere to be seen, doing who knows what, but left a destroyed lawn for Vlad to deal with.

Disappointed Danny turned to leave but notices an orange tabby, looking worse for wear staring at him. Floating down, still invisible, the cat’s eyes following his every move. He kneels in front of the feline, slowly offering his hand for the cat to smell, trying his best not to startle the poor thing. The cat sniffs his hand and butts its head against it, shocking the poor ghost boy. Most animals hated him, especially in his ghost form, feeling uneasy around a half dead guy. This cat was different. They were special.

Danny gently scooped up the injured cat, holding them gently in his arms, heading towards the nearest vet.

Klarion had succeeded in his mission of obtaining the tome for The Light, but at a heavy cost to himself.

Teekl had emerged from the Mayor’s Mansion having successfully gotten the book, only to be seen by the junior justice babies. They divided their attacks between him and his beloved familiar. In the end he was able to grab the book as he a Teekl were separated by a blast. Deciding to lead the heroes away and return for his beloved feline, Klarion took to the sky. Once he knew it was safe to return, the witch boy began his search for Teekl.

It had been three days and Klarion had not found her yet. Anger and worry clouded his vision, as he continued his search.

[its-time-to-write]

just a short little Thanksgiving blurb for all my American girlies 🥰🦃

ours

You force yourself back to the present, where your twelve year-old cousin is updating you on the latest middle school drama. 

“…and that’s why boys named Max are a red flag, but dogs named Max are not,” she concludes. 

You giggle and nod appropriately, taking a sip from your drink. The house is filled with the entire family this Thanksgiving and while it’s pleasantly crowded, it still feels like a part of you is missing. 

Your phone is securely in your bag, a tactic to try to keep yourself from replaying highlights from the England match from the previous weekend. Every other WAG got to go support their man, but you were stuck in America with pre-Thanksgiving work. Thanksgiving has only been going on for twenty minutes, and you’re ready to call it and go home. 

International dating is hard.

Your mom can tell, so she’s been giving you tasks to do all day. She must’ve told your grandma or maybe she’s just incredibly observant, because she’s picked up the mantle as well and neither of them give you enough time to be alone with your thoughts. 

It’s nice of them, except now the family’s here and everyone’s asking about your boyfriend. They don’t care that he’s a footballer (in the best way) and they’re all excited for you, but you wish he were here. 

Maybe you can sneak upstairs and call him. 

You do some quick math and realize he should be asleep so you sigh and ask your cousin if she wants to come with you to steal macaroni and cheese. 

She smiles and says, “Yes, duh.”

“It’s going to be tricky,” you warn. “My mom and your mom are going to be on the lookout.”

“I bet Grandpa will sneak us some,” she reminds you. Oh yes, Grandpa would do anything for his granddaughters. 

You grab her hand and weave through aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and a few other relatives. You’re pretty sure this is the biggest Thanksgiving you’ve ever had. 

You and your cousin successfully get your hands on two bowls of mac and cheese, and slip away to an unoccupied corner to eat it. 

You’re smiling and not thinking about Jamie at all. This is your favorite cousin, the one who’s eleven years younger than you, but you two have been doing dumb shit together since she could talk. 

You’re almost done when someone slides into your space, pressing their arm against yours. Your cousin’s eyes widen as she looks at you and you turn, expecting to see an aunt or god-forbid one of your snitch brothers. 

Instead, you’re met with blue eyes and a familiar smile. 

You choke on your last bite of food as you launch yourself into Jamie’s arms.  

“What are you doing here?” you ask, refusing to let go of him. “You have a match this weekend.”

He shrugs, still smiling. “Ah, you know, gotta be culturally sensitive with my American girlfriend, babe. Milestones and all that.”

You raise an eyebrow. There’s no way Roy let him go with that excuse. 

“Or I might have injured meself at the match last week and am out of training for two weeks,” Jamie says. 

“You’re hurt?” you exclaim. “Why didn’t you call me? Should you have been on a plane? What happened?”

You’ve inadvertently tightened your grip around Jamie’s neck, so he reaches up to remove your hands, still keeping them in his. He lifts them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“I’m fine. Just my ankle. But I figured, who not come surprise ya?”

“Does my mom know you’re here?”

Jamie’s grin turns cocky. “Called your mum and dad three days ago. I’m staying in their guest room, ain’t I? Got in this morning before you lot showed up.”

Your cousin has been watching this scene a little open-mouthed the whole time. “I wish my boyfriend would do that for me,” she murmurs. 

Your head snaps over to her. “Your what,” you say to her and she holds her hands up defensively. 

“Oh look it’s your English boyfriend who flew all the way to America for Thanksgiving, why don’t you kiss him some more?” she deflects, and Jamie shoots her a wink and tilts your face up for a kiss so your cousin can get away. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you tell him. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to have the BEST time. Get ready to have your mind blown, little British boy.”

“Anything for you, Miss America,” he teases. “Just don’t make me try those mushroom things I saw, looked fucking awful, that.”

You pull a shocked face. “Oh but it’s tradition. Everyone has to suffer through my uncle Darren’s gross stuffed mushrooms at least once. And since you’re new here…” you trail off. 

Jamie grimaces while you giggle and run a hand through his hair. God, you can’t believe he’s here and while you aren’t thrilled he’s injured, maybe it’s not such a bad thing. 

“C’mon,” you say, tugging him to the kitchen. “I want to go yell at mom and dad for not telling me you were coming.”

[tojisbbygworl]

Just For The Night - Hobie Brown x Black!Punk!Reader pt. 2

Summary: Two anarchists meet at a concert and decide that one night just isn't enough...but one night is all they have

Words: 5,697

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Mutual Pining, SMUT, Oral (f receiving), Degradation, Marijuana, High Sex, Pussy Whipped, Slight Accent Kink, Slight Angst, Yandere if you squint, Reader and Hobie are 21+, Canon Divergence (Doesn't follow ATSV events/Hobie's universe is present day instead of 1978), Mentions of protesting and Cop City in Atlanta, I tried my best with the British slang

author's note: Here's part 2! This one is muuuchhh longer so you can really skip the part before the page break if you're just here for the smut. It's mostly just her (your) backstory.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

"Shit, it's brick out here."

"You're telling me." The difference in temperature from the sweltering venue to the city almost made Hobie want to go back inside and fuck her in the bathroom instead. But Y/N did say that she had a blunt at home and she seemed very eager to smoke it. Or fuck him. Either one was good.

He took a moment to admire her. He was right about her Demonias. They were long with lot's of large buckles and he loved that he still towered over her even though they were platforms. Now that they were out of the dark building, he could see the various tattoos that littered her arm and thigh. Fuck him, he was going to have fun with her.

She told him that she didn’t live far and they could walk there. That was fine with him, he didn’t want to get on a cramped train anyway. He did wish that he could just swing them there, but then he wouldn’t see the way her ass moves while she walks.

He would be lying if he said she didn’t intrigue him. From his knowledge, Atlanta, Georgia was considered the Deep South of America. It had to have been hundreds of miles away. And this area doesn’t seem like a place someone who was swimming in money would be living in. Not that it was terrible, more so humble. Like where he lived.

“So, tell me,” he calls out to her. She was walking a little ways ahead of him, courtesy of Hobie wanting to ogle her. She turned around when he spoke. “How does an Atlanta babe find herself at a Rico Nasty concert in Brooklyn?”

She waits for him to catch up to her then starts walking by his side. “Huh, it’s a…long story.”

“I don’t mind.” He answers honestly. Since they’ve left the concert, Hobie has felt a strange pull towards her that exceeded his feeling of lust. He wondered if she felt the same.

She went quiet and opted to look thoughtfully towards the ground. Hobie began to backtrack. “Or, I could shut up and let you sit on my face instead. Whichever one you want.”

She squealed and hit his chest making him laugh. It wasn’t really a joke, but Hobie’s glad to see that he didn’t make her uncomfortable. “Nah, your good,” she reassured him. “I can do both.”

“Oh?” Hobie raised his eyebrows and gave her his full undivided attention. She takes in a deep breath, let’s it out, and begins to tell him her story.

“Well, you seem like someone who can appreciate a rebel.”

“Yeah?” Hobie bemused. What would this girl be rebelling against? “So, what your like a runaway? Parents, maybe?”

She looked away. Ah, he read her like a book. Then she dropped a bomb on him. “Eh, kind of. More so the Atlanta Police Department.”

He froze. She giggled to herself pretending to not notice and turn around when she was some feet away. She knew he wasn’t expecting that. No one does. She could count on her hand how many people up here she’s told and he was one of them. She trusted him, and she doesn’t know why. She hoped he felt the same.

Hobie couldn’t take his eyes off of her. When he realized how far she was, he ran to catch up. “You're on the run from the Atlanta PD?” She couldn’t contain herself enough and she let out a snort and nodded her head. Hobie shakes his. “No. I don’t believe it. You’re having a laugh.”

“I’m deadass.” She answers still laughing. Hobie drops his head in utter disbelief.

“Well what in bloody hell did you do?” The both of you start walking again.

“...You might not know but, a couple years ago there was a huge uproar of protesting here. In the US, I mean.”

Hobie did not know. He assumes something terrible must have happened, and he’s sure that something like that would have reached London. Maybe it didn’t happen on Earth - 138.

He gingerly shook his head. “I was a part of them. I would organize with some close friends and hand out water and snacks while we were there.” She explained.

“My parents weren’t too happy about that. I had just graduated and I wasn’t going to college. I had a job at a tattoo parlor so…they thought I was a failure.” Hobie listened intently to every word she said. “They would say I just love to bring trouble and always used me going out as an example.”

“They were afraid an officer would come to the door next. And then one day shit went left and we were getting sprayed with tear gas. My stupid ass picked up a can and threw that shit. I guess it hit one of them in the face, I don’t know. I couldn’t see shit.” She giggles and he laughs with her.

“I was pinned down and put in a holding cell for about a week.” She continues.

“Shit.” Hobie knew a few people who that’s happened to. Every story shares the same thing, it’s fucking terrible.

She nods. “Yeahhhh…then my parents kicked me out.”

“Shit,” he exclaims. She continues to nod. “So is that how you got here?” She shakes her head. Hobie gasps. “There’s more?” Nod. He gasps again making her laugh at him. “Tell me.”

“Okay, Okay,” She waits to calm down a bit. “I was just staying with friends after that. Then, maybe some months ago, there was this project announced for the city.” Hobie frowns noticing how much more dejected she had become. “They were going to cut down a forest to create a ‘training ground’ for emergency services.”

“What the fuck…?” Hobie was appalled.

“You can imagine how that sounds to civilians, right? A mock city for law enforcement to play cops and fucking robbers.” She spits out. “I was part of the groups of people who stayed in the forest to prevent construction.”

Just like before, he stopped again. This time, in complete and utter admiration. She smiled at him. “That’s…amazing.”

“Thank you.” She nods her head back to the path so they can continue walking. Hobie stands just a little bit closer to her now.

“So...did shit go left again?” He asked only half joking. She grimaced.

“It was bad. There were a lot of gunshots, and screaming. And fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

He stared at her expectantly. “And what did you do with them?”

She looks around cutely while smiling. Hobie knows that whatever she did, she didn’t regret it for a second. “Maybe I lit up and threw it at one’s foot. And then it lit the leaves on fire.”

He can’t hold back the laugh that kept from his throat. “Ha!” He clapped his hands and looked at her. “What happened after that?”

“I think he recognized me from the protests or maybe I’m just a hot topic, because the way that man came at me and mowed me down.” Hobie jerked his head back.

“What?”

“Boy, yes. That man tried to beat me with his baton.” The story just kept getting wilder and wilder.

“How did you get out of that?”

“I stole his taser and shot it at his chest.”

“No, your taking the piss,” he shouted excitedly. “No you didn’t.”

“Hold on now because he was still holding me so I got shocked too.” Hobie cackled at her. “It worked though. He let me go and I ran away with some of the others. Only a few people stayed behind. I went back home and woke up to my face on the news the next day.”

The the emotional rollercoaster that Hobie was one was something for the books. He had never felt such quick changes in such little time. He was shocked, then sad, then impressed, then elated, then sad again. What is this girl’s life?

“Man I had to get the fuck out of there. My friend took me up to Maryland where her family lived. Then they brought me here. I got a lil’ ugly ass apartment and a new tattoo job. Made a couple friends, and now I’m here. With you.”

That last part wasn’t expected for either of them. It just came out. But it felt nice.

The two of them looked at each other and basked in their presence. She could feel the pride and admiration for her coming off of him in ways. She could see it in his eyes just as brown as hers. Good. He wanted her to.

A car pulled up from down the street. The both of them were released from their trance and looked. They recognized those kinds of headlights anywhere.

Hobie fought the urge to try and hide before the cop car got to them, as he didn’t want to scare her. There was no reason for her to run from NYPD, right?

Wrong. She grabbed his hand and slipped into the alleyway.

Hobie just let her pull him along. She clearly knows what she’s doing. After coming out on the other side of the street, she begins to keep her eyes alert. She lets go of his hand and continues walking. She just won’t stop giving him reasons to want her, huh?

“And what was that about?” He teases. She smirks at him.

“I didn’t come to New York to be a good girl.” And it was as simple as that.

She walks a few more feet then turns wondering why he’s not saying anything. But when she meets his eyes her heart start beating in anticipation. He was staring her down hard. His smirk was small and his eyelids were low. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

Hobie uses her surprise to his advantage. He walks up to her and pulls her into a tiny space between two buildings. It wasn’t much of an alley, but it did enough to shield their bodies from the street light; it only shining his wicks as he towers over her body and presses her against the wall. He nudges her chin up, winks at her, then meets her lips. Her hands rest on his shoulders as his arms trap her in. He resists putting his tongue in her mouth, as she still had her makeup on and this sweet but desperate kiss would turn sloppy.

He’s the one who has to pull away, her eyes were still closed when he did. “How much longer do I have to wait before I can have you?”

She catches her breath and tells him, “We’re only a couple minutes away, Hobie.”

Hobie leans down again and kisses her neck. She shudders and moves her hands to the back of his. Hobie gives her soft smooches, one lick, and a bite. Then, one more kiss, before he finally pulls away. He tugs her back onto the street and nods his head down the path. She starts to pick up the pace.

~

Her building wasn’t too shabby. At least the walls looked freshly painted. The inside of her apartment looked very cozy. She had rugs wherever it made sense to put them and low beam orange-yellow lights. She was walking ahead of him and turned around to speak. “Get comfortable on the couch. I’ll be right back.” Then she disappears down a hallway.

Hobie pulls off his boots and places them against the wall. Then he takes off his jacket and a few extra accessories that were a bit uncomfortable now that he had no adrenaline. He walks into her living room and plops himself onto the comfy, leather couch. Faux, he hoped.

He rests his arms and hangs his head backwards over it, eyes closed. Before Y/N disappeared down the hallway, she had flicked a little device on the wall. It must have been the heater since Hobie had just heard something blowing air in the walls. He lifts his head up and takes in his surroundings.

It was a bit small, but perfect for one woman living alone. There were unlit candles on almost every surface, and a beats pill sitting in the side of the room. His favorite sight, by far, was a fat bong sitter right on the coffee table. He chuckled to himself. She could probably live here with a significant other.

It was times like this that he wishes he was normal. He wishes he could wake up to a beautiful face, smoke something, leave home to work, dismantle corporations, or just spend time with his friends, then come back home to that same face, light some candles, and enjoy the rest of his night in her arms. He doesn’t understand why he’s thinking of her when he imagines this, but he invites it.

She comes back with a burner and a small Bic lighter. She uses the burner to light the various candles and Hobie admires her. She still had her clothes on except her shoes which he was happy about. He really wanted to see her tits in those fishnets. Her makeup was off. Her skin was glowing. Her Bantu knots were still in her head. He wondered if she would let him help her take them out, but he’s sure she just wants to fuck and get it over with.

He stops watching her to think about it for a second. When they’re done smoking and having sex Hobie would leave. Not just leave, go back to his own dimension. The thought that he couldn’t keep tabs on her, maybe follow her Instagram or even get her number hadn’t even crossed him. He didn’t like it.

His face must have seemed troubled, because she stopped and looked at him in concern. “You good?” She asks getting his attention.

“Hm? I’m fine, love.” She nods and reaches into her pocket and throws a condom onto the table, then behind her ear to take the blunt out. Then she sits next to him on the couch.

“Want some music?” She asks. Hobie nods. “I’m all punk’d out. Can I play RnB instead?”

“Please do. I feel like chilling right now.”

The pill begins to play soft drums and a bass before Erykah Badu starts singing. He liked music from Miles’s universe, regardless of the genre.

It’s like an unspoken agreement that they would be hanging out for a while. She lights it up, takes a couple puffs, then hands it over to him. He does the same. He takes longer drags producing a much larger cloud then breathes it all in. She looks at him incredulously.

“Ay? Problem, love?”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re so cool?”

He takes another drag. “I am.”

She grabs it from him and does a French inhale. Hobie couldn’t stop looking at her. He reaches his hands behind her back and pull her even closer to him. Her legs rested on his. She hands it to him.

“I told you everything about me. What about you? Did you travel to America just to see Rico?”

Hobie shook his head, trying to rack his brain for a proper explanation. “I travel around a lot. Had a pen pal who lived here and I came to see him. He told me about the concert so I went with him. Not as interesting as your journey.” He takes a drag. “Although I’ve had my fair share of trouble with cops.”

“Is that why we click so well?”

He smirked at her. “Yeah.” Another drag. “But, as banging as you are, you’re not on my level.”

Raising her eyebrow she sits up. “And why the hell not?” She jokes.

“Haven’t killed a cop yet.”

It was her turn to be shocked. She gave him the same fascinated look he had. “You’ve killed a cop?”

“Check the laces, innit?”

She stretches her head over the couch to look at his shoes and sure enough, his laces are blue. Speechless and filled with admiration, she freezes. Her neck is exposed, and Hobie doesn’t stop himself from licking it then giving it a smooch. She gasps and shudders. Slowly she smiles as she sits back down and stares at him.

“Does that excite you?” Hobie asks. She nods. He shifts, his pants beginning to get uncomfortable. He puts the blunt down on the side table, grabs her and pulls her into his lap. Her center collides with his crotch and they both groan. Hobie picks up the blunt, puffs on it to light it up again, then hands it to her. “Hit it nice and slowly. And lift your head up.”

She does as he asks. Hobie pulls her neck down to his mouth and his begins to bite and suck on it. She whines and takes the blunt out of her mouth, not being able to focus on it. Hobie hums in desperation when she starts grinding on him.

“You’re a proper sket, aren’t you?” He whispers. He’s sure she has no clue what he means, so he brings her face down to look at him. “Just a big fucking slut.”

She bit her lip and nodded. Hobie smirked, takes the blunt and drags, then kisses her. The smoke escapes their conjoined mouths as they explore them with their tongues. She starts to suck on his, making him hold her tighter to his body. Hobie makes a sound of pleasure in his throat that ripples through his chest. He pulls his face away from hers and they pant while staring at each other.

“Take this shit off.” He lays her down onto the couch and stands up to pull his shirt and jeans off. She takes off her shorts and fishnet bottoms at the same time. Before she could take off her top, Hobie holds her thigh and squeezes it. “Only take off the shirt.”

She nods and pulls the crop top off. Her tits fall in unison constrained by the fishnets. Hobie could moan at the sight of them. He was right about how good they would look. He doesn’t waste anytime in getting between her open legs and grabbing them. He lets his thumb flick her nipples, enjoying the feeling of fabric and skin. Her small moans go straight to his member, and he decides to take his underwear off completely. She braces herself.

He is long and curved. She knew he would ruin her when she got him home, but she underestimated how nice his dick looked.

“Don’t get scared. I’ll take good care of you.” He tells her.

“Yeah you better,” she tells him. She begins looking around. “Hey, where is it?”

“This?” He pulls out the blunt from seemingly nowhere then the lighter lighting it up once more. He hands it to her then leans over and takes a nipple into his mouth. Her moan was lethal, and Hobie loses his resolve. He was going to tease her, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure shooting through his body as he licks her nipple through the small diamond hole. She begins humping the air.

“You’re desperate to be played with aren’t you, love?”

“Uh-Huh” she says breathy. Her eyes are red and lidded. Hobie gets an idea.

“Hand that over,” he takes a couple more puffs giving her a kiss afterwards. She reaches out for it and he smirks at her. He holds it away from her, rubbing her thighs. She lets out an exclamation.

“Excuse you. That’s my weed.”

“What’s yours is mine.”

“Um, what’s mine is mine.”

Hobie trails his finger to her wet center, playing with her thong before pushing it to the side. He puts his thumb on her clit and she flinches. “Oh…”

“Yeah. Stop talking all that shit.” He begins to rub his thumb around it, his finger getting wet with each pass over. She’s whimpering and jerking her hips into his hand. “You like that?” All she can do is nod.

Hobie slows down and switches fingers. He smokes while inserting his middle finger into her. As it sinks further and further, she lets out a satisfied moan. He pumps it in and out of her pussy, a squelching sound filing the air.

He leans down and puts his tongue on her clit not letting up on fingering her too. She lets out a loud moan. Hobie puts the blunt on the floor, obsessed with the way her pussy gushes in his mouth. She starts to hump his face. Hobie watches her hand begin to reach out to him, then he grabs it and puts it on his head, wrapping her fingers around his wicks. He moans when she begins to pull him further into her pussy. He pulls his drenched finger out grabs her thighs and grips them tightly. He shakes his head back and forth, sucking and spreading her juices across her vagina.

“Ooo, I’m gonna cum.”

When he hears that he lifts his head and wipes his mouth. She whines but he shushes her by taking the blunt, holding it to her mouth, and she takes a drag from it. She is completely relaxed as she breathes it out, her eyelids lidded and eyes fluttering into the back of her head. He thought it was the sexiest thing you had done that night.

“Fuck, you’re peng.” Shit, he has got to start learning American slang. “That was sexy. I want to see you do it with my dick inside you.”

He takes the condom and rolls it on his dick, groaning under his breath from how it feels. He aligns himself with her hips.

“Ooo,” she lets out. “But wait, you don’t want some head?”

Hobie shakes his head and jerks himself. “I want you now, beautiful.” He keeps the blunt in his mouth and slaps his dick on her pussy. Her juices splash onto their thighs. Hobie grunts.

Keeping his head down, he looks at her face. Her eye lids are still low, but he can see her beautiful brown cornea staring at him full of lust and want. With the blunt in his mouth, he talks out the side of his mouth. “Beg for it,” he says.

Her eyelids widen, but the promiscuous look on her face doesn’t change. “What, baby?”

“Mm,” he says pleased by the pet name. He takes it out of his mouth and smiles at her. “Beg me to fuck you like a whore, love.”

She scrunches her shoulders up and tries to close her thighs, but she smiles and bites her lip. She liked the degradation and embarrassment of it all. Hobie liked it too. He pulls her thighs apart again. Placing his dick on top of her pussy, he waits for her to follow his instruction. “Come on, I know you can, pretty girl. You want this dick don’t you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Call me baby again.”

“Please fuck me, baby.”

Hobie pumps his dick even more. He places the tip right at her hole, becoming evermore impatient. “Fuck, now say my name.”

“Hobie…mmm…” he slowly sinks himself into her.

“Fuck, say it again.”

“Hobie…” They sigh together when he’s fully sheathed inside of her. Her walls are already clamping around him. She’s so wet, and ready for his dick. Hobie keeps himself inside her and lights the blunt again reveling in her desperation. He takes his precious time to smoke some more while she begins to whine and grind herself onto him.

“Hobie, please fuck me.”

“Wait.” She whimpers for him, tears begin to form in her eyes from the depravity.

“Hobie…”

“If you keep saying my name like that I might stay inside you like this.”

“No, please don’t. I need it so badly.”

He inhaled a ghost. “Yeah?” He slowly unsheathes himself then slams back into her. She yelps.

“Yes, daddy,”

Hobie whistles. “Oh, I didn’t know you had that in the vault. You wanna keep calling me that, Atlanta babe?"

“Start fucking me and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Hobie chuckles. “You got a mouth, don’t you?” He holds the blunt to her mouth again, grabs her hips, then starts fucking her. "I like baby a little more." She blew out the smoke the same way, it coming out in puffs from Hobie’s humping.

“Shit, love. You’re amazing.” He takes the blunt away and places it on the side table. Hobie grabs both sides of her hips and begins to fuck her harder. Their moans fill the apartment. Hobie stares at her beautiful breasts bouncing in her fishnets. Hobie’s too tall to lean down and suck on them, so he grabs one instead and squeezes it. She looks into his eyes and grabs his face. She smiles at him. Hobie’s eyes fill with curiosity.

“You can smack them if you want.”

Hobie slows down in disbelief. Then he smiles and starts fucking her harder. Hobie takes his hand and smacks one, as she requested. She moaned with a permanent beam on her face. Hobie is completely and totally enamored. He stops fucking her and pulls himself out.

“Come sit on me.”

“Okay, baby”

Hobie sits upright on the couch. She climbs on top of him and grabs his dick, loving the little grunt he let out She inserts him back inside her. They moan together while she sinks down onto his curved length. She pauses when he’s fully inside, his dick hitting places she didn’t even know could feel so good.

She grabs his face and pulls it up to meet hers. They stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like forever. Hobie lost himself in hers. He couldn’t move or speak or think. All of his emotions were portrayed in the way he looked at her. He wanted her, badly. In this moment she became everything to him. Then she started to rock.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered embarrassingly. The sounds that left his love’s mouth were lilted and pleasured. It didn’t take long for her to go faster. “Just like that, babe.”

Hobie’s breaths are loud and raunchy, while she lets out small pleasured hums. He takes his hands and rubs up her torso. Hobie wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. His head rests in her neck as he shifts down the couch the begins lifting his hips up into her. She doesn’t sound so quiet anymore.

“Oh…Y/N…” he whines.

Something inside of Hobie broke and he felt completely vulnerable. If she were to ask him anything, he would answer truthfully. He wanted to tell her everything. About the spider society, him being a spider man, the multiverse and everything within it. He wonders if she would accept it. Hell, he felt as though he could, she reacted better than he imagine she would when he told her he’s killed a cop.

For some reason, he felt like he could trust her. He thinks if he did tell her the whole truth, she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. How would she react if he opened a portal right then and there and brought her to his own apartment in his own universe? Would she be okay with it? Would she even come in the first place?

He liked the idea of keeping her with him. He liked the thought of seeing her all the time without the risks of inter dimensional travel. Just coming back home, after the most tiring and troublesome day of working for Miguel, and seeing her beautiful body and even more gorgeous face.

Mm, he really liked it.

“Ngh…fuck, Y/N,” he whines into her ear, holding on to her body for dear life.

“Hobie, I’m gonna cum,”

He smacked her ass then pulled her face towards his. "Call me baby."

"Baby, I'm gonna cum." He bites down on her shoulder and begins to really pound into her forcing quick breaths from her lungs.

When the both of them come undone, they stare into each others eyes, not saying a word. She slowly grinds into him, and it overstimulates the both of them.

“Fuck, doll,” he whimpers looking between their stomachs. He was completely seated inside of her, and made him want to go for a second round. It normally would take him a minute to get himself back up, but with the way she was yearning for him with her eyes, it won’t take him long before he flips her around and takes her from behind.

As the both of them were coming down, Hobie began to feel an overarching sense of anxiety. This wasn’t Spidey-sense as there wasn’t any feeling of danger. No. Hobie was feeling…grief.

Grief from what? Why is it that he didn’t want to stop humping into her? Making her whisper curses into his ear? Was it because if he did, that would mean what they were having was over? If he pulls out of her, he’ll put on his clothes, find an alley, and travel back to Earth-138. Hobie can’t see or contact her. He would be gone forever.

Did she feel the same? Is that why she refuses to let go of him? Why she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she continues to milk his dick?

He could use some rest. He wanted nothing more than to finish smoking and fall asleep. But, when he thought of his bong at home it felt…wrong. As if there was a question and that wasn’t the right answer.

Why is he instead thinking about finishing what they were smoking then falling asleep on her bed? He needed to get a fucking grip. So he knocked out of his stupor. It felt like a bucket of cold water splashed over him and he came back to reality

She felt the shift. The thought they both shared that it was time to stop. Their time together has come to an end. The toll of a bell rings through her chest, and she fights the tears as she climbs off of him, kissing him sweetly before she goes.

Hobie sits there and looks at her standing up. He enjoyed that kiss. He wanted another one. He needed another one. He swallows his spit and asks her, “How was it?”

She smiles at him shyly. She was just the prettiest thing he had laid eyes on. “Amazing, Hobie.”

He smiled in content and relief. “I live to please,” he joked. It was otherworldly for him.

She giggled and walks by him, but before she could go, Hobie grabs her arm and pulls her down towards him. He captures her lips in a blissful kiss, then lets her go so she can walk to her room for a minute. Hobie isn’t sure what she’s doing, but while she’s gone, he lets his mind run. Tonight, he had found a perfect woman. She was beautiful and disruptive, not performative in anyway. All the qualities of a superhero in one civilian body. If anyone deserved the spider bite, it was her.

This…can’t be the last time he sees her. And why does it have to be? No one cares about the casual travel rule; everyone visits each other’s worlds all the time for whatever reason. The only thing was doing it sparsely so Miguel doesn’t catch on. Hobie could pop in here and there, right?…but would she want that?

How could it even work? He has no way of contacting her, so she’ll never know when to expect him. Is she just supposed to wait for the one day he can finally show up?

This was frustrating. Hobie always breaks the rules. He does what’s not supposed to be done, but he can’t figure out how this relationship would ever work. He can’t bring her with him, lest her particles stretch, bend, and spread across space and time, and he can’t stay here. His people need their spider man.

Damn, he wants to keep her so bad. She is perfect. Even if he could get to America back home, he would never be able to find her. The story is different in every universe. Hell, she probably wasn’t even in America.

She comes back into the living room adorned with pjs to see Hobie standing with his clothes back on. The condom had long been thrown away. Some of his belts and accessories were off as well as his jacket, but he looked as though he was ready to go. She felt…broken. And she didn’t know why.

This wasn’t her first one night stand, but she doesn’t think she’s ever clicked with someone like this before. Definitely not a stranger. Definitely not a fine stranger like him. He was perfect to her, in every sense of the word.

And she to him. Certainly, this was his Gwen Stacy. “You goin’?” She whispered. She cleared her throat and held up the roach. “Thought you would want to finish this.”

Hobie could feel that she was just as desperate to get him to stay as he was inclined to. He looked into her longing eyes with some of his own feelings, and considered a possibility. If Miles can have his Gwen from a different universe, why can’t he have the same? It worked for Miles.

And he knows the answer. It’s because she’s a regular person. Hobie is Spider Punk. He doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to dream of getting what he wanted.

He clears his throat. “I, um…” he couldn’t find the words he wanted to convey. How does he say, “I’m a spider man from a different universe and we will never see each other again.” without scaring her from how clinically insane it sounded?

Luckily, she speaks for him. “I’m saying…you can stay the night.” She finishes confidently. “If you wanted.”

He did. He did want to. He wanted to stay with her so bad. But he shouldn’t. He’s spent way too much time here, and he has no idea what would alert Miguel…he should go. He should go. He really should go.

Hobie…

Go.

“I would love too.”

Her beautiful smile makes its appearance and the doubts that Hobie had melted away. He drops his things and start to take off his shoes. When he walks towards her, he notices how badly she’s struggling to contain her excitement and he knows he made the right choice.

“…Just for the night,” She says, giving him the roach.

“Yeah.” He takes it from her and grabs her hand to walk down the hall into her room. “Just for the night.”

He’s gone before the sun is up the next morning.

ending a/n: I hope y’all liked this. I love writing angst so much y’all don’t even understand I had to put some in here. And yes, he takes her hair down for her.

I am cursed with writing way too much and I apologize for all that reading. I hope you still enjoyed it. It was very fun to write and it’s probably one my most favorite things I’ve ever written. I love Hobie so much, maybe I’ll write for him again idk chile. Maybe I’ll write these two again in an unrelated fic. Or maybe I’ll continue this and y’all can get y’all’s happy ending. Maybe. I don’t rly write those lmao.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

Taglist: @otaku-degenarate

[skycowboys]

Hello, I adore your work, I was wondering in this world does any other form of transportation exist such as locomotives 🚂 (I’m an avid Railway/rail fan enthusiast and considering there were races between horses and the earliest locomotives, with horses and other four legged critters helping building the lines before being replaced) I feel like these “iron horses” wouldn’t exactly be much of a threat.

Hello!

That's so cool. Trains are so cool. I seriously wish we had more of them here in America - both historical trains and tracks but also highspeed rail. I will die and go to heaven of happiness the moment I can take a reliable train to a destination other than the metrodome on a Twins game day sob.

The old west history of trains is fascinating and a little tragic, but yeah you're correct about the SC world. Due to the chasms, trains aren't really that viable for cross-country travel and shipping of goods. Here's a quick rail line theoretical -

The main cities are circled in purple -

West/North/South Rook and Southcut are a farming and nymbak center due to the relatively large swaths of unbroken land and the river.

Denavi and Oakridge are known for their timber (and Denavi for lightning fish products).

Woodloch and Vale have universities.

Slipshod and Carver Canyon Falls are known for their mining, and the area north of Carver Canyon is another bread basket.

Almost all the space in between is free-range farm, timber, and livestock land.

I've drawn potential rail lines between them and you can see all of, uh, the problems lol. If there would be a maintained line, it'd be in the middle of the farmland north of the Rooks to transport grains southward to the Rooks, but people are so accustomed to skimmers (flying pegasi pulling wheeled carts on the ground) and shortwings pulling carts along paved roads, it'd be hard to convince them to put in rail lines. The people of SC are used to using what's in their local area to make a good living for themselves, supplemented with goods and knowhow brought in by pilots and trade routes supported by bridge and cable cars.

Eventually I want to make a map that includes bridges and cable cars because that might switch this up a bit, but first I gotta finish the book :)

But yeah, the pegasus is the main mode of transportation in the SC world, and other than footpaths there aren't really any others that get close to the popularity and efficiency of pegasus-centered methods.

~ Larn

[outsideratheart]

Finalissima (Leah Williamson x reader)

A/N: In honour of the lionesses wining the Finalissma here is a little fic. I’m not sure if it can be classed a sequal but it does take place in the same universe as Welcome to Colney. I hope you guys like it.

When you arrived at Wembley Park the sight of the stadium brought goosebumps to your skin. The stadium was legendary and as you looked up the steps at the end of Wembley way you saw the video montage advertising the historic match between the Champions of Europe and the Copa de America champions. A sense of pride fills you when you see the moment Leah lifts the trophy. You may not have known her at that point but hearing the way she described that day makes you feel like you were there. Then it showed you and the rest of the Brazilian team lifting your town trophy and you are reminded why you are there. You have a job to do and there it just so happened that the person standing in your way was also your girlfriend.

You were looking forward to the press conference because it meant you got to see Leah. Having just arrived for their MD -1 training, Leah and Sarina were already outside the conference room by the time you and Pia arrive.

“Don’t worry, you’re not late” You hear Leah say when she sees you reach into your pocket for your phone

It had only been four days since you had since Leah but boy was she a sight for sore eyes. 

You didn’t know what to do. With both Sarina and Pia standing close by you couldn’t greet the blonde you way you truly wanted to so you settle a hug which doesn’t half as long as you wished and subtly place a kiss to her neck as not to get caught by the women in front of you.

The four of you make small talk until a member of the media team tell you that the press conference is ready to begin. You and Leah enter side by side but are soon split up with you being placed at one end of the table and Leah at the other.

“They have to seperate us” Leah says earning a laugh from the journalists 

The blonde jokingly holds up her fists, a gesture which you respond.

“I’ll do my fighting on the pitch” 

Your competitive nature is something that Leah admired, now less so considering she was on the opposite end of it. 

The first couple of questions were for the coaches and whilst you tried your hardest to listen and take in what they were saying, your focus remained on your girlfriend. No words were exchanged put plenty was said with your eyes.

“Focus Y/N” your coach whispers whilst Sarina answer a journalist’s question.

“I am”

“On the press, not on your girlfriend” 

When you and Leah officially started dating you didn’t hide it. The fans soon noticed the way you were always together. They caught the moments when you hand rested a little bit too low on Leah’s back or how she was wore clothes that struck a striking resemblance to yours.

“I’m playing mind games” 

“No, you’re letting her in your head. Parar agora” 

Pia was right. Leah had been sending you teasing messages all day about how Wembley is her house and nobody will beat her there. She had access to your head that nobody else had and although you wouldn’t admit it, she was breaking you down from the inside.

You wait for the question that you know is coming. It just a matter of whether you or Leah gets asked it.

“Y/N, Leah” you both look at each other “Tomorrow you will be marking each other. Do you think this is will be easier or harder given that you are team mates?”

Leah waits knowing that you will want to answer this question.

“Before coming to Arsenal I knew that Leah was one of the the best centre backs in the world. In the last few months I have seen the reason why she rightfully has this title. As for tomorrow, what’s the saying? Iron sharpens Iron. I know Leah will bring her A game but there’s nothing I want more than to walk away from Wembley tomorrow Finalissima champions and being the first team to beat England under Sarina Wiegman”

She knew you meant it but the emotionless tone of your voice worried Leah. You were her team mate and girlfriend yet the way you talked about was as if she was just another opponent.

“Thanks Y/N” Leah jokes “Tomorrow is going to be difficult. Brazil has the reputation they have for a reason. Their playing style is like no other and we welcome the challenge. I admire Y/N’s optimism but we are playing at Wembley, these are our fans and we won’t let them down, they will see us lift another trophy” 

The tension between the two of you grew thick and heavy within seconds.

 “As you can see our captains are ready for battle” Pia jokes.

When the press conference ends you have an uneasy feeling in your gut. Ever since this fixture was announced you and Leah joked about going head to head but now that it’s the day before the game things have changed, there is no longer room for jokes.

The four of you leave the conference room, Pia says she will meet you back in the hotel stating that you need to be back for team meal and Sarina tells Leah to meet her on the pitch in ten minutes. 

Once you are alone you sink down the wall, Leah soon join you. When she is by your side your hand rests on her thigh and she leans her head against your shoulder.

“Are you ok?” Leah asks.

“It’s a lot” you place a gentle kiss to the side of her head “I hate that one of us has to lose tomorrow”

“It’s all part of the game Y/N, the game you love so much. That competitive fire the burns in there” Leah taps your heart “is why you care so much and it’s why you feel the way you do” 

“It is going to be really fun to beat you tomorrow”

“I’m being supportive and you’re ruining it” 

“I know, I’m sorry” 

Abruptly, Leah stands up and for a small moment you think she is mad at you so you avoid eye contact, instead choosing to play with the laces on your trainers. You feel Leah kick your foot gently in attempt to get your attention, it works. She holds her hands up and helps you to your feet.

“Tomorrow is going to be incredible, win or lose. We are making history and there’s no one I would rather do it with. We are going to lead our teams out to a sold out Wembley stadium and then at the end of the game I want you to come and find me, ok?”

It amazed you how Leah knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, no matter the circumstance.

“Come here” 

You greet her the way you wanted you before the press conference but your kiss is cut short when you hear someone clearing their throat. Much to your annoyance Leah pulls away but you pull in and steal one more kiss. 

Playing in front of a sold out Wembley stadium is something many few can say they have done especially in the women’s game and it is a moment you will tell your children about in the future but right now the screams of the home fans make you realise the challenge at hand will be anything but easy. 

The first half ends with England up 1-0, the home side was proving that Wembley was in fact their house but it wasn’t over yet and you were determined to play your heart out for the next 45 minutes. Despite the absence of Marta and Debinha, you are Geyse are putting the England defenders through it and they are struggling to keep up with your pace and Brazilian flair. They are starting to get desperate as the second half is all Brazil.

Just as you are through on goal your ankles get clipped and given where you are on the field you know exactly who is responsible for it. 

“Watch it baby, being cute only gets you so far” you whisper as she helps you to your feet.

This is how to game goes and as the clock counts down Brazil get’s closer and closer to getting the equaliser. It’s not matter of if, it’s a matter of time and that time comes in 93rd minute. The moment you hit the ball you know it is going into the back of the next. You quickly celebrate before grabbing the ball so that the game can restart as soon as possible but there isn’t enough time for a second goal as the final whistle is blown.

Penalties. 

Both teams have strong penalty takers so it comes as no surprise when the fifth and final penalty determines the game. The referee gave you the ball and the boos that followed were deafening. You could feel your heart beating rapidly but it didn’t change a thing. You had taken countless penalties over your career and the key is to treat each one the same, the crowd & venue didn’t matter.

You weren’t predicable when it came to placement from the spot yet somehow Mary is able to get her fingers to the ball and sends it over the bar. She did it, she had saved your shot and you had cost your team the Finalissima.

You couldn’t believe it. The sounds of the crowd became muffled almost as if you were underwater. Your gaze remains on the goal, which was now empty as Mary Earps has long left to celebrate with her team, you were in shock and you mind replays the shot over and over again. The shame you felt was overwhelming and you wasn’t ready to face your team yet but you knew they would be on their way to you.

Leah watched from a distance as you crouched down with you head hanging between your legs. She is torn between celebrating with her team and going to comfort you. In the end she chooses the latter knowing that she has all night to be with her friends.

“Give her a minute” Rafaelle stands in front of her blocking the way.

“I just want to see if she is alright” Leah didn’t want to challenge her team mate and your friend.

“Y/N has never missed a penalty in her entire career and to do it now, in front of all these people and in a final. She felt a lot of pressure for this game”

“We all did and for it to go to penalties isn’t what any of us wanted” 

Leah tries to explain that they all felt pressure given the stakes but Rafaelle still tries to explain your point of view. She knows by past experiences that there’s no way you will talk about what you felt today and what this loss means to you.

“You see the number she wears” Rafaelle point to where you are now stood and more so the the 10 on the back of your shirt “That 10 means a lot in Brazil and she will feel like she failed not only us but everyone back home. She says it’s her job to score goals and today she did that but she won’t be happy with one because she knows if she would have scored two then we would have won”

“I won’t say anything Rafa, I just need her to know that it is ok”

“Leah I know you are her girlfriend and she loves you but I’m her best friend so listen to me when I say give her some time and wait for her to come to you. This will hurt Leah”

The blonde didn’t hear a word the Brazilian said after ‘she loves you’. You and Leah hasn’t said those words said but she wanted to.

Eventually you rejoin your team and congratulate the opposition on their win. You interaction with Leah is short and you keep your game face on, you couldn’t let Leah see through your facade.

“You played really well Y/N” After her discussion Leah didn’t know what to say to you.

“Not good enough but congratulations Leah” 

For a brief moment Leah thinks are you going to kiss her and it gives her peace knowing that you are ok but you move to side at the last minute, the kiss is placed on her cheek instead of her lips.

She watches as you walk into the tunnel with your medal in your medal in your hand instead of round your neck.

An hour or so later you stood at the balcony on the rooftop of your hotel as you watched the England fans on the street below you. It hurt knowing that you let your team and country down but what you hate the most if that no matter how hard you try you cannot be happy for your girlfriend.

“I’m surprised to see you here” the sound of Geyse’s voice brings you out of your trance.

“Where else am I suppose to be?” 

“We thought you would be with Leah” Rafa and few of the other girls join you.

“No” you shake her head “I don’t think she wants to see me, I wasn’t the best girlfriend earlier”

“Y/N you were being a captain who tends to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders”

“It’s my job and today I failed—“

“You didn’t fail us and we wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to spend the night with your girlfriend especially when we leave for Germany tomorrow” 

“I don’t know where she is”

Just has you finish your sentence you phones goes off.

“Leah?” Rafa asks and you shake your head.

It wasn’t Leah but it was someone that could help you find her but it came with one condition, an exchange of shirts. You double check that the team are happy for you to leave and they all but push you towards the door.

Meanwhile at a restaurant within Wembley Stadium the Lionesses are celebrating the win with their families but Leah cannot help but think about one person that isn’t with her. She stares at her phone screen with her thumb hovering over your contact. She knew Rafaelle was right but she needed to know if you were ok.

“Still thinking about your hot Brazillian girlfriend?” Beth asks. Although she wasn’t playing in the game she still showed up the support them. 

“Rafa said to wait until she comes to be but I don’t know I can wait that long”

“Well it looks like you won’t need to” Beth turns her team mate around to where you have just entered the restaurant.

You were still dressed in your team tracksuit and the look of defeat was there but barely visable to anyone that didn’t know you. She sees your eyes scan the room and a smile appears on her face when you find her. The closer you get to her the bigger the smile gets and Leah knows the one her face mirrors yours.

“Minha Linda” your arms wrap around her tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Leah asks before kissing you quickly.

“I’m here to support and celebrate my girlfriend because that is what she deserves” your arms fall to her waist.

“How did you know where we were?” 

You hold up your match worn shirt and watch as a look of guilt washes over Leah’s face. 

“Baby, I swapped with Rafa” Leah didn’t know what to say. If she had known you wanted to swap shirts with her than she wouldn’t have given hers to her fellow centre back.

“This isn’t for you. It’s for Mary” Leah eyes widen at her keeper’s name “I know, she’s got guts but I think her performance makes her deserving, don’t you?”

“She put an end to your streak” Leah couldn’t help it as a smirk tugs her lips. She hates that it was against your but Mary’s save won them trophy and she was proud of her.

“She did but next time we play I want your shirt, deal?” 

“Deal” 

You quickly made go over to Mary who upon seeing you enter already has her shirt ready. The two of you sign them before posing for a photo and you make sure to congratulate the keeper on her exceptional performance, Mary Earps had earned your respect in that game and you wanted to make sure she knew that.

Having shared you enough, Leah pulls you back over to where her family are seated and introduces you to the entire Williamson family. 

Leah saw you relax as the night went on but she remembered what she was told earlier on and she couldn’t let it go. She hates the amount of pressure you put on yourself, she saw the way you were with Arsenal but with Brazil it grew tenfold and you needed you to know you weren’t alone.

“Y/N” Leah tapped you thigh softly as you listened to what her mum and brother were talking about. Upon hearing your name you turn your attention to your girlfriend “I want you to know that you’re not alone anymore. I’m here if you want someone to talk to about the pressure you feel about representing your country. I know it’s a little bit different for you but I understand what you’re going through” 

“Leah I know that I have you and it means a lot. I knew you understood me the day we first met and it’s why I feel the most at peace when I’m with you. Today was hard and losing the game was tough but it’s moments like this with you that I know win or lose everything will be ok”

You had spent the past couple of days stressing about the outcome of this game and what it would mean for you and Leah, in the end it didn’t change a thing. If anything you both respected each other more and it became a memory that you will both remember for a long time to come.

[misfitwashere]

How to Stop Fascism

Five Lessons of the Nazi Takeover

Timothy Snyder

Jul 05, 2024

As the United States hovers at the edge of fascism, the history of Germany can help.

To be sure, Americans have other histories to ponder, including their own.  Some American states, right now, are laboratories of authoritarian rule (and resistance).  The American 1860s and American 1930s reveal tactics authoritarians use, as well as the weaknesses of the American system, such as slavery and its legacy. At those times, though, Americans were lucky in their leadership.  Lincoln and Roosevelt were in office at the critical moments.  And so we lack the experience of the collapse of the republic.

We can certainly learn from contemporary authoritarian success, as in Russia and in Hungary, which I have written about elsewhere.  Yet the classic example of a major economic and cultural power collapsing into fascism remains Germany in 1933. The failure of the democratic experiment in Germany led to a world war as well as the Holocaust and other atrocities.

Yet today a taboo hovers around anything concerning Hitler.  As soon as the collapse of the German republic in 1933 is evoked, American voices commence a fake lament — America is uniquely good so nothing about Nazis can ever apply, and/or Hitler was uniquely evil and so nothing concerning him is relevant.

To be sure, every person and every event is in some sense unique.  But history is precisely the interaction of individuals and situations which, seen in isolation, will appear unique.  The taboo on fascist history shoves people back to a turbulent present, leaving them feeling more helpless. It is an element of the fascist takeover.

The lessons from Germany that I present below are not at all new.  We have been trained by digital media to believe that only what happens right now matters.  But the people who intend to destroy the American constitutional republic have learned from the past.  One of the basic elements of Project 2025, for example, is what the Nazis called Gleichschaltung: transforming the civil service into a fascist nest.

Those who wish to preserve the American constitutional republic should also recall the past.  A good start would be just to recall the five basic political lessons of 1933.

1.  Voting matters.  Hitler came to power after an election which enabled his appointment as head of government.  It is much easier for fascists to begin from within than to begin from without.  Hitler’s earlier coup attempt failed.  But once he had legitimate power, inside the system as chancellor (prime minister), he could manipulate it from within.  In the American system, “voting” means not just going to the polls yourself, but making donations, phone-banking, and knocking on doors.  We are still, happily, at the stage when unglamorous actions can make the difference.

2.  Coalitions are necessary.  In 1932, in the crucial German election, the far left and the center left were separated.  The reasons for this were very specific: Stalin ordered the German communists to oppose the German social democrats, thereby helping Hitler to power.  To be sure, the American political spectrum is very different, as are the times.  Yet the general lesson does suggest itself: the left has to hold together with the the center-left, and their energies have to be directed at the goal rather than at each other.

3.  Conservatives should be conservative.  Which way the center-right turns can be decisive.  In Germany in 1932, conservatives enabled the counter-revolution.  They did not see Hitler and his Nazis as something different from themselves.  They imagined, somehow, that Hitler would preserve the system rather revolutionize it.  They were wrong, and some of them paid for the mistake with their lives.  As in American today, the German “old right” was less numerous than the “new right,” the fascists.  But how the traditionalist center-right acts can very well make the difference.

4.  Big business should support democracy.  In the Germany of the 1930s, business leaders were not necessarily enthusiastic about Hitler as a person.  But they associated democracy with labor unions and wanted to break them.  Seeing Hitler as an instrument of their own profit, business leaders enabled the Nazi regime.  This was, in the end, very bad for business.  Although the circumstances today are different, the general lesson is the same: whether they like it or not, business leaders bear responsibility for whether a republic endures or is destroyed.

5.  Citizens should not obey in advance.  Much of fascism is a bluff — look at our loyal cult, listen to our outrageous language, heed our threats of violence, we are inevitable!  Hitler was good at that sort of propaganda.  Yet to gain power he needed luck and the errors of others.  American fascism, likewise, is far from inevitable.  It too is largely bluff, most of it digital.  The internet is much more fascist than real life, which is discouraging.  But we vote in the real world.  The crucial thing is the individual decision to act, along with others, for four months, a little something each day, regardless of the atmospherics and the polls and the media and the moods.

It’s simple: recalling history, we act in the present, for a future that can and will be much better.