#if anyone's wondering it's 'and now she's looking for a downtown man' in uptown girl

[ghost-jack-books]

Just gonna say, it is a CRIME that they didn't let Eddy Martin sing in Glee. He has one (1) solo line and it might be my favorite in the series

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None (let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Everyone is talking about the mysterious new guy on campus

A/N: I had a ton of fun writing this extremely self-indulgent AU and I have plans to keep writing more about these two. It won’t be an actual chaptered fic, but at some point I’ll throw together a masterlist with a chronological order to things.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Introductions

The semester had only started four weeks ago and he was already a legend around campus. Almost everywhere someone could be found whispering about him. You'd even heard faculty speculating, wondering about the rumors they overheard their students sharing.

You first heard of him in your literature seminar, some of your fellow classmates discussing a recent rumor about the now fabled man. Something about a motorcycle and a child caught your ear, prompting you to interrupt and the girls in front of you who they were talking about. 

The looks you received from the pair were incredulous at best. “You mean you haven’t heard about him?”

“Heard about who?” you asked, genuinely confused. It had only been the first week of class at the time and you were too caught up with your own busy start to check in on the rumor mill.

“Mando, obviously. He’s all anyone is talking about.” From there the girls had happily filled you in on all the latest sightings and rumors. 

Mando, as they called him, was shrouded in mystery. He'd popped up on Corellia University's campus when the semester began and no one knew a thing about him. He hadn't gone to Corellia before, internet searches turned up nothing, and even the skull-like symbol on the back of his leather jacket wasn't familiar to anyone. Any information on him was conjecture at best and there was plenty to go around. Once the rest of the class caught onto what you three were discussing, theories began to fly.

People discussed how he’d been spotted downtown, beating on some guys in a back alley. He’d also been seen uptown the same night though, strolling through Basalt Park. One girl was nearly certain that she’d gone to elementary school with Mando, but he’d mysteriously disappeared one day without explanation. Someone else was confident he was just a cop trying some weird shtick to go undercover. Then one person insisted he had a kid with him sometimes while another was trying to explain that he was actually a murderer. The rumors only became more ludicrous from there.

By the end of the discussion you only ascertained two things for certain. He went by the name Mando and he wore some kind of special helmet. Information you could have gotten by watching him pick up a drink at the Java Hut. Not nearly enough to warrant this level of fervor in your opinion.

From there, hearing about Mando was inescapable. You got home that night only to have your roommate and best friend, Layla, launch into theories about him. Within the week someone set up a social media page to try and track his location around campus via DMs fellow students sent in. That had struck you as invasive and unsettling, but the messages about him kept flooding in.

By pure chance, you had yet to actually see him for yourself. There weren't even any creep shots for you to look at. People had been trying to take photos of him, but he was like a ghost. In the time it took them to pull up their cameras he'd disappear. 

There wasn't even more concrete information about him beyond what you'd learned that first day. Just more and more speculation, a good amount of it made up purely for the shock factor. Another week slipped by, the semester picking up, and Mando news became standard in your day. There was always something new going around about him and as much as you tried to avoid it and focus on your studies, you couldn’t help but wonder about him yourself.

Who was this guy? Was this all some stunt or ‘social experiment’ that would be revealed by a sociology student at the end of the semester? Or was he a legitimate peculiarity, doomed to stick out like a sore thumb? You weren’t sure if you should hate him for making a big deal out of himself or pity him for all the unwarranted attention. Either way, you were sure that whenever you met this enigmatic Mando, you’d know.

×××××

You grumble looking at the submission form. The name and student ID information is blank again. You told Todd last week those fields needed to be made mandatory. How else were you supposed to know who to email when you end up with a no-show for the hour?

Looking further down you're pleased to note that they're at least a grad student. Despite the unfinished form, graduates almost never skip sessions like these. You're thrilled to have the opportunity to discuss something other than freshman composition for once. It's fun helping the wide-eyed freshies, but you can only go over basic comma rules so many times before you start to lose it a little.

There's a knock at the study room door and you look up only to be rendered speechless. It's him. Mando. With a kid on his hip. So Alissandra hadn’t been lying when she told you about the toddler she saw with him. Interesting. Continuing to take him in, you can’t help but focus on the obvious - the only thing you knew about him other than his supposed name, the helmet. 

It’s unlike anything you've seen before. You're fairly certain it's a motorcycle helmet, but it's been modified. Rather than the typical rounded shape, his is all sharp angles and flat at the front. It’s colored a sleek, shining chrome that gleams under the washed out fluorescent lighting. Most arresting is the way he's changed the face of the helmet. The cheeks dip inward at a sharp angle, creating deep, curved contours. His visor is a T of black glass in the center, entirely impossible to see through. It's intimidating and… kinda hot?

The little boy he's holding starts to wiggle in his grasp, physically demanding to be set down in the study room. Once his feet touch the floor, he immediately runs over and climbs into the chair next to you. He's a welcome distraction from his father’s? brother's? guardian's? commanding presence in the room.

The boy can't be older than three, smiling up at you with a wide toothy grin. His hair is covered by a green beanie with large floppy ears sewn onto it and he's wearing a little brown jacket with a sherpa collar. Maybe a bit too heavy for the early autumnal weather, but if the rumor that the kid rides on a motorcycle with Mando is true, it’s perfect. His eyes are large and brown, shining up at you with a slightly mischievous glint.

"Hello, what's your name?" you ask, smiling back at the child.

"Grogu," comes the reply, not from the kid, but from Mando.

You arch an eyebrow at him. He can't be serious with that name. "Grogu?" you ask.

He shrugs, placing his bag on the table. "I came home one day and he told his babysitter that was his name now. He won't respond to anything else. So, Grogu."

You look back to the bouncing toddler. He's still grinning, nodding along with what's been said about his name. They must not be lying then. Either that, or it was some elaborate prank between them and you would never be in on the joke. 

"Well okay, Grogu it is." 

You extend your hand out to Mando, offering your name alongside it. He offers a leather clad hand in return, giving you a firm handshake. You're pleased when he only gives your hand a gentle squeeze, not crushing it like so many other students have done. His gloves are unique as well, black with orange fingers, the leather well worn in. It's warm to the touch, his body heat radiating through the thick fabric. 

"Mando," he says, officially introducing himself as he takes the seat on your other side, across from Grogu.

"Mando," you repeat, cementing it as a truth from the rumor mill. "Got any other names?" You hope that comes across as casual and not intrusive. He hasn't even gone to remove his helmet, telling you he isn't a man who cares much for people prying into his business.

"No. Why?" Mando cocks his head slightly as he asks, the helmet adding an exaggerated look to the movement. He reaches into his bag, pulls out some crayons and a pad of paper, pushing them over to Grogu.

You shrug, trying not to think about how you heard his name might be David from someone in your composition course. "Just thought I'd ask. One hears many things around campus and it's hard to tell what's true or not."

"What do you mean?"

That question makes you pause. Surely he knows. Part of you is still convinced he’s doing this act on purpose, trying to gain notoriety for some reason. The way he asked though, something about it tells you that the poor man is clueless about the buzz he's caused.

"Mando, you're like the talk of the town right now. We only just met but I've heard plenty about you," you explain. It's hard to tell with the helmet on, but you're fairly sure he's shocked underneath. Grogu ignores you both, excitedly scribbling away on his paper.

"I'm fairly sure most of it's just rumor and speculation, but still. You're like a thing around campus," you add.

He's quiet for a moment, his laptop only half out of his bag. "Oh," he finally says. "I didn't know."

Grogu gives a happy shriek not a second later, breaking the awkward tension that had begun to creep into the room. He's beaming, holding up his crayola masterpiece. On the paper there is what appears to be a hastily drawn frog using every color in the box.

Mando returns to himself, pulling his laptop the rest of the way and continues to get set up. "Great job, kid. It looks good."

Most people would have said that dismissively, a platitude to get their child to stop bothering them. When Mando says it though, the authenticity is palpable. He said six words and you can hear the pride lacing them all together. It’s sweet, the obvious affection this clearly private man has for the toddler. 

You can’t help but wonder what his connection to Grogu actually is. The way he spoke just then, if you had to put your money on it, you’d say father. The kicker then though is if he’s biological or not. And if not, then how else does a grad student get strapped with a three year old? Thinking about all the potential scenarios is enough to make your head hurt.

You’re also left wondering where all the more violent rumors about him are coming from. His tenderness is so readily on display that it’s hard to imagine the man before you choking someone because they cut him in line at the local froyo shop. He’s mysterious and gives off a vaguely dangerous vibe, sure, but less than five minutes around him and the kid and it’s obvious he’s no threat to you. He’s just a guy trying to get his assignments done for class, same as everyone else.

Your stomach still catches in your throat as Mando starts unexpectedly tugging off his gloves. From what you’d heard, he never takes anything off: not his jacket, not his gloves, and certainly not his helmet. All anyone knows of his true appearance on campus is that he’s obviously male with rumors flying around about everything else including simple attributes, like the color of his skin. Now, here he is, casually revealing this groundbreaking information to you.

His hands move fluidly, pulling off each glove in just a few easy tugs. His skin matches the heat you felt from them just minutes ago, a warm golden tan, with a few faded lines of scars worn in. Watching him type, pulling his paper up for you to discuss, you feel a deep and sudden ache to have his hands touch you again. A simple handshake is no longer enough. Every stroke of the keys is measured, deliberate, and leaves you wondering how he would use those fingers on you.

“This is what I have so far.”

His voice snaps you back to reality, a quick wave of shame washing over you. Where did all of that come from? It was just a man’s hands for heaven’s sake, certainly not something you should be horny about at two in the afternoon. Not to mention that he came in here looking for your help, not wanting you to start fantasizing about his hands expertly working you over.

You clear your throat and tear your eyes away from the offending appendages. “Great, let me just read the introduction here so I can get an idea for what you’re writing about.”

You settle into working with him easily. His paper is already well-written, just needing tweaks here and there to bring it to the next level. It’s nice working with him. He’s attentive, clearly listening to everything you have to say and taking it into account. He doesn’t even try to challenge you as some of the more macho male students are wont to do. By the end of the session, you can’t help but wish all of your time as a tutor was that easy.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, tucking his laptop away. “You really helped.”

You smile at him, thrilled with his genuine complement. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

He finishes packing up his and Grogu’s things, with you silently lamenting as his gloves slide back on. It still feels like a ridiculous thought, but he really does have beautiful hands. There’s a small tap on your arm and you look to your left to see Grogu patiently waiting. He’s offering something to you, paper outstretched in his little hands.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet from him. You look at it to see a frog carefully drawn on the page. It’s not the same as the first one he showed you and Mando, this one more deliberate and thoughtful. The colors are still just as varied, but it’s obvious he took more time to think about where he was using each one. You can’t help but smile at his small masterpiece.

“It looks great, buddy. I’ll keep it forever,” you tell him. Grogu beams at your praise, excitedly looking over to Mando. 

Mando nods at the kid. “Yeah kid, I heard her too.” He turns his head towards you. “Thank you again. I’d take good care of that drawing. He’ll never forgive you if he finds out you got rid of it.”

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you again?” Your own boldness takes you by surprise. You have no idea where that came from, how those words spilled without a second thought. Part of you is already cringing at Mando’s potential reaction.

He surprises you once again though, holding a hand out for Grogu to take. Shouldering his backpack, you hear an amused huff of air from under the helmet. “Yeah, mesh’la, I’ll see you around.”

There isn’t a chance to reply as Mando turns, escorting his tiny charge out of the room with him. You’re a little dumbstruck, now equally surprised with him as you had been with yourself. 

And what was that name he just called you? Mesh’la? You don’t even know what language that could have been, much less the meaning. Something about his tone when he said it tells you it’s a good thing though, that he’s not secretly calling you rude names in some unknown language. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever get to find out.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite

[thelordofdarkreunion]

The Best is Yet to Come

Short story here.  I’m so sorry for this ;).  This idea just came to me and, well...  

As usual, I own no one except Drake and his crew.  I also do not own the song listed here.  Consider this Magnificent Scoundrels “cannon” if you want, or discard it if you want.

The harsh glare of the Apocalypse’s hagar lighting beat down on technicians fixing shuttles and weapons, and mercenary armsmen taking target practice.  In the bright white wash, a group of men stood, wearing a strange assortment of vastly different clothing.  They were here to talk about battle plans, refueling stations, and the intricacies of galactic politics, but… the conversation had taken another turn.  One that five of the six individuals really wanted to avoid.  Unfortunately, they would have to suffer through it for a few moments more, or at least until Drake was finished getting his kicks.  

“Wait, wait, wait.”  Drake’s face was plastered with a grin that threatened to split it in half beneath his carefully groomed black hair and shining blue eyes.  He made a few half choked laughs before he pulled himself together with an effort.  “So, I knew, but never really put this together until now.  It’s pretty funny actually,” he wheezed.

“No it’s not,” replied a scowling Solo.  His companions’ faces were a mixture of beet red faces and death glares, with one completely neutral iron mask slamming into place for the discussion at hand.  

“Oh yes it is!” laughed Drake, losing control for a moment and doubling over.  He straightened out, and gave a smirk that threatened to turn into belly-busting laughter any moment.  “You guys are so far out of your league it isn’t even funny.  Except it is.  Really.”  He pointed to each in turn.  “You, Shepard,” this was addressed to a scowling man in a black hoodie emblazoned with the red numerals ‘N7’, “Are in love with the daughter of an admiral of one of the most powerful fleets in existence in your galaxy, who is one of five oligarcal leaders of her race, and, what’s more, she already is will most likely continue to be one of the most powerful and influential Quarians in existence!”  He wheeled on each of his companions in turn.

“You, Admiral Vir,” this was to a beet red man in a brown leather coat.  A mop of blond hair covered a black eyepatch and one good green eye.  “Are in love with the oh-so mighty and powerful Saint of Anin, the leader of her race, the daughter of two of the most powerful Drev generals in their history!”  

“You, oh Captain Solo,”  a brown haired, brown jacketed man with knee length boots glowered at Drake, “Are absolutely infatuated with brother of the last Jedi, the daughter of the Queen of Naboo, the daughter of Darth frickin’ Vader, and the true leader of the New Republic.”

“You, Mister Quill, love the daughter of the ex-most powerful being in your galaxy, one who erased half of life in your universe, and who is, by the way, the singularly most deadly assassin I’ve ever known.”  Another brown haired man, with slight sideburns and an ankle length reddish-brown coat, stared at Drake, emotions flashing across his face.  Drake grinned again and turned to the last man.

“And you, Commissar Cain, love an Inquisitor!”  Impassive eyes, framed below a black officer’s cap, stared back at Drake.  Drake clapped his hands and hooted with laughter.  A black gloved hand wiped a tear of mirth from his eye.  “Oh, you are all so, so out of your leagues.  Tell me, how did you get ‘em?  Couldn’t have been your looks,” he teased.  Shepard rolled his eyes as his other companions shook their heads.  A wicked, conspiratorial look crossed Drake’s face.  

“As a matter of fact…” he started.  He looked over to two nearby armsman speaking with a weapon specialist and gave a whistle.  “Oliver!  Saul!  Garang!  Get over here!”  The three Apocalypse crewmen started forward, noting the looks of the group.  Drake smiled knowingly at them.  “Did you overhear our conversation?” he asked.

“Kinda hard not to, Captain,” replied Saul.

“Yeah, well, I have a sudden, wonderful idea,” said Drake.  “I have a wonderful, awful, idea.  I just got a wonderful, awful idea!”  He grinned again at his three crew members.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.  The three looked at him blankly.  He smiled once more and whistled several notes of a song.  The three crewmen grinned manically.  

“Oh, yes,” beamed Oliver.  “I believe I do know what you’re thinking.”  The five Scoundrels, regulated to objects of discussion, looked on hesitantly.  

“What are you thinking, Drake…?” trailed off Vir.  That look wasn’t good.  Drake only cackled maniacally and activated his wrist computer.  An intimately familiar song began playing over the hangar loudspeakers.  At the first few notes, Shepard, Vir, and Quill all buried their faces in their hands or reached out, panicking.  

“Drake-!”  

“Uptown girl!  She’s been living in her uptown world,  I bet she never had a backstreet guy,  I bet her mother never told her why…”  Drake and his three crew slid into formation, dancing along with the music.  Vir buried his head further in his arms as Cain and Solo looked around in shock.  He’d seen this particular song’s music video, and Drake was doing a damn good job imitating it.  

“One of these days I’m going to shoot you, Drake.”

“I’m gonna try for an uptown girl,  She’d been living in her white bread world,  As long as anyone with hot blood can,  And now she’s looking for a downtown man,  That’s what I am!”  The hangar’s other occupants were looking on with bemusement.  A few armsmen even joined in with the singing or dancing.  

“And when she knows what she wants from her type,  And when she wakes up and makes up her mind,”   Quill shrugged and walked over to join Drake.  The other four Scoundrels stared.  

“Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“She’ll see I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an uptown girl!”  From absolutely nowhere, Cooper slid in line behind Drake, grinning at his slack-jawed comrades.  He’s come at a full running slide, apparently hearing the commotion from wherever he was on the ship.  Bastard.  

“You know I’ve seen her in her uptown world,  She’s getting tired of her high class toys,  And all the presents from her uptown boys,  She’s got a choice!”  Vir sagged his shoulders, defeated, and joined in next to Quill.  Everyone joined in the chorus, apparently most of Drake’s armsmen knowing it by heart.

“Uptown girl!  You know I can’t afford to buy her pearls,  But maybe someday when my ship comes in,  She’ll understand what kind of guy I’ve been,  And then I’ll win!”    

From video conference calls and high viewing booths, Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Senator Leia Organa, Gamora, Sunny, and Tali’Zorah vas Normandy watched, some with shocked faces, others with smiles concealed behind hands.  

“What… the hell… are they doing?” asked Vail.  The other woman stared at her.

“I… don’t really know,” replied Gamora.   

“It’s kinda cute, though,” opinioned Tali.  

“And when she’s walking,  She’s looking so fine,”  Drake gave a teasing wolf-whistle and shook his hand as if he had touched something hot.  Cain and Solo just stared as Shepard facepalmed even harder.  Cain was certain he heard a bone crack.  “And when she’s talking,  She’ll say that she’s mine!”  

As time went on and more people joined in, the previously somewhat neat lines devolved into individuals showing off or just plain having fun.  

“Uptown girl!  She’s my uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl!  You know I’m in love with an uptown girl!  My uptown girl…” 

Uptown Girl:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCuMWrfXG4E

And there it is.  I did not want to spoil the song, but, like I said in the intro, Billy Joel owns “Uptown Girl,” not me.  (Should be pretty obvious.)  Some explanation for Shepard.  I previously somewhere stated that in the Mass Effect games you are Shepard, and you make a hell of a lot of choices, which makes it a bitch to write.  I did also say that I would have Shepard fall in love with an alien, though I couldn’t decide which.  However, I just realized that Tali is the only male Shepard love interest on the Normandy at the time I incorporated Mass Effect into Magnificent Scoundrels, so it could only be her without a lot more annoyances on my part.  I hope you liked it and if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or requests, feel free to ask me!

[anika-ann]

Grease and Pearls - Pt.1

Uptown Meets Downtown

Type: One-shot turned three-shot (because does anyone really want a 17k in one go?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (main), Tony/Reader, Tony/Pepper

Word count: 5230

Summary:  All you know is uptown; fancy clothes, expensive cars, jewellery outshining one’s personality and exhausting dinners with family acquaintances and business partners. Your life is all planned out; one day, you’ll marry Howard Stark’s son and you’ll be the golden couple adored by press.

You desperately seek to see life outside this suffocating glitz...and that’s how you meet Steve Rogers.

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @cxptain Congratulation to your milestone, you deserve nothing less! Thank you for hosting this amazing challenge and allowing me to take part in it! ...I’m not sure how 80′s this is :(

Prompt: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

A/N 2: I added links to a pic of dresses I had in mind, feel free to ignore them or not :))

Warnings: swearing, mention of arranged marriage, ...fluff?

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Your sigh was drowned in the sea of voices as you slipped under the surface, the water closing above your head. The moment you opened your mouth to gasp for air, it filled with water instead, and you reached out to the sun glimmering above, trying to save yourself--

To be entirely honest, now you were being dramatic; however, shall anyone exchange places with you, you were sure they would feel the same about the company of artificial people in their best Sunday suits and fancy dress, sitting around the table pretending to be engaged in the small talk.

As your eyes fell on man seated opposite to you, a bowtie around his neck, one corner of his lips raised in a blend of a smile and a smirk, your mind drifted to your wonderful friend. 

Virginia Potts, or Pepper for short, a nickname saved for her friends only, would be much better of a match for Anthony than you. She was nothing short of a proper lady and her parents, while not as wealthy as yours, were much more liberal and supportive of her following her dreams. Pepper Potts was about to turn tables and start her own company from a scratch, businessmen be damned. Her mind was brilliant, her persona enchanting, her appearance turning heads wherever she went and her heart was overflowing with kindness and determination. She was about to make people question the very definition of doing business once she set her foot in the field.

Your parents’ thinking, on the other hand, froze in the sixties, maybe forties. You were meant to become a glorified housewife, albeit educated enough to teach her own kids. You never really minded that; it wasn’t what laid heavy in your mind. Anthony did.

Anthony’s parents were as strict as yours, never quite giving him a choice but to take over the family company and wickedly join it with your father’s by tying your families together one day.

Your future family and your love life were to be based on a business deal. The romance of it.

Tony wasn’t an unlikable person by any means; a genius, somewhat charming in his own slightly arrogant way, he even made for an entertaining company at times. Nevertheless, your affections for him couldn’t begin to even hope to grow beyond friendship. On top of that, it just happened to come that while he was meant to be in the charge of to-be-his company, his interest laid further in the progress of technology itself, in designing things, rather than in attending board meetings.

In other words; Pepper would have been a better match for Tony, much better equipped to lead an enterprise than you and Tony together and oh, let’s not forget, her feelings for Tony went beyond friendly, unlike yours. And they were mutual.

But here you were, sitting through another forcefully polite dinner with the Starks and you wanted to be anywhere but here-- you wanted to be somewhere where you could actually breathe.

As you inhaled shakily and possibly too loud for a lady, your sister Sharon shot you a scolding look. You wanted to scream. However, like the well-mannered girl you were, you fixed a smile for your guests instead and engaged in meaningless conversation until it was time to prepare for bed; you let Anthony kiss your knuckles in goodbye and ignored your father’s pleased smile that had your chest constricted, your stomach full of ice cubes instead of the butterflies you were supposed to feel when being with your future husband.

Your mother made a joke about Tony soon kissing a ring on your hand and you closed your eyes, swallowing the panic that didn’t leave you until the early hours of the morning, causing you to lose sleep.

Seeing your own exhausted expression in the mirror at the crack of dawn, you came to a decision.

You were to escape the tight bodice of your glamorous life if even for a minute.

And you were sure that your best friend, who happened to live closer to normal part of the city, was about to help you.

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The bell jingled as you entered the diner, black and white tile floor resembling a chessboard, albeit slightly shabby against your heels clicking with each step.

Maximoff’s the place was called and besides the funky chessboard floor, the interior was in warm colours, walls painted apricot, the counters, bar, tables, stools and chairs in caramel tones. Your lips automatically spread in a smile as you looked around, heading to the counter built right next to a bar, your eyes running over the specials of the day. As most of the names didn’t feel familiar, you took a mental note to kiss Pepper’s hands once you would reunite in the gallery where she was momentarily alone, providing you an alibi while you sneaked out.

“What’s a pretty thing like ya’ doin’ here? Ya’ lost, dollface?” a male voice startled you and your head snapped the direction it came from, finding a man dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with a strange logo of an eagle on his pocket and jeans. Chin-length brown hair framed his face, stubble rounding his smirking lips, his pale blue-grey eyes fixed on you.

He didn’t seem like he wanted to harm you, but the way he talked seemed strange and the fact you weren’t even sure if he talked to you made you uneasy. Dollface? Who called a woman that? Who called that anyone for that matter?

You smiled at him reluctantly, your heart speeding up. A sigh sounded next to him, out of your view, and another man spoke up, scolding the brunet.

“Lay off, Buck. You’re scaring the dame.”

The owner of the voice leaned away from the bar, his kind blue eyes and inviting expression causing your breath to hitch. Gosh, he was pretty with that subtle smile and ruffled blond hair. You figured they were colleagues since he was dressed in the same manner. You felt a bit inappropriate in your almost knee-length sunflower dress; you were sticking out like a sore thumb. The women in this diner sure weren’t dressed like you.

“Do you need any help?” the blond asked, his tone gentler and less challenging than Buck’s, , instantly putting you at ease; well, as much at ease as you could feel visiting a downtown diner for the first time, on your own, no less.

Your smile grew firmer, more confident, as you beckoned towards the menu above.

“Uhm… perhaps with picking the meal?”

The brunet raised a curious eyebrow at your question. “You want to eat here?”

Yes, you were definitely sticking out and you weren’t the only one to take notice.

“…yes.”

Nervous under his gaze, your eyes flickered to the blond, who seemed equally surprised, tilting his head aside.

“Well, what do you have in mind?” he asked simply.

You only shrugged in response and the brunet rolled his eyes and sighed, wiping his fingers to the napkin near his empty plate.

“Looks like I’m not needed here,” he grumbled and rose to his feet, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Just remember, Stevie, boss’ gonna kill ya’ if you’re more than half an hour late.”

What did that mean?

“Noted,” Stevie huffed a laugh and waved him off.

“Better get outta here sooner than later, can’t run as fast as Maximoff-“

“Yeah, yeah-“

“I better heard that name in a compliment!” a female voice from the door with ‘personnel only’ behind the counter suddenly called out, once again starling you.

“Sure thing, Mrs.M! See ya’!” Buck shouted right back at her as he jogged to the door and you noticed that the woman behind the counter and Stevie weren’t the only ones with their eyes on you, the realization making you shiver on the inside.

“You know what? Let’s sit somewhere else, everyone’s staring. You can check out the complete menu and the waitress will come to us,” the blond offered, already standing up and beckoning to one of the booths.

You felt yourself relax, the ever-present smile on his lips assuring you he had no malicious intent – or you hoped so.

“Sure. Thank you.”

You seated yourself opposite to him, hidden from the majority of the prying eyes as he pushed the menu your way.

“I honestly have no idea what most of this means,” you admitted before even opening the menu, watching the relaxed aura around Stevie instead as he all but melted into the cushions. It bugged you in a way, seeing as his friend had made a certain remark earlier. “…no one is going to try and kill you, right? I would hate to-”

He barked a laugh, small wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes and your heart skipped a beat, mesmerized when you simultaneously noticed that his nose was dusted with freckles. He was such a handsome man and he radiated pure amusement as he laughed, simply and carefree. Despite being ashamed at being the source of his amusement, you marvelled at the fact you were the cause of the happy sound.

“Ya’ think ‘dat-- that here downtown, people get iced for being late for work? Is ‘dat the bullshit they feed ya’?” You blinked at his words, unsure you understood his strange lingo. Stevie shook his head, the corner of his lips still twitching. “I meant killed. And nonsense, the nonsense they feed you.”

“They mostly don’t feed me anything about downtown and what life really is here…” you confessed with a sigh, spotting the woman from behind the counter making her way to you, red apron swinging a bit with her step.

“Good morning, almost afternoon! Oh, Steve, some dame you have here! Finally! Not sure we have enough fancy for her though,” she greeted you enthusiastically, her speech ending with a slight thoughtful pout.

You swallowed the indignation at her assumption and smiled at her. “I… um, I don’t need anything fancy, madam. At all, actually.”

“You heard that? Madam! You keep this one close, Steve!”

“Hey! I’m polite!” the blond protested, a twinkle of humour in his eye. “Can we have the least fancy thing for the lady, then? And a strawberry milkshake? Ya’ alright with strawberries? It’s the best one…”

The woman, Mrs.M as Buck had called her, wrote down the order in her little notepad when you only nodded, dumb-struck when Stevie – Steve? – ordered for you. “Coming right up! You want anything else, Stevie?

“Just a refill, please?” he looked up pleadingly and the woman sighed, patting his head.

“You’re addicted, hon, I feel sorry for your stomach. I’ll bring the pot.”

“You’re an angel, Anna.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she mumbled as she walked away.

Steve laid his very much muscular forearms on the table, leaning in, giving you his undivided attention.  “So… what’s your name, doll?”

Unlike with Bucky, Steve’s endearment somehow made your belly warm, your gaze lowering at his soft tone. You introduced yourself quietly and forced yourself to look up again – you were not raised by wolves, after all – and offered him a hand to shake, rising from your seat just a inch.

To your surprise, your companion gently took your fingers and turned your hand, kissing the back of it. As in, actually kissing it, his lips brushing your skin, his gaze locked with yours, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your rear fall back into your seat in surprise.

Who knew the downtown boys could be so charming?

“Pretty name for a pretty gal,” he commented. “So, what brings ya’ here?”

“…lunch? I told you?”

He clicked his tongue discontentedly at your poor excuse – it wasn’t exactly a lie, but… “Bad liar. Kinda like me.”

Was that right? Was he as innocent and honest as his eyes had been telling you ever since you noticed him behind Bucky? So far, he was nothing but nice to you. He could be your partner in crime – and you don’t lie to partners, especially when you’re a bad liar in the first place. You shifted in your seat, inhaled deeply and told him your dark secret.

“I just… I needed a change of scenery.”

His smile turned into a solid grin, mischief playing in his blue irises now, accenting the drop of green in them you hadn’t noticed before. “Well… looks like ya’ came to the right place.”

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One of the things Steve really liked about Maximoff’s was the domestic atmosphere. It was a family diner, one started by immigrants and yet not missing anything from the American way anyone could big mouth about. It was familial, relaxed yet with efficient staff and people practically knew each other by name – the regulars did at least.

Which meant that the stunning girl in sunflower dress who walked in wearing elegant high heels turned heads instantly, both in a good and bad way. Steve found the absurd figure both amusing and fascinating; she appeared utterly lost in her well-mannered way, her skirt brushed the tights just above her knees, catching an eye of me than one guy- and really, Steve had trouble not staring as well, but he at least attempted to.

Bucky, not so much.

Steve had to give it to her though – she was adorably startled when Buck opened his big mouth and tried to flirt with her… if that was what it was supposed to be, but she didn’t run out of the door just yet, even trying for a polite talk.

Cute. How could Steve go back to work knowing this remarkable creature was in his favourite diner? They would eat her alive, serve her like the next special!

Alright, that was a bit of an overstatement, but still.

And now, seeing her eyes widen as Wanda, the owner’s daughter and the twin sister to Steve’s colleague, placed a huge hamburger in front of the woman who simply couldn’t be from around here – uptown, if Steve guessed correctly – he knew he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Luckily for him, not missing it still meant keeping his job, because they didn’t wait long. It was another thing Steve loved around here – they were quick, ready for the onslaught of hungry customers around noon, so ready that the pair barely exchanged few words before they were served food and the sinful strawberry milkshake—and thank fuck- coffee.

He sipped at the hot bitter liquid, hiding his smile at the curious, desperate and utterly adorable expression on the girl’s face as she was trying to figure out how the hell she should eat that. But because he felt a bit sorry for her too – she never had a hamburger, had she, how was she even alive – he lowered the cup and took mercy upon her.

“Ya’ just need to take it to your hands, bite and hope for the best that your cute dress won’t get a new colour on it,” Steve remarked, not bothering to keep a straight face. “Just dig in, uptown.”

She huffed, clearly slightly irked at his jab, but obediently placed her fingers to the sides of the burger and brought it to her red-painted lips. Steve settled comfortably to his seat, a coffee and a free comedy show with the prettiest actress he had ever laid his eyes on playing right in front of him.

“So… why did ya’ need a change?” he brought up after few moments, watching her reaction to the taste, a pleasant surprise on her face, a drop of grease in the corner of her lips. His fingers twitched on the cup with the need to wipe it away from her otherwise perfectly cleaned up face.  

He liked her face – it wasn’t hidden under tones of shiny coloured shit girl used these days.

She swallowed first, shaking her head, but never letting her food from her hands as if someone could steal it before she finished. Steve felt that on spiritual fucking level.

“It is a complicated issue,” she said, dodging the question. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Try me.”

And with a sigh, she did, even when averting his gaze, lost in thought.

“You don’t know what’s like. All those… strained faces, smiling and nodding when asked to even if you don’t agree… not even being able to scratch your nose during dinner without people looking at you like you insulted them, their children and grandchildren that aren’t even born yet…“

Steve blinked at the waterfall of words, not expecting her to actually share that much. He only managed to stare at the embodiment of a good obedient uptown girl – minus the burger – while processing her words.

They sounded… not right. He never thought of it that way. His ma’ worked tooth and nail to keep them fed and he gave up going to art school for the very same reason. Hearing this girl, who was probably blessed with enough money to bath in it, complain about her life… was strange and frankly insulting, but when he thought of it, she did list some quite unpleasant downsides.

Gee. What people did to keep the picture perfect up. Can’t scratch her nose.

“Oh my, you must think I am a complete brat,” she exclaimed into the silence that fell on their table and Steve winced, both startled and pleasantly surprised. The self-awareness in her. “Spoiled privileged girl who doesn’t appreciate how lucky she is not having to work sixteen hours a day to feed herself and her family. Gosh, I am a terrible person, I’m sorry for rambling.”

Seeing her so self-depreciating caused a smile to spread on Steve’s face once more. Self-awareness indeed, realization in the purest form.

Where the hell did she come from?

She was… an odd egg, that was for sure. Steve certainly liked that and he hated seeing her with her lips turned downwards; so he spoke what was on his mind, as he always did.

“No… no. I think I understand… to a point.”

“Likely story,” she uttered, taking an angry bite of the hamburger.

So fucking adorable when angry – if that was what she called it. Steve could kiss that pouty lip of hers.

“I do!” he protested, raising his hands palms up and gesturing to her subtly to show he saw her point. “And for the record, I promise you – you can scratch your nose all you want with me.”

The smile she gave him could power a damn city, even if it wasn’t necessarily radiant – just very, very sweet and almost shy. “Thank you, Steve. I—never mind. Do you… have family?”

Steve, taken aback by her question, hesitated only for a moment. She had been honest, he should too. And to his genuine surprise, he enjoyed talking to her, so why ruin that with making shit up?

“Nope. Ma’ passed away few years ago. Dad’s been gone a while. Just Buck and guys from my shop.”

“I’m sorry. Really. I can’t imagine.”

He shrugged it off, ignoring the pang in his heart – the loss of his mother, only few years prior, still hurt. He missed her – she was an incredible woman and the kindest mother.

“That’s life. But thanks. You?”

“Both parents and—” she started off reluctantly, but then downright sighed. ”-a sister.”

“Don’t sound too excited about it,” Steve remarked sarcastically and she sighed again, putting her unfinished food away, frowning at it. “Full already?”

“It’s huge!”

“Gimme. No food comes to waste on my watch. Drink your milkshake,” he hummed, pulling the plate to his side of the table, much to her obvious astonishment – and was that a hint of amusement? – and took a bite. She shook her head, wiping her mouth with careful taps of a napkin, but was totally grinning at his actions, which left him unfairly giddy. “Ya’ were sayin’? About your family? More like your sister ya’ don’t exactly love?”

Steve almost choked when the smile slipped from her lips, mentally cursing himself.

“I know, I know! Once again – terrible person, I am aware. And I do like her, she’s family,” she said quickly as if to save the situation and prove she could treat her sister properly. Steve found the ‘she’s a family’ a bit of a learned phrase, utter shit, but he’d listen to more. “It’s just… Sharon… she’s the younger sister, but she is… perfect. Everyone thinks so. And she is! I swear I am not jealous, but… I wish I had more of a sister and less of an omnipresent perfect lady to tell me my hair doesn’t look good today at every occasion.”

Steve deliberately took a long nice look at her hairstyle. There was not one hair out of place on her head. She had some sort of an elaborate braid on her head Steve couldn’t hope to understand, making her look like a princess – well, kinda like a queen even, but her young face and playful and elegant dress wouldn’t make for a serious and grey sovereign. Princess it was.

“Was ‘dat today?” Steve asked, wiping his fingers to a napkin as he finished her meal and took a large gulp of coffee.

“Yes… again.”

His eyebrow slowly rose, sceptical and pitying. And kinda mad at people who ever told her she was anything but perfect. Beautiful. Stunning. Adorable.

“Well, no offence, doll, but your sis sounds like she should ease up on the bitch juice and have her eyes checked. Your hair’s fine, this whole…” he gestured vaguely to her head, “complicated thing ya’ did with it, is pretty like the rest of ya’.”

He should probably ease up on the compliments, but he couldn’t help himself. She seemed flustered at it and he loved it. She was cute. Her only flaw was that her hair wasn’t loose – Steve would like to see what she looked like, wild hair to run fingers through--

“…thank you. What is, eh, bitch juice?”

Steve chuckled when called out on his mistake. “Nothing really, means she shouldn’t be mean to ya’. Probably shouldn’t say ‘dat home, tho.”

Her smile made its return, sweet, shy and happy as she learned something new. “I will keep it in mind. Thank you for sweeping in, taking me under your wing here. You are a great company. I like you.”

Steve would deny it till the day he’d die, but that moment, his chest puffed with fucking pride. She liked him. Take that, Barnes! Take that, uptown snobs! She liked HIM.

“Well, if ya’ ever come to downtown ever again-“ he sort-of joked, the realization that this was very likely to be a one-time thing settling heavy in his stomach.

He wasn’t kidding anyone – he liked her too. A lot. Even when she was bitching; or maybe because of that, in addition to her 100% cutesy and pretty face… and figure.

“Would you meet me?” she asked excitedly, eyes lighting up with joy, which… Steve didn’t see coming.

“Uhm-- sure. If ya’ wanted.”

“Next Tuesday? What time?” she pried, sipping happily at the remnants of her milkshake. Nope, not the visual he needed—dammit.

Wait, what did she just say?

“You’re serious?” he asked incredulously, earning a shrug and a soft smile.

“You are funny and nice… and handsome.” Well, his ego just levitated through the ceiling, he wasn’t gonna lie- “I told you I liked you. Does that… mean something different here?”

He felt his lips curl up in a gentle smile at her slight confusion. She sounded so innocent. Steve’s heart could melt – and she already had him wrapped around her finger, which he surprisingly didn’t mind.

“No, doll, means the same thing. I like you too,” he assured her. “Gotta run, tho. Ya’ get home alright?”

“Yes. I only have to walk to the gallery nearby. I should go too…. Do I pay at the counter or somewhere-?”

“Nope. I do,” Steve interrupter her inspection of the diner and she swiftly rose to her feet.

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-“

“Lemme treat a pretty girl, ‘k?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them – but if he had, his reaction would be exactly the same. This might have not been a proper date, but no matter how much more money she no doubt had, Steve’s ma’ would box his ear if he let the lady pay.

The fact she casted her gaze down, shy at his supposed chivalry, was only a pleasant bonus. He could kiss her at that moment, so friggin’ beautiful and shy, and possibly interested.

“You say that a lot,” she whispered, glancing up at him from under her long eyelashes, tiny smile playing on her lips.

Steve shrugged it off and headed for the counter before he could act on impulse and actually pull her in to smack his mouth to hers.

“Just sayin’ the truth. Six p.m. works for ya’?”

She hummed as he paid for her and his coffee. “I will make it work.”

That was good enough for him as he offered this very place to meet.

Once they left the diner, she managed to take him aback once more when she rose to her tiptoes – a heroic act in her pumps – and pressed a soft chaste kiss on his cheek before saying a simple goodbye and began to walk the opposite direction than him.

Steve was grinning like a fool for the rest of the day and not even Bucky’s wiggling eyebrows could ruin his mood.

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Sleepovers were for children, you had been told by your mother more than once; so you claimed that what you were going to do with Pepper would be a girls’ night (women’ night?) and she suddenly seemed ecstatic, because Pepper was a fashion goddess and you still had a lot to learn about being chic.

You didn’t even care for the insult, as you were not about to spend time with your friend. No, Pepper was only kind enough to help you out and plot against the evil forces of uptown, covering for you while you’d be having a—a date with Steve. The week couldn’t past fast enough.

But finally you were here, wearing a pink dress – if a bit too chaste, but practical for a summer evening – with decorative black buttons, short sleeves and a bow around your waist, hair styled by the ‘fashion goddess’ who lived up to her title and charmed two French braids on your head. You were nearly jumping on spot, looking around subtly from time to time – you still had two minutes to spare.

So you stood there, trying not to tap your foot – which was really tempting, the elegant flats with an inch-tall heel making tapping much more easier than your usual pumps – and politely smiled at each person passing you.

When you caught a glimpse of a tall blonde figure, your smile widened into an honest one. He was even more handsome than you remembered – and he reciprocated the smile upon seeing you, his eyes not-so-subtly travelling up and down your figure. He was wearing simple blue t-shirt, one that hugged his muscular figure tightly, causing your mind to wander into strange places, and a pair of jeans – a simple outfit that he clearly felt comfortable in, a backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders.

“Wow. I feel underdressed now. And we might have to change plans,” he said upon greeting you, deep timber that haunted you in your sweetest dreams.

You subconsciously crumbled your skirt between your fingers, your smile faltering as you suddenly felt self-conscious and disappointed that you didn’t dress to his liking – or to fittingly to his plans.

“Oh, no! Should I run and change?”

Steve instantly shook his head, taking a hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips. Your cheeks heated up, your heart speeding up at his affection.

“Absolutely not. You look beautiful,” he opposed, giving you a once-over again, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Thank you. You too--handsome, I mean.”

And he was. Gosh. And that ruffled hair of his-! How did you want to run your fingers through it—and not to give a damn about such action being inappropriate.

“Thanks. I—uh, I was plannin’ for a small trip with… a bit of climbin’, which was stupid, I know-“ he stumbled over his words, scratching the back of neck sheepishly, clearly having absolutely no clue how giddy you had been – and still were – for spending the time with him in any form.

You cleared your throat. “How much climbing?”

“Not too much…? It would be safe, I promise. But I’m worried about your dress-“

“I’m not!” you blurted out, covering your mouth in embarrassment at your hastiness.

Steve didn’t seem to mind; in fact, a slow mischievous grin spread on his lips, beckoning you to follow him.

“Then come with me if ya’ wanna know what it’s like to live.”

The sentence was rather ironic; before you knew it, you were sitting nearly on the edge of a damn roof, precisely 37 storeys above the ground, on a building that wasn’t even finished yet.

Apparently, Buck’s – Bucky’s – uncle worked as construction manager, which opened you the doors to one of the unfinished additions to New York’s skyline. Some storeys you had to indeed climb, but with Steve’s support, you had felt ridiculously safe, grateful for thinking to bring flats instead of usual attire – and the reward was absolutely worth it.

Seeing the sunset, sitting on a picnic blanket after finishing simple sandwiches and a lemonade, you felt like you had the world at your feet.

It was breath-taking, for the lack of better term, enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Never in your life you had felt so… light. So free. Despite the heights you found yourself in, you had never breathed more easily. And as sentimental it might sound… you were sure it didn’t only went down to not being under scrutiny from your family and those bigheads who thought that they had a claim on the world, hence claim on you too-- no, you could tell with absolute certainty that at least part of this liberating feeling went down to the person sitting next to you, staring with you at the sunset and the lights of the city coming to life, flashing neons shining in the streets.

Your hand blindly reached for his, covering the back of it, feeling the slight roughness of his knuckles and skin – a hand of a workman. He didn’t retreat, but you could feel his gaze shifting to you.

“Thank you for taking me here, Steve,” you whispered, a tender breath of wind carrying your voice to a faraway place, to a dreamland. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the marvellous scenery. “It’s… it’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand shifting under yours, escaping your hold, fingers running up your arms to nestle on your jaw, gently cradling, causing your breathing to hitch, your heart speeding up to a at least a hundred per minute. “You are, doll.”

You turned to him, melting in his touch, and while you saw his face inching closer to yours, nerves working, regretting your inexperience, not for a split second you thought of retreating.

When Steve’s lips met yours, all rational thought left your mind, carried away by the sweet breeze of summer.

Girls’ night never felt so magical.

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Part 2

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Tags: @wxstedhexrt, @comicshoplife, @elysianecho, @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula, @pies-wands-and-more (I know you didn’t ask explicitly, but I can take a hint)

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I’m almost embarrassed to say that it turned out, once again, much much longer than I intended. But some might box my ears if I did, so... yay?

Credit for the fic title and chapter title goes to @queen-kass-the-writer​ - thank you!

And thank you for reading!

[adesidera]

seeds in a cup

a pre ayda/fig fic

Ayda Agueforth is good at her job, she might dare say she’s the best at it. She cares for the Compass Point Library downtown for six days a week, nine hours from Mondays to Saturdays.

She works there from nine in the morning, welcoming disgruntled parents dragged by their rosy-cheeked children, up until five in the evening, where she starts herding in sleep-deprived college students into the study rooms around the back.

It’s a quiet life she’s built for herself, far away from the influence of her father, but near enough for him not to worry about her (when he remembers her at all). She’s comforted by the routine, the peace and tranquility the books offer her, and it doesn’t hurt that her father’s influence helped kick some sense into the local government to help add some funding for the library.

She’s even made some friends here, Gorgug and Adaine, two students from her father’s university uptown. Gorgug usually stalks around his girlfriend, Zelda, while she checks out some books, and he comes up the front desk to talk to her and chat about new books about arcana. While Adaine, a third-year History major, usually sneaks her food by the desk. She briefly wonders if it’s to butter her up to overlook the overdue books Adaine returns, but there is nothing false about the smiles Adaine sends her way when she hands her an ice cold venti strawberry poppy seed tea every morning.

It’s a regular Thursday morning, and she’s sorting the books back into their shelves. The regulars are all tucked away in their usual nooks, and the faint sent of coffee and old paper is wafting around the whole library like a comforting blanket. The silence is only broken by the sound of turning pages or the click-clack of keyboard keys, but like a crack of a whip, she hears the sound of laughter near the study rooms.

Ayda walks quickly to the rooms, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She hasn’t seen anyone unfamiliar to her go into this area, so she’s a bit miffed and annoyed at whoever is causing the disturbance. When she rounds the corner, she sees Adaine sitting on one of the desks and another figure sitting on the table. This girl is a far cry from the usual suspects in the library, studded leather jacket, ripped jeans, and beaten converse shoes. As she walks closer, she smells the faint smell of cloves, she scrunches her nose in distaste, but she says nothing. Ayda nods at Adaine in greeting, which Adaine returns with a smile.

“Hello Adaine, I would like it if your companion didn’t make as much of a noise.”

“I’m so sorry about her Ayda,” Adaine’s face is apologetic, and she gestures to the girl beside her, “This is a friend of mine, Fig.” 

This Fig character smiles widely at her and holds out a hand, Ayda waits for a beat before taking Fig’s hand, “A student at Agueforth too, I presume?”

“Yeah! I’m currently majoring in Music right now, but I’m also considering in taking up Medieval Lit sometime in the future,” Fig looks at Ayda from underneath her lashes, and Ayda is fascinated by her eyes. “Were you a student there too?’

Ayda shakes her head, “While it would’ve been a wise decision to study at a place where my father runs, I have a great distaste for the man.” 

“I’m pretty sure Dean Aguefo—“ Ayda doesn’t let her finish her sentence, and interjects quickly, ”I find that talking about my father is very tiring for me, so I must be off.”

Ayda quickly walks away, from the corner of her eye, she sees Fig about to protest, but Adaine holds her off. When she goes into one of the alcoves near them, she hears Fig say, ”Well I only wanted to befriend her.”. Ayda shakes her head, and gets right back to work. 

-

The next day, she clocks in later than usual, and she spies Rawlins, one of the other librarians, hang a couple of posters by the entrance. As she nears, Ayda greets him, and she is met with a toothy grin

“What is that Rawlins?” She looks at the hanged poster, and sees a bunch of crudely drawn stick figure with a bunch of books, most likely drawn by a child.  The words STORY TIME is written in bold and bright colors, which give her a slight migraine. 

“It’s an event for em’ small lads,” Rawlins says proudly, “Figured that it wouldn’t hurt to help those poor parents to distract them wee little sods in the morning.”

“Is this a story-reading event?”

“Right ye’ are lass, I even got me a bunch of volunteers for it from yer’ father’s university.”

Just as she thinks of possible names of the people who volunteered, she hears someone shout her name. “Morning Ayda!”

She turns and sees Fig bundled up in warmer clothes, with a bunch of beverages on one hand, Fig nods at Rowlins and hands him a cup of coffee.

Rowlins turns to go back inside, and just as Ayda follows him back to the desk, Fig hands her a venti strawberry poppy seed iced tea.

[harry-sussex]

February 20, 2019

A day that will live in infamy: the day I saw HRH The Duchess of Sussex in my home city

I go to school in the Upper East Side of Manhattan on Wednesdays and Thursdays.  When I saw photos of Meghan & co. at The Mark Hotel on Tuesday, I assumed the baby shower was over and that I’d missed my chance.

Then, Omid Scobie broke the news that the baby shower was in fact Wednesday.

I usually have class at 4 and then at 7 on Wednesdays, but my 4:00 class was canceled, so I actually had free time to wander about Manhattan before my 7:00.  With the help of the always wonderful @harryandmeghansussex, I decided I was going to hang out outside the hotel.  I didn’t want to scare Meghan or bother her or anything, I just wanted to know that there was at least someone in the mess of people looking for her who had her back, you know?  Even if she never knew it.  Of course, I also wanted to see my favorite pregnant first-time-mum-to-be in person!

So anyway, I got to The Mark around 6:00, at which point Jessica Mulroney, Amal Clooney, and Misha Nonoo had already left.  Serena Williams hadn’t yet been spotted and nobody had yet seen Meghan at all that day, so I was pretty confident that she was still in there.  The paparazzi were staked out on both sides of the main entrance to The Mark - I was on the left (if you’re looking towards the street).  The photo below is of the paparazzi staged on the right of the hotel entrance.  It was about even on both sides, so maybe about 15-20 of them total.  Once I saw them standing there, I knew she still had to be in the hotel.  

There was a black SUV with US Government plates parked outside (see the pic above) with tinted windows and I knew that was Meghan’s vehicle.  There were also police barricades holding in the paparazzi on both sides of the hotel, as well as across the street.  I didn’t notice any overt police presence, however.

As I was checking out the car from my vantage point, one of the regular people standing there to see her (not the paparazzi) asked me if I knew which car was hers and if so, why.  I started filling in a handful of fans on what I knew - not only about the baby shower, but also about Meghan’s life as a royal.  They were loose followers of royalty (not obsessive stans to the grave like myself) so we passed the time by talking about Meghan, Harry, the baby, their wedding, even William and Kate.  One guy was there with his girlfriend (wife?) and he was quite interested in the notion of royalty and what they can/cannot and should/should not do.  Another girl was there and she was telling me that she’s hosting a baby shower for Meghan at her own apartment on Saturday!  With gifts and games and her friends and everything!  She woke up at 4 am to watch Harry and Meghan’s wedding, the whole nine yards.  She was so excited!!

People started fading at around 6:20.  It was cold and still kind of snowing.  The paparazzi stayed put, however.  My new friends and I had formed a group of 5 people, and we seemed to be the only fans who stayed put until the end.  A handful of stragglers would stop across the street for a few minutes, but would continue on their way rather quickly.

At around 6:30, a man with an earpiece left the Mark and started the US government vehicle in the photo above.  Every time the doors to the Mark would open, I held my breath.  A staffer from the Mark was outside talking to a few of the people I was with, and he said he found a red rose that was allegedly part of the baby shower.  He gave it to one of the girls in my little group and I was dying of jealousy but she seemed really happy to have it!!

The guy with the earpiece on the left, helping to load Meghan’s luggage on the right.

At around 6:45, the Mark hotel staff started relocating the police barriers to the service entrance just to the right of the main entrance.  My new royal-loving friends and I were torn, as were half of the paparazzi - should we go to the relocated barriers, or should we stay put?  Was it just an effort to split up the group of people?

I went with my gut and went to the new service entrance.  My new group of friends also followed suit.  I was operating on the hunch that there was no way they’d let her walk out of an unprotected entrance with so many people waiting for her.

At around 6:50, they rolled out a black and white striped carpet in front of the service entrance that matched the famous Mark hotel floors seen in Serena’s Instagram post from the weekend.  That convinced me (and, unfortunately, most of the paparazzi) that she wouldn’t be departing from the main entrance as Jessica, Amal, and Misha had.  You can see the carpet here:

The left photo is of the super nice Mark hotel staff member (more on him later). The woman on the right seemed to be Meghan’s RPO for the weekend, though I haven’t confirmed that.

We moved over to the newly-erected police barricades and we actually had a good view.  The barricades were meant to control the paparazzi only, so we weren’t pushing against a barrier or anything.  I think the Mark hotel staff had a feeling that we were there harmlessly, you know?

The first and only paparazzo to leave bailed around 7:00 pm, citing “12 hours in the snow and no sighting of Meghan” as his reason.  At this point, I was already late to my 7pm class and I decided I would wait it out.  If all of the paparazzi left, then I would leave, because I knew they were receiving tips all weekend.  One guy who was staying at the Mark was walking around telling anyone who would listen that he was staying really close to the Duchess in the hotel that weekend and that she left yesterday and that we were all wasting our time.  He was acting like such a jerk about it though, pompously strutting with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, not convincing at all - hardly anyone paid him any mind.  There were murmurs that she wasn’t there, that she left already out a private entrance and we missed her, but I just refused to believe it - as did most of the paparazzi.  One member of our little group - the boyfriend/husband - was about to leave.  His significant other really wanted to wait it out - they had been waiting this long - but didn’t want to stay alone.  He said he’d wait another handful of minutes - 7:05-ish, the latest.

And then.  The moment to end all moments.

The doors opened at around 7:05, and the cameras started flashing.  The paparazzi started shouting questions at Meghan, and I just didn’t want that to be the only thing she heard (if she could hear anything at all).  I was closer to the door than the paparazzi were, so once I saw the cameras flashing, I knew she was coming out, and I waved and kind of softly called over to her, “Hi Meghan!!  I love you!!! Congratulations!!!”  She, of course, didn’t look over to either side - just kept her head down and headed straight to the waiting car (the US government vehicle - I was right!)

Did she hear me?  I have no idea.  Probably not.  But I like to think she might have.  After it was all over, one of my newfound royal-loving friends texted me the video she took of Meghan’s departure and you can hear me at around 0:28 saying “hi Meghan!!  I love you!!!” before the paparazzo shouts something obnoxious about her allowing her father to meet the baby.  I’ll post the video later if anyone is interested, it’s not working in this post right now.

The main thing I noticed about her in person is her hair.  It’s gorgeous in person.  The photos do not do it justice at all.  It was so shiny and looked so soft and curled so perfectly. Even under a black ball cap, it was stunning.  I also noticed the sparkle of that beautiful engagement ring in the camera lights.  My favorite thing I noticed, though?  She was cradling her baby.  Shielding him or her from the flashes and shouts of the world outside.  That’s a lot to notice in not even five seconds, but I was paying such close attention to detail to make sure I remembered all of it.

I noticed after the fact, when looking at my pictures, that my goodness, she’s tiny.  She’s tinier than I thought she was, even from professional photographs!  These are probably the three best photographs I ended up taking (I wasn’t looking at my camera, I was focusing on seeing her with my own two eyes, so they’re not the best):

Once the car was on its way, the paparazzi dispersed pretty quickly.  My little group and I were so excited that we stuck around for a few minutes reliving the past minute while the Mark hotel staff put everything in order.  The nice man on the Mark hotel staff from one of the photos above came by and asked if we saw who we were looking for.  I asked him if he met Meghan, and he said of course.  I then asked him if she was the sweetest thing, and he said, “yes, absolutely, very sweet!”  I asked him if he could repeat that word for word so I could post his quote on my blog, and he just kind of laughed and walked away smiling and shaking his head - but I remembered the quote anyway!

The whole thing lasted about five seconds.  I waited over an hour and was late to my graduate-level class for a whole five seconds with The Duchess of Sussex, and it was so worth it!  I was on such a natural high after leaving the Mark that I got on the subway in the wrong direction, and had to turn around at the next stop uptown before heading back downtown to my class.  Whoops.  I didn’t even care - I saw Meg and the baby!!

So that’s my story of how an average, snowy Wednesday night for me turned into hanging out with a cool new group of royal lovers in the middle of the sidewalk to see HRH The Duchess of Sussex for not even five seconds after her baby shower.

I feel comfortable posting all of this now because the news cycle has become bored with the story, and she’s already home, safe and sound, in London with Harry.  I didn’t want to post anything that would intrude on her personal life any more.  Now that she’s home and far away from here, I’m comfortable posting.

One last thing: when I was looking at the picture taking by the paparazzi during those five seconds, I found this picture:

If you look closely in between Meghan and the guy behind her, right above the man’s hand, you can see a small tuft of blonde hair with dark roots.

THAT’S MY HEAD!! THAT’S MY HAIR! I *technically* have a photo of myself with HRH The Duchess of Sussex and it made me very happy to see!! Gotta celebrate the small victories, you know?

[karamelsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, Mon-El (Oh, and Meet My Parents)

Author: Ashley @ashleymaria (xxashleyxx on AO3 and FF.net, @_ashleymaria_ on Twitter)

Title: Merry Christmas, Mon-El (Oh, and Meet My Parents)

Rating: T – Teen

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Mon-El and Kara Zor-El

Word Count: 4,639

Summary: “Mon-El was panicking. Actual panicking. And pacing. He was pacing, too. Back and forth along the floorboards of their apartment. Waiting for Kara to get back from the DEO, praying to Rao that she got here before they did. They being her parents. HER PARENTS.” – Mon-El meets Kara’s parents for the first time on Christmas Eve. AU/Canon Divergent.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Supergirl, DC Comics or anything related to such things. The ideas, dialogue and plot points were inspired by the show, but they are my own. Whatever you do recognize is a quote from the show. Plagiarism isn’t nice. Please don’t steal my ideas.

For: Lara ( @silverphoenixfeather) – I hope you enjoy this gift and I hope it lived up to the idea you had in mind! Sending love and wishing you a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and a wonderful New Year to come!!

A/N: Hi everyone! Christmas is my favourite time of year, so thank you to @handlewithkara for letting me know about the Secret Santa in the first place. I don’t do AU’s very often as it usually takes too much creativity and planning, but this was one I had to run with. Lara (@silverphoenixfeather) had requested writing something to do with meeting parents, so I moved things around to make that happen. Read the following intro to get the important info and plot changes before reading the story!

Kara and Mon-El both arrived on Earth at the same time as they did on the show, they met at the same time as they did on the show and they got together at the same time as they did on the show. I’m ignoring the Daxamite Invasion and pretending that Mon-El’s parents never came to Earth. They exist. They are who they are, but they just never came. Kara’s parents, on the other hand, were able to get off Krypton before it exploded, but they weren’t able to make it to Earth along with Kara. When they finally arrived and were able to find Kara it was around the beginning of Season 1 and when she started using her powers (i.e. Kara still grew up with the Danvers family). Her parents decided to stay on Earth and live in Metropolis to be near Kara.

——————————————————————————————-

Mon-El was panicking. Actual panicking. And pacing. He was pacing, too. Back and forth along the floorboards of their apartment. Waiting for Kara to get back from the DEO, praying to Rao that she got here before they did.

They being her parents.

HER PARENTS.

Her parents whom he’d never met and would be meeting for the first time tonight. Of all nights, of course it would be tonight.

Christmas Eve.

An Earthly holiday that he had already barely understood up until today, this year being his first one spent celebrating with anyone, and now he was meeting her actual parents.

Was he sweating? He was sweating. Was that possible? He tugged at the collar of his button down shirt, pulling his tie looser around his neck. He didn’t think that he could sweat on Earth, but he was pretty sure he was sweating.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, but Kara had prefaced their Christmas Eve dinner merely a half hour ago with a speech about all the things he could and couldn’t do. Not should and shouldn’t, but rather could and couldn’t. Meaning that he could screw things up big time if he didn’t pay attention to what he was doing and saying because Kara had clearly outlined and right and a wrong way to do things tonight. And that was stressing him out.

“Okay, but they don’t know that we live together,” she said, her hands stroking across his chest as she straightened out his dress shirt.

“Okay,” he paused. “Are we not going to tell them?” he furrowed his eyebrows at her.

“No,” she stated firmly.

“What…what’d you mean ‘no’? What do I tell them? Where do I live?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “The DEO. Or say you have your own apartment uptown. Make something up.” She straightened his tie for him.

“Make something up? I…what should I say?” his voice was bordering on panic.

“And don’t tell them you’re from Daxam,” she smiled sweetly at him.

“Don’t–what’d you mean don’t tell them I’m from Daxam? Where am I from?”

“Just make something up,” she repeated and shrugged again before stepping away.

“Wait, Kara. I’m confused,” he started as he followed after her. “Are we lying to them?”

“Not really,” she moved toward the dinner table, ensuring that the proper silverware and dishes were set out for the four of them.

“It sounds like we’re lying…”

“Okay, maybe we’re just fibbing a little bit, but I don’t want to tell them all this stuff yet. I’ve never introduced them to a boyfriend of mine before. You tell them all this stuff and they’ll freak out, and it’s Christmas. I don’t want any drama or craziness on Christmas. I just want you to meet them and they’ll meet you and then that whole thing will be over with and we can just,” she sighed loudly. “Move on.”

“But then the next time I meet them, I’ll just have to lie all over again.”

“Okay, fine, you can tell them you’re from Daxam, but only if they ask. And don’t say you were the Prince. You know how things were…people on Krypton…”

He nodded slightly. “Yeah, I know, I just…I…” he sighed heavily and she turned back around to face him. “I want to make a good impression. I want them to like me,” he smiled, but she could tell that he was worried.

“They will!” she assured him. “What’s not to like?”

“The Daxam part. The Prince part. The living with you part.”

“Okay,” she laughed. “I get it. Just…be yourself.” Suddenly her phone started buzzing on the kitchen counter top.

“Be myself?” he called out to her as she stepped away. “But I thought I wasn’t supposed to–” she shushed him as she held up a finger at him, her other hand moving to grab her phone.

“Hey Alex, what’s up?” He watched her stance harden before she nodded. “Be there in five.”

His eyes widened. “Be where in five?”

“Alien downtown. Gotta run.”

“Kara!” he shouted as she raced to put on her suit. “Your parents are gonna be here in forty-five minutes!”

“I’ll be back before then,” she nodded encouragingly.

“And if you’re not?”

“Just entertain them. You’re funny. Be funny. They’ll like that.”

“But–” he stammered as he watched her open the window. “Where do I start? What have you told them about me?”

“That you’re my boyfriend and that your name is Mon-El,” she called back as she flew out the window.

He kept looking down at his watch, eyeing the numbers as they ticked closer and closer to seven o’clock. What if they were early? They could arrive any second now. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to them. He was going to be so awkward. He was usually so good with people; so cool under pressure, but–

Knock, knock, knock.

His eyes widened and his wrist flew upward. 6:48pm. They were early! He didn’t move for a minute; standing stiff as a board as he debated whether or not he could get away with not answering the door just yet. What if he pretended he was out with Kara? Just as Kara got back he could run to the door, telling her that he’d just heard them knock.

No. That would be rude. He couldn’t keep them waiting. He looked down at his tie hanging loosely from his neck before racing into their…oops…Kara’s bedroom to take in his appearance in the mirror. He straightened out his tie, adjusted the belt at his hips and flattened out the new wrinkles he’d made in his dress shirt.

Knock, knock, knock.

He raced to the door and sucked in a deep, nervous breath before opening it.

“Hi,” he greeted as the door swung open. He’d probably said it too loudly, the couple’s eyebrows raising high in surprise. “Welcome,” he started, stepping backward and holding out his arm, gesturing for the couple to come inside. They looked at each other before grinning and stepping forward into the apartment.

“I’m Kara’s boyfriend, Mon-El,” he introduced himself, “though I think you probably already knew that.” Apparently that was all they knew.

“Zor-El,” Kara’s father shook his hand, his other hand stabling a wrapped rectangular box in the crook of his arm. He didn’t get them any presents! Kara didn’t say he needed to get them presents! “Nice to meet you, Mon-El. This is my wife,” his hand landed on her back as she stepped forward and closer to Mon-El.

“Alura,” she stated with a smile, her own hand reaching out to shake Mon-El’s. He took her hand.

“So nice to meet you,” he said as he held onto her hand, and then he bowed. Bowed? Why did he bow? Oh, Rao, he was so nervous.

“Where’s Kara?” Zor-El asked, his eyes glancing around the apartment.

“She uh…she had to run out. She’ll be right back though.” His own eyes glanced around the room. “We could sit? Uhm, sit and wait for her…” he suggested, eyeing the sofa. He really just thought he needed to sit down. No passing out in front of the future in-laws.

“Sure,” Alura agreed, nodding encouragingly as he led them to the sofa. Mon-El watched as Zor-El placed the wrapped box underneath their brightly lit Christmas tree. Maybe that’s a present for Kara? He was so focused on the present that he didn’t notice the man rolling a suitcase to the side of the room before joining them. Alura turned to smile at her husband as she sat down on the sofa.

Mon-El sat at one end, Kara’s parents at the other. In silence. Nobody saying a word. Mon-El’s foot tapped on the floor quickly, repeatedly, before Alura’s hand appeared on his knee stopping him. He looked up at her wide eyed.

“Tell us about yourself, Mon-El,” she suggested with a smile and his face fell. The dreaded question. The question that could go wrong in so many ways.

He opened his mouth, still not fully knowing where to begin when Kara flew back through the window, landing with an excited thump against the hardwood.

“Ahhhhh! You’re here!” she exclaimed as she ran toward the sofa.

“My girl!” Alura stood and rushed to her daughter, arms wrapping around her in a tight hug. Mon-El let out a loud sigh of relief, Zor-El standing and patting the boy on the back before walking over to his daughter.

“Kara, we’ve missed you so,” he said, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head before hugging both of them.

Mon-El stood and slowly moved toward the family that made him so nervous; hands shoved deep in his pockets so nobody would see if he were shaking.

“I guess you’ve met Mon-El,” he heard Kara mumble in the group hug before they all pulled away.

“He was just going to tell us all about himself,” Alura laughed, easily sensing how nervous the boy was. Kara heard Mon-El gulp all the way from across the room and she knew her parents could hear it, too.

“Don’t worry about that,” she told them, holding out her hand for Mon-El to take. “Let’s just eat.” She pulled Mon-El toward the fridge, silently asking for his help to put everything out for dinner. “Just sit,” she told her parents and they did as told, sliding into the dining chairs. Kara zapped the food with her heat vision before setting everything down on the counter for Mon-El to take to the table. “Mon-El cooked!” Kara shouted out to them from the kitchen.

“You cook, son?” Zor-El asked and Mon-El had to remind himself to calm down, his heart jumping in his chest at the word son.

“Yeah, uh I mean, yes. Yes, I learned when I came to Earth,” he nodded as he placed some bowls on the table.

“That’s good,” Alura nodded. “We all know that Kara can’t cook,” she giggled quietly.

“Hey! I’m standing right here,” she said, pulling the turkey out from the bottom shelf of the fridge. She held up the bird. “I thought we’d go with traditional Earth holiday food since it’s, well, Christmas and all.”

Her parents nodded, but their attention didn’t stay there long. “So,” Alura looked at Mon-El, “you’re not from Earth?” she asked him. “With a name like Mon-El we assumed as much,” she smiled as she looked at her husband. “Where are you from?”

His eyes widened as he looked over at Kara who was too busy zapping the turkey with heat vision to notice what the question was.

“Daxam,” he answered quietly.

“Daxam?” Kara’s father questioned, though he didn’t sound too surprised. “That’s interesting…”

Mon-El held up his hands. “I just want you both to know that there were a lot of things about Daxam that I don’t agree with…”

“Why are we talking about Daxam?” Kara asked as she placed the turkey in the centre of the dining table. “I thought we were eating.”

“We’re waiting for you dear,” Alura said sweetly. “We’re talking about Daxam because that’s where Mon-El is from. You didn’t tell us that.”

Kara shrugged. “It never came up.”

“Well,” her father started, changing the subject easily. “I want to hear all about work. Supergirl and CatCo. Tell us what you’ve been up to.”

——————————————————————————————-

Dinner was nice; pleasant conversation, some good laughs, some funny Kara baby stories that got Kara to blush and Mon-El to nearly cry with laughter. Mon-El stood to clear the table, his hands moving to grab the plate in front of Alura.

“No, sweetheart, don’t. I’ll do that. You sit back down,” she said as she moved to stand.

He shook his head at her. “No, ma’am. You’re both the guests here. I got it.”

Kara smiled up at him before turning back to look at her parents, both of them smiling while they watched Mon-El begin to clear the table before looking back at each other, their conversation resuming. On his second trip back, he grabbed one too many half-full wine glasses, one slipping in his hands, falling into his chest as he tried to stop it from crashing to the floor beneath him. Even with super-fast reflexes, he couldn’t stop the red wine from spilling down the front of his white dress shirt.

“Ahhh shi–oot!” his eyes widened, “shoot,” he repeated as Kara rushed to stand and take the glasses from his hands. He sighed heavily. “It’s okay,” he nodded at her. “I’ll uh, I’ll just go put on another one.” He paused for a second, watching as Kara’s eyes widened. “A t-shirt! A shirt I keep here for emergencies!” He finished as he turned away. Phew, covered up that one.

Kara looked at her parents. “He leaves a few of his things here just in case. Wine emergencies and such,” she nodded as she quickly moved to the sink to dispose of the glasses.

Zor-El and Alura eyed each other knowingly as they began to assist in clearing the rest of the table while Mon-El ran off to change.

“Are we watching our traditional Christmas movie channel?” Zor-El’s eyes lit up and Kara turned around and laughed with her mother at him.

“Every year, dad,” Kara sighed.

“It’s his favourite,” Alura grinned as she put the final plate in the sink in front of Kara. “Want help with the dishes?”

“No, mom, go. Watch TV.”

Mon-El appeared back in the living room, a black t-shirt tucked into his dress pants. Kara laughed at him as he walked over to join her.

“I was gonna just put on a whole new outfit, but I thought that might be suspicious. It looks funny tucked in, doesn’t it? Should I untuck it? Maybe I should just leave it?” he asked nervously. “Here,” she laughed as she handed him a dry towel and ignored his question. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

——————————————————————————————-

It was getting late in the evening when Alura stood from the sofa, patting Zor-El’s knee. “I don’t know about you kids, but I’m getting too old for this staying up late thing.”

“It’s 10:00pm, mom,” Kara smiled as she rolled her eyes.

“Says the youngest one in the room…”

Kara stood from the floor, she and Mon-El both sitting there after shoving aside the coffee table so that they could all watch the movie together. “I’ll make up the bed for you guys,” she said before zipping away, five seconds later appearing back in front of them. “Done,” she announced proudly. Mon-El stood from his spot on the floor.

“Bed?” he asked, eyes wide. “Are you staying the night?” he asked awkwardly as he watched Zor-El pull a suitcase over from beside the Christmas tree. When did that get there?

Kara nodded. “They always do on Christmas Eve. Metropolis is far…I mean, I know they can fly, but still. It’s late and I’m not going to make them go home now.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “Of course.” He stood in the middle of the living room, eyes bouncing between the three Kryptonians in front of him. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to head home for the night…to my…apartment. Uptown,” he nodded.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to go,” Alura stated as she shook her head. “Just because we’re going to bed early doesn’t mean you have to leave. Finish another movie. Have some alone time.” She looked at Zor-El. “We’ll be out like a light as soon as we hit the pillow.” She moved in toward Mon-El, her arms wrapping easily around the boy.

“It was very nice meeting you, honey.” Her hands rubbed up and down his back encouragingly. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning? We always have Christmas breakfast before we drop in to see Alex and then head back to Metropolis,” she grinned at him.

He smiled a shy smile back. “I’ll be there.”

“Goodnight,” Zor-El called out as they moved into the bedroom, busying themselves with preparing for bed.

“I don’t want you to go yet,” Kara whispered as she leaned into Mon-El, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“One more movie,” she said as her hands reached for his, pulling them from her body and intertwining their fingers. He nodded with a smile as she pulled him toward the sofa.

——————————————————————————————-

A couple of hours later, they still sat together on the sofa; Mon-El leaning again the arm, both legs on the cushions, just enough space between them for Kara to squeeze in, her back resting against his chest as they continued to watch the credits of the latest Christmas movie roll across the screen.

“So, you’ll be okay at the DEO for the night?” she whispered as she cringed, her parents fast asleep in their bed a few feet away.

“You should have told me they were staying the night…” he sighed.

“I thought I did! Didn’t you see the suitcase?” she asked as she turned her head to look up at him.

“When they came in? No, I was too busy trying not to pass out from pure fear.”

She chuckled, her hands coming up to cover her mouth, attempting to silence her laughter before waking her parents.

“What I did see was the present your father was carrying!” he whispered. “You said no presents!”

“I told them no presents!” she defended herself. “They clearly didn’t listen.”

He scoffed at her before kissing her forehead.

“If it helps, I think you were really good with them…”

He shrugged. “I hope they think I’m good enough for you,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, her hand moving to his cheek to catch his eyes. “Hey, you are good enough for me. I can see that. They can see that.”

He sighed lightly as he watched the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree near the television. “I guess I should go. The movie’s over and I better leave if I’m going to get any rest before coming back for breakfast.”

“No,” she whined lightly. “A little while longer, please?”

His hand moved to her cheek, thumb sliding across her skin before he moved in to kiss her, his lips meeting hers softly, almost hesitantly; a part of him still worried that her parents might wake up and scold him for kissing their daughter a mere few feet away from them. Kara’s hand slid under his shirt, fingertips sliding across his abs and moving up his chest.

“Kara,” he whined quietly back at her as she tried to deepen the kiss. “I can’t do that if your parents are right there,” he whispered and Kara almost laughed at the blush that coloured his cheeks. “I’m gonna have to leave…”

“Nooo,” she whispered. “I’ll stop. Just stay. At least until I fall asleep, okay?” she mumbled against his lips when he pulled away. “Then you can sneak off.”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly before kissing her forehead again, his arms wrapping tightly around her. “A little while longer.”

——————————————————————————————-

Mon-El’s eyes fluttered open slowly and he squinted against the sun streaming through the windows; the soft snow falling outside making the world seem so much brighter than he was ready for first thing in the morning. His fingers flexed, his hand moving against Kara’s back underneath her shirt. He groaned lightly as he shifted against the sofa, trying to get the rays of sun out of his eyes.

Wait. Sofa?

Uh oh.

“Kara,” he whispered, his hand scratching gently against her back. She mumbled something quietly as she shifted against him. “I fell asleep. I was supposed to go…” he continued as his hand rubbed against his eyes.

His eyebrows furrowed as he sniffed the air around him. Waffles?

“Ah, good morning, Mon-El,” a deep voice high above him greeted. His eyes widened.

“Good morning, sir,” he tried as he blinked up at him, his voice cracking slightly, still rough with sleep. Kara groaned against his chest and Mon-El cringed slightly, guiltily pulling his hand out from underneath Kara’s shirt. “We fell asleep last night,” he defended his presence in front of her father.

“We’re making breakfast,” he stated, ignoring Mon-El’s confession of the obvious. “Make sure she’s up in the next fifteen minutes or she’s gonna miss it,” he winked before returning to the kitchen behind them.

“Kara,” he whispered again at her ear. “Babe, you gotta wake up. We’re gonna miss breakfast…”

He felt her moving; her back straightening and head turning as she woke. Realizing food was involved had perked her right up. “Breakfast?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Your parents are making breakfast.”

Her eyes widened as it suddenly occurred to her that they shouldn’t be here on the sofa like this together if her parents were making breakfast. He was supposed to leave last night.

“You were supposed to–”

He nodded. “I know. Oops,” his mouth formed a crooked smile. “They already caught me. I think it’s okay…”

“Are you both getting up today or what?” Alura shouted from the kitchen as she set the table.

“I’m up!” Kara shouted as she stood from the sofa. “Give me five seconds,” she called out before racing into the bathroom and emerging fully dressed and ready for the day; a bright red and green Christmas sweater on her torso. He noticed that it matched the sweaters worn by her parents. Clearly Christmas-themed sweaters was another thing Kara hadn’t told him about. Not that he knew where to get one…

“Mon-El,” Zor-El called out. “You better hurry up and get changed. She’ll have it all gone before you sit down,” he laughed.

“Changed, sir?” he asked awkwardly.

“Dad,” Kara appeared next to him. “He doesn’t live here, remember? He already wore his emergency shirt last night…” she grabbed a raspberry from the bowl on the table and popped it into her mouth.

He looked down at the t-shirt and dress pants he still wore; wrinkled from a night on the couch. Her parents both laughed loudly and Kara raised an eyebrow at them.

“What’s so funny?” she asked them.

“Emergency shirt! His stuff is everywhere, Kara,” her mother said. “We slept in your bedroom. Used your bathroom. You think we wouldn’t notice that he lived here? We know you live together. We know you sleep in the same bed. Probably do other things in that bed, too…”

“Mom!” Kara shouted, her face falling into her hands. Mon-El just blinked at them from across the table.

“Mon-El, please go change, sweetheart. Something comfortable. No more ties and dress shirts,” she winked.

He let out a loud sigh of relief. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he moved back toward the bedroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Kara said as she sat down at the kitchen table, watching her parents place the fresh waffles and added toppings on the table. “I didn’t want you to get hit with all this information at once,” she whispered. “I wanted you to meet him and like him before you knew all these things about us and him–”

“Like the fact that he’s from Daxam?” her father asked.

Kara nodded silently.

“Of course we knew he was from Daxam,” Alura chimed in just as Mon-El reappeared.

“What?” he asked as he joined them at the table. Kara’s jaw fell slightly as she looked up at her mother. She watched as she sat down at the table. Her eyes met her daughter’s.

“Honey, you think that we didn’t know the name of the son of the Royal Family of Daxam?”

“I–”

“I know you were both worried, but Kara, we only want you to be happy.” Alura looked over at Mon-El. “You make her happy. I can see that. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, or if you live together or if you spill wine on your shirt and are terribly awkward around us.” They all laughed at Mon-El and he started to blush and sink in his chair. Alura reached for his hand across the table, grabbing onto it before grabbing a hold of Kara’s with her other hand. “I’m happy you’ve found each other; another person who understands you the way nobody else can. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, Kara. On Earth. On Krypton. Wherever you choose to live your life. Your father, too.”

Zor-El nodded in agreement. “No more secrets,” he instructed. “We have no reservations about this relationship. Not after we’ve seen how you two are with each other.”

Mon-El felt Kara’s hand moving under the table, squeezing his thigh gently. “I love him,” she whispered quietly.

Mon-El’s head turned as he looked at her. “Kara, I love you, too. So much.”

“Oh, stop it you two,” Alura gushed from across the table as she patted both their hands with her own. “I’m getting all teary eyed over here! Eat your breakfast. Then we can open your present.”

Kara kissed Mon-El’s cheek lightly. “Yeah, the present you said you weren’t going to bring…” she said as she looked back at her mother.

“Oh, honey, it’s not for you,” Alura shook her head. “It’s for Mon-El.”

Kara’s eyes widened, but not as wide as Mon-El’s did. “For me?” he asked her, surprised.

“As a welcome to the family…” she smiled before she suddenly stood from the table. “Oh, I can’t wait! I’m going to make you open it now!” Alura moved to the tree and picked up the present Zor-El had placed there last night. She walked over to Mon-El, slid aside his still empty breakfast plate and put the present down on the table.

Kara smiled at him, “Open it,” she encouraged.

He grinned as he looked down at the shiny Christmas wrapping; ornaments and gingerbread cookies dancing across the green paper. He gently flipped it over, slowly trying to peel the tape off the back.

“Oh, Rao, Mon-El!” His eyes rose to meet Kara’s, concerned that he’d done something wrong already. “Just rip it open!” she laughed.

Her parents both laughed at her excitement before he started to speed up the opening. His tearing of the paper revealed a plain white box. He slid the top off, moved aside some tissue paper and he felt his throat getting tight, his heart pounding in his chest.

“We all have one,” Zor-El stated.

“We thought that you should, too,” Alura finished.

Kara tried to peer over the upended tissue paper, but he pulled the gift out of the box entirely, shaking out a Christmas sweater; red and green and exactly the same garment worn by all three of them around him.

“It’s kind of tradition with us, and we thought you should be a part of it. Merry Christmas,” her mother had said, but he only faintly heard it, his focus on the gift in his hands; the sweater that represented his acceptance into Kara’s family. A family that he’d always wanted to have; always wanted to be a part of.

He sniffled lightly, a smile cracking widely onto his face. “Thank you,” he whispered through the tears threatening to break free. He was suddenly just feeling so overwhelmed.

“Put it on,” Kara whispered beside him and he didn’t hesitate in tugging off his current sweater before pulling on the new one.

He looked down at his chest, smiling at the reindeer and candy canes on the, albeit obnoxious, looking sweater.

“Merry Christmas, Mon-El,” he heard Kara whisper at his ear before he felt her lips press to his cheek in a kiss.

He looked up at the couple in front of them before turning to meet Kara’s eyes. “Merry Christmas,” he grinned before taking Kara’s hand and kissing her knuckles.

“Alright,” Alura stated, moving the empty box off the table and giving Mon-El his plate back. “Let’s eat already!”

END.

——————————————————————————————-

A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! I’d love to hear what you thought!

[blackpythongeni-blog]

Young, Black, and Gay: Navigating My Queerness in the 21st Century, A-Z

Inspired by Audre Lorde’s Zami: A New Spelling of My Name, Chapter 23

AC/DC

‘We were part of the “freaky” bunch of lesbians who weren’t into role-playing.’ (Audre, Lorde, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name, 178). I’m pansexual and I still get strange looks and opinions from my lesbian friends. Femmes are a little more accepting of me liking men. Studs, however, are more likely to be turned off. Audre Lorde said during her time women like me, who didn’t adhere to role-playing, were called AC/DC or Ky-Ky, prostitutes basically.

Black and Beautiful

I’m grateful to live during a time where I’m able to be more secure in my blackness, to think of it as beautiful. Audre Lorde, although I’m sure she loved herself and her blackness, wasn’t as fortunate. To live during her time as a young black woman must have been a constant act of self-love. “Diane was fat, and Black, and beautiful, and knew it long before it become fashionable to think so.” (Lorde, 177).

College

“I realized in profound shock that someone else besides me in the Village gay-girl scene was a closet student at one of the Uptown colleges.” (Lorde, 177). College and the Village gay scene was starkly separate in Lorde’s time in New York. In Ann Arbor, it’s completely acceptable to mix the two; that’s the only way I was able to finally come out.

Downtown

There are two places in Downtown Ann Arbor that I know of that have gay nights, Necto and Candy. Necto has gay nights every Friday, Candy every Thursday. Near Downtown Detroit, there’s a gay bar/club called The Woodward.

Eight Street

Audre says they were “the invisible but visible sisters”; they acknowledged their common identities as lesbians by passing and not speaking. I’m not really sure who’s queer or not when I’m walking down the street. I myself don’t “look” queer, as I’m told. I mostly use Tinder or HER to find black queer women near me anyways.

Flee

Flee and Lorde were the only black lesbians in Lorde’s circle. She says they often found themselves sleeping with other women, mostly white women. Most of my queer friends say they prefer white women. When I see their Tinders, the lack of black matches is disturbing to me. That means I’m not getting enough right swipes. Maybe that’s why my matches are so low.

Gay

Audre Lorde says she’s gay. She often conflates the term with lesbian in her writing. I don’t actually use the term to describe myself. I much more prefer the term queer, although I’ve found I have more interest in women than anyone else. I guess maybe I’m gay or lesbian, but queer doesn’t sound as definite to me.

Hostile To Us

I haven’t been met with hostility, yet. I think it’s because I’m privileged in the way I look.

I Was Stylish Enough to Be Noticed

I very carefully select my Tinder and HER pictures. The clothes, the makeup, and the hair is all important when deciding which ones to upload. Tinder also lets you upload a snippet of your favorite song. That too determines the style of my page and whether or not I’ll get right swipes.

Junkie Friends

There’s this stereotype that people in the queer community are junkies. Apparently we smoke and drink a lot and party is a word that should be all too familiar to us. I don’t like to party, I don’t do drugs, and I prefer Netflix at home. This is also the case for the majority of my queer friends. We don’t go out nearly as much as Lorde describes of her own young life. Not nearly.

Ky-Ky

I heard this term for the first time in my Queer History class, a class I took because I met my professor at a cafe last semester and thought she was great. I read it again in Zami: A New Spelling of My Name. It’s also my cat’s nickname.

Land of Black People

Only my immediate family knows that I’m queer. It’s still not openly accepted in the black community. I still get hit on by men who aren’t even aware of my sexual identity, and they probably wouldn’t respect it if they were. I’ve seen my stud friends get hit on, even though obviously they aren’t interested in men. It’s like navigating a field of mines.

Muff-Diving

I’m not even sure what this really means. If I could ask Audre Lorde, I would. What is a muff and why are lesbian women diving? What’s the modern equivalent?

Not Enough of Us

There’s really not a lot of openly black queer women in Ann Arbor, that I know of. This can get lonely. Lorde says there weren’t enough in her community, too. I wonder if she would have liked Tinder to help with that.

Our Fewness, Our Rarity

It still really bothers me that there aren’t a lot of us out here. Sometimes I want to talk about my queerness without feeling like a freak or bother among my straight friends. I’m not even asking for most of the time. We’re even rare on Tinder, although it does provide some relief.

Perhaps Our Strength

However, like Audre Lorde suggests, maybe our strength is in our rarity. The connections and sisterhoods I have created are strong and loving and extraordinary.

Queer

This term was used mostly among middle class white gay men back in the day. Then it became derogatory, and now we’ve adopted it again. I like the word and I like to use it to describe myself.

Recognized Ourselves as Exotic

Everytime a white woman shows interest in me, it’s quite fetishy. They have this persona that’s a complete dupe of black men’s harmful cis hypermasculinity, as if to say this is what I want as a black woman. If I wanted to date a sexist black man, I would date a sexist black man. I don’t need or want that in a woman. What a turn off.

Straight Black Girlfriends

My girlfriends are extremely supportive of me and my identity. I think it has a lot to do with the time that we all grew up, much more open-minded. Lorde’s friends seemed to tolerate her loving women. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with that. I would simply not have straight friends. To tolerate a person isn’t friendship at all.

To Look Femme

I don’t intentionally try to be labelled as femme. I don’t intentionally try to look femme. I like other femme women. I like women in general, whether they’re femme, stud, stem, or none of the above.

Usually White Women

Turns out white women are usually the ones who get the most right swipes on Tinder. They’re usually the ones who black women choose to engage with sexually, first. They’re usually the gateway, at least for the black women I know, into the queer scene. That wasn’t the case for me and I feel confused and disturbed that white women are usually the face of desirable femme queerness. Am I not cute too? And don’t us having similar experiences as black women make me a better candidate in understanding you as a person?

Village gay-girl

The Village, to me, seems like it has been recreated as a paradise for queer people. However, in my Queer History class, there are a lot of disparities between white and black queer people. While Lorde suggests an active sex life with white women, which I’m sure is true, I can’t help but think about how difficult being black and queer in the Village was.

We Discovered and Explored

I’m still discovering and I’m still exploring. Like Lorde: sometimes in secret, sometimes in defiance, most times for myself.

Xpression

X is a difficult one. So is deciding how to express my desires, even in the queer community. I feel as though, on all sides, I’m met with discontent.

Your Black Brothers

I’m starting to realize I actually don’t like men. Maybe in a platonic kind of way, but I don’t foresee myself marrying one, sharing a family with one, or spending the rest of my days with one. I appreciate men; specifically I appreciate the sacrifices and care and love the black men in my life have done for and shown me. But I take the phrase of Black Brothers literally: you’re like my brothers.

Zami

Audre Lorde is such an inspiration. I think it’s quite funny, interesting, and disturbing I can relate to her more than half a century later. You’d think there would be progression made for black queer women. For us to have less difficulty navigating our lives, finding acceptance, love, and happiness. I appreciate her experience, however; sections of this book have made me reflect a great deal on my journey: past, present, and future.

[spideychelle-romanogers]

I Doubt Myself

Making of Michelle Jones - Prologue, Chapter 1

Start from the beginning || Series Masterlist 

After catching Michelle stealing jewels, the new mystery she brings into Peter's life defines his next adventure. There are new dangers coming to NYC and Michelle is playing a bigger part in Spider-Man's mission than Peter ever imagined.

T/W: none  Beta: Splendid_Splendont  Tags: spideychelle, pan!Peter, demi!Michelle, slow burn

Peter never knew just how complicated high school was going to be. Everything you saw on TV and in movies was relevant, yes, but it didn't quite cover all of the conflicting feelings on the subject. Yes, it was scary. It was nerve-wracking really. It was full of beautiful girls - like Liz - who distracted you at every turn. Then it's full of fat mouthed bullies that don't know what's coming to them in their sad, sad futures. That was all to say without mentioning the drama and conflict going on behind the scenes, pressure from parents - or in Peter's case, his aunt.

It's not that being in high school was just terrifying - but when you'd been through all he'd been through, it was boring. That was the scariest thing about it. Perhaps he never let his feelings bubble to the surface, but inside he couldn't help thinking about just how much else he wanted out of his life, out of this bubble full of cliques and locker room scuffles. He had fought the Avengers - he still couldn't believe it himself. He had been evaluated by Tony Stark's people. He had a costume designed for him. He had training. He faced off with Captain America.

His dreams were coming true, he was becoming a real superhero and he couldn't tell anyone. Stark tried to relate to him but always missed the mark. Peter was alone in his experiences. He had no one to tell about just how isolating it was to get everything you wanted and then be expected to go back to a life where all you looked forward to was running away. He scribbled furiously into his notebook during physics, trying his best to drown out the four walls around him. He tried to ignore the teacher berating the football players in the back and the girls painting their nails in front of him. He drew himself again, reimagining Spider-Man in an image that maybe he would be able to stomach.

He didn't think that going back to his old life would feel quite so green. High school life was nothing like the real world. Out there, he was a hero. How was he supposed to go back? He couldn't understand why he had to go through with returning, why Stark couldn't find a way around it for him. All Tony would talk about was the value of enjoying your youth while it lasted but Peter didn't think he had anything to enjoy.

"Parker, stop doodling," he heard his teacher quip over his head. He stopped immediately, slowly snaking his arm behind him and ignoring the chuckles from his classmates. Peter wasn't one to think he was above anybody, no, but he was over it. Over it was just the best way for him to say it. He was tired of being alone and feeling felt like no one except his best friend Ned could understand him. Ned was a sore subject too. Peter was grappling with whether to tell him his secret. Really, the only person stopping him was Tony Stark, and Peter knew he wasn't going to fight him on that point. He heard a snort from next to him and saw Michelle just as she turned away from his sketchbook, returning to her reading.

"Got a problem with superheroes?" he asked as bored as she looked. She shrugged, continuing to read her book.

"Spider-Man is cool," she breathed out, uninterested in pursuing the conversation further. Though her words had no investment in them, they were enough to make him smile briefly. He wished he'd had a moment to ask something but he knew it wasn't worth it with Michelle. No one could really call her out from her reading.

Peter had this problem with staring. He realized this when he saw her look him in the eyes just moments later. He had been thinking about the look of her, how exhausted she seemed as she smiled into her book, when she caught him. She raised an eyebrow, as if ready to take offense to whatever insult he looked like he had been gearing to send her way. He knew she was quite used to them. Occasionally throughout the year, he'd hear guys give passive notes about her looks. The one time Peter tried to jump in to her defense, she'd yelled at him, so he knew better than to try and save her. Now though he was tempted to apologize because he knew she was expecting the worst of comments.

"Sorry, I was trying to read over your shoulder," he lied. He used to be a terrible liar, but habits build steady hands. She brightened at that, like hearing about someone taking an interest in her books was a radical idea she could get behind.

The school bell interrupted them. Peter had to say he regretted that a bit. He almost never had a chance to connect with Michelle and it would have been nice to connect to one other person at this school. He didn't know why but the girl always made him curious. She seemed like a very decent kind of person. He didn't know much about her despite their years at school but something in the way she acted was particularly confusing to him in a way he wanted to solve. Perhaps his interest stemmed in that she was just about the only other person at this school who looked as tired and bored as he felt all the time.

"See ya," she mumbled as she picked up her books and walked the other way. He was swiftly reminded they couldn't be friends, because she never really liked him. She tolerated him and Ned more than the other kids at this school, but never by much.

Lunch was its usual routine with Ned. Ned was talking all about his new Captain America comics and Peter had to admit even he found them super interesting. Meeting the real thing is really no form of satisfaction when you're a fanboy. He tried to withhold his own personal gut wrench at knowing the events passed between Captain and Tony. He'd heard the rumors while he was at the Avengers Institute. Looking at Ned as he grinned at the illustrations, Peter wondered about what kind of joy he'd get out of telling his best friend the truth about his summer.

Michelle sat alone at the table next to them again. It was where she always sat. Occasionally the table would be full when the cafeteria was overflowing with people, and on those days, Peter and Ned would sit with her too. However, the cafeteria was bare, and that gave her the time she needed to seclude herself into a cave of hardcover books. Peter didn't know what had possessed him to interrupt her, but he found himself suddenly standing up and walking to her.

"Hey, so," he started lamely, already forgetting what he'd had to say. She was staring at him expectantly, sipping her school-supplied chocolate milk. Though he'd seen her sit down minutes ago, he noticed all the food was already gone from her tray. She must have eaten fast. "What do you like about Spider-Man?" he asked lamely.

"I think the general concept of any man being able to swing from a string attached to buildings is pretty impressive," She answered briefly, clearly still wondering what he was doing there. To make matters worse, he couldn't stop himself.

"Yeah, I guess," he tried, looking again to her tray. "Do you want my food? I'm not going to finish it. My Aunt May made me a sandwich-" he was talking too much and it was so hard to stop. She looked at him, as though debating something.

"Sure, I'll take it," she said, a hint of a question in her acceptance. He picked up the food from the tray in front of Ned's own, and he collected it in his hands before bringing it over to her, carefully putting each individual item in the right tray slot.

"Enjoy." Peter asked himself very sternly in his mind just what he thought he was doing. The entire day, he felt like he'd been overthinking everything. Knowing that Michelle thought Spider-Man was cool provided a kind of self-indulgent distraction that he needed. He didn't want to keep thinking about secrets. He wanted to talk about Spider-Man. And yet, having had this realization he turned away from her and went back to Ned who was looking as confused as Peter felt.

Peter had to find a better grip on this secret. At this rate, he was doing some desperate things just to get distracted.

It took everything in Peter to resist approaching Tony Stark again. It was easy enough to get on the roof of his tower. That was one way the teen could always outsmart the billionaire. Tony often used him as a way to test his security mechanisms and Peter was still outperforming his inventions when it came to home security.

Peter knew he couldn't keep running to Tony with his problems though.

Deciding perhaps he could let off some steam, he broke one of Tony's rules for him. He quietly locked his bedroom door and slipped his limbs into his costume, tossing himself out of the window and escaping into the night. Uptown, his best bet was watching over the neighborhood and hoping something would happen. He knew if he headed downtown, he was a lot more likely to find something to do.

Crawling by a strip mall, he arrived just in time to watch men running. Where there was once a glass storefront display, the shattered glass was sign enough of what had happened and he took off in the direction of the men running away. Before long, there were 4 culprits tied to an alley wall by his net and police sirens in the distance as he flew his way back, knowing no one was around. He saw jewels strewn along the ground in random places from where the thieves had dropped them. He left most of the jewels stuck to the thieves' hands so the cops would have the evidence they needed. However, he had learned the hard way that despite reports of theft, the police were not always diligent about returning all of the stolen property, especially not once it was reported as 'lost'.

So there he was, probably a comedic sight, walking down a sidewalk and picking up every pearl and gem he could see. By the time he made it back to the jewelry shop, it was probably just 10 minutes later. He used his web to seal up the glass wall, and he used the front door to enter. The store was dark, empty of people. There were mannequins strewn across the floor, easy to assume that they were there after the thieves did their business. As the door chime jingled out its tune, his hairs stood up when he heard a slight stumble. Had he missed someone?

He crept through the store slowly, hearing a scramble accompanied by the jingle of necklaces colliding. He stuck himself up on the ceiling hoping that he could use the element of surprise. Seconds later, he was above her, a small framed girl hard to make out in the light. She pocketed the necklaces and quickly zipped her bag. One hand to her purse strap, she rushed her way to the door. Peter was about to stop her when he saw her turn just as she reached the door, looking to see if anyone was following her.

She opened the door, and Peter reached his arm out. Simultaneously, the cheaply made ceiling tile he was on caved to his weight. Not even by an inch, the web missed her arm and hit her purse instead. She pulled once to resist her arrest and the purse fell open. Peter, meanwhile, was trying to catch himself, his mask pulled off by the sharp corner of one of the shelves. Picking up what she could she raced again out the door before Peter could even hide his face and reach her. By the time he got to the door, she was already a block away. He couldn't even glance at his mask before hearing the police sirens go off. Running away was more important than catching her he decided. Looking down at what she left behind, he saw a wallet and brightened. He had a chance!

Before he even opened it, he made sure to plant himself on the mall's roof. He watched the police make their way around his web before he finally got through the wallet. It was a simple purple zip-open. He could have sworn he'd seen it before. Making his way through the very little cash and many different business cards, he finally found something incriminating - a school ID.

The style of it was perfectly familiar. The purple edges, the white stripes, the graduating year labelled on it in big yellow letters. It was almost as familiar as the girl in the picture.

Michelle.

Peter felt sick to his stomach.

Had he seen anyone else (except maybe Ned), he wouldn't have been quite so surprised. There were plenty of kids who got themselves into trouble all the time at that school. Michelle had never been one of them. She was the girl in grade school who'd threaten to rat you out no matter how small the rule you were breaking. She was a stickler and a studious one at that. Peter couldn't remember the last time she was without a book in her hand. He remembered seeing her read during their middle school graduation, and he remembered how much he made fun of her for it.

Michelle wasn't a thief.

The next day at school, he wasn't quite sure how to deal with Michelle. He still had her wallet. He didn't know what to do about it, but he hoped that he wouldn't see her at school so that he wouldn't have to think about it. The whole day could've been a good one. He was briefly distracted during gym, when Liz talked to him about her new sneakers. Peter couldn't remember a word he had said, but he made Liz laugh at some point so he called it a win. He'd managed to avoid Michelle all day until he was back in physics class. She sat next to him when she arrived at class, looking exhausted like always. He wanted to believe she looked even more tired than usual but he couldn't actually confirm that. Maybe he was just wanting to see guilt where there wasn't any.

As she sat, he resolved he wouldn't say anything about it.

"Are you drawing flying men today or will you actually be paying attention?" she asked, not a hint of malice in her sarcasm. He couldn't believe she was making conversation, but he supposed he'd deserved it.

"I'd rather give the hero thing a rest," he mumbled, gluing his eyes to the board as their teacher continued talking. He hadn't been listening ever since Michelle entered the room.

"I thought I'd just pick partners randomly, but it seemed a lot easier to just make you work with your neighbors," the teacher explained. "And don't forget this project is worth 50% of your midterm grade."

"What?" Peter asked quietly startled out of his thoughts.

"We're partners," Michelle answered in her usual bored tone. They were partnered up often on in-class assignments, but never anything significant. He looked at her nervously. She noticed his stare after a few minutes, whispering so she wouldn't interrupt their teacher. "Is there a problem?"

"You've got something in your teeth," he lied calmly. He never thought he was a very passive aggressive person, but he couldn't feel guilty about it long, considering Michelle's quip back:

"You stare too much."

Maybe he was being aggressive, but he spent most of the day stomping around the school, trying to figure things out. He had no one he could tell, but Ned had picked up on something being wrong. Peter typically didn't get so angry, not for this long. He'd been moody for ages now, but it seemed like something about this had really set him off. He just couldn't imagine that even someone like Michelle could be a letdown. There were really so few truly good people out there. He was used to living in a city full of crime and people who made bad choices. He knew whatever prompted Michelle to steal could have been significant, but he couldn't imagine how. All during lunch he found himself glaring in her direction and trying to figure out whether the crime was one of greed or one of impulse.

Before long, lunch was over and Peter was still debating whether or not he was overreacting. His feelings were getting the better of him lately. He spent an entire week ignoring Ned once when he wouldn't stop asking why Peter disappeared over the summer. Maybe it was time to check his attitude.

School let out and he looked to his phone for the first time all day. Two hours ago, he had received what was just a brief flash of text. It was Tony Stark, but he put the man's number under a false contact 'Anthony'.

Anthony: Don't forget to keep your head low.

Peter scowled. It was time to get Michelle her ID back, he decided just as he ran home to suit up.

Get on the Tag List |  Updates | My Masterlist | Next Chapter

[fallen-imagine-angel]

Give Us A Try

Notes: Hey guys! I’ve been working on this for a while and I finally finished it so here it is! Thanks for all the support recently :) You guys are awesome. Requests are still open, by the way! I’m always happy to write a request :)

Summary: Read the request :)

Give Us A Try

Sebastian Smythe x Reader

Word Count: 2,705 (wow this is rly long sry)

Character Count: 14,363

Warnings: none :)

“Are you excited to go back to Ohio, (y/n)?” Your twin brother asks you, obviously excited himself.

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I miss Blaine.” You don’t look over at him since you’re driving.

“Hey, (y/n)?” He asks suddenly. You glance over at him.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Well...I was wondering...do you ever miss mom and dad?” He asks, completely out of the blue. Both your parents had died a year ago in a car crash when you were sixteen.

Instead of answering your brother, who’s only younger than you by seven minutes, you turn up the radio. He takes this as your answer.

“We’re here.” You announce, stepping out of the car two hours later. You hadn’t said another word during that car ride after he asked about your parents. You don’t like to talk about them.

“Sweet! We’re back home to our old house!” He runs into the house. You sigh, looking up at the huge house towering over you. You never liked this house. It reminded you of everything you had to live up to. The standards. The expectations.

“Come on! I think my old Xbox is hooked up!” He calls you over. You smile slightly. He always knew how to lighten your mood.

“I can’t. Not right now. I’ve got to go fill out some papers for the house and to get us enrolled in Dalton again.” You tell him, closing the front door behind you. You go to your office space and spread out all the papers as you sit down.

“You’ve got to do all of that?” His eyes widen at the stack of paperwork in front of you.

“Yup. That’s what happens when you own both your deceased parents’ businesses, squirt.” You smile tiredly at him. Squirt was your nickname for him that you used all the time.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you with some.” He frowns. You can see the pity he feels for you in his eyes.

“It’s okay. Some things have to be handled alone.’ You nod and get to work on the papers.

~the next day~

“Hey, squirt, are you ready? We’re going to be late on our first day!” You call up the stairs. Another con about this house. It’s so big it’s hard to tell where anyone is or if they can even hear you.

“Yeah! Coming!” He slides down the railing of the stairs, bagel in hand.

“Well, I’m glad you got breakfast because if you hadn’t, there wouldn’t be time to get it now. Let’s go.” You all but push him out of the house and into the car.

Upon your arrival to Dalton, you grin. Dalton was one of the only places you actually enjoyed yourself. Sure, it was supposed to be an all boys school, but you were the one exception. The one girl in the whole school. It made you a target for many boys. But not all of them.

“Are you ready for school?” You smirk at your brother. He was never big on school, but you could tell he was excited to be back at Dalton where all his friends are.

“Yup! You?” He asks.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You nod, walking in.

“Ah, Mr. and Miss (y/l/n). How very nice to see you again. Here are your class schedules, and I assume you know your way around.” The principal hands you your schedule and ushers you out. Must have a meeting or something.

“Well, I’ll see you later, bro.” You mess up his hair and walk off, grinning. You walk straight towards where you hear singing voices.

“Well, look who it is!” You hear voices greet you.

“(y/n)! Guys, it’s (y/n)!” Jeff runs up to you and hugs you. You laugh and hug back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Guys, I can only hug so many people at one time!” You laugh as they all dog pile you. Once they’re finished, you get up and dust yourself off.

“We were just about to perform Uptown Girl, you in? I’m sure you’ll catch on within seconds.” David grins.

“Sure, I’m down.” You laugh. You notice someone staring at you out of the corner of your eye. Someone you don’t recognize. Someone who wasn’t here when you left. They start singing and you jump in, fitting at the front and singing lead. You always sing lead.

Uptown Girl

She’s been living in her white bread world

As long as anyone with hot blood can

And now she’s looking for a downtown man

That’s what I am

You grin and sing, everyone nodding. You knew they were thinking, she’s still got it. You were one of the best singers at Dalton until you left. You see some people, including the guy who was staring at you earlier, smile and look at the entrance but you don’t let that distract you. You keep singing.

And when she knows what she wants from her time

And when she wakes up and makes up her mind

The new guy who was staring at you starts singing lead. You see everyone waving and pointing to the entrance, so you decide to turn around and see what’s going on. The guy you don’t recognize is walking towards...Blaine!? You have to refrain from shouting “BLAINE!” at the top of your lungs.

She’ll see I’m not so tough just because I’m in love with an

Blaine grins at you and gives you a friendly wink.

The new guy pulls Blaine into the group and he starts singing and dancing with the rest of you.

Uptown girl

You know I can’t afford to buy her pearls

But maybe someday when my ship comes in

She’ll understand what kind of guy I’ve been

And then I’ll win

A teacher walks past and tries to shush you guys, but you just walk towards her with the rest of the group and sing louder. The guys wink and try to be flirtatious, but you just sing normally. You weren’t into girls, thank you very much.

And when she’s walking

She’s lookin’ so fi-i-ine

The new guy butts in and starts singing lead for a line again.

And when she’s talking

She’ll say that she’s mi-i-ine

You start to sing lead again, glancing over at the other guy.

She’ll say I’m not so tough, just because I’m in love with an

Uptown girl

Everyone throws their hands in the air along with the teacher, except she’s pointing for you all to go back into the classroom. Everyone runs back to the classroom except for you. You, instead, are walking backwards as you sing.

She’s been living in her white bread world

As long as anyone with hot blood can

And now she’s looking for a downtown man

That’s what I am

You jokingly wink at her before heading back into the classroom with everyone else.

You’re singing a chorus of “Whoa”s when the new guy you’re not familiar with walking into the center of the semi-circle and spins before dropping to the floor and doing a kip-up. You’re pretty impressed, you have to admit. Then, another guy jumps, does a weird side flip thing, and lands. Then, your personal favorite, someone just swings their arm back and forth as if doing the robot or something.

Then, as if on cue, everyone starts to form back into their lines and Blaine’s on the side, clapping to the beat. You’re in the front and center.

Uptown Girl

She’s my uptown girl

You know I’m in love with an

Uptown girl

Everyone goes rigid and still except for you, putting their hands behind their backs and standing straighter.

You, on the other hand, are putting your hands out in front of you and getting into the song.

My uptown girl

You know I’m in love

You walk out of the group and up in front of them before you slow it down a little bit, dragging out the last few words.

With an uptown girl

Blaine claps once you’ve finished, grinning. He goes up and hugs you. You hug back just as tightly.

“I’ve missed you.” Blaine mumbles.

“I’ve missed you too, Blaine. How come you’re not at Dalton anymore?” You ask, your smile faltering a little bit.

“I’ve moved to McKinley. But, might I ask, why are you back here? I thought you moved?” He asks, smiling a little.

“Well, I did. I just...moved back recently.” You smile.

“We’ll have to catch up sometime. But for now, I’ve gotta get back to class. By the way, I got a new phone. Here’s my number.” He hands you a slip of paper he just hurriedly wrote on.

“Oh, uh, okay! Bye, Blaine!” You wave, smiling slightly as he walks off.

“What, let me guess, you like him?” The new guy of the group scoffs as he walks up next to you. The others are minding their own business, talking amongst each other.

“Me? Like Blaine? Sorry, no. He’s gay, has a boyfriend, and isn’t my type anyways.” You shake your head.

“Who is your type?” He asks, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

“None of your business. What’s your name, anyways? I haven’t seen you around before.” You muse.

“Sebastian Smythe. What’s yours?” He returns the question.

“(y/n) (y/l/n). Nice to meet you.” You fake curtsy and smile.

“Okay, (y/n) (y/l/n). I think I’ve already got you figured out.” He chuckles and smirks.

“Oh, really now? I’d love to hear what you think I am, Smythe.” You hum.

“I think you’re the goody-two-shoes. You’re nerdy, quirky, kind-hearted, and the type of person who’s all ‘violence is only for self-defense!’ and stuff.” He guesses.

“Well, I’ll let you figure out yourself if that’s really what I am. Anyways, I’ve got to go. I only have half the classes you do because I also have to run two businesses on the side so the school decided to let me have four classes instead of eight like the rest of you. Ta-ta.” You wave daintily before walking off.

~that night~

“Ugh, stupid business!” You yell, tempted to punch your computer.

“What’s wrong, sis?” Your brother pops his head into the office room. You quickly compose yourself, hoping he hadn’t seen you like that.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Just...someone trying to steal the business from under me. But don’t worry, I won’t let that happen. Everything’s fine.” You shake your head and fake a smile.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m gonna go to bed. Night.” He smiles and goes to bed. You sigh frustratedly. This was going to be a long and stressful night for you.

~a couple weeks later~

“Hey, (y/n).” Sebastian slides up next to you, grinning smugly.

“What’d you do this time?” You smile slightly. You had taken a bit of a liking to Sebastian, but you noticed that he’s taken a liking to you, too.

“Threw a rock salt slushie into Blaine’s face.” He shrugs. Your eyes widen.

“Seb!” You smack his arm, concerned for Blaine.

“What? I want to win!” He holds his hands up in defense.

“That’s not cool Seb! He could be seriously hurt!” You frown, thinking of Blaine. He’s your best friend, besides Sebastian. You couldn’t bear seeing him hurt.

“He’s not that hurt. He’ll be fine. Plus, I was totally right.” Sebastian smirks.

“Right? What do you mean? Right about what?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“You are the ‘violence is for self-defense only’ type of person!” He pokes your shoulder playfully. You roll your eyes and playfully shove his arm.

“Whatever. Hey, I’ll catch you later, ‘kay? I’m gonna go outside and clear my head.” You smile at him.

“Yeah, ‘course. See you later.” He grins and walks off. You go outside and sit down on the trunk of your favorite willow tree.

“Stupid businesses ruining my stupid life.” You sigh and lean your head against the willow tree. Little did you know, Sebastian was watching you from afar. He knew you’d been acting weird the past couple of days and he wanted to find out what’s wrong. But, he knew you, and he knew that if he asked what was wrong you weren’t going to say a thing.

“I just want some peace and quiet! I want some time where I don’t think I’m a piece of crap because I can barely run my businesses that got handed down to me from my stupid crap parents! Their genius thought was ‘hey, if we die early, let’s hand the business over to our seventeen-year-old daughter who should be learning calculus and chemistry, not how to run a freaking business!’ I can’t be normal now!” You growl, growing more frustrated by the second. You’re on the verge of tears now. You can’t seem to calm down.

So, to help yourself calm down, you take out a cigarette. Lighting it, you’re about to put it in your mouth when something stops you. Well, more like someone.

“Cigarettes kill people, you know.” Someone plucks the cigarette from your hand and throws it on the ground, stepping on it with their foot to put it out.

“Sebastian now is not the time.” You shake your head and try to get up and walk away, but he puts his hand on your shoulder. You look up at him and sit back down again.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you.” He pleads you.

“You can’t help me, Seb. It’s business stuff. You wouldn’t get it.” You roll your eyes, trying to get another cigarette out. Instead of answering, Sebastian just takes your packet of cigarettes and stands up.

“What are you doing, Sebastian?” You ask him, getting annoyed with him. He throws the packet of cigarettes next to his feet and stomps on them before picking them up again and throwing them into a pond near you.

“I was doing that.” He sits down next to you again.

“Great. Thanks.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms, huffing in annoyance.

“Now, how can I help you?” He asks.

“You can’t. I’m a hopeless cause.” You growl. He takes a moment to look at you. Really look at you.

“What are you staring at, Smythe?” You sneer at him.

“You’re beautiful.” He blurts out.

“What?” You ask, eyes widening in surprise. You turn your body to look at him.

“Like I said. You’re beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” He repeats himself.

“You’re joking, right? Seb, you can’t like me. I’m a mess. I can’t do anything right. I’m pathetic.” You shake your head.

“But I like you anyway, don’t I? Look, (y/n), you’re amazing and I don’t care that you’re a mess. So am I. We can help each other.” He looks deep into your eyes.

“Seb…” You trail off, but your eyes can’t help but flicker to his lips for a second.

“I know you like me too, (y/n).” He lets his eyes flicker down to your lips, too. You gulp.

“But, I...we can’t...the businesses…” You trail off, leaning in slightly. Sebastian leans in, too. Eventually, your lips meet in the middle and you feel sparks fly in between the two of you.

As soon as your lips meet, your hands fly up to Sebastian’s head. You run your fingers through his hair, messing it up. His hands find your face and cup your cheeks, bringing you closer to him.

“We can make this work. Please.” He pleads once you broke the kiss and leaned back a little bit. You weren’t going to lie, you liked Sebastian a lot. You just didn’t know if you could have a relationship and run the businesses and have school at the same time.

But you wanted to give it a try anyways.

“Seb, I want to try this. I want to try us. I want to try and have a relationship with you.” You nod, fiddling with your fingers nervously.

“So do I.” He nods, waiting for you to continue.

“So let’s give us a try.” You smile slightly.

“(y/n) (y/l/n), will you be my girlfriend?” He asks, grinning widely.

“I’d love to.” You smile and kiss him, making him kiss back eagerly. This could either be the best or worst decision of your life.

A/N: Hey guys! Hope you liked this request! Once again, requests are open so don’t be afraid to drop in there and ask away! (It doesn’t even have to be a request, you can just ask me some questions if you want ^-^) Until next time~

[ricardosousalemos]

Pet Shop Boys: Behaviour

Pet Shop Boys arrived in the second half of the ’80s to out-gay essentially everybody. Combining Oscar Wilde-ian wit, compositional and lyrical sophistication that harkened back to Cole Porter and Noël Coward, sartorial style that split the difference between uptown chic (singer Neil Tennant) and downtown rough trade (keyboardist Chris Lowe), and a command of ’80s club music that soon proved itself far more comprehensive than most of their contemporaries, this North England-raised/London-based synthpop duo aestheticized gay life long before Tennant came out in 1994. Every LGBT person knew exactly what the pair meant in the chorus of “It’s A Sin,” arguably the angriest and certainly most overtly anti-Catholic chorus ever to top the UK pop chart and reach the US Top 10:

“Everything I’ve ever done

Everything I ever do

Every place I’ve ever been

Everywhere I’m going to

It’s a sin”

But after becoming one of the most internationally prominent acts of the ’80s with hits like their UK/US #1 “West End Girls,” Tennant and Lowe entered the ’90s knowing their “imperial phase” of uninterrupted success was over: Setting “Ché Guevara and Debussy to a disco beat,” their quintessential manifesto “Left to My Own Devices” stalled at #84 on Billboard’s pop chart in late ’88; their ’89 collaboration with Liza Minnelli, Results, pretty much flopped in North America beyond gay dancefloors, and the ’90 comeback they helped helm for Dusty Springfield, Reputation, didn’t even get a US release—despite all of them doing quite well in the UK.

Following these alternately sunny and frosty records, they released their decidedly autumnal fourth album Behaviour in the fall of 1990. Like the Cure’s Disintegration, Depeche Mode’s Violator, and George Michael’s Listen Without Prejudice, it would transition their creators into the new decade by both refining and breaking from the past. The time was right, for the duo and indeed much of its following were now in mourning. Singer/lyricist Tennant’s longtime best friend had recently died of AIDS. So had Robert Mapplethorpe, who shot some of their Please-period publicity photos, and Keith Haring, who similarly intersected fine art and the club scene. Reported US AIDS cases were well over 100,000, with millions on the way globally, and despite the earliest AIDS drugs like AZT, which in those days often made people sicker, an HIV-positive test result was still pretty much a death sentence. Created in resistance to a mainstream that treated LGBTs as subhuman, the queer culture of defiance and liberation that shaped ’70s disco and much of ’80s pop—particularly PSB’s hybrid of both—was literally dying.

Unfolding like an elegy for much of what had gone before, Behaviour shifted the Boys from sly commentators to reserved-but-pained participants, with its understated but devastating lead track, “Being Boring.” The first verse presents the singer looking through keepsakes, as one does after losing a loved one. He finds a party invite paraphrasing Zelda Fitzgerald’s “Eulogy on the Flapper,” specifically the line “She refused to be bored chiefly because she wasn’t boring.” Boredom was a prickly subject for the pair: Their early deadpan videos and TV appearances were routinely dismissed by clueless critics as generating it.

Set in the ’70s, the next verse depicts the singer leaving his hometown, a mandatory rite of LGBT passage. He softly declares, “I’d bolted through a closing door,” an image evoking both the end of his closeted adolescence and the beginning of fully realized adulthood. By the third verse, which is set in the ’90s, the singer is self-actualized, but reflective: “All the people I was kissing/Some are here, and some are missing.” That simple rhyme still reduces gay men who lived through this era to tears, for AIDS had sorted our intimates into these two categories—those who died young, and those who might soon follow suit, including ourselves. If you hadn’t seen your gay neighbors and friends and former sexual partners around town, chances were they were dead, had gone home to die, or were nursing the dying just like you. “But I thought in spite of dreams,” the survivor sings of his fallen pal, “you’d be sitting somewhere here with me.”

Fashion photographer Bruce Weber shot the song’s lush B&W video, which features models enacting a fantasy version of the parties Tennant attended in the ’70s. The tension between the freedom of Weber’s imagery and the sadness of the third verse makes the eulogy even more devastating, but some fleeting nudity meant that MTV in America had an excuse not to show it. Still, “Being Boring”—ostensibly a dance track, but one featuring fluttering rhythms, a Larry Heard-style deep house bassline that appears only as the album version fades out, a subtle upward chorus modulation that adds sweetness to the sorrow, and a whirring plastic tube conjuring spectral cries—eventually earned its rightful acclaim. A fan site solely devoted to it dwarfs the official web presence of many bands, and on its 20th anniversary, a Guardian critic proclaimed it the greatest single of all time. Even Axl Rose allegedly bemoaned its non-appearance during the duo’s 1991 tour.

That tour, Performance, their first in North America, transformed the staginess of their videos into opulent theater just as Blonde Ambition did for Madonna the year before; in the Pets’ case, it was so over-budget that the well-attended trek still lost half-a-million dollars. And just as the autobiographical Like a Prayer fed Blonde Ambition, the personal nature of Behaviour lent Performance pathos. The dirge that opened the show, “This Must Be the Place I Waited Years to Leave,” affirmed that, like Madonna, Tennant suffered major Catholic damage. The tune is hummable, but the tone intersects opera and Joy Division as it evokes Catholic mass, freezing rain, and grey architecture. No wonder the Pets eschewed the church for wit and disco.

True to their queer sensibility, PSB are intrinsically contrary, even with themselves, and just as their previous release, 1988’s Introspective, is all 12”-length dance numbers, Behaviour is mostly ballads. Even on overt club cuts, its lead single “So Hard” and “The End of the World,” the dance grooves that defined the duo are muted: No more big ’80s drums, no electro rumble or hi-NRG clatter, even if “So Hard” ramps up the trademark orchestral blasts of their previous hits. Rather than the sample-heavy rave bleeps that ruled 1990 UK pop, the album favors analogue synths overseen by co-producer Harold Faltermeyer, the Munich synth whiz who’d been Giorgio Moroder’s key player and had scored with Beverly Hills Cop’s “Axel F.”

But though the instrumentation is mostly as synthetic as before, it’s less pointedly so; the future was no longer as inviting as it had been in the duo’s formative years, when they dreamt of man-machines and home computers. Embracing their humanism to mirror their messages, the pair often blur the boundaries between synthetic and natural sounds: Mirroring the instability of post-communist Russia, “My October Symphony” fuses banging Italo-house piano, “Funky Drummer” syncopation, Marvin Gaye-esque yearning, and the classical strings of Balanescu Quartet, which all blend with the Prophets and Rolands and Marr’s wah-wah guitar so seamlessly that the hybrid suggests Shostakovich going Blaxploitation. You certainly couldn't call it just “synthpop.”

In the booklet for the album’s 2001 deluxe reissue, Tennant paints the unabashed love aria “To Face the Truth” as the story of a man who cannot acknowledge his girlfriend’s infidelities. But like so many PSB songs, it makes more sense in an LGBT context; that his lover is a bisexual who dodges their emotional bond. Having same-gender sex dictates that you’re homosexual, but loving someone of your own gender makes you gay—a step too far for some. “I wonder if you care and cannot bear the proof/It hurts too much to face the truth,” Tennant croons at the top of his tenor. Having just worked with Liza and Dusty, he’d suddenly become a more expressive singer, one here as adept at conveying sincerity as he’d always been at generating irony. The programmed rhythms hail from ’80s R&B, but his vocal is ’70s Bee Gees; had this been on the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, we’d all know it.

Lyrically the most old-school PSB-y song of the lot, “How Can You Expect to Be Taken Seriously?” roasts sanctimonious rock stars who claim to hate fame’s machinations but nevertheless align themselves with the trendiest causes. There’d been plenty of those in the wake of Band Aid, Live Aid, Farm Aid, and “We Are the World,” and they pretty much wiped out the more subversive and often queer “New Pop” movement that spawned the Pets. The album version is set atypically to a New Jack Swing beat, the kind that gave even Boy George a US R&B radio hit with “Don’t Take My Mind on a Trip” the year before, but the seldom heard single/video version remixed it into a more flattering Soul II Soul-style shuffle. Back home, its critique was bolstered by appearing on the flipside of their newly recorded medley of U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name” and the Four Seasons’ “I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” which echoed Boys Town Gang’s shamelessly camp disco-ization of the latter. Bono, who spotted the satirical finger being pointed in his direction, quipped, “What have we done to deserve this?”

As straightforward as “Seriously” is skewed, album closer “Jealousy” goes furthest in a quasi-symphonic direction. Played on keyboards but booming like a massive orchestra, it’s fraught with romantic angst like their earliest work, yet it suits their new phase of unfettered emotionality. The scene-setting opening conjures the outsized ardor of 19th-century art song: “At dead of night when strangers roam/The streets in search of anyone who’ll take them home/I lie alone…” And the rest similarly picks up where Scott Walker’s covers of Jacques Brel left off.

A crooner, not a belter, Tennant sets his vocal understatement against the over-the-top nature of his blinding passion for an unrequited love. This conflict mirrors the LGBT experience itself: You’ve got all this desire that must somehow be contained to a small percentage of the population, lest you find yourself making a pass at someone who might not share your sexuality and who might respond with condemnation or even violence. So you keep your outer voice small and whispery like Tennant’s, but that constant monitoring and muting only intensifies your inner life, and so you bear the burden of these feelings—here represented by the grandness of the orchestration the despair of the descending vocal melody, the processional horns that bear a stubbornly regal retreat. There’s no apology implied—quite the opposite.

Simpatico women understand this proud juxtaposition: Liza Minnelli considers Tennant and Lowe geniuses akin to Broadway maestro Stephen Sondheim or her dad. Pet Shop Boys critique masculinity the way classic rock bands exude it, but rather than the flamboyance that’s intrinsic to the gay pop star from Little Richard onward, PSB offer the calm control of the outsider looking in, their noses pressed against the shop window. 

Having experienced worldwide eminence exactly when their people fell into deeper crisis than ever, they rarely took the easy path, and on subsequent releases like Very’s “Dreaming of the Queen,” they imagined a world in which there were no more lovers left alive. Fortunately, people kept dancing, and Pet Shop Boys still supply their nocturnal soundtrack. Last month, Billboard announced PSB as the all-time top male act on its dance club chart: With last year’s “The Pop Kids,” they landed their 40th hit on that list in 30 years, and 11th No. 1. That they did so with a song as wistful as those on Behaviour makes this achievement truly singular. Embracing disposable pop, they’ve created lasting queer culture just as it was in danger of disappearing. They celebrate the melancholia of being gay.

[anika-ann]

Grease and Pearls - Pt.3

Dreams Meet Reality

Type: One-shot turned three-shot (because does anyone really want a 17k in one go?)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (main), Tony/Reader, Tony/Pepper

Word count: 3400 or 5100 (yeah, you read it right, see A/N)

Summary: An uptown girl met a downtown guy with a heart of gold. Oh, and he was handsome too. It inevitably leads to their relationship developping… but is there any chance for them at all?

For @cxptain​​ ’s challenge. Prompt: Uptown Girl by Billy Joel

Warnings: swearing (a lot), attempt at angst, ghosting, communication par excellence

A/N: We had fluff and smut. What are we missing? That’s right. Heads up, people! There is an alternate ending to my original one, the one sentence where it breaks is in italics. I hope that makes sense ;) Pick whichever or read both :D Enjoy!

Story Masterlist

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It was bound to happen – you knew as much – but deep in your heart, you had hoped it wouldn’t. You had hoped it would last longer. You had hoped that perhaps a miracle would occur and in some mysterious way, you would be able to convince your parents that marrying you to Anthony was a terrible idea.

You should have known better than that.

The very day you had fell asleep in Steve’s arms after making love – and God, you could still feel him, his touches on your skin, his mouth, everywhere, even in the most intimate places, a pleasant, almost ceremonial ache lingering exactly there, a memory of fire in your belly and your heart – you got caught.

Your parents had been waiting at Potts’ house as you reached it around eleven in the evening, a smiling mess, a sight to behold, and any illusion about the future you had been painting in your mind shattered.

Pepper had tried to take part of the blame, but your parents always believed that you were the faulty daughter in your household and such ways stretched outside your house.

Your father was furious. Your mother was deeply disappointed and even faked a few tears – or perhaps she shed them for real, mourning her reputation, one the family would fight tooth and nail to retain.    

You had literally fallen on your knees and begged when they found a drawing from a street artist, a souvenir of one of your trips to downtown which you had only craved to explore-- and by some miracle indeed, you were allowed to keep it and not to have it torn to shreds right in front of your eyes. Pepper’s teary gaze told you she knew you were making up things up as you went and that the drawing, the one that captured beauty you weren’t sure you possessed, meant much more.

You couldn’t even hope to earn forgiveness, so you only asked for it half-heartedly.

What you did earn was a damn chaperon.

In your age! In this day and age!

Her name was Maria and she was truly efficient and strict to a fault. Nevertheless, she respected your privacy and whenever you were to meet Pepper, she would stand just outside the door and wait if you asked for a confidential conversation… which was always, you didn’t need some goddamned stranger spying on you. What the hell.

But truly, all things considered, you had lucked out; as your parents didn’t fault Pepper for your actions, you were still allowed to meet with her at least and to talk her in private.

However, the marriage plans were sped up.

And naturally, you couldn’t even hope to set your foot anywhere near downtown. You hadn’t seen Steve for two weeks, you hadn’t even found his number in the phone book to explain yourself and you missed him.

Your heart seemed to fail in its basic function; when you were lying in your bed at night, wide awake, it longed after ocean blue eyes with a drop of green, strong hands holding you close, and it wouldn’t stop pounding wildly in your chest. In the morning, your heart appeared to be beating so slowly you had to place your palm over the area to make sure it was still there, that it still had enough strength to keep you upright all day ahead.

And it ached 24 hours a day. For you, for Steve, who must have been clueless on why you never showed up to your set date or any time after. You were hurting and your parents watched you suffer along with your sister, frowning at you and scolding you to stop acting like a five-year old who had a toy taken away.

They could never understand. Was that a curse or a blessing?

Pepper was the only person you could trust, only person you could talk to about your true sorrows and her patience never seemed to wear thin despite her own turmoil – after all, if your marriage was to be sped up… her hopes were being crushed as well.

“Pepper… I don’t want to marry Tony. God, I can’t marry him,” you whispered, a cup of tea in your hands, your palms and fingers curled around the warm ceramics, hoping for it to take away some of the ever-present cold your body radiated these days.

Your friend smiled at you sadly, an honest and heart-breaking lift of the corners of her lips.

“I know, honey.”

You chuckled bitterly at the irony. Here you were, stealing her dreamed man, on she loved, while yearning after another, after the one you loved. You looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes – again and again, barely a day without their presence. They were always there, ready for the dam to broke so they could run down your cheeks.

When you spoke again, you could barely force the words out of your tight throat.

“I… I truly love Steve. I dreamed tonight, about having a little boy,” you whispered, the image still vivid behind your now closed eyelids. He was so damn pretty, your sweet little boy. “Blond hair, pretty blue eyes full of mischief and such innocent smile with a front tooth missing and I was expecting with another--… I want that. I want to have Steve’s children one day and I want Steve. I need him. It feels like I can’t breathe without him.”

Tender hands reached for your shoulders and pulled you into an embrace, soft and careful, yet very unladylike, not proper for anyone to see in public – at least not here, not in uptown. God, you hated it here. You despised it now, truly. And if that made you an ungrateful brat, then so be it.

“Oh sweety, I know exactly how you feel. I’m so sorry,” Pepper replied in the same manner, comfortingly stroking your arm. She sounded on the verge of tears as well. “But you know what your family is like, they would never accept Steve. As much as it hurts you and me… I’m not sure you really have a choice.”

You swallowed against the lump formed in your throat and shakily breathed in.  

“Don’t I?”

You thought of your chaperon and wondered… just how heartless could she be?

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It was three weeks after his girl’s last surprise visit that had somehow resulted in her and Steve tangled in his sheets when he lost his faith in her and whatever the two of them had had completely.

Three weeks without as much as a glimpse of her or a word, two weeks of not going to bed without few bottles of beer to keep him company, Steve walked into the shop and instantly knew something was wrong.

The usually loud environment full of chatter and teasing was suspiciously quiet.

“Hey guys,” he called out, trying to sound casual. “What gives?”

“Nothing-“ Thor responded swiftly – and way too quickly. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I’m blond but ain’t that stupid. Who pissed in everyone’s cereal? Buck?”

Steve’s best friend looked up from his work, shorty meeting his eyes. The regretful gaze spoke volumes on its own, but the brunet still sighed, tossing the rag in his hands on the nearest hood.

Steve suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear the news whatever it was. Dread filled his stomach, a feeling that had his gut twist uncomfortably. The blue-grey irises of his friend hid behind his eyelids.

“I… I’ve been in town this morning, Steve,” he explained slowly, cursing under his breath when he took in Steve’s perfectly confused expression, awaiting a metaphorical punch. “Fuck, Steve—I-eh, I saw Carter with Stark and they were-“ The coil in Steve’s stomach tightened to the point of him thinking he might throw up. “-shit, I’m sorry, Steve, they were at jeweller’s, probably picking up a ring.”

A ring.

Right.

Because she was getting married. To Stark. He knew that—he had been, in fact, informed that it might happen at some point.

But no-- like a fool, he had painted an image in his head, stupid and naïve and even found himself thinking about his ma’s engagement ring – once or twice since he had met his stunning uptown girl –, one he had inherited and was planning to give a woman who would take his heart.

Funny how his mind had been purposely leaving out the fact that the very same woman he had given his heart to was the one who could stomp on it and let it bleed on the pavement.

Fuck, he was a complete idiot, wasn’t he?

Steve swallowed against his suddenly dry throat, nodding few times in acknowledgement of the information, lips in a tight line, one corner lifted in an ironic smile as his blood boiled.

“Well… we knew it was comin’, didn’t we?” he remarked and shook his head with a scoff.

God, he was so fucking stupid-

“Steve-“

He waved Bucky off, stalking towards his own station. He dropped his bag, always stashed with clean clothes just in case, to the ground by the counter, hand blindly reaching out. He grabbed the wrench on the top unmistakably, his fingers curling firmly around the metal.

One swift movement, one jerk of his bulging arm and the wrench was sent flying, hitting the momentarily empty chain with an ominous clang that could only hope to echo the mad rage he felt, sizzling in his veins, eating him up from the inside.

“Fuck him!” he roared, the ferocity of his voice startling even his mates who were familiar with his occasional temper.

His breathing turned heavy as he reached for another tool, flinging it the same way, this time hitting the wall, much to his irritation.

Jesus fucking shit-- he was so fucking mad – at her, at himself, at Stark, Stark who thought he could just take and take, greedy asshole, just like all of those uptown snobs that thought they owned the fucking world!  

“Fuck Stark and all of those privileged assholes! I hope they rot in- Fucking! Hell!”

Two more objects Steve didn’t bother to look at flied through the air and hit the chains, the harmless violence not providing him with half the satisfaction he hoped in.

By the time the boss stalked into the shop the check on what was going on – and to yell at his employees to stop fucking around – Steve had been long gone, taking the SHILED bike and driving away until all he could feel was the wind swishing around his head, loud enough to drown out his noisy thoughts.

“Rogers came in sick, we sent him home,” Pietro supplied helpfully, the deadpan expression on Fury’s face telling him that he had none of that shit.

Yet, the bossman sighed and headed back to his office.

“Good, wouldn’t want him to puke all over my fuckin’ garage.”

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She showed up in the shop on week four. Steve was just coming back from a short bathroom break, quickly taking a U-turn when he got a glimpse of her in the overhead door to the garage, wearing black and red elegant dress.

He leaned his back against the separating wall, closing his eyes at the painful jab to his stomach.

Logically, there was no reason for him to be so devastated. He fucked girls before—he liked girls before. So why did he have to be such a missy when it came to her? She was pretty, sure, but there were plenty of cute gals. Steve really tried not to think about the L word they had exchanged, because deep down it had dawned to him a while ago; he was so fucked up because he was in love and then he was dumped by a lady who normally wouldn’t look at him twice, which was something that his brain had been bullheadedly refusing to accept.

“Sorry, he ain’t in today,” Odinson drawled, traces of hostility in his voice.

“Oh,” she sounded surprised and he could picture the gentle confused frown, the slight pout to her lips—shit, those lips tasted like cherry-- "Uhm, do you know when he will be in?”

“Why do ya’ need to know?”

Steve was certain that her frown deepened at Bucky’s words.

“Well, uhm, I need to talk to him, it’s important. Should I come here in few days or-“

“Don’t think he’ll be ‘round here any time soon.”

“Is he alright?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice and it took all of Steve’s willpower not to bang his head against the wall.

Why, just why was she doing this to him? Why would she care?

Now he knew that was cruel to her – he believed that once, she had truly been interested in him – but he told himself multiple times that her looks were deceiving, that she only had been looking for a distraction from her uptight uptown world. Maybe if he told himself enough times, he would start to believe it.

“Ain’t none of your business, princess,” Thor retorted and Steve just knew she winced at the harsh tone, a soft gasp escaping her mouth, that sweet mouth he had  kissed over three weeks ago, sweet, innocent and sinful, the music of her short breaths filling his poor excuse of a loft, keeping him fucking going.

“Nice ring, by the way,” Bucky said nonchalantly.

Steve gulped at that. Yeah, he bet it was; but there was no way Bucky was being polite. The venom dripping from his words was a message on its own.

And she picked up on it, naturally. His –not his anymore, not that she had ever truly been – brilliant beautiful girl.

“Oh. Thank- thank you,” she whispered and Steve had to strain his ears like a creep, catching the crack in her voice; he almost ran out hearing it, ready to comfort her, because God, he couldn’t imagine her crying, salt tears rolling down her rosy cheeks - few had when they had made love, but she had been smiling too.

He was sure that seeing her cry without that smile… it would feel the world was ending. Her eyes were made for shining with happiness, her lips made for laughter-

“The fuck-?“

Steve’s head snapped straight when he heard his boss leaving his office, catching him chilling by the wall, very much not working and instead trying not to break and kiss the woman he loved stupid – no matter how stupid that made him. She was engaged. Promised to another, a much classier man… or at least much richer, Steve didn’t imagine his character being worth a damn penny.

On instinct, Steve put a finger over his own lips, wordlessly begging Fury not to rat him out. The man rolled his good eye – the one that hadn’t been hit by hot oil years ago – and crossed his arms on his chest.

“And—uhm, I see. Tell—please tell him I stopped by if he- and that I am sorry for not coming here for so long. He can leave a message with Mrs.Maximoff if he--- tell him I really need to-- that I would like to talk to him,” her voice trembled a bit as she stuttered, but it was clear she had been aiming for a firmer voice and missed by miles.

“Don’t see why he should want to know, princess, but sure, whatever.”

Fury gave Steve another annoyed look and stalked into everyone’s sight. For a second, Steve panicked – was his boss about to tell on him? – but the bulky man only walked in, a professional greeting on his lips.

“Good afternoon, madam. What can we do for you today?”

“Oh, good afternoon, sir-“

“My name is Nicolas Fury, I own the SHIELD Car Repairs. May I be of service?” he continued pleasantly, a businessman in his heart. And actor in his soul, apparently, because Steve was sure he figured out what was going on from the few words he had heard and from Steve’s cowardice and was now putting up a face.

“Mr.Fury, thank you for your readiness, however I was only just leaving. Your staff was most helpful,” she said, polite and respectful, almost a hint of a kind smile in her tone as if she hadn’t sounded on verge of tears only a moment ago. As if the guys hadn’t been jerks to her, standing up for him and his… ugh, his hurt feelings.

“Very well then. Have a pleasant day. Should I walk you out?”

“I actually already offered to walk Ms. Carter out if that’s alright with ya’,” Pietro quickly stepped in, a voice that hadn’t spoken since she had arrived.

“Thank you for choosing SHIELD Car Repairs, Ms.Carter,” Fury’s voice echoed through the shop, complete silence following for what felt like an eternity.

Steve gulped, knowing all too well Fury was waiting for him to come out of his hiding spot.

And sure enough – the boss’ eye found him the moment he returned. “Mr.Fury-“

“For fuck’s sake, Rogers, don’t pull shit like ‘dat in my shop. And all of ya’ – less chatting, less big-mouthing customers and for fuck’s sake, don’t go jerk into the bathroom now just because a girl in skirt showed up. Get your head in the game… and don’t drop anything on your fucking toes, accidents on a workplace are shit to deal with.”

Steve nodded with fervour, going back to his station, even when he couldn’t say that his head was in the game. No, his head was miles away, with beautiful pouty lips, the sweetest smile and a body to write sonnets for.

When Pietro came back, he didn’t say a word, but Steve could feel him burning a hole in his head with how much he stared.

That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

Two months later, two months of Steve avoiding Maximoff’s diner like a plague and dodging Pietro Maximoff’s attempts to have a minute alone with him, a Good Samaritan left a newspaper on Steve’s doorstep. Steve, utterly confused and bone-tired from the long day at work, lifted it and started flicking through the pages absentmindedly as he went inside of his apartment.

And there, right among the obituaries, were marriage announcements, one single photo from a wedding.

She was stunning in her dress, the fabric appearing as delicate and soft as her skin when Steve had felt it under his rough fingers the day she had asked him to make love to her. A smile, crooked and melancholic, played on Steve’s lips at the memory, her breathless moans echoing in his ears.

In the photo posed a beautiful bride with her husband; and yet, Steve couldn’t make himself think she looked as pretty as she had been when sitting on his bed, misplaced, breath-taking and tempting, as pretty as she had been in the moments of ecstasy he had brought her with his loving; for the first time and for the last time at once.

He abandoned the paper on the counter and poured himself a glass of whiskey, bringing it up, hesitating an inch from his lips.

Eyeing the amber liquid, stirring it in the glass, he recalled a movie he had been to with Buck a long time ago. He had never seen people do it in real life, they certainly hadn’t done that at his ma’s funeral, but it would feel symbolic perhaps; the action of pouring a drink into a freshly dug grave was as outside his reality as the foolish idea of a relationship with her, after all.

Taking the newspaper to his hand once more, straightening the picture, he let himself feast his eyes on her. She was radiant, like sun, like the damn sunflowers on her dress the day he had met her.

Shaking his head, he threw the paper to the trash, picture up. Pouring half the whiskey on it, he buried the bittersweet memory of his untouchable uptown girl;downing the rest, he ignored the burn in his eyes and focused on the one in his throat.

As much as he hated himself for it, his last thought before he fell asleep that night was of her, a minute of wonder if she had ever truly been as affected as he was, at least for a moment; he lulled himself to sleep hoping that perhaps she had.

He dreamed of reaching out to Mrs.Maximoff as she had asked the guys to tell him to do. He dreamed of her being there the next time he came in, with an inviting and yet sad smile, a big-ass diamond on her finger… her cherry-flavoured kiss of goodbye lingering on his lips when he opened his eyes to a new day.

He took the trash out that very morning, adding a half-finished sketch he torn away from his book.

It was the last time he saw her.

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Thank you for reading! Scroll to the end of the fic for notes. ….Or? ;)

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That night, Steve switched from beer to whiskey, just once, hoping to drown out the sorrow that consumed him at simply hearing her voice.

In the night of week four turning to week five, Steve’s eyes snapped open to the darkness of his apartment. Momentarily confused, not remembering a nightmare or anything that would cause him to wake up so abruptly, he groaned when he reached for the alarm clock on his nightstand only to find out it was half past one.

He woke up for no fucking reason barely two hours after he went to bed.  

Furious knocks on his door made him jolt, his irritation only growing.

Not without a reason then – some fucker was-- ugh. People were fucking assholes. He was not getting up from his bed for sure.

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered, lying back down face first, determined to ignore-

His door rattled with the force of the next series of knocks and he growled, scrambling to his feet, shuffling to the door and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“C’min’, comin’, Jesus, fuck.”

Unlocking and opening the door for a slit, Steve stared at the face of his night visitor, absolutely baffled.

“The fuck, Pietro? Do ya’ know wad time ‘zit?”

“No. Do ya’?” the blond retorted, his voice dripping sarcasm and Steve really wanted to shut the door to his face. It was too early – or late – for Steve to deal with that bullshit. “Pack your bags, Rogers, Natasha has a free room.”

Steve briefly wondered when the fuck the world stopped making any goddamn sense, but opened the door fully for his clearly delusional friend. For all Steve knew, Pietro could be having a stroke, he’d better hear him out.

“Huh?” he hummed, his palms massaging his bloodshot eyes. “Da’ fuck are ya’ talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Natasha? My cousin? Remember her?”

Why the hell was Pietro acting as if it was completely normal to stop by a guy’s loft to talk about his cousin, one Steve hadn’t even met?

Steve sighed, humouring the other man. “Yeah? Married some… general or somethin’? What’s ‘dat-”  

“Colonel, yeah. She’s the one who lives in Baltimore. She got a room for ya’,” Pietro repeated, still not making an ounce of sense.

“The fuck’d I do in Baltimore?” Steve asked tiredly, earning a look that told him that it was fucking obvious. Which it wasn’t really, not to him.

…was this a fever dream?

“Open your own shop, dumbass, or find a spot in some. Make money for that pretty gal of yours and that little cute as fuck babies you’ll make.”

Steve’s heart dropped to his stomach at the mention of you, fully prepared to rip Pietro a new one to wake him in the middle of the night to fuck with him—but  he caught a movement to Pietro’s right from a corner of his eye and his heart leaped right back, suddenly sprinting.

This was most definitely a fever dream. Steve felt his jaw drop, his eyes fixing on the vision in front of him as he entirely tuned out Pietro’s next words.

“She must like you real big if she’s willin’ to sell her family nick-nack to look at your ugly mug every day. And skip town and shit…”

And a vision his beautiful uptown girl was, a mirage his mind must have come up, because there was no way she was standing there, sheepish as always, but instead of her dress, wearing a pair of jeans and a simple red blouse, a denim jacket unbuttoned, hanging loosely over her shoulders. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, threw over her left shoulder.  

And shit, she talked too, which made it appear this was in fact real.

“Good evening, Steve. I am sorry to wake you,” she whispered, leaving him stare at her blankly, dumbstruck, breath stuck in his chest.

“I’ll drive ya’, Dr.Strange’s car needs a test ride. Fury’s payin’ for the gas, by the way, the ol’ bastard,” Pietro continued as Steve managed to only watch the woman he had been missing for the past weeks lower her gaze, her teeth anxiously biting on her lower lip, fingers toying with the edges of her jacket. Hers? “I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon, even have an hour or two to spare. That’s if you start packin’ now, bud.”

The mention of packing snapped Steve from his trance, all the emotions hitting him like a damn truck. Anger, longing, more confusion, restlessness as his girl was standing only few feet away from him and he couldn’t take it anymore.

He took a hesitant step towards her, ignoring the smirking man clearing his path.

“What—what are ya’ doin’ here?” Steve asked incredulously, his inner turmoil reflecting in his voice. She hadn’t showed up for weeks and now-- what exactly was she doing here? “You- you’re engaged-”

Gulping, she looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears; yet, a hint of a smile spread on her lips as she shifted her weight from one foot to another. For the first time, Steve also noticed her shoes, a simple pair of sneakers looking bizarre on her feet.

“To a man who loves my best friend and vice versa, my best friend who has been covering for me whenever we were together before it blew to our faces,” she explained, not daring to raise her voice above whisper. Steve still didn’t understand – not fully, unable to comprehend what was happing on his doorstep. Pietro talking about his cousin, about driving, Fury paying for gas, the woman he still loved standing there as if ready to skip town- “She was too covering for me when I talked to Mrs. Maximoff when she helped me to plan this. Pietro said you would want this as well— but- but if you don’t, I will leave you alone. I-“

The day Steve had met the strange girl from uptown, Bucky hadn’t failed to mention Pietro was the fast one, clearly implying Steve was the slow one.

Bucky should have fucking seen Steve now when she hesitated, unsure of his feelings – he had never acted so fast in his whole damn life.

He crossed the distance in one long stride and his hands shot up to her, grabbing her by her shoulders unceremonially. Before she could react, he pulled her body against his with all he got, claiming her mouth like there was no tomorrow.

He swallowed her yelp of surprise, followed by her happy laugh, feeling tears springing from her eyes, causing him to halt just as she finally started kissing him back.

“But your family-“ he blurted out, interrupted by her shaking her head wildly, hair flying.

“Mr. Ross has an eye on my sister. He is from a good family, of good name, generations of lawyers. My family will do splendidly,” she said with a smile playing on her lips, sweet and watery as tears still rolled down her face – happy ones, Steve believed. He felt the same delight bursting in him, switching from a broody cynic back to the fool in love in no time. “And we might too. We will have each other and I have learned enough to teach—or-- or I can be a waitress if I can’t find another job, it doesn’t matter, just so you are not the only one to-“

God, he loved her. She was so adorable and sweet and was talking about being his and going from basically a modern princess to a damn waitress, because she was willing to be with him whatever the fucking cost, apparently--

And was there really anything else he could do?

He grabbed the back of her neck to connect their mouths again, a hungry open-mouthed kiss, his hand fisting in her hair, because holy fuck, how was this happening, she was here and she was his-

“Alright, alright, smoochin’ later, packin’ your friggin’ bags now, Rogers,” Pietro cleared his throat loudly, sounding only as annoyed as amused. “I have a long drive ahead.”

Later, bags hazardously full and piled up in the trunk and on the backseat next to them, Steve couldn’t stop smiling and yet he felt a pang of guilt, ruminating over everything she was giving up.

She was resting her head on his shoulder, their interlaced fingers in his lap and Steve revelled at the absence of an overpriced engagement ring on her hand, the one from his ma’s securely in one of his bags to take place on her finger one day. She was walking the fine line between the real world and the dreamland, breathing softly to the crook of his neck and she seemed content. For now.

He sighed and pressed what could be the hundredth kiss to her hair that night.

“Doll?” he whispered softly, the question burning on his tongue, the only one he could hope to actually have answered now and not after they would try and started a life together.

“Mm?” she hummed softly, nuzzling into him further, her lips brushing the exposed skin on his throat.

“Why me? You could have any of those-“ snobs “-high-class… uptown guys.”

The smile he felt against his skin had him melt into the seat as he chased away all the grim thoughts about what the future might bring, her regretting her decision and blaming him for her ruined life on top of that list.

“Because I love you, Steve, and you are worth ten of them. My amazing downtown guy,” she emphasized, filling Steve’s chest with the most delicious warmth, his heart swelling, feeling so full it might burst.

He knew she wasn’t just saying that – she meant it. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t’ have been in his arms right now, heading to damn Baltimore with nothing but her bags, little money and few pieces of jewellery.

“I love ya’ too,” he whispered, this time pressing a kiss to her nose, drawing an exhausted giggle from her lips. Yep, his heart was about to burst before they even reached their destination. “Love ya’ so much. My sweet, sweet uptown girl.”

“Not so uptown anymore...”

Steve chuckled as rather than regret, her voice was filled with relief. “I’m willin’ to put up with ‘dat as long as ya’ stay mine.”

She squeezed his hand, tilting her head up, blinking up at him sleepily and softly pressing her lips to his.

“I think that can be arranged.”

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S.R. masterlist

cxptain’s challenge (check it out, prompts are still available - and who doesn’t like the 80′s?)

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Tags:

@wxstedhexrt, @comicshoplife, @elysianecho, @scentedsongrebel, @orions-nebula, @pies-writes-and-more​, @kayteewritessteve​, @murdermornings, @rinkashirikitateku, @queen-kass-the-writer

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….yes, in the first ending, there might have been a chance of our uptown girl planning an escape and Steve aka heartbroken dummy blew it. But hey, maybe not, perhaps she only wanted to say goodbye like he dreamed of… who knows. 

Aaaaanyway.

You are my hero if you finished reading this fic! Thank you so much for finding time to do that, this one truly was a beast – at least when I consider that it WAS supposed to be a one shot. 

Any feedback is appreciated, as always – good, bad (if constructive), coherent or incoherent, or ‘just’ a like if you enjoyed and don’t feel like putting feelings into words. Thanks again for reading!