#like! leave her be!! She is not 'already acting like a diva' that's a baby having fun figuring out their whole range of motions!!

[misskamelie]

Having a cousin with a newborn child really makes you realize how out of touch you are with societal expectations

[eddieschains]

Totally self-indulgent request of Joe crushing on his photographer on a shoot or photographer's assistant, lil fluffy, lil bit flirty, lil bit sexy...I don't mind it's up to you!! Poor baby is getting all distracted and reader is smitten with him too!!

No pressure to write this babe 🖤

Kat 😘

anything for you my love @choke-me-eddie 🤍

hopefully i did this justice

TW: 18+, rpf (don’t like it don’t read it), p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), mutual masturbation, quick consent checks, brief mentions of plan b and birth control

Being a photographer always had it’s ups and downs. You loved what you did and the creative initiative you had with it, but it wasn’t the most stable job in the world. Most of the time you had to work part time in cafes, restaurants or supermarkets to help keep up with the bills.

You were mainly shooting weddings, graduation photos, and the occasional concert. You had a decent following on your instagram, but the jobs just weren’t flowing in like you’d expect. Until one day, you got an email from a London acting agency. They said they had seen your work, and were looking for a photographer for a magazine shoot for one of their clients.

To say you were excited would be an understatement, even saying you were over the moon would’ve been. The clients name was Joseph Quinn. You heard his name flying around social media lately, knowing he was up and coming in the acting scene based on his work on the latest season of Stranger Things.

You packed your equipment and a few days worth of clothes. The shoot was only for a couple hours, but you lived a few hours away from London so you decided to make a small trip out of it and maybe go visit some old friends who had moved down there.

You check into your hotel, and pull out your laptop, going over all the details for tomorrow in your email. The excitement was definitely there, but the closer tomorrow got, the more anxious you became. You thought it might just be best for you to make some tea, pop on some netflix, and try to go to sleep.

The morning greeted you with a soft whisper of light through the window as you get ready, trying to look as professional as possible without looking like you’re trying too hard. You hop on the train, camera bag in hand, leg shaking involuntarily. You know that if this goes well it could be really big for you, and that’s the main source of your anxiety.

You watched Stranger Things, but didn’t know a ton about Joseph. Just that he was the hot new piece of meat in hollywood right now. You didn’t google him, not wanting to have any pre-conceived notions. You were just hoping and praying that he wasn’t going to be an asshat diva of a person to work with.

Walking into the set, you were immediately greeted by who you understood to be his assistant or his manager, your brain was a bit foggy at the moment and wasn’t really paying attention to the fine details.

“Hello! Welcome! You must be y/n?” The older woman smiles, reaching her arms out for a hug.

“Hi, yeah that’s me. Thank you so much for reaching out to me for this project, im beyond thrilled.” You send a soft smile her way.

“Of course! The team loved your work, we’re so glad to have you here. Let me show you where we’ll be shooting and you can get set up!” She leads you down the corridor into a large room, already set up with lights and props and a rack of clothes. She leaves you to get set up while she runs off to check on Joe.

His team provided you with a lot, so your set up didn’t take too long. About 20 minutes later you hear some chattering voices walking on to the set. Feeling a hand taking place in the middle of your back, you turn around.

“Hi, nice to meet you, i’m Joe.” Oh.My.Fucking.God. Was this man crafted by God himself? He looked different from his character on Stranger Things. Older. Bigger. Stronger. You could feel the heat rushing in your cheeks, and knew it was visible to anyone with a pair of eyeballs.

“Hi, im y/n. I’ll be shooting you today.” Stay professional.

“Yeah, i actually looked at some of your work. Very talented. Shall we get started?” He claps his hands together, rubbing them in a circular motion.

The shoot was going so well. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but it was definitely better than what you had in mind. He was so fun, so charismatic, and open to any ideas you had.

It was nearing the end of the shoot, you had gotten a lot of great pictures but wanted one last pose from him. You were trying to get him to cross his foot over the other, with his knee bent out but it just was not working for him.

“Here, let me-“ You walked over to him, physically moving his legs around, and molding them to your liking. You felt a rush of heat move down his legs at your touch, but tried to push it to the back of your head.

You took your place back behind your camera, and noticed there was a bulge peeking through his trousers. A bigger bulge than what had already been there. He had a fucking boner.

“All right, i think we got some great pics. Why don’t we call it there?” You decide to end it, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. Plus, in your experience, editing boners out of pictures could be a bit of a bitch.

He scatters off to his dressing room quickly, as you start to pack up all of your equipment. The woman that greeted you earlier comes up behind you to say a few words before also packing up and leaving.

“Thank you so much for doing this, i think we got some really great shots. I’ve got a meeting i have to attend so i’m going to head out, but you can leave whenever you want to. Tony at the front desk will lock up behind you.“ She turns to walk away, “Oh! Also, Joe wanted to see you. His room is the second to the right.” She smiles before jogging out the door.

You walk up to his room, wondering what on earth he would want to see you for, thinking about everything that you could’ve possibly done wrong. You knock before opening the door slightly, “Hey Joe, Melissa told me you want to see me?”

“Yeah yeah, come in love.” You feel a throbbing in your pants at his words. “I just wanted to say thank you, and i had a lot of fun today. Uhm and,” He grabs your face and kisses you passionately. You haven’t been kissed like this in months. The throbbing grows more intense, before he quickly pulls away. “God, im so sorry. I don’t usually do this i swear. I just,” You take the initiative in grabbing his face, pulling him in for another passionate kiss.

Your lips are dancing with each other, and you can feel the hardening tent in his pants pushing against your thigh. You walk him over to the chair he was sitting in, lips never leaving each other’s, before he’s pushed back into it. You climb on top, straddling him before pulling your mouth off of his.

“Is this okay?” You ask before going any further.

“Baby, you can do anything you want to me right now. Just please touch me.” You slide off his lap, and place your knees on the floor. Your hand makes its way up from his ankle, until it reaches the bulge you were staring at all session.

He lets out a soft whimper as your hand ghosts over his crotch. You press your palm firmly into his lap, grabbing and rubbing his already hard dick through his pants.

You look up at him, asking for permission to continue, as he nods. You unbutton his jeans and slowly pull them down his legs, taking his boxers with them. His cock springs out the top, and you swear you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. It’s big, bigger than you thought it would be, and thick. If someone asked you what the perfect cock looked like, you would point them in this man’s direction.

You don’t waste any time teasing him, sinking your mouth down fully, taking his entire length into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat.

“Holy fuck- yeah suck my cock baby. Just like that.” He moans, as his hands take place in your hair. You’re bobbing your head up and down, keeping just the right pace. He pulls your hair harder every time he hits the back of your throat, and you can feel your panties getting soaked through.

“Can i- can i fuck you baby? I’m gonna cum soon and i’d love it to be in your cunt.” You don’t respond. Instead, you stand up from your place on the floor, sliding your underwear off underneath your dress, keeping eye contact with him the entire time.

He’s sitting back, hand rubbing up and down his own member while he watched you. You lift the bottom of your dress, giving him access to your dripping pussy, and do the same. Rubbing your own fingers up and down in between your folds. You’re both staring at each other, watch the other get themselves off, as the room turns into nothing but a mixture of moaning and wet sounds filling the space.

Once you’ve worked yourself up enough, you climb back on top of him, slowly guiding his cock inside of you. It takes a second to adjust to his size, but once you do start moving, it’s as if you died and went to heaven.

Throwing your head back in pleasure, Joe attaches his lips to your neck. He immediately finds your sweet spot, and starts sucking.

“Oh my fucking god, Joe. You feel so fucking good.” You’re moving your hips in circles as he grabs two fistfuls of your ass, rubbing your cheeks as you continue to ride him. “My god im gonna cum already, can i come for you Joe?”

He lifts his head from his spot on your neck, “Yeah, come for me baby. Wanna feel your juices on my fat cock.” That was enough for you to explode. Your nails dig into the back of his shoulders, as your walls are clenching around him.

“Shit shit shit.” He groans into your ear, as you feel his hot load shooting up inside of you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, as your breathing starts to calm down. He places his arms around you, holding you in place as you try to come down.

Once you’re able to breathe normally again, you lift yourself off of him, putting your underwear back on as he does the same.

“I’m sorry i came inside you. i can give you money for plan b if you need it.” He says, as he buttons his pants back up.

“Don’t worry, im on birth control. Should be fine.” You smile back at him.

He stands up, gathering his things before walking you out the door.

“Hey do you wanna go get a drink?” He asks, jingling his car keys in front of you.

You smile, “Sure, i’d love that.”

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT PHILLY

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I write for free - so if you would like to support my work, you can donate here.

-

Harry is predictable.

He falls into the same patterns during every tour since he was on the Up All Night with One Direction.

The excitement that comes with the first couple of shows begins to fade as he starts his world wide tour that doesn’t end for nearly eight months.

His constant adrenaline wears off and his exhaustion from not having toured in two years settles deep in his bones.

YN senses it from a mile away, has nearly eleven years experience dealing with her jet-lagged, exhausted, and stubborn husband.

It hits the day of the Philadelphia show, they got in late the night before, and YN always set her alarm for seven thirty in the morning to workout.

Ninety-five percent of the time, Harry got up with her and they either did a jog around the new city or they took advantage of the in-hotel gym.

Four percent of the time, he would whine and tug the comforter over his head, whimpering, “M’too tired, baby. Stay in bed w’me.”

And then the one percent, which was today.

The alarm emits a low, constant beep that rouses YN, in the time she takes to rub her eye and come back into reality - Harry hisses with a sharp edge, “Turn tha’ fuckin’ thing off.”

She bites her tongue at his tone, reaching to turn it off but she can already tell what day they’re going to have.

YN slips out from under the covers and automatically gets a comment from her husband, it another whiney demand, “Cover m’feet, y’too the blanket off them.”

“Yes, your majesty,” YN replies reproachfully, rearranging the blankets before quietly moving around the room to change.

“Stop makin’ so much noise.”

“Turn off tha’ light.”

“S’too early f’this, d’you not care that m’tired?”

She chooses to ignore the remarks, hoping that he can sleep off the attitude.

When YN is about to leave, he grumbles, “Y’need to kiss me goodbye.”

Harry purses his lips for a soft kiss, not moving a muscle, and after that - she leaves to head down to the gym.

YN is required a body guard, definitely when she isn’t with Harry or a group of people, and she decided not to follow those rules today.

She had her TPWK water bottle in hand, a cute workout set on ***, and her AirPods tucked in her ear with some Spice Girls playing.

It’s only about twenty minutes into her exercise, a light jog on the treadmill, that a young girl slips up beside the machine.

YN is kind, stopping the belt to smile for a selfie before the girl scampers off and she resumes her run - music blasting.

However, what YN didn’t know, is that fans had found out early in the morning which hotel they where at and a hoard was rushing towards the small gym.

It’s not even ten minutes later when a swarm of fans in rushing into the work area, lining up around her machine with their phones flashing and recording.

She tries to be nice, “Hey! Uh, I’m just trying to workout. I’m sorry, but no pictures please.”

Then there is loud protest and people shoving each other, begging and pleading for a selfie or for her to sign something - all because she was Harry’s wife.

There is literally no exit to escape to, so she relents and anxiously calls Frank - one of the body guards - to come retrieve her.

-

The whole way back up to her hotel room, Frank is lecturing her about safety and how she could have gotten hurt.

And when he scans the keycard for her hotel room, she feels her stomach drop because Harry is sat against the kitchen counter.

His brown locks are rumpled and going every which way, just in his briefs that are low on his narrow hips, and absolutely irate expression on his face.

“Are y’fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Harry snaps, brow furrowed and jaw clenched - his arms were crossed tightly against his chest.

“Good morning to you, sunshine,” YN mutters, shutting the door and kicking off her tennis shoes to the side.

“Don’t,” Harry replies sourly, “Please explain t’me why I get woken up by Frank to be told y’getting mobbed in the gym? And y’didn’t to call him.”

YN bristles at his tone, giving him a pointed look as she steps further into the room, “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Y’right about that, y’weren’t thinkin’. It is a big deal, y’could have gotten hurt - shouldn’t have t’babysit m’own wife,” Harry huffs, stomping back over to the bed and sliding back under the covers.

“You better watch your tone-“

They’re interrupted with a knock to their door, Harry throws the covers over his head and leaves YN to open the door.

It’s Jeff, who barges in with a coffee in one hand, “Come on, H. Did you forget? You have soundcheck early today and then you have to meet with FullStop to review the details of that new merchandise contract.”

“No, move it,” The popstar groans, muffled from the heavy blankets over him, and his manager and wife give each other a knowing look.

“We can’t. Get up, we need to leave in fifteen,” Jeff replies casually, unbothered as he sips from his to-go mug.

It has Harry dramatically ripping off the covers and getting out of bed, as he charges off towards the bathroom, he shouts backwards, “Wish someone would have fuckin’ told me! Like m’manager or m’wife!”

“Oh my god, here we go,” YN groans quietly to Jeff, snatching up the few things she needs for the venue as well as Harry’s and shoving them in his duffle.

He comes out a few moments later, dressed in running shorts and a vintage Queen shirt - going to tug on his Nikes without a word to either.

But in true Harry fashion, even when he’s mad, he’s still a gentleman. He slips the duffle off his wife’s shoulder so she doesn’t have to carry it.

“Thank you,” She murmurs but he avoids eye contact, being the first to open the hotel room and trudge towards the awaiting car.

It’s a quiet ride, Harry looks out the window with a deep frown and puffy eyes - eyes heavy from the lack of sleep.

Usually, he’d be curled into YN - snuggling as close as possible and asking for her to pet his hair to soothe him.

Not today. But he does have his hand on her thigh.

There’s already fans at the arena and Harry doesn’t acknowledge them - keeps his head down and walks quickly into the private entrance past the barricades.

When a irritated fan screams, “Asshole! We waited all night here for you!”

YN watches as Harry goes to turn, to say something but she pushes him forward through the door to prevent him from doing something he’d regret when wasn’t in a foul mood.

They manage through the long hallways, filled with bustling tour crew, and everybody there to make the show happen.

Sound check isn’t as fun as it usually is, the band stays low-key when Harry does exactly what he needs to do and nothing more.

And after the merch meeting, Harry has reached his limit apparently.

He was so tired, so fucking moody that he couldn’t deal with anymore human interaction.

YN has to step in when she gets a text from Harry Lambert.

Come get your husband. Sarah’s Kitchen.

She sighs, excusing herself from hanging out with Jeff and Glenne - she can hear him from the hallway and now she’s finally get irritated.

“I asked for that specific brand. It’s literally one of the only things I’ve asked for on this tour.”

YN takes a deep breathe before stepping in, there are crew trying not to stare as Harry complains to Sarah about something unimportant.

“Harry,” She says flatly, “Come on.”

He snatches his water bottle and follows his wife out without another word, trailing behind until they end up in his dressing room.

“You need to stop. You’re being a literal nightmare today,” YN tells him, watching him as he digs in the duffle.

“Where is m’charger? Did y’not pack it?” He ignores her words.

“I must have forgot. Harry, I know you’re tired but you can’t be treating everyone like-“

Harry pushes back the bag, seething for no reason, “I’ll treat people however the fuck I want!”

“You’re acting like a spoiled popstar right now,” YN replies, attempting to stay level-headed and calm with him.

“S’my show! M’tour!”

“Yes and everyone is here to support you and you’re treating them like shit. Including me, I’m your wife - the one person in the world that’s here for you no matter what and you’re being downright mean.”

“Y’so fuckin’ sensitive,” Harry mutters angrily, digging around to try to find a charger in a different bag.

And…that stung a bit.

When he doesn’t get a response, he looks up and notices how her demeanor had changed - it brings him back to reality for a little bit.

“I’m not going to stay here and be talked to like that because you don’t feel good. I’ll leave you alone because you are being insufferable.”

“Bab-“

YN is already out the door, storming back to Sarah’s kitchen to apologize for her husband’s diva behavior and everyone shrugs her off - knowing it’s not her fault.

She is sat down with the band and a few others when her husband saunters in, he doesn’t look at anyone else as he walks up to his wife.

“Baby, can I talk to you?” He mumbles, his warm hand coming to cup her shoulder.

“Harry,” YN says back, they’ve been together for so long that those words are all she needs to say for him to formulate a response.

“Come nap w’me please, need you. I’ll apologize t’you,” Harry says, his palm encompassing and big on her.

“Harry,” She repeats.

The crew looks on in amusement as Harry huffs, he lifts his head and speaks loudly to the room at once, “I apologize for my behavior. I have no excuse for getting upset like I have been today. I hope you guys can forgive me.”

Everyone assures him that they forgive him, most of them have dealt with actual spoiled celebrities and Harry was just having a bad day (which still really wasn’t that bad.)

“Okay, come on, bunny,” YN agrees, satisfied and can’t help but smile a bit when she stands up and Harry automatically intertwines their fingers to hold her hand.

The sofa in his dressing room folds out to be a bed and they still had hours before the show.

Once they’ve locked the doo and settled down on the mattress - they’re both laying on their sides, facing each other.

“M’sorry, darlin’,” Harry whispers, “I haven’t been very nice t’you today. I was just upset about the gym thing and just being so tired.”

YN hums, combing throwing his fluffy curls with her fingers as his hands explore over her hips and belly like always.

“You always get like this every once in a while on tour, like a little spoiled popstar,” YN says softly, no sharpness in her tone, “You also need to be nice to your wife.”

“M’always nice t’my wife,” He mumbles childishly, leaning forward to nip at her chin, “I am sorry, know tha’ when I act like that it embarrasses you.”

“You’re better than acting like that,” YN reminds him, allowing him to tug her into his warm, now bare chest, “I’m never gonna let you turn into some fame monster. You’re gonna stay the kind, funny, compassionate person I met when I was young.”

And when YN doesn’t get a reply, she glances to see Harry’s eyes shut, mouth slightly parted as he breathes rhythmically and his entire face relaxes as he sleeps.

“Still my boy,” YN murmurs lovingly, nuzzling before letting sleep overtake her.

-

[mindofharry]

Morning

WELCOME BACK THE JONAH, HARRY AND Y/N UNIVERSE!!! THEY MISSED YOU :-) HERE’S A LITTLE MORNING ROUTINE (WEEKEND EDITION) FEEDBACK IS WELCOME AS ALWAYS!!! LOVE U!!!!!

✧ ✧ ✧

Y/N kissed down Harrys chest as Jonah slept beside them. She’s a needy girl, whoever’s awake gets her. Harry works in early, so on weekends he’s usually the first one up because of his early mornings during the weekend. Sometimes Y/N will wake up with him, but it really depends. Jonah doesn’t wake up before 10 and they’ve learned to just leave him be because he’s a total diva if he’s woken up before 10, or even woken up in general.

“Have to be quiet.” Y/N said and Harry raised an eyebrow, pulling his girlfriend up by her messy ponytail. Y/N bit her lip as Harry’s eyes danced around her face.

“What’s my name?” Harry asked.

“Daddy.”

“And who’s the boss?”

“Daddy.”

Harry nodded, gently slapping her cheeks. “Good. Now act like it. Go on, suck my cock and I’ll make as much noise as I want.” Harry said, lifting his hips up when Y/N pulled down his boxers. She immediately hummed at the sight of his huge, red cock already glistening with pre cum. She licked her lips and stroked his cock with her left hand. Harry moaned and leaned back against his pillow. Y/N spat on his dick, making Harry moan even louder loving the mess. Y/N took his the tip of his cock into her mouth and gagged when Harry thrusted into her mouth. Y/N didn’t have any time to recover as he began to fuck her mouth.

“You two having fun without me?” Jonah grumbled, moving in the bed so he could watch his two partners.

Immediately Y/N stopped sucking Harry’s cock and looked down at Jonah’s bare cock. He always sleeps naked, which can be a negative and a positive. Y/N took his cock into her mouth and then she took Harry’s tip, going back and forth between the two giving them both equal amounts of attention.

As Jonah and Harry climaxed, Y/N swallowed as much cum as she could grinning when her Daddies looked maxed out.

“Pancakes?” Y/N asked.

“Brush your teeth and then I’ll get started on them; because you’ve been so good.” Jonah said pecking her lips tasting both him and Harry on her lips. Y/N grinned and ran to the bathroom to pee, wash up and brush her teeth.

Harry took this as his time to do some yoga and destress, while Jonah got breakfast sorted. They all rotated on days to do breakfast and because Harrys only days off are saturday and sunday, he doesn’t have to cook breakfast. Y/N loves helping Jonah, so it’s not much of a hassle.

“You brush your teeth, lovebug?” Harry asked, placing his arms around her waist. Y/N nodded putting the face cream on. She smiled and turned around in his hold to show him her squeaky clean teeth.

Harry smiled and pecked her lips, tapping her ass.

“I’ve got some emails to respond to, but you’ll be good for J, right?” Harry said giving her a warning look.

“Always, Harry.”

Y/N, Jonah and Harry all ate together. Y/N was helping Jonah with a wordle, while Harry was answering some emails. Y/N could tell he was getting frustrated and she didn’t like that one bit — especially in his day off. He needed a relaxing day with his partners and Harry just needed to leave work at work. He had a hard time doing that.

“Hey, why don’t we watch a movie today. The notebook?” Y/N asked, leaning on Jonah’s shoulder. Harry’s head shot up. Y/N doesn’t like the notebook, but it’s Harry’s favourite so she’ll endure it to make him happy.

“That’s a great idea baby. How about we shower first and then i’ll put the movie on and gets some fruit snacks” Jonah said and Y/N nodded skipping to the bathroom.

“She can tell your tense.” Jonah said kissing the side of Harry’s head. Harry sighed and placed a hand over his eyes.

“Forget about it, Harry. They can handle two days without you. You’re not their parent, you’re their boss.” Jonah reminded and Harry nodded.

“Now, in the shower.”

Y/N washed Harry’s hair, loving the way his curls feel in his hand, while Harry just loved on her breasts. He would bend down once even few minutes and just place his lips over nipple, flicking his tongue over it.

Jonah washed Harry’s body, massaging any knots out of his back.

They knew how stressed he was.

After the shower, Y/N cleaned up the bedroom a bit — naked, of course, because she liked to put on a show.

She opened the curtains, opened up the windows and made the bed. Then she got ready for the day, she opened her wardrobe and put on a loose tank top and some PJ shorts. She loved being as comfortable as possible and with two big men cuddling her 24/7, she did get a little hot.

“Happy?” She asked, cuddling into Harry as they all sat down together to watch the notebook.

“Happy.”

[babybluebex]

Hi! May I request a Tom Holland x reader, where she's Sebastian Stan's younger sister and Seb (jokingly) threatening Tom to stay back to his sister.

Thank youu in advance 😊💕

oh my god i love this concept so much. thanks for the request!!

blood is thicker [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: tom holland x stan!reader ➽ word count: 1.6k ➽ summary: see above!  ➽ a/n: make sure to check out the social media au of this story on my blog!! thanks for reading!

“Alright, who’s the punk?” 

I looked up from my phone to see my brother hovering over my shoulder. “What?”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows at me and titled his head towards me; towards my phone, rather. “Who’s the punk you’re sending kissy emojis to?” he asked. 

“Oh my God, invasive,” I gasped. “Why do you care?” 

“Umm, I don’t know,” Sebastian sighed dramatically. He was a drama queen, both on and off screen. I didn’t really grow up with him-- he was already in college by the time I was born-- but, as long as I had known him, he had a flair for the dramatic that contributed to his amazing acting. I think people always assume that, because I’m The Sebastian Stan’s baby sister, I too want to act, but that’s far from the truth. “Maybe because I never properly got to harass your boyfriends when you were in high school?” 

“And whose fault is that?” I asked. “Why do you think you need to harass my boyfriends?”

“It’s my job, Y/N,” Sebastian laughed. He moved to sit next to me on his couch, and he said, “As long as you’re living with me, I get to be an asshole about your dating life. It’s, like, the whole gig of being an older brother. I gotta protect you!” 

“Maybe I don’t need protecting!” I laughed.

“Just tell me who it is!” Sebastian said with a laugh . 

I looked down at my screen and the name that glowed up at me: Tommy. Tom and I had met at the Infinity War premier and, while that was a while ago now, we had kept up over Instagram. Eventually, we started dating but, because of how private Tom kept that part of his life, nobody knew yet (except for Tom’s brother Sam, who accidentally walked into an unfortunate Facetime call, so I could bet money that the whole Holland family knew by now). “Tom,” I mumbled, but even the sound of his name made my heart skip a beat. 

“Tom…?” Sebastian began. “Do I know him?” 

“Yeah,” I said and bit my lip. Sebastian knowing my boyfriend was one thing; Sebastian knowing that my boyfriend was Tom Holland, the secretly-84-year-old British diva, was something else. 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at me. “Not Tom Hiddleston,” he said. “Darling, I love you and I’ll let you do anything, but he’s older than me, I think there needs to be a line--”

“No, you idiot!” I cried and smacked him with a throw pillow. “Holland!” 

“Holland,” Sebastian said slowly. “My baby sister is dating Tom Holland… You know, this is weird.”

“It’s just not,” I huffed.

“Why him?” Sebastian sighed. “Darling, it’s Tom Holland! He--”

“See, this is why I didn’t wanna tell you,” I said. “I don’t know why you hate him, but he’s actually very sweet! He’s funny and nice and respectful--”

“And he’s trying to put the moves on my baby sister,” Sebastian said quickly. 

“He’s not trying,” I said. “He did. We’re already dating, the moves were made and successful. He’s coming by soon to pick me up, so get your act together.” 

“Woah, time out, he’s coming to pick you up?” Sebastian said. “Taking you to dinner, a right proper gent he is.” He put on an accent that was supposed to be like Tom’s, but Sebastian was secretly terrible at accents, so it sounded a bit more like Chris Hemsworth than he intended. 

“Just don’t be an asshole to Tommy, please,” I sighed. “Be nice, be-- Ya know. Not you.” 

“That’ll be difficult, darling,” Sebastian mumbled, and I landed a kiss in his hair. 

“Make an effort.” 

The sun had gone down by the time there was a knock on Sebastian’s apartment door, and I jolted from my place in my room (technically, it was his spare room but, when I moved in, it became mine). “Don’t answer that!” I cried. 

“Why not?” Sebastian called. 

“You’re gonna scare him!”

I bolted out of my room just in time to see Sebastian throw the door open. Tom stood on the other side, dressed in a nice turtleneck and slacks, carrying a half dozen roses, and the smile dropped off his face instantly. “Oh, hi, Sebastian,” Tom said carefully. “Y/N’s here, right?” 

“Sure is,” Sebastian said. His back was straighter, trying to be taller than Tom, and he added, “What’s it to you?”

“I was gonna take her to dinner…?” Tom said, but he phrased it more like a question. “Is that okay?”

“Seb, get outta here,” I huffed. Tom’s smile returned to his lips when he saw me, and he presented the roses to me. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Tom told me, his cheeks turning red, and my chest grew warm. He was such a sweetheart, and I wondered how I had ever lived without him. 

“Oh my God, Tommy,” I whimpered, and I threw my arms around his neck to hug him tightly. “You’re so cute, thank you!” 

“You look amazing,” Tom told me, his hands falling to my waist. “So beautiful, as always.” 

“Alright, Holland, let’s think about this,” Sebastian said quickly. “You’re taking my sister to dinner, what else is planned?”

“Seb, shut up,” I grumbled, elbowing Sebastian’s chest. “We’re adults, go fuck off and bother Mackie.” 

“I don’t wanna bother Mackie, I wanna bother you,” Sebastian said easily. “And your man.”

“To be fair, you’ve bothered me extensively the past few years,” Tom said. “I don’t get a pass now?”

“Why would you get a pass?” Sebastian asked, his eyes staring holes into Tom. 

“I’m your brother-in-law?” Tom said. “You like me?”

“What if I don’t like you?” Sebastian said smoothly. 

“Well, I guess we’re fucked, then, huh?” Tom laughed. “I’ll have her home by one.”

“Twelve,” Sebastian stated. 

“Half twelve.” 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes for a moment, then sighed. “I guess so,” he sighed finally. “Have fun, you goons.” He ruffled up my hair, earning a groan of complaint, and he added, “Wait. Gimme a hug, darling.” 

“I literally hate you so much,” I mumbled, but I sank into my brother’s embrace all the same. 

“You know I don’t actually hate Tom, right?” Sebastian told me softly. “I’m just messing with ya.” 

“I know,” I told him. “You’re too nice to hate anyone.” 

Sebastian detached from me and took Tom’s hand in a firm handshake, and he said, “Right, listen, Holland. I wasn’t around when Y/N was growing up and I didn’t get to harass her boyfriends. I’ve got 20 years to make up for and I intend to take it out on you. If you hurt her in any way-- make her cry or leave a bruise, God forbid I spot a hickey-- I’ll hurt you back. You hear me?” 

“Yeah, sure thing,” Tom said, and I watched Sebastian’s grip tighten.

“I mean it, Thomas,” Sebastian said, his jaw set. “Treat her right.” He looked at me and winked, and then he said, “She deserves it.” 

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

 Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

 As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

 And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

 Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

 His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

 But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

 Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

 Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

 One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

 Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

 Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

[mythiccheroacademia]

Forgive Me

Summary: It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.

Word Count: 4.8k+ Words

Pairing: Natsuo x Reader (21+)

Warnings: blood, death, gang organization involvement, gun use, sexual content, explicit language, and angst

A/N: First, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN MAN NATSUO TODOROKI!! And I also want to say thank y’all so much for 2k followers! You make my heart ache. To celebrate, I wrote this self-indulgent mafia au fanfic that nobody asked for. I honestly just wanted to write Todorokis involved in organized crime. 

All the Japanese in here is from Google Translate. It most likely butchered it, so I’m sorry about that. I tried. 

Some things to mention: *Yakuza: Basically, the Japanese mafia  *Oyabun: The leader of the organization *Onna-Oyabun: The spouse of the leader. It really translates to the “wife.” I tried to keep things gender neutral, however, I couldn’t find a gender neutral term for this. Please forgive me!

Thank you for ridin with me, y’all! Enjoy this one, hotties ❤️   

Forgive Me

All Natsuo had ever wanted for you was normalcy. Call it wishful thinking—his siblings called it naivety. However, there was nothing more the young successor wished for than for you to have the life you deserved. One filled with love, laughter, and smiles. Not tears, blood, and bullets.

He wanted you to be able to come from work or class with a head full of things for the two of you to gossip about over dinner and ice cream. He wanted to be able to cancel his day and take you to that one amusement park you always talked about. He wanted the petty arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes and whose brownie recipe was better.

Natsuo wanted that for you. Not this.

Your shared room suddenly felt cold and rigid as he stood by the doorway. The sight of your body curled into the sheets, hoping the mattress would swallow you up, made his heart ache. There was no movement except for the slow rise of your breathing as you stared at the wall next to the bed.

Natsuo’s grey eyes focused on the bandage patched to your ear and was brought back to the events prior. An event that had been the reason why he couldn’t have spent the evening in your arms.

[Earlier]

Since having been introduced into the Todoroki lifestyle, life had been hectic. You had been ripped away from your normalcy and propelled into the yakuza* game. It was seeped in cruelty, darkness, and evil that would make you spend nights shivering.

Ever since you had been engaged to Natsuo, your exposure only grew worse. Your fiancé would spend nights apologizing, but you’d only quiet him with a kiss and a small joke.

It wasn’t his fault. His older brother, Touya, was “deceased”. It was against tradition for Fuyumi to have it, and Shouto was too young. He would have to be the next Oyabun* and, despite his unwillingness, there was nothing anyone could do about it.

But that wasn’t something to dwell on. Especially today. Today, you had plans to go shopping with Fuyumi and Shouto and end the night with some well-deserved quality time with your husband-to-be. You had rarely seen anyone due to yakuza activity, so this was something you were looking forward to.

You smoothed down your outfit, adjusting your watch in the mirror. You gave yourself a nod, liking what you saw.

Natsuo came from around the corner, eyeing you with a glint you knew all too well. He apparently liked what he saw too.

“Hi,” he said, smiling into your kiss.

“Hey,” you grinned. You flattened the collar of his shirt where his tattoo peeked from his neck. “You look good.”

He was quick to respond. “You look better.”

“You flatter me,” you chuckled. “Did you pick where we’re eating for dinner later?”  

“I made reservations for the seafood restaurant you like so much. The one with the lights by the ocean.”

“Oooo with the parmesan crusted flounder and the stuffed oysters?”

He hummed a yes and laughed as you did a little dance expressing your excitement. You couldn’t wait to stuff your face. While being classy of course.

“What time?”

“6:30. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that should give ‘Yumi, ShoSho, and I enough time to shop around.” You turned to the mirror to put some last-minute touches to your hair. “We still have to find an outfit for your mother’s event Friday. You know your brother’s a lowkey diva about that stuff so it’s gonna take hours.”

A sudden slap on your ass made you yelp and just as you were about to cuss him out, Natsuo captured your lips in a kiss that made your knees buckle. He slowly explored your mouth, committing every taste to memory. Your hands massaged the nape of his neck and it had him growling in your ear.

“Why don’t you skip the shopping today and we can start on dinner now?” he suggested, loving the moan he got from you as he sucked on your neck.

As much as you adored the offer, you weren’t going to pass up the chance to get out of the house. You’d been cooped up in there for too long. Not even his dick could get you out of this.

You pushed him off of you, laughing as he bit the air between you, trying to put his lips back on you.

“Nat—Natsuo. Stop it. I promised them I’d go shopping today, so no. Besides, I’m already running late. I was supposed to meet them at 1 and it’s 1:30.”

“But you just look so good, baby.” He managed to pull you flush against his chest, mischief in his eyes. You gave him a look when his hands went to go grab a handful of your ass. “I’m sure they won’t mind if you're just an hour more late,” he said, going back to lay claim to your lips.

If last night’s sex was a testament to anything, you’d be here for much longer than an hour. If you didn’t get your ass to the car, you’d be stuck at home and his siblings would have your head.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me, I’ll tell Fuyumi you’re keeping me hostage again. She’ll sick Shouto on you,” you threatened.

At the thought of his sister and brother’s nagging, he rolled his eyes and backed off. “Ugh, you’re such a killjoy. Fine, whatever.” You hummed in triumph and turned to walk away. Natsuo gave another hard slap to your backside again and you sent him back a glare that made him smirk.

“Natsu,” you warned.

“You better get in the car quick before I really decide to keep you here.”

“Keep it in your pants, horndog,” you bit.

“Keep that ass away and we won’t have problems,” he playfully retorted.

You smacked your teeth but hid the growing smile on your lips. That man would be the death of you.

…

Despite your wishes, you ended up being an hour late. Natsuo tried to play innocent underneath his siblings’ threats but stopped the act once they pointed out the growing hickey on your neck.

He was waved off, much to his chagrin, when he told the three of you to be wary of your surroundings and reminded you of the security guards that would be following close by. He finally left for his meeting with few choice words and a kiss promising his return.

Fuyumi grabbed your arm and gave you a smile that was contagious. “Now that Natsu stopped hogging you, we can finally hang out!” she cheered. “The outlet just opened up a few new stores we’ve been eyeing for a while now!”

Shouto nodded in agreement. “I’ve been waiting all week to use my father’s credit card.”

“Didn’t you buy a fur coat yesterday—”

“That’s besides the point.”

Once Shouto took your other arm, the three of you spent your time going from store to store. At first, the objective was to find outfits for the party Friday, however you three had become easily distracted with the sight of a smoothie stand.

A couple hours had gone by, and not much was done. Although you might have wasted time (and money) shopping at miscellaneous stores, neither one of you cared.

It had been so long since you laughed so freely. With Endeavor across the ocean, things were steadily heating up. Enemies took his leave as an open shot and the Todoroki siblings were obliged to reinforce why their family reigned supreme. Due to that, it seemed no one could go a day without stressing over something.

Between that and Natsuo’s near-obsessive mission to keep you safe and away from the details of the yakuza, you were forced to stay in the house twiddling your thumbs with constant security around you.

Feeling so useless drove you crazy. No matter how many times you tried to get your fiancé to let you help, he would always give you a firm no. Fuyumi and Shouto tried their best to keep you out of it as well. Even Dabi warned you about wanting something so dangerous.  

It was frustrating, but you tried to understand. Regardless, having the chance to hang out with your friends like old times was a saving grace and you’d enjoy it to its fullest.

Eventually, you three made it to the boutiques and clothing departments. Shouto had already gotten a suit tailored so it was left with you and Fuyumi.

Your soon-to-be sister-in-law found an extravagant gown that stole your breath. The crimson dress hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating the softness of her feminine figure and the coolness of her kind eyes. It was beautifully bold statement speaking to the fire within Fuyumi many seemed to miss. But no one would overlook that spirit with a dress like that. Her measurements were taken, and the dress was quickly swiped off the rack and sent to the tailor.

Your clothing didn’t come easy. Fuyumi was indecisive and Shouto was a harsh critic.

“Hmm, that one’s too much.”

“Nope, not enough.”

“Too loose.”

“Too tight.”

“No.”

“Hell no.”

“I’m pretty sure someone from the Nanu family wore that in 2016. Next.”

It had taken nearly an entire hour before the three of you found your outfit. Something that had caught your eye was soon being shimmied over your body. When you stepped out of the dressing room, you were relieved when Fuyumi nearly cried and Shouto’s bi-colored eyes twinkled with satisfaction. The material was comfortable on your body and the pigment made your skin color brilliantly glow. It moved and swayed like it was meant for you. It just felt right.

“That’s the one,” Shouto smiled.

“You think so?” you asked, checking over the detailing.

“You’re going to steal the show, as always, Y/N,” Fuyumi gushed. “The most beautiful Onna-Oyabun* the yakuza have seen this generation.”

At the mention of the word, you casted your eyes downward. “Right. I’m going to be the new Onna-Oyabun,” you sighed.

The two Todorokis caught the heaviness of your tone and looked at one another in sadness. They were privy to the burdens of this family and the titles that came along with it. Your reaction wasn’t abnormal, but the despondent gleam in your eyes was still hard to sit with.

“Y/N—”

The sound of Shouto’s phone cut off his words. As he listened to the quiet words from the other line, his eyes began to harden. The store clerk kept you busy, but Fuyumi noticed his sudden rigidness.

Her brother’s eyes flicked towards the door and she caught the sight of more their bodyguards surrounding the boutique, hands on their weapons.

There were a few more words said before Shouto spoke.

“Anata wa mōru o torikakonde imasu. Natsuo wa 5-bu de soto de aimasu.” (Keep the mall surrounded. Natsuo will meet us outside in five minutes.)

Fuyumi met her brother’s eyes once more and understood the situation.

“So, the seamstress said she’ll tighten around the waist and add more fabric to the end. It’ll be ready by tomorrow evening,” you said to them.

Shouto excused himself while Fuyumi walked towards you, a practiced smile on her lips.

“Perfect. Now let’s get you changed and out for your date. Natsuo will be here any minute.”

…

The car ride to the restaurant was filled with your rambling about the day and Natsuo’s usual teasing. When he got into the car after speaking with his siblings, he seemed very tense. So you were happy you were able to get him to relax. Work must’ve put him on edge, and you were determined to let the rest of your night come stress free.

When you got there, he helped you out of the car and you made your way to the door. You were surprised to see who was standing by the entrance.

“Dabi?”

“Hey there, doll,” he said behind an easy smirk. He kissed the back of your hand. “Still see you’re with this punk. Tragic.”

You tried to hide your giggle as Natsuo punched his brother’s shoulder.

“Back off, brick-face. Lookin’ like a burnt raisin.”

“You wound me,” Dabi faux gasped.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

Although Dabi kept his eyes on you, he felt his brother’s stare on his face.

“Just doing some patrol. Heard you were coming around and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say hi to my new favorite Todoroki,” he responded coolly.

You quirked your brow at that. “Did something happen?”

Dabi opened the door. “Nah, nothing you need to worry about. You just enjoy your dinner for me, yeah?”

Before you could say anything more, you felt the man behind you place his hand on your lower back and guide you into the restaurant. You didn’t miss the order he hissed to his brother before closing the door behind him.

You had to learn Japanese one of these days, damn it.

As you stood in line to be seated, you eyed your fiancé.

“I know something’s going on,” you spoke.

Natsuo didn’t even flinch. “What do you mean?”

“Why’s Dabi here?”

“You heard what he said. For patrol.”

“Patrol for what? He doesn’t just police the area for no reason.”

“It was just on some small case we’ve been working on. No biggie,” he shrugged.

You frowned at his play of innocence. You were getting kind of tired of this. “You know how much I hate being kept in the dark…”

“It’s nothing you have to concern yourself with, babe. I’ve got it handled.”

“Natsuo—”

“Y/N, please.”

You watched his shoulders sag a bit from the heavy sigh that left his mouth. If you hadn’t been watching, you would’ve missed the fatigue that flashed across his face. To see someone usually so upbeat look so tired made your chest ache.

You knew you were being pushy, but all the secrets were piling up and your curiosity was starting to become insatiable.

“I…I just want to help,” you softly admitted. “I don’t mean to be annoying.”

“You’re not being annoying,” he answered in a heartbeat. Natsuo pulled you close and kissed your temple, feeling comforted by your smell. “I know all these secrets drive you crazy, but I’m trying to protect you.”

You placed a hand on his cheek to which he placed a kiss to your palm. “And I want to lessen your burden. We’re in this together, baby. You don’t have to handle all of this alone anymore.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered. He stared into your eyes for a moment before gently smiling down at your hopeful gaze. “How ‘bout this? We forget about all this yakuza stuff whiles we’re here, and as soon as we get home, I’ll fill you in on my meeting today. Sound fair?”

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted, but it was a step in the right direction. Besides, you could see how eager he was to forget about the topic. The focus of this night was about having fun, so you would drop it for now.

You pecked his lips and nodded in agreement. “Deal.”

“Bet.”

The hostess met you two just as you pulled away from one another. She led you to your table where you had a clear view of the beach behind the crystal glass. Your waitress, an older woman with a smile that felt safe, got you settled in.

“My name is Jane and I’ll be serving you today. May I get your drinks?”

Natsuo looked to you. “Wine?”

You made a thoughtful face. “Yeah. Sure. Something on the sweeter side.”

“Bring us Moet Chandon Dom Perignon. 2008.”

“Yes, sir,” she bowed before going to retrieve the drinks.

You frowned in confusion, the bran unknown to you. That was before your eyes scanned over the wine listing. You choked on your spit.

That bottle could pay rent.

Rich people were crazy.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Something in my throat,” you coughed.

After the waitress brought your drinks and you placed your orders (you both ordered enough for eight but what’s new?), you and Natsuo spent your time talking and laughing.

It was like old times. He was the jokester, throwing out horrible pick-up lines with a terrible pun to match. You’d tease him, snickering when he’d whine about how sensitive he was.

You missed this. A lot.

Your previous grievances left your mind. Like he said, for now, you’d forget about the yakuza. The carefree smile on your fiancé’s face, the one that reminded of you of just how young he really was, was beautiful. He was only 23 and dealing with so much. You wanted this expression of freedom to remain for as long as possible.

“The ‘Saw’ series wasn’t even that scary. It was just really gross,” you said.

“Fair. But the one with the teeth was kinda scary. Saw 3 I think? I couldn’t sleep for like, five days,” Natsuo shivered.

“Okay, yeah. That one was…ew,” you agreed. “But remember ‘The Human Centipede’? Now that was some creepy shit. I couldn’t eat cereal for a month.”

Natsuo visibly paled, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “Nah for real, bro. I’ll never watch that shit again. I feel like it was some big, grotesque, sexual innuendo.”

You gave him a flat look.

“What the fuck, Natsu.”

“No, listen! Remember the part where they took the hammer and—"

“Your food, Mr. Todoroki and Mr/s. L/N,” Jane interrupted. A questioning look flashed across her face but you two just stifled your laughs.

The other waiters laughed as they stood behind her with the food in their hands.

You were eyeing the hell out of those oysters.

“Here we have the lobster bisque, the shrimp tacos, the stuffed oysters—”

“I’ll take that one, please!” you excitedly clapped.

“Excellent choice.”

“And you say I’m a child,” Natsuo snorted.

You threw a glare his way. “Little boy, if you don’t—”

And just as your day had been filled with laughter, the sound of one bullet tore through that illusion.

It was as if the world had stilled for a moment. Then, there was screaming and the onslaught of gunpower. There were so many men in dignified suits running in and out of the restaurant. You hadn’t even blinked before two waiters dropped to the ground, piled beneath the food they were holding.

Two shots rang near your table, and you felt a string of fresh blood paint the sides of your face and a burning sensation on your left ear. Two hands held the table and the back of your chair, body a shield from the bullets.

You slowly looked up and saw Jane’s bright blue eyes wide with surprise. There was a moment of silence as her bottom lip wavered, wanting to say something.

However, her last breath slipped through her lips as you watched the life dull in her cerulean irises.

That bullet was meant for you. That bullet was meant to kill you and instead…instead…

When she fell onto you, dead, that’s when you screamed.

At some point, Natsuo had gotten you into his arms. His body was ice cold as he used his quirk to protect you and carry you out. He was shouting orders and curses while trying to coax you out of your numbness. However, you couldn’t hear anything.

The stench of blood was strong. You saw how the bodies of innocent men, women, and children laid piled on the floor. They bled out; their lives taken from them before they even had the chance to think about it.

You closed your eyes when you saw blue and red flames lick the ground. You had seen enough.

Somehow, you had gotten outside and away from the warzone. Natsuo carried you into the car.

“Doraibu!” he thundered. (Drive!)

The driver took off with speed that made our backs hit the seats. Once he hit the main streets, miles away from the scene, Natsuo took his hand off the gun and quelled his quirk.

His phone lit up and it wasn’t long before he blew up at whoever was on the other end. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him use a tone so mean and angry. He roared into the phone, his words foreign to your ears. However, you couldn’t concentrate on that.

The shock of what just occurred struck your body numb. The ringing in your ears hadn’t stopped since the first bullet. You could still smell the blood and the bodies. Jane’s lifeless eyes would haunt you forever.

The same bullet that tore into her heart was meant for you. Whoever shot that, was aiming to kill. Kill you. But instead, Jane had taken that place. For what reason, you didn’t know. But she did.  

You didn’t know which one was worse.

Bile rose in the back of your throat and you let out a shaky breath.

You could do nothing else but hold your head.

Natsuo had gotten off the phone and looked over at you in silence. His grey eyes stormed with pain from the way your shoulders hunched over in grief.

He reached for you. “Y/N, sweetheart—”

You flinched away as his fingertips ghosted your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you seethed.

He quickly withdrew his hands.

“Are…are you okay?” he slowly spoke.

The glare you gave him made him avert his eyes in anguish.

“Am I okay? You’re asking me if I’m okay!?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not hurt,” he thickly swallowed.

“Are you serious, Natsuo!? I just saw twenty people die in front of me and you’re asking if I’m okay!??”

Guilt drowned him, but you just couldn’t seem to care at the moment as rage took over your body.

“I asked you to tell me what was going on. I’ve been fucking begging you to keep me up to date so I can just be prepared for when things like this happen!”

“I know.”

“If I had just known someone was trying to take me out, I would’ve stayed the fuck home, but you wouldn’t tell me and now there’s people DEAD!!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Fuck your sorry!” you roared. “Fuck you, Natsuo! Sorry won’t bring those people back!”

Your voice was beginning to grow hoarse but screaming felt good. It was the only thing that felt real even as it took you to hysteria.

“I know those bullets were meant for me! They wanted to—to—oh my God!” Your breathig grew erratic as it all dawned on you. “I’m supposed to be dead! They wanted to kill me! I can’t! I can’t do this!”

Natsuo felt his heart break with every sob that ripped from your mouth. He wanted so badly to hold you and take you away from all of this. However, he knew better.

For the entire car ride and throughout the time it took for the nurses to patch you up, you hadn’t allowed him to touch you. You even ignored him until he was forced to leave you to rest.

When he told you he loved you, it hurt like hell to see you wordlessly disappear behind the bedroom door. That pain was what later fueled him back to the scene of the crime and into doing things to the captured enemies he would never utter to anyone that wasn’t there.

Fuyumi and Shouto couldn’t look him in his eyes for the rest of the day. It was Dabi, as heartless as he was, that told him it was enough.

He would give anything to give you what you deserved, a life without pain and death. But that’s not how it worked. Not in this life.

He knew that, yet, he had been selfish and took you for himself. Now, this was the result. Your life in unremitting danger because of who he was.

The agonized screams of dry ice burning away flesh constantly played in his head. It only seemed more prevalent, now more than ever, that people like him didn’t deserve people like you.  

[Present]

Natsuo’s heavy stare caused you to shift. As he changed into pajamas, you looked at the clock. It was 2am.

You hadn’t realized it was so late.

You felt a heavy dip in the bed and watched your fiancé carefully settle into the sheets. His face was clean of blood and dirt, so he must've showered before coming back home.

A pregnant pause filtered between you two. As you continued to stare at one another, you could see his façade slip with each passing second. The blank front he was so skilled at putting up melted as his eyes continued to pass over the bandages. His eyes sunk and the skin around them was dark with wear. He looked exhausted.

The anger that had once bristled inside of you had given way to melancholy a long time ago. You felt so empty and lonely with the dark thoughts that circled in your head. Sleep wasn’t an option if you wanted to avoid the nightmares that would plague you.

The two of you scooted closer to one another. Natsuo was the first to speak. He spoke in a voice so small, you almost missed it.

“Can I touch you?”

“Please,” you whispered.

Soon enough, you were in his arms, chin on his shoulder as he peppered the junction between your neck and collarbone with kisses. You relished in his hands exploring your body, missing how he just seemed to swallow you up.

“I love you, Y/N,” he breathed.

“I love you too, Natsuo.”

Much of the night was spent reminding yourselves of the other’s touch. Natsuo drew your lips captive, his tongue overtaking you with dizzying pleasure. You couldn’t keep track of where his mouth was. Whether it was on your lips, on your stomach, or in between your legs, you savored how good it felt.

Soon, his low growls and moans were hot against your ears. Your nails ran down Natsuo’s back as his hips swam into you, taking his time to rememorize how you felt around him. The bed creaked along with your moans. You threw your head back and gripped whatever you could hold of him during your lovemaking.

It seemed you’d reach your high over and over again. You could never get enough of each other. There was something intoxicating about how his tongue would roll over yours as he pounded into you, staking claim over your body as he gave himself to you until he couldn’t.

When your bodies couldn’t go any longer, you just lied underneath the sheets. Natsuo lied on top of you, head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. You pushed back his sweaty bangs, staring down at him.  

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until his thumbs went to swipe past your cheeks.

“Damn it,” you hiccupped.

Natsuo let his vulnerability slip. “I know they’re just words, but I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he said. His voice cracked and it was your turn to catch the tears that fell from his eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was just…”

“Just what?”

A fresh wave of images from today filled the forefront of your mind. Those pictures did something to you. A switch was flicked.  

Your voice caught in your throat and your eyes pinched as more tears filled them. However, these were not tears of fright, rather tears of animosity. The anger you thought had left you had turned into something worse. Something much darker.  

Natsuo saw that look many times before in his own reflection. Vengeance. Pure, unadulterated, vengeance. And as much as he hated it, it was the gas that incited his own flame.  

“Natsuo,” you spoke like you were about to tell a secret. You slowly swallowed the ball in your throat.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what it is you want.”

The words that left your mouth felt different, but you would never regret them.

“Whoever it was, whoever was behind this, I want them gone,” you instructed, voice stone cold. “For every child lost, I want ten of their heads. For all our men they took, I want their bodies burned. For the life they took from Jane, I want their blood on the street. Today, they took their stance when they tried to kill me.”

You held his face and fell into his gaze with hard eyes. In those grey irises, you saw a man that would stand against an army for you. It gave you the courage to say your order.

“And for that, I want the entire yakuza dead.”  

The glint in his eye matched your own and you knew there was no turning back. Natsuo nodded without a second thought. There was nothing to think about. He’d give you the entire world or burn it down at the flick of your hand.

“Yes, my Onna-Oyabun. Your wish is my command.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss.

“This is war.”

[saanjhish]

The Crows in Delhi during winter time [chapter 38-40 never happened and this is LONG after CK]

Inej is the mom friend who's wearing layers and layers of clothes — and i mean LAYERS, like she's wearing at least three shirts, over that she's wearing a sweater, over that a jacket, and a scarf and some gloves and fuzzy socks, she's going all out. And she's making the rest of them go all out too, because ain't no way she's letting them catch a cold.

But, when someone does, she's taking care of them like any (healthy) desi parent would; with all the shit that we think is nonsense but apparently isn't [i was so surprised].

Kaz is like me, who acts as Elsa in Frozen, going "the cold never bothered me anyway *shuts door on your face like a diva*" and two days later, he's got a mf cold and is sitting with a blanket wrapped around him, drinking chai made by Inej, which he doesn't hate (he loves it. He wants to drink it every day. Masala chai has become his favourite drink now, but he will only drink it when no one is watching except Inej, coz he doesn't know how to make it).

Jesper gets sick pretty soon, he's very fragile towards the cold.

He also acts really dramatic when he's sick. "Sunshine, *puts hand on her shoulder* I'm dying." "No you're not, i-" "we both know it." "It's a cold-" "I want you to break the news to the *horrifying cough* rest of the Crows," "Jes it's not even that serious, you're getting better already-" "take care of yourself." "Jes- *inhales sharply, done with his shit* fine." "SO YOU'LL JUST LEAVE ME LIKE THAT?!?" "OH SAINT'S ABOVE-"

Wylan is surprisingly good with the cold, so he helps Inej with tending to those who caught a cold.

He likes spending the quality time with Inej and learning about aayurveda; they find a common interest in it and form a close bond.

Nina refuses to even get out of bed. She sits in bed all day, shivering, holding a blanket up to her from one hand and eating a waffle from another.

Inej switches that waffle with a dal-parantha and Nina looks at her as though she was betrayed. She's very offended.

"how dare you-" "it's for your own good." "I shan't eat it" "eat it. Nina." "*Eats, horrified of Inej's tone*"

She ends up loving it.

And Matthias ... Well, he's all "*kicks the door down* oh- ... *Tries to out it back in place* *superhero pose* GET OUT, BIATCHES, IT'S MY TIME TO SHINE!"

Kaz is jealous of him for being completely fine in the cold, so he goes "shut it, Helvar."

"demjin."

At this point, Kaz is acting like a baby with how sick he is, so he just says the same thing but in a mocking tone

Then Matthias does the same thing but more intensely

And it just goes on for a ... While.

[mendesficsxbombay]

loving you is the antidote | s.m

A/N: I wrote most of this with two badly injured fingers, but when creativity strikes, it strikes! his name hasn't been mentioned in this fic... at all. hope you like it! 

requested fluff from this prompt list

17: mmm… you’re warm

18: you’re so cute when you’re sleepy like this 

19: I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a hot drink and someone to cuddle with 

“And up next ladies and gentlemen is a very special guest, she’s starring in Golden - hailing from India and known over the world is a critically acclaimed actress with awards lining up longer than the line of fans waiting to see her, and let me just tell you that line wrapped around the block!” James Corden jokes. The audience goes wild as he announces her name and she walks out onstage, the cheers nearly deafening as she crosses the room, all smiles and poise in her red bottoms, taking a seat opposite the host’s desk. 

“Can I just say something we start, you were the most requested guest on the show after BTS, and there was a damn near riot for the last two days for people who wanted to catch a seat here!” He exclaims motioning to the audience and a faint blush rises to your cheeks at the attention of the audience cheering and hooting for you again. 

“Hey, can’t compete with BTS!” She grinned back at him, “I don’t know if everyone knew this already, but I love those guys! They’re taking over the world aren’t they? And, can I just say something, too? I’ve loved the Late Late Show since the first time One Direction were invited as guests and that was a long time ago…”

“Wow, a fan is amongst us, that’s so nice to know! But enough about bands, let’s talk acting,” He moves to hold up a poster of her upcoming film, the sole reason for her to be on the show, “Golden comes out in just a few weeks, and from what we’ve seen so far it’s going to be everyone’s new favourite romcom very soon! Tell us a bit about the film!”

“I’m so excited, I can’t put it into words - Golden was like, the movie of my dreams, it was a story that I always wanted to see on a screen but playing a part in a movie like that was really just unbelievable,” she dishes out, filled to the brim with love for her upcoming project, “It’s a story about new love, the whole process of falling for someone and the new feelings that come with it and how different people address it differently, I think there’s something everyone can take away something from it - there’s something for everyone.”

“You said it was your dream project! Really?”

“Yes it was! I think when it comes to love stories we tend to see most things in black and white, but it’s high time we told stories that address the grey areas, too, you know? Like there’s going to be insecurities, there’s going to be doubts and second thoughts but whoever you’re in love with, you need to fight through problems and you’ll only come out stronger. A great love story isn’t the one where things get hard and fall into place immediately after, it’s the one that’s seen it all, it’s the one that’s worn in and still stands as it was the day it started - so I think it was a really important project for all of us to be part of,” she replies sincerely, nothing but pure honesty and now a little coyness dripping from her words, “And I hope it’s an important film for you, too,” she shyly looks over to the audience, which, listening intently so far, now responds with more hooting and clapping. 

“Is there anything from your personal life that made you feel closer to your character? I mean we all do have doubts here and there but I don’t think someone as like you would have to go through that” He adds, and while she knows this is just to butter her up the crowd’s reactions are varying affirmatives. When James sees her shake her head in disagreement he quickly speaks up, “It’s literally impossible, I mean, you’ve been titled most desirable woman in Europe and you’re not even European!” He’s exasperated in a way she’s seen before, but only through her television screen. A light spark is felt in her chest when she realises that this may only be one late night show of many, but she’s finally ticking off her childhood dreams. 

“Alright I’m gonna be honest, I’ve never really had very serious long term relationships before so I thought I was pretty much immune to these feelings but there was this one incident that really stood out for me - and even if it did or didn’t help me while filming it taught me an important lesson so - would you guys wanna know? I don’t wanna bore you or anything…” she baited the audience, her eyes glinting with mischief. She didn’t plan on giving out any details if she were being honest, they’d been so good so far but this seemed appropriate. She found it to the correct time to show off how mature and amazing and sensitive he is, and how lucky she was to have fallen in love with him.

“Ah! Do tell!” The host leans forward, propping his chin on his hands as he was ready for story time. 

“Well, this was in London last year. We had basically set up camp in the city for the movie for about… 7 months, I think. I had a few days off between schedules, but there was this one day that went really bad.”

She’d slipped and hurt her ankle right before leaving her apartment that morning. Her favourite jacket was nowhere to be found and she’d had a fight with her agent by mid day. The last few days of filming before she got a break were taxing, mentally and physically, but the exhaustion was now catching up to her. Whether she liked it or not, her day was nowhere near good and she hated to have to whine about it to anyone. 

“This boy I really, really liked was also in London at the time, and he - well he,” is a multi platinum selling artist that tours the world and plays shows for tens of thousands of people every night, “travels a lot for his job and that would’ve been the last day I would have a chance to meet him. And our relationship was still fairly new, it was just the beginning and I mean - you know what it’s like at the start - you never want this person to see you in your worst condition, I knew he wanted to see me, but I told him I wasn’t really in the mood for it and there was no option but to put this off for another time.”

A meeting with her team had confirmed that she would be working on her birthday this year. There was a photoshoot with British Vogue lined up the same day that could not be moved to another date, and she had fought tooth and nail to free up the date, so far as requesting for them to just free up those 24 hours and she was willing to put in double the work through that week, but they wouldn’t budge. To anyone else this would look and feel like a diva meltdown, and she felt guilty, too. It’s just that - her birthday was always spent with her family. Every year without fail. Her family would free up their schedules to spend a good day together, and she already saw very less of them since her career had taken off, this just felt like she didn’t hold the reigns to her life anymore. 

Getting out of the meeting, she texted him for a rain check. The words felt heavy to even type out, this really was the last chance they’d have of seeing each other for another two months until his Europe tour ended and she wrapped up her film. But there was no way she could let him see her in this condition. She needed to go home and curl up in a ball and cry a bit to just have an outlet - but she also needed him, his body pressed against hers and his strong arms wrapping her in, making her feel safe. Her fingers flew over the keypad for a second, pursing her lips to try and think of what could possibly soften the blow, not only for him but also herself. 

hi my love, I hope you’re having a good day so far. I know we planned on you coming over today but I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a hot drink and someone to cuddle with, and I think I’m in love with y- she tutted at herself, pull it together. She hit backspace, wiping out the text and typing again. hi my love, I hope you’re having a good day so far. I know we planned on you coming over today but I’ve had a rough day and I think it’s best if I spend some time alone, I’m really sorry for cancelling

“So you blew him off so you could go home and cry? That was your big plan?” James asked, clearly amused and you could only laugh at how silly it all was. 

“Absolutely! That’s exactly what it was! I wanted to go home and wallow in peace. When I cry it’s not pretty at all and I didn’t want him to see that but he ruined all my great plans!”

She could see that he had opened the text within five minutes of her sending it, and didn’t reply. Was he mad at her? She would understand if he was. With the way the past few days had tested her emotions, this was the one thing she could take full responsibility for. She reached home soon after, washing herself up and changing into the fluffiest pair of pajamas she could find. She fixed her hair into a loose bun, scrubbed her face free of makeup and took her contact lens out to wear glasses. She’d given up on the week and now she looked like it, too. 

She had only just found herself comfortable in front of the large flatscreen in her living room when she heard three sharp raps on her front door. Great. Now she would have to tell off the poor person who chose to come her way today of all days. When she swung the door open, her jaw fell open, too. 

There was the boy who took up space in all her daydreams lately, with two big bags of what looked like food, dressed down in a baby pink hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. 

Seeing her unmoving for a few moments he welcomed himself in, and shut the door behind himself. He took off his sliders by the door, a habit he learned from her, and walked further into her apartment. He stopped for a second, only to place a soft kiss to the side of her head. He rounded off into her open plan kitchen, unpacking the two bags. He pulled out two large pizzas, and a crate of what looked like Nesquik chocolate milk. 

“What, um, babe what are you doing here?”

He turned around, as if he was surprised she was talking to him, even with the two of them being alone in her apartment. “Hmm? Oh, don’t mind me, just dropping off some food for you, I’ll be out in a second.”

“Why?”

It’s his turn to stay quiet. 

“You said… you said you didn’t have a good day, and I didn’t want you to be alone,” his voice was soft, keeping in mind the energy of the space between them. If she wanted she could just reach out and touch him, make herself believe he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, but not just yet. “I don’t really know what happened… and I don’t want you to tell me unless you feel comfortable and uh,” he ran a hand down his neck, slowly looking back up at her, “I got you your favourite food… it won’t make things better but… you can have it if you need. Got the toppings right as well.”

He opened the lid of the pizza box and slid it over to her on the counter. A large veggie supreme with no corn, extra olives and jalapeños. Just how she liked. The longer she looked between him and the food the longer he felt like he messed up. 

“I - I just wanted to drop all this off and be on my way, sorry for bothering you I just needed you to know it’s okay to have bad days and I know you wanted to be alone but I jus-“

“Stay.”

His eyes snapped back up to read her face, catch any signs of discomfort or annoyance or anything that would let him know she didn’t actually want him to stay. 

“Really?”

“Please stay,” she whispered, overwhelmed. She rounded around the kitchen island, pausing just for a moment to take a good look at his face and then pushing onto her tiptoes to hug him as tight as she could. If he felt the stray tears on his neck, he didn’t say anything. 

She’d planned on camping out in her living room and binge Brooklyn 99 ’til she eventually passed out but now that he was here, she wanted nothing but him. Turns out he did, in fact, think she would ask him to stay, and the second pizza he got was for himself. Sneaky bastard. Also a really lovely, thoughtful bastard, she thought. 

“And then we spent the rest of the evening just catching up, I drank like, four gallons of Nesquik, so I think I got high on that. But the one thing he taught me that day was that some things just aren’t in our control, and it’s not correct to punish ourselves for what could have been, y’all know what I mean?” She saw a few heads nodding in the crowd, proud of herself for sharing this story. “I think we’re all willing to forgive others no matter what, but we should learn forgiving ourselves, too. Also - crying is the best form of therapy - always!”

“And - so how did this night end?” James batted his lashes at her, causing her cheeks to flush even though there was nothing of the sort that he was implying. 

“Nothing that you think - I ended up falling asleep before midnight and he had to leave soon because he was supposed to catch a flight the next day. That’s it! That’s my great story!”

“mmm… you’re warm,” she mumbled into his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Her voice was scratchy and worn out, she did cry a good amount, after all, and then they’d eaten, finished half the crate of the chocolate milk he brought after which she’d snuggled up to him, and slowly drifted to sleep. He’d made her comfortable on the couch while he cleaned up after them, deciding to tuck her in before he had to return to his hotel. “I’ll really miss you when you’re gone, you know that, don’t you?” She continued mumbling things into his neck that he couldn’t quite understand, and then pulled away.

Slowly blinking up at him, she bit her lips, hissing at how sore they felt because she’d forgotten how he had kissed her, slow and deep, after their meal. No wandering hands, no further moves. Just them, just kissing, as the 99th precinct continued to save the day in the background. This had quickly become her favourite day they had spent together and she was clutching onto the last fleeting moments. 

“And I’ll miss you just as much,” he replied, laying her on the mattress, moving away to turn on her night lights, the room now lit in hazy gold from one corner. “You’re so cute when you’re sleepy like this.”

Her eyes followed him around the room, biting the inside of her cheek to keep any second thoughts at bay. “Can you keep a secret?” She whispered, mind suddenly more conscious than it had been all evening. What could she say, being this close to him caused cross connections sometimes. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, taking her hand in his again. “Of course.”

“I think I’m in love with you, and it scared me to let you leave without you knowing.”

The biggest smile she had seen all day slowly broke out on his face, bringing their entwined hands up to his lips so he could kiss the back of her hand. “Can you keep my secret?”

When she hummed, he sighed out dreamily. “I know I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

Tears gathered in her eyes for the third time that night, and soon he was gone. 

“So this boy you say you liked, what’s he like? Do we know him? Does anyone here know him?” James perks up cheekily, and she knows exactly what and who he was aiming at. She can feel her cheeks heat up under the makeup, thank god for full coverage foundation. 

“I think he might get by… maybe you know him, maybe you don’t…” she trails off but she knows James would want more. She knows most people who consider themselves her fans must’ve seen the few times she was spotted with him over the last year. There was a grainy video of the two of them standing very close at a small pub in Toronto, a few photos of the two of them walking hand in hand in Hyde Park while she was still filming in London, the one 35mm photo he posted of himself by the fireplace in her house, the same house that was the backdrop of many of her own photos. She knew they knew. But the two of them had never confirmed or denied anything, keep ‘em guessing and all. The sneaking around was half the fun. The other half was not having the media and the general public up their asses for every minuscule detail of their private lives. 

“So it probably wouldn’t be someone we’ve seen before right? You don’t happen to know this devilishly handsome Canadian singer - his face looks like it was carved from marble - has the voice of an angel?”

She tapped her fingers on her chin as if in deep thought, “Nope, sorry doesn’t ring a bell. But it sounds like you do know someone like that,” she smirks back at him, “What say, James, wanna set me up?”

“An opportunity to set up an Oscar winning actress? I wouldn’t dare pass up on that!” He seemed delighted, fully aware that his show was the first and only one to have had her spill any details about her personal life at all. 

Soon, he thanked her for being on the show, reminding the viewers to grab tickets to her upcoming film before announcing the next guest. She was brought backstage to pack up and head home, but not before she had her promotional photos taken with James, and in their signature photobooth. By an absolute coincidence she pinned her photo next to her love’s, smiling at how pathetic and mushy it was. 

Later that night as she got ready for bed, she saw herself tagged in a video by the Late Late Show’s Instagram account. It was the one of her talking about how “the boy she liked” taught her a life lesson and how she asked James to set her up with interested suitors. 

She found herself smiling at the video, when she felt his presence behind her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into him. She let out a blissed sigh, and felt him nosing at her neck, dropping stray kisses as he liked. He cleared his throat lightly, sending chills down her spine due to the proximity. 

“Heard you’re looking for handsome Canadian singers to be set up with, where do I apply, Miss Golden?”

taglist: @shawnwyr​ @mendesstories​ @lanallaa​ @sleepybesson​ @rulerofnocountry​ @luvluvxx​ @wholesomemendes​

dm to be added or removed ♥️

[petersasteria]

The Forces of Nature || Ch.13

Pairing: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

Summary: “There’s this kid out there that can control the wind or something. I think she’s a great addition to the team. Let’s recruit her.”

SERIES MASTERLIST  ||  PP MASTERLIST

Peter angrily laid in bed as he thought about what happened earlier that day. It reminded him of the movie 'Dreamgirls'. He wasn't into films like that, but May wanted to watch it on tv and he had no choice. He ended up liking the movie musical and there was one scene there that totally paralleled what went down at the compound earlier. Although instead of just six people being there, all of the Avengers were there to watch which made Peter humiliated and angry.

What happened earlier, you ask? Well, it started as a normal day.

Peter arrived at the compound at around one o'clock in the afternoon which made him really late for training. When Peter got there, everyone was already busy training. The Avengers felt the young lad's presence and immediately stopped what they were doing. Peter was oblivious to this as he set his bag on the ground and stretched to get ready.

"Hey, spider dude!" Sam called out. Peter looked at him and Peter approached him. Everyone watched as Peter approached Sam. They didn't know why Peter was there. He wasn't supposed to be there.

"What're you doing here?" Sam asked with his arms crossed.

Peter looked confused, "What? What do you mean? It's training day, that's why I'm here."

Sam looked at everyone before he looked at Peter. The spiderling was waiting for an answer while Sam was trying to think of how he was going to respond. After all, how do you tell a kid that he was temporarily banned from the compound? Besides, Tony was supposed to tell Peter. Sam figured that Tony forgot to tell Peter about it. Hence, the confusion on Peter's face.

"Look, Queens, we're so sorry." Steve filled in. "It was for your own good."

"What are you talking about?" Peter was beyond confused now. "What was for my own good?"

"Tony was supposed to tell you." Natasha said.

"Tell me what?" Peter asked.

After he asked that, Tony entered the training room and was surprised to see Peter there. Tony looked at the Avengers who were waiting for him to explain as to why Peter was present. Peter wasn't supposed to be there. Tony looked at Peter and cleared his throat.

"Kid, there you are! I've been trying to get a hold of you." Tony said and approached the young man. "Listen, there's no easy way to say this, but you're temporarily banned here."

"WHAT?"

"One to two weeks tops. So, grab your things and go. You're not needed here until after your temporary ban." Tony gave Peter a tight lipped smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Geez, I was only a little late and now you're temporarily banning me? The least you could've done was warn me, but that would've been too kind." Peter said. He was getting annoyed.

"Me and the rest have been waiting for you to clean up your act. Like, what's gotten into you lately? You're always late, always mean, and you always have some snarky reply. It's so unlike you!" Tony explained.

"Just because my attitude changed a bit, doesn't mean that I completely changed. I'm still me!" Peter argued. "I'm just not feeling good, that's all."

"Kid, please. We're so done with your excuses. Just accept your faults already! Accept that you've been late, mean, and rude." Tony crossed his arms.

Peter scoffed, "You're mad because I'm not perfect like Y/N? Let's not forget that she wouldn't be here without me! You're praising her all the time as if she's better than everyone here. NEWSFLASH: she's not better than anyone here. She's just common."

The Avengers' jaws dropped and some even whistled because of what Peter said. That comment struck a nerve in Y/N. She was usually so calm and collected, but that crossed the line. She's never been angry before, but hey, there's a first time for everything.

"Who're you calling 'common', you self-centered, arrogant, unprofessional?"  Y/N stepped in front to directly talk to Peter in front of everyone. The Avengers were watching their two youngest members; none of them made an effort to leave the room. After all, if shit got interesting, would you leave?

"You." Peter said with smugly. "I'm calling you common."

"Listen to me, Mr. Everyone-Is-At-Fault-But-Me, I've had enough of your fucking attitude. I've put up with you for too long and I'm sick of it! I've put up with your bitching, your nagging, your screaming, your complaining, your everything!" Y/N spat.

"Now, now. When are both of you going to stop fighting?" Wanda interrupted.

"With all due respect, please stay out of this, Wanda. This is between Y/N and me. She clearly has a lot of shit to say about me and I'm fucking ready to hear it." Peter said bitterly.

"Yeah? Well, this is between me too. I'm as much a part of this team as anybody else and Peter, I'm tired of everything that you're doing to the team! You've only been causing trouble lately and it's not doing us any good." Wanda ranted.

"You know what? You're right. This is also between you." Peter nodded. "You know why? Because I knew from the start that you and Y/N were ganging up on me together!"

"What?!" Wanda shrieked.

"Oh, wow. Not only is he self-centered, arrogant, and unprofessional. He's also delusional and a story maker! Well done, Pete!" Y/N rolled her eyes and clapped for effect. "And just so you know, Wanda had nothing to do with this- this change! It was you! You're responsible for this because you're so selfish!"

"I knew this was going to happen." Tony spoke up. "I felt something off with Peter when I first gave him the assignment and you know what? I should've given it to someone else instead."

"What?" Peter said.

"But you know what? Let's face it; whether Peter or someone else recruited Y/N, Peter would've reacted the same way." Tony shrugged.

"I have every right to react the way I'm reacting right now." Peter defended.

"I didn't ask you to recruit Y/N only to make her feel like shit when training came along. That's not her purpose here, Peter. She's just like you when you first started. If you're so worried about her taking your job, then I'll give you another one!" Tony raised his voice.

"You know, whatever her powers are, she can't replace Spider-Man." Peter sassed. "Keep that in mind, Mr. Stark."

"Hey, kid, cut it out. Just take your bag and go home; cool down for a few weeks." Natasha said as she approached Peter.

"You're in this too?" Peter asked.

"Cool down, Parker. You knew what you were doing the moment you started treating Y/N like shit, so don't go around acting clueless." Natasha said sternly.

"Oh, wow. You're in this too. And I thought you were really nice." Peter shook his head.

"I said cool down! You've gone too far, Peter. You have to pay the consequences." Natasha sighed and crossed her arms.

Scott cleared his throat, "Um, I don't want to be involved in this drama, but can I just say something? I think this is between all of you."

"What?" Tony asked.

"Yeah." Scott shrugged. "I mean, if you knew that Peter would react this way why didn't you just give the task to someone else? And Y/N, if you've been experiencing bad shit with Peter, why didn't you confront him or tell any of us? Peter, why do you hate Y/N so much? Wanda, why didn't you tell Peter what you thought about him?"

"See? It's all coming together, don't you think? It's between all of you aaaand I have absolutely nothing to do with it." Scott finished.

"And for that, it's between you too now, Scott." Peter said. "How'd you even become part of this team to begin with?"

Scott's face changed into a stern one and said, "Watch your mouth, Peter Parker. I don't take that tone and attitude from no second-rate diva who can't accept his faults."

"I'm not feeling too good, alright? I've got pain!" Peter exclaimed. 'Emotional pain.' He thought.

"Dude, we've all got pain." Bucky shook his head.

"I've stuck with you guys for years and this is how you treat me?! We were like family here and now you're banning me for two weeks all because I failed to be on time and all that shit?!" Peter shrieked.

"Pretty much, yeah." Clint said.

"Wow. And to think that I treated you all as family." Peter shook his head and walked away to grab his bag and left.

When Peter got home, he immediately tried to cool down. He didn't want to snap at May, so he cooled down by binge eating unhealthy snacks and by binge watching his favorite shows.

Just as Peter was about to drift off to sleep, he got a text from Tony. He read the message and chose not to reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blueleatherbag​ @harryismysunflower​ @buckys-little-hoe​ @sandystoriess @heeeyitskay​ @slytherin-chaser​ @quaksonhehe​ @yaya4302​ @lil-mellow-bunbun​ @starlight-starks​ @swiftmind​​ @alexx-stancati​​ @sovereignparker​​ @nerdyandproudofitsstuff​​ @pearce14​​ @xfirstfemale-marauderx​​ @cherthegoddess​​ @chewymoustachio​​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​​ @parkerlovebot​​ @supred12​ 

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell​ @justasmisunderstoodasloki​ @rubberducky-jrr​ @allyz​ @osterfieldnholland​ @miraclesoflove​ @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ @drie-the-derp​ @hollands-weasley​ @itstaskeen​ @call-me-baby-gir1​ @the-panwitch​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @geminiparkers​ @holland-styles​ @halfblood-princess-505​ @spidey-reids-2003​ @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual​​ @justanothermarvelmaniac​​ @unsaidholland​​ @musicalkeys​​ @lost-in-the-stars03​​ @hufflepuffprincess24​​ @hollanddolanfangirl​​ @parkerpeter24​​ @bellelittleoff​ @agentnataliahofferson​ @aqiise​

[calypsoff]

Seventy Seven. Part 2

I just really have the urge to want to get dressed up now, I seen new outfits and have lost all senses of myself. I can’t wait to just dress up, that will be soon though. I need to pace myself “you just going to sit there and stare at me? Putting me off my breakfast” I snorted laughing “don’t be mean, I just hate that I am home. I miss getting dressed up now, I miss that but it’s ok. I will get over it, I really need a wax” Chris chuckled “you’re telling me that” I gasped in shock “really?” Is he being serious, Chris is laughing so much to himself “I like the feel of carpet anyways, just leave it” putting my hand up looking away from him, he is nasty “would you wax me?” I am asking like he wouldn’t “and your butt too, last time I checked the hair was getting bad there” I hate him so much, laughing at him “I really hate you right now” hearing Rylee crying “I am playing with you, you don’t need to think of that at all yet” getting up from the chair “yet, you’re right. But soon” shuffling off to get her “the delivery guy called me cute; I think it was cute oh wait, it was beautiful. Do I look beautiful poppa?” I twirled around to him “mhmm I suppose, I don’t know really. I am joking, Robyn you look amazing. For a woman that has just had a baby, you look great” I cooed out “thank you poppa” I feel so giddy now, my husband complimenting me like that. I adore him as much as he does adores me, god I am in love, I am content.

She is awake and her eyes today are brown, they were light brown yesterday “my angel, my whole heart. I love you so much, you staring at mommy?” Watching her move her arms, bringing her hand up touching her face “you raising hell for daddy in the night, what are you like? You need to stop acting like a diva because there is only one diva, that is me” I giggled “you listening to mommy speak? You like it” a smirk played on her face “oh my gosh, my whole heart. You got dimples, like your daddy. You are stealing his traits now my princess, I can’t believe how much hair you have. Mommy is going to have so much fun with it, once I can” lightly touching her nose, she is so happy “she’s actually smiling Chris, come quick” Chris got up and rushed over “you like mommy talking to you, you happy baby” she did it again “she has dimples, oh wow!” Chris is recording her as she shows off her beautiful little dimples “I am so in love Chris, oh my god. How did we create someone so perfect, she is just loving life” she is really feeling herself today “she is proud of last night, like bro. That diaper was nasty, yeah it ain’t it. I don’t like dirty diapers at all” Chris will get over it “send me the video” I asked him “you want to see my lock Screen” Chris asked, looking over at him “awww” it’s the picture he put up of us on Instagram “I love it, I’m so proud of you” he is so sweet “I love it, I live for these moments” Chris walked off, she is really making us happy today, I love it.

I still find it so weird when feeding my daughter, just the feel of it is weird to me. I mean I feel that we bond better but it’s a weird feeling but while she is feeding let me ring Tina, this is beyond a joke with how much clothes there is in this house and it’s all Rylee’ stuff, she will grow out of them too so I need to take this to a charity. I need Tina to find me something so I can donate it to a family that need it, specifically a black family that are in need. Placing my phone or my ear, she better pick up. I know Tina is getting used to me not being demanding anymore but she better be around for me “oh my god, it’s so weird seeing you call me. Rih!!!” Tina said down the phone “I missed your scared little voice when I call you, it’s been a while. Oh and I got your gifts, thank you so much. If I didn’t text you or anything, sorry. Things have been so hectic for me” I don’t even remember who I have text back and said thank you too anymore, it’s just so busy “expected it, and the picture you sent in the group chat. Rih she is so chubby, I love it. She is you, I am sorry to Chris but she is you” I cooed out “thank you, but I need you to do me a favour. I have too many things for Rylee, rather then put them in the trash I rather give it to those in need. I have so many things so if you can get I contact with a black women’s charity or something, so I can donate things to them, just families with newborns in need. If you can please” Tina cooed out “that is so sweet, of course I can. I will start now and get back to you” Tina is always good like that; I know she will be on it straight away.

My mother keeps telling I have to do things, get on with it so I am starting to do things now like now. I am just slowly putting the clothes away “I made the bed” Chris said “ok, thanks” he’s so so cute, he makes the bed so I don’t have to bend and do it, he does his best and that is all I can say about it, I love him so much. My smile grew just walking off with his white tee, this tee has a mark on it so let me put it in the hamper. I sighed out smiling wide to myself, looking at the bed all made up. I need to take these empty bottles down while I am at it, seeing the monitor and someone in Rylee’ room. I put the monitor on because she is in her crib upstairs, walking over to see and it’s just Chris. Let me see what he is doing, watching him peering over her crib. He just froze staring down in to it, my heart is just so full watching him. He then proceeded to walk off; he’s just went into her room to check on her. My husband is the sweetest, he adores her as much as I do, I can’t wait to spend some time with him tonight, just us.

I am actually so excited for Giorgio Baldi, I am sat here staring at the menu “what are you smiling at?” Chris asked as he sat down, shaking my head refusing to tell him because he will then proceed to make a joke of me “tell me?” I giggled “if I get up and come there Robyn!?” Oh he’s getting touchy “you’re going to laugh at me” looking up from my phone “I won’t?” Sighing out “fine, it’s Giorgio Baldi” Chris snorted laughing “see!” I knew he would “you sat there drooling over it, man. Making me get out of the house for it, did you feel bad about treating me nasty” biting on my nail staring at him “was I?” I said confused “ok fine, I felt bad. I just was so caught up in being a mother, concentrating on her needs when I needed to check on your needs too, you know? I have been a bad person, but I love you Chris and you have really amazed me. A lot, been my whole strength Chris. Thank you” Chris grinned at me, he really appreciates it and I can tell “I have seen a lot Robyn and it’s been hard for me, helpless. To me I feel I have been helpless a lot of my life, not in a bad way either-” Chris and I stopped talking and I eyes just diverted to the monitor because Rylee and this sharp cry “that is random” Chris got up from the couch, I take time getting up now “what is she doing?” I asked Chris frowned at the monitor “mhmmm, playing?” he made his way over to me “what is she doing, that is weird. I am going upstairs” Chris passed me the monitor, looking down at my daughter in the crib and touching her head, bringing the monitor closer to my face “what” I breathed out, getting up myself to see what the hell is happening. I am already walking up the steps slowly “Robyn!?” Chris spat “I am coming, just give me a moment” I can’t be running now “I don’t get it, what shall we do?” he is saying that, but I don’t know either “do I stop her or what!?” he panicked, I am panicking too deep down. Looking down into the crib, my daughter is crying and has gripped a whole bunch of her hair “what the-” has she malfunctioned.

I called the midwife and she said, we can’t make her stop. We just need to soothe her out to stop and this is something that happens a lot with newborns, they grab their own hair and just don’t let them go, we can’t make her either, we just have to soothe her as she doesn’t understand how to let go “hey, Rylee. Pookie, come on now” Chris said lightly stroking her stomach, she is here upsetting herself and making herself cry “come on Rylee, stop that. Maybe she has too much hair, if I tell my mom she is doing that she will say the evil eye has got to her” lightly stroking her hand, I don’t like seeing my daughter like this “I can’t believe Rylee is here torturing herself and yanking her hair like this” I said “it’s ok, you’re ok. Mommy and daddy got you, you can do it” the grip she has on her hair “Monica be like the evil got her, she will have Barbados praying” Chris laughed, he isn’t wrong “she will, I just can’t believe she got her hair like this. We will have to swaddle you now, once you let go” she is so stressed out “daddy will shave your hair, this will solve all of the problems won’t it” he will not be doing that “ignore him Rylee, he will not!” I spat.

Chris and I both just breathed out together, more of a sigh of relief “damn Rylee, the hell was your problem” Chris said, she finally let her hair go after trying to snatch her own hair off, this girl of mine. She really got Chris and I stressed the hell out “Rylee, girl. That was dramatic, you had us here worried. Now she is all quiet, my god” this girl of mine, Chris laughed out “she really got me sweating thinking what the fuck, gran gran Monica and nana Joyce are seeing this video, I do not care, they need to know what kind of child you are” Chris had to record her “I am just so glad she stopped, I think it’s time for some baby mittens for her. Maybe for a while, I don’t want to swaddle her, it gets warm doesn’t it. You can pick her up, I am going to the bathroom. Maybe she was playing with her hair?” just a thought, she could have possibly just wanted to touch her hair, I am not sure, but she got us both worried like hell for nothing. The midwife was kind of laughing at us, not in a bad way but she was laughing that how concerned we were about it; she was so calm and said it’s normal, not to fucking Chris and I it isn’t “snatching your bundles baby, you need to stop. We know you got lots of hair but come on” Chris picked her out of the crib.

Chris has made me so happy, Giorgio Baldi is a way to my heart “I haven’t seen you this happy in so long, like every bite for you is a turn on” I laughed nodding my head “you’re right Chris, I am just in my zone. I am so damn happy” I squealed out “but did you like the candles I put out; thought I would make it a little romantic for us. I mean we have Rylee in the living room but for now, it’s just us. But yeah, I just want you to know that you exceeded every expectation of you, I know you’re a good man but wow. Chris, just the things you do and have done for me, it’s not what any man does anymore. I am not even sure if your dad did that to your mother, I mean I won’t ask but you have really held me up Chris. When I was breaking you was there, you were lost but you were there. Held me up, I was in pain, and you jumped to help me. I mean what I suffered with was not nice for you to even see, for you to do that for me. I struggled with letting you do it, but it got to a point where I just gave up and for you to still look at me with loving eyes, I am just so lucky to have you. I don’t deserve you, even if you annoy me but that is life, it happens. Thank you Chris” I have to say it to him because it’s true “thank you, I think it’s not a chore to me. Like I had to do it because there was no choice, but I wanted too, I wanted to take care of you, and I was willing to do anything for you Robyn. It did hurt me immensely and it play with my mind and emotions to see everything, to see how it played out, to see you being cut open, it was a lot. And then seeing Rylee as she was when she was born, I don’t want to dwell on it, I want to move on form it because she is here with us, but it hurt me, it was so hard to not want to do something” nodding my head “this is why I praise you Chris, you have been a rock to me, to our daughter. You have been so strong but to see you so open to show emotions, to say I want a hug. But Chris I want you to not dwell on what you saw; I think God has blessed us. You did everything you can for us, I couldn’t have done it without you, and you need to understand” Chris nodded his head “appreciate it Robyn, I try” that is more than enough for me.

What more could I want in life, my daughter in the baby crib in the living room, my husband. Just pure peace “took your time, get the remote though” watching him walk over “you made Nachos, now you trying to make me fat” he knows damn well I love food “I got snacks for us” he placed it on the table and went to get the remote “so instead of watching a movie I think we should start watching Snowfall shit looks so good” I shrugged “whatever you want but can you pass me the popcorn, I want some” I pointed, Chris grabbed the bowl. Grabbing the bowl from him, he sat next to me in the corner couch “we could literally watch this before you start wanting to go out, it’s only four seasons” nodding my head “of course, hey Google, dim the lights” I said, placing the bowl between us “we should always do this you know, it’s nice don’t you think” resting my head on his shoulder “I agree, but if I enjoy this then we watch this together. Like you can’t watch it without me ever” he can’t do that if I enjoy it “then don’t sleep mouth breather” so he says, I won’t be falling asleep I am just getting comfy next to him.

[alwaysmarilynmonroe]

It’s hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world’s most famous Star would leave us all. Yes, I know a lot of you will be thinking, “wait, didn’t she die on the 5th?” – she was found in the early hours of that morning, and her death was announced then – so that is the “technical” date. However, as with many Marilyn “facts” that too is incorrect and so like every year, I will be posting this on the 4th.

I’m not going to write about all the ridiculous dramas and he said she said statements that have grown rapidly over the years, as they don’t deserve any more coverage. Whenever a major celebrity dies, the more shocking the statement, the more attention it gains, so much so that it’s almost became ingrained into society as being accepted as fact. But, I am going to have a big name and shame moment for the two main culprits – Robert Slatzer and Norman Mailer I’m looking at you both. Also Anthony Summers – you’re a piece of crap and I will never forgive you for publishing Marilyn’s autopsy photo in your toilet paper worthy biography.

Long story short as they don’t deserve any mention with Marilyn’s name – Slatzer created the whole Kennedy, Mafia and basically everything shit and defamatory written about Marilyn in the early 1970s. If you want to find out the actual truth with documented facts click HERE.

Sorry to disappoint any conspiracy lovers – Marilyn didn’t love JFK, nor did any of the Kennedy’s kill her, she died of an either accidental or intentional prescription drug overdose. Was I there? No, I wasn’t even alive, but it’s really not hard to disregard the nonsense and absurd claims, when you actually take the time to do a little (a lot in my case) of research.

Baby Norma Jeane in 1929.

Norma Jeane (left) and a friend at the Los Angeles Orphanage in 1936.

Norma Jeane at the Los Angeles Clifton Restaurant, which she attended with her then Husband Jim Doughtery in 1944.

Marilyn by Richard Miller in April 1946.

Marilyn by J.R. Eyerman in 1950.

Marilyn on her Doheny Drive Patio by Alfred Eisenstaedt in May 1953.

Marilyn in Korea visiting the Troops in February 1954.

Marilyn by Milton Greene on January 28th 1955.

Marilyn by Cecil Beaton on February 22nd 1956.

Marilyn during the filming of Some Like It Hot by Richard Miller in October 1958.

Marilyn during the filming of The Misfits by Erich Hartmann in the Autumn of 1960.

Marilyn during the filming of Something’s Got To Give by Lawrence Schiller in May 1962.

Thankfully, I was lucky and never fell down that ridiculous rabbit hole in the first place. I discovered Marilyn whilst reading an article in Vanity Fair magazine almost ten years ago, discussing the then upcoming release of, Fragments: Poems, Intimate Notes, Letters by Marilyn Monroe.

This book is truly one of a kind and is basically a published archive of many of Marilyn’s personal letters, excerpts and anecdotes she had written from 1943 until 1962. Before anyone says it’s disrespectful to publish/share these and it is an invasion of privacy, to an extent I agree. However, as stated a few moment ago, with the amount of disrespectful, outrageous nonsense that has been slurred out over the half a century since Marilyn left us – I think it’s a necessity to see her own words in print. Ironically enough, it’s almost as if Marilyn herself foreshadowed the future of the media, when she said this in an Interview to Georges Belmont for Marie Claire Magazine in April 1960.

“The true things rarely get into circulation, it’s usually the false things.”

Therefore, today I have decided to focus on Marilyn herself, not as a Star, Tragic Icon or a pretty face, but as a human who had a beautiful, sensitive soul. Some of you may already know, but for those who don’t, Marilyn actually wrote numerous poems throughout her years, mostly just for herself. In her rare moments of confidence, she would occasionally show a few to her close friend, Writer Norman Rosten, who said the following in his (must have) book, Marilyn Among Friends.

“She had the instinct and reflexes of the poet, but she lacked the control.”

“Although she gave the appearance of being so confident and self assured, she was in reality incredibly self conscious and her own biggest critic, which is heartbreaking really as she was truly gifted. She was such a perfectionist that she would spend hours preparing herself mentally and physically for her beloved fans, regularly looking in the mirror at her perceived flaws. Marilyn was infamous for her lateness, which is often viewed as diva like behaviour. However, the reality is, it’s rarely noted that her anxiety was so severe, she would break out in rashes and even vomit, before going on set.

In her final interview with LIFE Magazine, published one day before her death, she even said to Journalist Richard Meryman,

“I’m one of the world’s most self conscious people. I really have to struggle.”

I remember the first time I looked through Fragments, of course it was very upsetting to see her pain written down and think about her suffering, However, I strongly noticed this recurring theme of hope, despite some incredibly sad notes, there was always some sparkle of inner strength and I just thought that should be said. Often we ourselves don’t see are bravery and bouts of determination in our inner self, but others do and I for one am glad I can see in Marilyn what she could not.

I love you with all of my heart Marilyn, from the moment you came into my life, a decade ago in October 2010. Wherever you may be, I hope you know how much love, joy and happiness you have brought and continue to bring to many people’s lives each day. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem. 

Life –  I am of both of your directions Somehow remaining hanging downward the most but strong as a cobweb in the  wind – I exist more with the cold glistening frost. But my beaded rays have the colors I’ve seen in a painting – ah life they have cheated you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem shared with Norman Rosten and published in his book, Marilyn: An Untold Story.

To the Weeping Willow

I stood beneath your limbs and you flowered and finally clung to me and when the wind struck with.. the earth and sand – you clung to me. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Stones on the walk every color there is I stare down at you like a horizon – the space / the air is between us beckoning and I am many stories up my feet frightened as I grasp towards you ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

Only parts of us will ever touch parts of others – one’s own truth is just that really – one’s own truth. We can only share the part that is within another’s knowing acceptable so one is for most part alone. As it is meant to be in evidently in nature – at best perhaps it could make our understanding seek another’s loneliness out. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Undated Poem

for life It is rather a determination not to be overwhelmed.

for work The truth can only be recalled, never invented ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951.

What I do believe in What is truth I believe in myself even my most delicate intangible feelings in the end everything is intangible my most precious liquid must never spill don’t spill your precious liquid life force they are all my feelings no matter what ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Record” Black Notebook – Written in throughout 1951. Fear of giving me the lines new maybe won’t be able to learn them maybe I’ll make mistakes people will either think I’m no good or laugh or belittle me or think I can’t act. Women looked stern and critical – unfriendly and cold in general afraid director won’t think I’m any good. remembering when I couldn’t do a god damn thing. then trying to build myself up with the fact that I have done things right that were even good and have had moments that were excellent but the bad is heavier to carry around and feel have no confidence depressed mad ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I do know ways people act unconventionally – mainly myself – do not be afraid of my sensitivity or to use it – for I  can & will channel it + crazy thoughts too I want to do my scene or exercises (idiotic as they may seem) as sincerely as I can knowing and showing how I know it is also – no matter – what they might think – or judge from it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

I can and will help myself and work on things analytically no matter how painful – if I forget things (the unconscious wants to forget – I will only try to remember) Discipline – Concentration

my body is my body every part of it. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Other “Record” Notebook – Written in throughout 1955.

feel what I feel within myself – that is trying to become aware of it also what I feel in others not being ashamed of my feeling, thoughts – or ideas

realize the thing that they are – ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Sad, sweet trees –  I wish for you – rest but you must be wakeful ______________________________________________________________________________

• Waldorf Astoria Stationery – Written in throughout 1955.

Not a scared lonely little girl anymore

Remember you can sit on top of the world (it doesn’t feel like it.) You can have any help you want personally – or in your work – or anything else you want – There are technical ways to go about it or problems –  figure out if anything tec. can be done about it because there are people to help you – gladly – you more than most they want to help Remember there is nothing you lack – nothing to be self conscious about yourself – you have everything but the discipline and technique which you are learning & seeking on your own – after all nothing was or is being given to you – you have had none of this work thrown your way you sought it – it didn’t seek you

Too much talent Too much ability and  and much too much sensitivity to invert yourself out of fear – not come to class – or to do things like being afraid to come to class or to get up. ______________________________________________________________________________

• “Italian Agenda” Notebook  – Written throughout 1955 or 1956.

and the more I think of it the more I realize there are no answers life is to be lived

and since it is comparatively so short – (maybe too short – maybe too long – the only thing I know for sure, it isn’t easy

now that I want to live and I feel suddenly not old not concerned about previous thing except to protect myself – my life – and to desperately (pray) tell the universe I trust it ______________________________________________________________________________

• Parkside House Stationery – Written during her stay in England between July 14th – November 20th 1956.

I guess I have always been deeply terrified to really be someone’s wife since I know from life one cannot love another, ever, really. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

In every spring the green is too sharp – though the delicacy in their form is sweet and uncertain – it puts up a good struggle in the wind  trembling all the while. Those leaves will relax, expand in the sun and each raindrop they will resist even when they’re battered and ripped. I think I am very lonely – my mind jumps. I see myself in the mirror now, brow furrowed – if I lean close I’ll see – what I don’t want to know – tension, sadness,  disappointment, my eyes dulled, cheeks flushed with capillaries that look like rivers on maps – hair lying like snakes. The mouth makes me the saddest  next to my dead eyes. There is a dark line between the lips in the outline of  several waves in a turbulent storm – it says don’t kiss me, don’t fool  me I’m a dancer who cannot dance. ______________________________________________________________________________

• Roxbury Notes – Written throughout 1957 or 1958.

re – relationships

Everyone’s childhood plays itself out No wonder no one knows the other or can completely understand. By this I don’t know if I’, just giving up with this conclusion or resigning myself –  or maybe for the first time connecting with reality –

how do we know the pain of another’s earlier years let alone all that he drags with him since along the way at best a lot of lee-way is needed for the other – yet how much is unhealthy for one to bear.

I think to love bravely is the best and accept – as much as one can bear. ______________________________________________________________________________

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58 Years Without Marilyn. It's hard to believe 58 years to the day, on the night of August 4th, the world's most famous Star would leave us all.

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 5

The Lip Sync Battle 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: Growing tensions between you and Chris overflow in the most musical of battles.

Warnings: Profanity, drunken silliness

Notes: Oh my fucking gosh, I fucking finished it! This part was a BEAST to write! It’s hella long so it’ll be in two posts. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

“How about this one?”

“No, not neon enough!”

“Ok…” you hold up another top option, “this one?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Alright. This?“

“Uh—”

“Uggggghhhhh!!!” It’s been 45 minutes of trying to decide on an outfit and your patience is running thin. “I’m this close,” you put up a microscopic amount of space between your pointer finger and thumb, “THIS CLOSE to leaving in my pajamas. Don’t think I won’t do it!”

Your older sister, Lynn, laughs at your dramatics from her spot on the end of your bed in her guestroom. “Oooo won’t the paps love that! I just want to make sure you slay tonight! You never know what Hottie McDotties might be in there…”

You scoff, “I’m trying to be low key tonight and not draw any attention to myself. Tonight is not about me.” You look over to your sister who is distractedly sorting through the pile of clothes that’s accumulated on the bed. “Do you hear me?” 

“I hear what you're saying… I just don’t care. Now c’mon, let’s find you something sexy! I know we’re close!” You and Lynn turn back to your almost empty closet one last time. “What about that furry, hot pink thing?”

“Oh, you mean the jacket I impulse bought with the birthday boy?” You laugh thinking back to that day. It was the day you first met Scott before filming. We were only supposed to go out for lunch, and damn near bought out the whole plaza!

“Yeah, that one! That could be cute.”

“With my black, skin tight leather pants…”

“Your black, sheer and lacy corset top…”

“And the black knee highs to top it off!” You two say simultaneously making you giggle like school girls. You settle into a comfortable silence as you pull out the pieces of your outfit.

“I missed this— these moments with you, big sis. Laughing, being silly— “

“Talking about boys,” she finishes for you. You roll your eyes, but smile in agreement as Lynn continues. “Me too… god, why’d we both have to be successful?” she says mockingly, making you both laugh again. 

“Honestly, the real question is why'd you have to move to Boston?” You asked a lot less like an inquiring adult and more like a pouting toddler. 

It’s Lynn’s turn to roll her eyes as she sighs deeply. “You sound like dad.”  

“You’ve got some nerve,” she starts in a playful tone. “You’re literally the one who is never in one city for more than a day. You being here for these months is unprecedented.” It’s true; your touring schedule made it where you’d been any- and everywhere, except with family as of late.

“Now who sounds like dad.” 

“Sorry, but you opened yourself up for it!”

You huff out a sigh, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Lynn hopped up from the bed and headed for the door, “Uh-huh. I’m gonna warm up the car. Be down in 20.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“I wasn’t asking. I was instructing.”

“And I oop— she said she’s being a big sister tonight!” you laughed out as you turned around to start getting dressed, hair and makeup already done. Lynn began to leave the room, rolling her eyes at you not taking her seriously. 

Suddenly, you were met with a pillow to the back of your head. “What the hell!” The sound of your sister running down the hall and laughing maniacally fill the house. “Hey! Not the curls!” you yelled after her, closing the door.

Just then your phone vibrated with a FaceTime call. You went over to it on the dresser and tapped the screen to answer, the view fixed on the ceiling. The screen filled with a visibly excited Scott, his face a little red from excitement, face a little sweaty from dancing. There was music and loud chatter on his end. Shit! He’s already there! I’m late! “Heeelllooooo? Anybody there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you peek one eye into the frame, “I’m getting dressed. What’s up?”

“What’s up is that everybody is here, and you are not,” he tapped his camera for emphasis. 

“I’ll be there soon. Beauty takes time, ya know!” Each sarcastic word accented with a huff and jump to get in your tight pants. “Whew!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott’s eyes peered with genuine curiosity as he sipped a fruity drink.

“I already told you I’m getting dressed.”

“It takes all of that?”

“Listen, as the great philosopher Beyoncé once said, ‘if you don't jump to put jeans on, baby, you don't feel my pain!’ Ok?”

Scott laughed, “OK, yes ma’am!”

“So… who all is there?” Scott knows just what you're asking; if Chris is there. 

Chosing to play dumb and not give you defenitive answer, Scott asks. “Is there anybody in particular you’re looking forward to seeing?”

“More like who I’m not looking forward to seeing…” you mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” You said for a quick cover, Scott giving you a knowing look. “You know I’m looking forward to seeing your ‘Ma’; I love that y’all call her that. It’s so New England!”

Scott chuckles, “She’s looking forward to seeing you too. She calls you her ‘lovely lunch buddy’.” Being close with Scott on set meant that you’d gotten to meet his mom. She’d taken a liking to you after joining you and Scott for lunch one day, and started joining you as often as she could.  

“Awwww, she’s too sweet! I’m gonna let you go now; I gotta finish getting cute for her.”

“Only her?” Scott said with a smirk. Please… Chris could kiss my a—

“Only her. I’ll see you later Scott, and happy birthday for the gazillionth time!”

“Thanks love, see you later!”

With one last fluff of your fro, pop of your lipstick, and once over in the mirror, and you felt ready. Collecting your phone and bag, you headed out for the night.

——————————————————————————

“Sooo....” Lynn turned the down the music as she drove. “How do you feel about possibly seeing you-know-who tonight?” The eyeroll and groan that escaped you were almost involuntary. “What?! It wouldn’t be far fetched; it IS his brother’s birthday.”

“I know, but… do we have to talk about him? I just wanna have a good time tonight,” you whined, throwing your head back on your seat.

“You already know the answer to that.” You let out a long sigh. You hadn’t seen Chris since your game night tell-off a few weeks back, and as much as you tried to forget about him and how you lost your cool, not talking about it was starting to gnaw at you, especially knowing it was only a matter of time before you saw him again. “So, how are we feeling?”

“I…” you took a breath, “I can’t help but feel annoyed! Like, sure I ignored his apology attempts, but he’s the one that passed unfounded judgments on ME. How the hell does that make me a diva? God I hate that word! You know how that word just triggers me,” Lynn nods in response, letting you continue. “And you know what's the most annoying part of it all?”

‘What?”

“Mackie and Scott talk about him incessantly. How smart he is, how caring he is, how fun he is. I mean, I saw it, when we met in New York. But I haven't seen it since. We’re their friends, so I get what they're trying to do, but at some point, like, give it up. It’s obviously not working, nor will it ever.” You let out a sound of frustration, “I don’t know what to do. Do I keep it to myself for the sake of our mutual friendships, or—”

“Be the diva he thinks you are?” You know Lynn is joking, but that’s not a bad idea… I mean, he already thinks it of me, might as well have some fun with it…  Lynn looks over to see you mischievously smiling into the Boston night and she begins to fear for the idea she’s just given you. “Oh God,” she mutters.

You look at her with a goofy grin and shrug. “What?” you try to say innocently.

“C’mon! Don’t actually consider that! Look, you weren’t expecting to see him last time, and that’s probably why it didn’t go so well. But now that you are, you can show up as the composed, level-headed woman I know is somewhere in that thick, thick skull of yours.” You give her no indication that you’ll heed her advice and she can tell. “Fine, just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she half laughs out.

The car comes to a stop in front of the venue and you check the time. 30 minutes after the invitation time, not TOO bad. You arrived at Majesty’s, a unique, swanky lounge in a trendy area of Boston you’ve never been before. I’ll have to come back and explore sometime. You lean over to give your sister a quick hug, thanking her for dropping you off, then briskly make for the curbside entrance, needing to escape the nippy Boston air. 

Once inside, you’re warmed by neon lights that illuminate the otherwise dim room. To your right is a full-service bar with a plethora of drink options on the wall behind it. Tables staggered up the middle of the room lead to a medium sized dancefloor just before a stage. Velvet curtains hang at the back wall behind a neon sign of the venue's logo. The place is packed. It is Saturday night after all. Music and conversation buzz around you as you scan the room looking for your friends.

“Hi there!” a cheery hostess approaches, her face beat to the gods, making you wish you’d opted for more makeup yourself. “Here with Scott Evans’ party?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?” She gives you a weird look, as if to say, ‘you're joking, right?’. It dawns on you that she knows who you are, hence why she knows who you’re here to see.

“Right…” It’ll be awhile before I get used to people recognizing me.

“HeeeEEeey!! There she is!” You hear Mackie’s voice but aren’t sure where it’s coming from. The hostess points up to a balcony where Mackie is hanging over the railing, flailing his arms to get your attention. 

The hostess escorts you to your party, leading you through the tables on the main floor. The walk there is spent with her talking about how “tonight is like the Oscars” because she’s “never seen so many big stars in one place” but she assures you she “isn’t a creepy fan” and that there’s a no recording policy for guests’ privacy. You smile and nod politely, but you’re not fully listening to her. You’re too in your head wondering if one of those “big stars” is Chris. You’re led up a staircase near the dancefloor that takes you to a roped off VIP balcony area where you can overlook the entire venue.

You give hello’s to the people in the section; some you know from set, but most are Scott’s longtime friends you’ve never met. Feeling a bit shy, you look for a familiar face when Mackie pulls you into a bear hug. “How ya doing, Kid? I’m glad you came out tonight!” You could be reading too far into it, but it feels like he means ‘glad you came despite the possibility Chris will be here.’ You suppress your urge to give a look of disdain and just smile and avert your gaze around the section. You notice that Chris isn’t there, or at least not yet, and you’re not sure if that makes you uneasy or not. Relax girl.

You still haven’t decided on what your disposition towards Chris will be tonight, but needed to choose quickly to get in the right headspace. Before you could process what was happening, you were whisked up into a hug by Lisa. Shit. I can’t be salty to him with his mother here. She’s so sweet. Ugh, guess it’s decided.

“How’s my lovely lunch buddy doing?” she asks with a genuine smile and kind eyes. 

You chuckle at the title she’s given you. “I’m doing great! How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here! Now we can get this party started!” She does a “raise the roof” motion with her hands as she bobs her head causing you to raise your brows. It would be a sure way to embarrass her children, but just makes you laugh. “I should stop before the birthday boy kicks me out,” she laughs out.

“Where is Scott by the way?”

“Oh, he should be around here somewhere...” she scans the section, squinting her eyes with her index finger tapping her upper lip. “There he is!” she points to a corner on the other side. You follow her finger to see a glittery Scott, adorned in a birthday hat and sash. He’s in conversation with a brown-haired woman, the pair laughing and slapping their knees.

As you approach, you notice someone else on the velvet cushion with them, but not at all in the conversation. Sat next to them is Chris, eyes fixed on you, expression blank. It was a matter of time. You tense up, clenching your jaw and holding his gaze.

When you reach them, you embrace Scott. “You look great!” he compliments your outfit and you give a couple poses to show it off.

“Thanks, it’s just a lil somethin’, somethin’ I threw together! Remember this jacket?”

“Yeah! You blew, what? Like, eight hun—”

“Shhh…” you stop him before he could blow up your spot, “Let’s not talk about it. Not the best show of my judgement.” Everyone laughs, except Chris who just scoffs and shakes his head unamused, making your laughter dissipate. 

“We all have those moments of weakness. Hi, I’m Shanna,” she greets with a handshake.

“Yes, she is my youngest, and this is my other son Chris. Chris honey, this is—“

“We’ve met, Ma,” he offers a fake but polite smile, one you just know he wouldn’t have if his mother wasn’t right there.

“Oh, really? When?” There’s a beat of silence that’s only uncomfortable for you and Chris as you both go through your brief, sordid history silently.

“At an industry thing not too long ago,” you offer, not meeting Chris’ eyes.

“Of course, I often forget that that world is even smaller than the real world,” Lisa chuckles. “I hope he was on his best behavior!” Chris looks up at you in panic, a look that says you wouldn’t rat me out to my mom, would you? You know she’s only joking, but the opportunity is too good to pass up on.

“Well, actually,’ you turn to Lisa as she looks at you quizzically, “He’s quite the rascal on the dancefloor; get a couple of Stella’s in him, could out dance the Rockettes!” the group laughs heartily, clearly knowing the truth of your words. Chris laughs nervously but is slightly relieved you didn’t reveal the truth of his behavior towards you since you two met. “But he’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman,” you say, looking at Chris with a facetious smile. He’s clenching his teeth into a pained smile himself.

“Really?” Scott says, ready to call you on your BS, “‘cos game night was kinda… intense. Or am I remembering it wrong?”

“Well, a little trash talk never hurt anybody,” Chris states while sipping his drink. And just like that, a silent pact was made between the two of you; to be cordial for the sake of all involved. Maybe there’s no need for the diva disposition after all…

“Right…” Scott is unconvinced, but is too in party mode to press on. Turning to you now, Scott asks, “How’s the soundtrack stuff coming along?”

“So great! I actually just got the final mix for the song I did with Miguel in New York, and I gotta say, it smells like a hit!”

“Oooo! And I bet it is! You’re literally a hit machine, am I right?” Shanna hits Chris’ arm seeking endorsement from him. He just raises his brows and shrugs as if to say, ‘yeah, sure, whatever’.

Scott isn’t amused by his brother’s disinterest. “Oh, don’t act so unimpressed! She’s literally an award-winning artist! Just the other day, you were literally—”

“Ok, Scott, that’s.... sheesh,” Chris interrupts what sounds like would’ve been a great story. “It’s not that, just that I don’t believe in creating to get awards; I believe you should create for the love of it.”

“I agree,” you chime in. “Even though I put my art out into the world for consumption, it doesn’t make or break me if others applaud it or not. What’s most important is that I do.”

“But you gotta admit it feels good,” Shanna taunts with a grin.

“Sure... but, I don't know… I love what I do so much, I'd do it even  if no one gave a damn. Hell, I have for years! Only recently the recognition started rolling in. And, not to sound self-loathing or anything, but it’s been… a challenge dealing with it all. I kinda miss the days when nobody knew my name.”

Lisa nudges Chris with her elbow, “She sounds like you.” He was thinking the same thing. “How’s filming going? You guys are on Harvard campus, right?”

“Mostly, yeah. It’s kinda funny being back at a college. I kinda forgot what it was like, but memories of those years have just been flooding back.”

“All those fond memories of studying coming back to ya, huh?” Chris digs. Walked into that one. 

Before you could form a petty rebuttal, Mackie called Chris over. Soon after, Shanna and Lisa excuse themselves, leaving you and Scott in the corner. 

Scott checked his phone for the time, “Ooo it’s almost time for my performance!”

“Performance?”

“Yeah there’s lip syncing!”

“Lip syncing? Not karaoke?”

“I asked that too. Apparently the owner was tired of hearing drunk people screech and butcher songs.”

“Understandable. What are you gonna perform?”

“I’m thinking ‘Birthday’ by Selena Gomez, but then there’s also ‘Birthday’ by Katy Perry, so I’m torn.”

“Both great choices! And I’m fully prepared to join you for either, do a little back up, whatever you need.”

“Uh-uh, nope.”

“Whaa— why not?” you put your hands on your hips.

“Because you’re a professional performer. You will get up there and literally intimidate anyone else from giving it a try and having some fun.” A pout was all you could muster as a response. “Oh don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true. Take a backseat tonight, ok?”

“Fine, whatever.” It wasn’t fine, but you did want to keep a low profile tonight. Performing would be the exact opposite of that.

“Thanks, love!” Scott gave you a hug, which you didn’t reciprocate out of feigned annoyance. “So, what the hell was that? With you and Chris?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, hoping he’d drop it.

“Well, I know that you two had some... words, and you’re not super fond of him even though you won’t say it out loud, and—” he paused to collect his confusion. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Tonight isn’t about you two acting hella weird towards each other. Tonight is about my favorite people coming together and enjoying being around each other. Even if they’re faking it.”

“Yes, exactly!” relieved you don’t have to talk about it any further.

“Wanna know something?” You slightly raise your brows. “The other day, I caught Chris not just listening, but dancing to your music. I mean full on rocking out to it!” Scott laughs.

Your face heats up at the thought, but you play it off like you don’t care. “So?”

“So, you’ve obviously been on his mind. And if I know my brother, I think he wants to make things right but doesn’t know how. He may just be nervous.” You just sigh and look over to Chris and Mackie across the way, roughhousing one another and laughing. If he was nervous, it’s not like you made it any easier with your actions toward him. “He’s a good man. Silly, and sometimes stupid, but good nonetheless.” Maybe we did just get off on the wrong foot…

Some of Scott’s other friends pull him into conversation, and you make your way to the bar to get some libations to sort out your thoughts.

——————————————————————————

“And that’s when I said ‘Sis, what are you doing?’” The group crowded around drinks laughed at Jaden’s story from set, something about how you got stuck under some bleachers or something. Chris wasn’t listening. He’d long tuned out the cringey storyteller. Instead, his attention was with where you were with his mother across the way, deep in conversation. 

You sat with your legs crossed, hands moving around animatedly. Chris looks you up from the heels of your knee highs, to your shiny leather clad thighs, your lacy corset that leaves just enough to the imagination and shows off your collar bone, any man’s subconscious weakness. Goddamn.

“Careful of those wandering eyes,” Chris turned to see Mackie handing him one of the two beers in his hands.

“I don’t remember asking for this.”

“It’s to quench your obvious thirst.” Mackie motions his head in the direction Chris had been staring for the past 15 minutes; in your direction.

Chris rolls his eyes. “I’m not ‘thirsting’ over her,” he takes a sip of the drink, “and I think you’ve been hanging out with those kids on set a little too much.”

“Maybe,” Mackie chuckles, taking a sip himself, “but you know I’m not wrong.”

“She’s not even my type.”

“‘Your type?’ Since when do you have a type?”

“I have a type,” Chris tries to defend himself. “Kind, humorous, humble…”

“She’s literally all of those things!” Chris just offers him a side-eye in response. “Look, I don’t know what happened between New York and now—”

“Cos nothing really happened! So what, we had a good time when we hung out once. Means nothing. Not to me, and obviously not to her.”

“You couldn’t be further from the truth my man.” Chris looks from Mackie to you. “She’ll surprise you if you let her.” I hoped she would.

——————————————————————————

“Ladies and gentleman!” A loud voice, booms from the PA system, commanding everyone’s attention. You, Lisa, and everyone in your section approach the railing to look down to the stage where a spotlight had been cast on the speaker. “Here at Majesty’s, we don’t karaoke. We don’t want to hear you drunk motherfuckers screech!” The crowd erupts in laughter, but you look over to Lisa to see if the language offended her. She doesn’t seem to mind as she’s laughing along with ever else.

“At Majesty’s,” the speaker walks around dramatically motioning their hands like a magician's assistant, “We perform, we put on a show, we lip sync like you’ve never seen before!” There’s a chorus of claps, cheers, and ‘yass queen’s. 

“We have a special birthday performance by the birthday boy himself! Everybody give it up for Scott Evans!!!” Your section filled with Scott’s friends and family go crazy cheering him on. I wonder what song he decided on. 

Come and put cha name on it, put cha name on it

Come and put cha name on it, ya name

Don't chu wanna put ya name on it, put cha name on it

Come and put cha name on it, bay-bay-bay-bay-uh

“Oh my goodness! He would!” Scott surprised everyone with ‘Birthday Cake’ by Rihanna, and you have to say, he did it justice. Ansel and Jaden are his back up, twerking and being silly hype men. You look around to see everyone in hysterics and cheering, enjoying the clownery and having a good time. 

In your scan of the section, you notice Chris standing beside you. You admire his profile; the way his eyes scrunch up when he smiles genuinely, the lucious length of his lashes, the sharp angle of his nose, the slack of his jaw when he brings his beer to his plump lips. Before he poured the liquid in his mouth, he looked at you from the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up around the neck of the bottle. You whip your head back to the stage below, kicking yourself for getting caught. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but his cheeks take on a slight rosy hue.

When Scott’s performance is over, everyone cheers and claps for the guest of honor, who takes his center stage bow and makes his way back to the section.

You and Chris look at one another, both of you mid smile, gazing at each other. Your smiles fade and you clear your throat, readying yourself to speak, although unsure of what to say.

“That was...”

“Yeah, it was…”

“Cool…”

“Entertaining even…”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

You both stand there awkwardly. You’re looking everywhere but at Chris, while Chris is rocking back and forth on his heels, swinging his hands in front then behind himself.

“What a riveting conversation we’re having,” you joke, hoping to loosen up the tension.

It seems to work because Chris breathes out a light laugh before testing some humor himself. “Going better than our last conversation, that’s for sure.” He peeks at your expression tentatively to see if the joke landed, and it seems so by the small smile you offer him.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” is all you could think to say. A lull enters your exchange again, but this time it feels a little less rigid, but still not comfortable or cozy. You both have the same idea to interrupt the quiet with a start of a sentence, then share a laugh for simultaneously speaking.

“Ladies first,” he says.

“No, you can. I don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Well, if we were thinking the same thing, you were probably gonna start with ‘I’m sorry…’,” he punctuated with a smile. 

You, however, are not smiling. Your face is contorted in complete confusion. “What exactly should I be apologizing for?”

Now Chris is confused. Your face and your tone say that you are serious. He’s searching your face for any sign of humor, and when he doesn’t find any, says, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe for acting all high and mighty like you’re too good for a peace offering?”

“There wouldn’t need to be a peace offering if you weren’t judgemental in the first place!”

“Maybe, but my judgments weren’t wrong. You parade around like you’re queen of everything!” You glare at him as he continues his tangent.  “‘OOooooOoO look at me, I’ve won a bunch of statues for my poppy-pop songs and spend my money on fufu jackets, but also don’t look at me cos I’m kinda awkward and might turn to putty at any given second.’” He mocks you in a high pitched, “woman” voice. 

You scoff at his foolery and to feel enraged by his stupidly silly drunken display. “First of all, I do not talk like that!”

“Yeah, ok.”

“And secondly, I’m not about to apologize for being proud of my accomplishments that I worked really fucking hard to achieve. I’m not afraid to clap for my damn self. We can’t all be overly-humble and self deprecating and blessed with the ability to be great with everybody. I refuse to shrink myself for anyone any longer!”

‘Any longer’? What’s she mean by that? Chris’ expression softens, as does yours. You’ve realized that you've once again been brought out your box, by a practical stranger no less. The two of you share similar expressions; anger tinged with a bit of hurt. Before either of you could say anything else, not that either of you wanted to, a commotion coming toward the two of you takes your attention away from the heated moment.

Scott is making his rounds through the section, receiving celebratory high fives, kisses, and smacks on the ass. “That was incredible dear!” Lisa punctuated with kisses all over her his face, causing you to laugh at the affection she showed her grown son.

“Ok, ok, thanks Ma!” Scott said, removing his mother’s hands from either side of her face. As he proceeded to wipe off the lipstick from his face, he turned to Chris. “Bro, are you gonna go up there?”

“Nah, just gonna hang back tonight,” Chris says, sounding defeated.

“What? Why? You love karaoke!”

“This isn’t karaoke. Besides, I’m not really feeling it tonight.” That sounds a lot like what you told him as an excuse to leave the game night. You felt like he was baiting you. To bite or not to bite? That is the question. After some intense and uncomfortable pouting from Scott, Chris caved. “Maybe, and that’s a hard maybe!” Chris slurred and gesticulated as he said so.

Satisfied and then distracted, Scott wandered off to his other party guests, his mother following closely behind him. You, however, feeling particularly petty, were not satisfied with his answer. “Too cool for this, are you?” You instigate.

Chris scoffs and swigs his beer, eyes fixed ahead. “Why don’t you go up there? You’re supposedly a big shot rockstar,” you roll your eyes at the title, “and I’ve yet to see what you can do.” A lie, but only he knows that.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I would, but I’ve been told I can’t because I’m a ‘professional’ and will ‘intimidate’ others from having fun, so, whatever…” you say, mocking Scott’s request.

“Yep… sounds about right.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The liquor made you bold, but Chris barely bats an eye at your brutish behavior. He only winks and walks away. You find yourself trying to manage the butterflies that arise at his slight act, the fluttering cutting through your irritation. What the hell body! We’re not supposed to feel this way towards him!

As you watch Chris disappear down the stairs, there’s a hand on your shoulder that you harshly shrug out of. You turn around to face the offender, but soften at the confused face you meet. “Oh, Lisa. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to. Not unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head,” she chuckles. “Are you ok, darling? You look… pissed.”

You lightly laugh, “Yeah… no… I mean yes, I’m fine.”

Lisa looks at you with an eyebrow raised, unconvinced. “Uh huh… I won’t push only because it’s a party, but I want you to know you can tell me anything that troubles you.” Even if it’s your son? You nod, knowing she’s sincere. “So, Scott said that you all are free on Monday.”

“Yep, first full free day in a while!”

“Great! Well, I wanted to invite you to the art museum with me on Monday. There’s a new exhibit opening up and seniors and friends get a special viewing. What do ya say?”

“Aw, I’d love to, Lisa! What’s the—“

“Guys, gals, and non-binary pals! May I have your attention again!” Everyone returns to the railing to look at the host on the stage downstairs. “Our next performer is somewhat unsuspecting, however, a Boston boy through and through. Says he’s a huge fan of the Patriots,” there’s some “woops” for the home team, “and a big fan of singing some Billy Joel…”

“No, he’s not!” you look at Lisa confusedly, as she covers her mouth.

“Who’s not?”

“…and goes by the name of ‘Sassy Cevans’…” the host continues.

“Oh yes he is!” Scott says from your left, inexplicably giddy.

“WHO IS?!” Your question has yet to be answered as the song's guitar riff ripples through the venue. The performer explodes onto the stage, back to the crowd, air strumming along. They turn around as the first lyrics come in and your question is answered, but now you have so, so many more. What in the hell??

Part 5 cont.

[mediocre-riverdale]

WHY FINN HUDSON WAS THE WORST

#1. Cheating

Finn cheats on Quinn twice with Rachel, which evens out when Quinn also cheats, but no one ever mentions Finn cheating again. So, Finn gets cheated on by Quinn and Rachel, and both times he says how much it hurts and has an outburst. Despite now knowing the pain it causes, he encourages Quinn to cheat on Sam multiple times until she finally does it. He then continues to mock Sam, smirking at Sam and saying ‘I didn’t kiss your girlfriend’ in a teasing tone that implies to everyone that he did. Sam has done absolutely nothing to Finn except be nice and Finn shows no remorse at all for wrecking a relationship, even though he’s been cheated on twice. Again, no one calls him out on this besides Sam.

#2. How He Treats Rachel

Finn knows that Rachel has a crush on him because Rachel is very obvious about it. Despite the fact that he has a pregnant girlfriend at the time, he manipulates Rachel’s emotions and asks her out on a date with the intention to get her back in the Glee Club and not actually date her. He even kisses her (twice). So, after Quinn and Finn break up, Rachel assumes that her and Finn will date (since by this point they’ve kissed twice and been out on a date). Finn goes ahead and tells her he doesn’t actually want to be her boyfriend, which is fine because even though he led her on at least he’s honest.

He goes to hook up with hotter girls and when that doesn’t work out he goes back to Rachel, who now has Jesse. Rachel tells Finn that she’s moved on, which she has a right to do since Finn dumped her. Finn’s response? He’s not taking no for an answer and will not respect Rachel/Jesse’s relationship even though he had his chance. He goes on to betray Rachel’s trust and expose Rachel/Jesse’s relationship to everyone, taunt Jesse multiple times, and not back down. After Rachel tells him no again, he even sings Jessie’s Girl to her in front of multiple people and circles her while Rachel sits there uncomfortably.

After Finn leaves Rachel to go to the army comes back (after backpacking around for months without saying a word to anyone), he’s angry that Rachel moved on after he told her to do just that. He complains and is shown to be jealous of Rachel’s success. Once he finds out Rachel did kiss Brody, he runs off like a child to Lima, again without saying anything to Rachel. This forces Rachel to abandon her life in NYC for at least a whole day just to come find his pouty ass.

While Rachel maturely explains why they can’t be together anyone, Finn pathetically complains about how he now has no one in the world and how things will never be good again.

#3. How Finn Treats Other Males

I’ve already mentioned how he belittled Sam (also: when the Sam did the Justin Bieber experience, Finn claimed it was stupid and then after finding out he could get Quinn to cheat using a Bieber song, he stole Sam’s idea) and Jesse, and encouraged their girlfriends to sleep with him. So, let’s move on to Blaine. Blaine is a nice guy who joins the New Directions with the intention of helping them and finding love with Kurt. Finn, noticing Blaine’s talent, insults him multiple times and tries to make him feel as if he’s not part of the team.

Moving onto Kurt. Kurt is his friend and step-brother, yet he doesn’t really treat Kurt well. He indirectly calls him a fag, tells him to tone it down with the gay stuff, doesn’t stand up for him multiple times in fear of losing his high school popularity, and is shown to be uncomfortable in a lot of normal situations with Kurt. There’s an episode where Rachel asks Finn to stand up for Kurt and Finn blatantly says he can’t do it because of his reputation. In the end, all of this is resolved by him dancing with Kurt at a wedding (where the only people attending are the Glee clubbers and family members, all of which are already accepting), which does absolutely nothing to stop the fact that Kurt is being terrorized by Karofsky.

#4. Finn Is A Hypocrite

We’ve already covered the whole cheating thing where he constantly complains about being cheated on but encourages cheating himself. Let’s talk about how he berates Rachel for not giving up the spotlight or allowing talented people to join (Sunshine), but then is threatened and mean whenever any other talented male comes in. If Rachel insults someone or tries to steal a solo she’s a horrible, annoying diva. If Finn insults another nice male with more talent than him, Finn is an insecure teen who needs to be coddled and propped up by everyone.

In season one, Finn is creeped out by Kurt’s persistent crush on him. He says something along the lines of ‘if I did that to a girl, she would take out a restraining order’. But he does do stuff like that to girls. Again, Rachel says that she is dating Jesse and he needs to respect that and Finn continues to pursue her. Quinn says that she is dating Sam and doesn’t want to cheat, but Finn won’t take no for an answer and goes on anyways.

#5. Finn’s Prejudice

I’ve already mentioned how he screamed faggy at Kurt multiple times, but let’s look more into that. When Sam comes and wants to sing a duet with Kurt, Finn immediately finds Sam to say that he can’t do a duet with another guy. Sam says that he already promised and will be doing it, but Finn argues against it and later goes to tell Kurt that he shouldn’t sing with Sam. Poor Kurt is guilted into singing alone.

Finn later calls Sue’s baby a retard, even though he knows multiple people with Down syndrome and obviously knows that word is an insult. He says this when he is an adult, not a dumb teenager.

#6. Finn’s Reputation

Everyone constantly talks about how Finn was ever so brave for being nice to the Glee Club and joining them. No one mentions how Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Puck, Mike, and Matt also joined even though they were Cheerios/football players.

Finn cares about his reputation more than anyone else. At first, he won’t admit he likes Rachel because she’s a loser. He won’t pose in the Glee photo after promising Rachel he would. He won’t stand up for Kurt. In the episode where all of the football players have to choose between football and Glee, he is the only one not to show up. He basically tells Kurt to ‘tone down the gay’ multiple times. In another episode, he goes to throw a slushie in Kurt’s face because he needs to keep his popularity.

#7. Finn Compared to Others

Now, you might be saying ‘oh, but Santana, Quinn, and Rachel did bad stuff too’.

Okay, let’s talk about Santana first. Yes, Santana insults people all of the time and is a bitch. She also gets called out on it multiple times (while basically no one ever calls Finn out on anything), and she stands up for multiple glee members. Santana tapes a recorder to her under boob to get Sebastian in trouble after hurting Blaine, threatens Karofsky in the halls when he threatens to beat up Kurt/Blaine, creates the Bullywhips to protect Kurt, blackmails Karofsky so Kurt can come back to school, and threatens Brody with a Paula Abdul song after she finds out he’s shady.

Rachel is annoying yes, but everyone never forgets to tell her this. She constantly stands up for herself and others in the club. She’s the one that comes up with the idea for the guys to threaten Karofsky. She’s the one who offers everyone singing lessons, is down to do anything to help the club, and helps Kurt multiple times with songs/auditions. She’s nice to Quinn about the pregnancy, even though both of them know Quinn would have tortured her if the roles were reversed.

Now onto Quinn. I think Quinn is kind of a bad person, but again, people tell her this to her face. No one ever really tells Finn when he’s done something wrong, they just continue to praise him over basic human decency. Multiple people have told Quinn how horrible she is, and somehow acknowledging that she’s a bitch makes it less annoying to see because we know that something will be said/happen to her. For Finn, consequences don’t exist.

#8. Santana’s Outing

Okay, I’ve seen some people say that Santana was a bitch who deserved to be outed (no one deserves that) and that Finn wasn’t trying to tell everyone, just a couple people. So, we’ll disregard that he outed her in a high school hallway in a school that was openly homophobic.

After the outing, Santana slaps Finn and later Finn uses that as blackmail to get her back into the Glee Club for a week, saying it’s either that or no competition. Lady Music Week is humiliating. It consists of everyone singing a song while making deep eye contact with Santana while she sits there uncomfortably. Santana says multiple times that she doesn’t like the idea and doesn’t want attention on her, but of course Finn doesn’t listen because he can’t take no for an answer.

Finn sings Girls Just Want to Have Fun and everyone immediately disregards the fact that he said Santana’s biggest secret in front of multiple people.

#9. No One Blames Finn For Anything

Like I’ve said above, Finn cheats, isn’t there for his friends, insults people, has jealous rage, outs Santana, and cares about his reputation over everything, and yet no one says a word to him about this. No one goes ‘hey Finn, you’re acting like an ass’.

Finn is praised the entire show for being ‘the best guy in the world’. There’s a scene where Artie thanks Finn for being his friend and basically says that it was a sacrifice for Finn to step down from his popularity for a bit to slum it with the Glee Club. Again, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Mike, Puck, Sam, and Matt all joined even though they could’ve been popular. They receive no praise.

#10. Finn Is A Lazy Complainer

Finn spends most of high school not studying and playing video games. He’s also on the football team, but doesn’t really commit to football that much. He’s a mediocre high school student.

When college applications time comes around, Finn has the audacity to be shocked by the fact that he doesn’t get a football or theater scholarship. He spends all of season three complaining about how he’ll never get out of Lima, even though all we’ve seen from him is him plotting how to sleep with girls, whining about his reputation, and occasionally doing a decent thing. We never really see him work hard at anything.

He just complains constantly about everything and when Mr. Schue, Rachel, and Emma try to help him by giving him college pamphlets, he doesn’t even read them. He throws them out in the trash as soon as possible and then later goes on a rant about how he won’t be young forever, as if he never thought or learned about aging.

Then, in college, he’s shown to be a slacker who parties all day, drinks, and makes grilled cheeses. He even lies and manipulates college girls into taking off their tops, so hey, maybe he’s moved up a little in the world. Anyways, Puck has to come and tell him it isn’t cool to skip your classes.

Basically, Finn complained, finally got into a college, and then just slacked off again without learning anything

[tontonico]

The Meaning of Mariah Carey

Mariah Carey’s memoir opens with the great line: “I refuse to acknowledge time, famously so.” As if to establish the rules of the book, then add, with a toss of hair, but you knew that.

Most readers of The Meaning of Mariah Carey, which the record-smashing songstress wrote with Michaela Angela Davis, probably already did know that (and are happy to stick to Mariah’s anti-schedule), but there’s plenty in the 337-page volume that will surprise even the most devoted Lambs. Most surprising of all, though, is perhaps how elusive the chanteuse remains even when she makes herself so vulnerable.

She may not keep time, but it’s well known that Carey can keep rhythm, and that’s a more accurate measure of how she tells the story of her life. While the memoir’s four acts are chronological, the short chapters within them aren’t necessarily, and her storytelling is most effective in these distinct, vivid anecdotes rather than thoroughly contextualized narrative. Isn’t that the way we remember things, anyway?

The book’s first and best section, “Wayward Child,” relies the most on these well-chosen vignettes, each as piercing and specific as a song, altogether giving an impressionistic rendering of her fraught childhood. (She punctuates her memories, too, with her lyrics that were inspired by them, and the Audible version of the book, read by Carey, contains musical interludes.) The daughter of a Black father and Irish mother, Carey grew up with a brother and sister who were older and darker (in their energies even more than their complexions, she observes) than her, in a home — actually many homes, adding to the instability — where she never knew safety. The earliest childhood memory she shares is of cops breaking up a brutal fight between her father and brother when she was 3 years old; among the last is Mariah’s 20-year-old sister allegedly trying to pimp her out at age 12.

Her childhood is filled with danger, trauma, violence, fear — and music. A mostly informal education from her opera-singer mother and her friends comes so organically to the life of a little girl who had so little else, it reads like destiny that she and music found each other amid such turmoil. And it’s what takes her, of course, to the next phase in her life, in a sharp switch from want to abundance, neglect to suffocating control.

Carey’s account of her marriage to Tommy Mottola — who, for example, once screamed at a dinner party that Thanksgiving was canceled because Carey had expressed admiration for an artist in whom Mottola was uninterested — and their life in the mansion she called “Sing Sing” is harrowing. Mercifully, it overlaps with her emergence as an artist, and her writing about her life in music, while less shocking than many of the personal details, offers great insight and behind-the-scenes tidbits as well as displaying her sincere devotion to the art form (and to her fans, whom she shouts out repeatedly).

Carey’s voice is as distinctive to read as it is to hear: She addresses her reader as “dahling” or “baby” here and there, and her constant, flexible use of the word “festive” reveals it to be a deeply held personal ideal rather than just a vaguely pleasant adjective. Even in describing her lowest lows (and there are some bad ones), the writing is never austere; like her narrative structure, Carey’s prose has rhythm and high drama, savoring moments and details with melismatic indulgence.

The singer explains elements of her larger-than-life image — including some of her famous “diva” behaviors — by explicitly linking them to pain; for one, she often has photo shoots with voluminously blowing hair because she so desperately longed for the flowing waves she saw in shampoo commercials as a child, while her own textured tresses were constantly tangled, forsaken by the adults around her who didn’t know how to care for it.

That untamed hair is emblematic not only of the extreme neglect of her childhood, but the racial otherness that she has felt throughout her life — and that she expresses in some of the memoir’s most perceptive, affecting passages. As a child, her awareness of racism develops in cruel waves (there are three different, and differently devastating, stories of people she knows finding out her father is Black); as an adult, she has constantly had to assert her own racial identity in an industry (and with a first husband) that tried to erase her Blackness. She reacts to the word “urban” every time she brings it up.

The last three decades become somewhat muddled in the telling as her career becomes richer and her adult life more complicated, making it harder to prioritize — not to mention that, once she’s famous, there are publicly known pieces to correct or gaps to fill in. She can’t disregard time in these later sections, where everything needs more context, and The Meaning loses some clarity for it. (In an error that speaks to this confusion, one paragraph appears twice, 40 pages apart; it somehow feels appropriate, however, that the passage is a reflection upon the delayed triumph of Glitter.)

So, too, does it become more conspicuous when she leaves things out, like the bipolar diagnosis she revealed two years ago (“because I don’t feel like there’s a mental-illness discussion to be had,” she told Vulture last month). She is also better at starting stories than finishing them (a habit one could attribute to her being an Aries, which she mentions repeatedly). This applies to the memoir as a whole but was most disappointing in the case of her romance with Derek Jeter, the beginning of which makes for some of the book’s dreamiest, most hopeful moments.

It’s hard to begrudge her these omissions, though, when she’s recalled such great suffering and even greater survival. She’s already explained how pieces of her persona are armor, and in which moments she forged them; let her keep some stories. They belong to her.

In an early anecdote, the police are called to little Mariah’s home after a violent scene. “One of the cops, looking down at me but speaking to another cop beside him, said, ‘If this kid makes it, it’ll be a miracle,’” Carey recalls. “And that night, I became less of a kid and more of a miracle.” By the end of the compelling if imperfect Meaning of Mariah Carey, you believe it. She’s a miracle, a memoirist, a singer, a songwriter — the girl’s got range. Famously so. 

[crewhonk]

Only Happy Accidents (two)

Summary: After being ghosted by YN, a girl he turned out really liking, Steve goes to her door to find out just what he did wrong.

Warnings: pregnancy test stress, gross food cravings, NatBucky fluff, stressed!Steve

Songs: “Archer”- Taylor Swift

Masterlist

____________________________

November 14th / 2nd Week

YN YLN felt like someone came down from heaven and took a shit on her face. She had felt wonderful since Steve had been over up until now, and she groaned, burying her face into her pillow and trying t find any lingering scents of Steve on her pillow. She made a noise in the back of her throat when she found nothing but the scent of her own shampoo. She reached over to her phone under her pillow and looked at it, a thrill shooting through her body when she saw that she had a text from none other than the Retired Captain America. 

From: Grandpa

Morning, pretty thing :)

The dork hadn’t sent her one single emoji, and she doubted that if he even knew what they were that he would like them. ‘too kiddish’, she could hear him say and she kicked her feet like a teenager. 

To: Grandpa

Morning, handsome! How was ur morning so far??

She locked her phone and checked the date on the lockscreen, squinting at the number suspiciously. There was something supposed to be happening right now. Today was a Thursday, so she had it off, but there was something else personally. 

Her eyes widened, and every nerve in her body felt as if it had been dipped in ice water. 

She was supposed to have gotten her period eight whole days ago. 

She ripped her blankets off of her, and pulled her pants down, groaning when there was no blood to be found and cursing to herself. She had always been regular with her cycle. She tracked it, and took vitamins and magnesium and iron supplements and even went sustainable with it— got a diva cup and everything. Sure, her period sucked but it was usually one thing that she could count on to be on time. 

She rushed to the bathroom to splash water on her face and wracked her brain to try to remember if she and Steve had used protection. They had in the morning, she knew— she made sure to roll the condom on herself and everything but the night before was so quick and hurried and oh, God. No. No they had not used protection. 

Fuck. 

“MICHAELA!” She screamed, walking quickly out to the kitchen where her best friend and roommate was, hunched over some law books and eating her smoothie bowl breakfast. YN didn’t even bother teasing her about it and met Michaela’s surprised eyes with her own very, very scared ones. 

“What? Are you bleeding out? What the fuck?” She yelled back, clutching her heart while moving to mop up the glass of water she spilled across the island. 

“No I’m— okay, so you know the guy I had over on Halloween that I told you about?” She started and Michaela nodded nervously. 

“Magic Dick Steve? I remember.”

“Well I don’t think— I don’t think we used protection? The first time? We were both pretty drunk and—“ YN had started to shake. “And I might be reading into it too much but I’ve been really tired lately and my boobs are really, really sore and I’ve been really nauseous? Maybe It’s the flu but I’ve— my period it late.” She finished, and watched as Michaela’s eyes widened. 

“You’re never late.” She whispered, and YN felt tears well up in her eyes. 

“I know.” She mumbled and Michaela stood, walking around the counter and pulling her to her. She hugged her tightly and pulled away, dragging YN down the hallway and back to the bathroom. 

“I didn’t tell you this, but a few months ago when you were in Peru with that Anthropology dig, me and Charlie had a scare and I got a whole bunch of these guys.” She held up a box of thin, paper pregnancy tests from the bottom cabinet. 

“Isn’t that when you went off your pill?” She asked, taking the box. Michaela nodded. 

“Yeah, turns out my body freaked out hugely and said ‘fuck you’ to my period that month.” She shrugged. “Take a few, and we’ll take it from here, okay?”

________________________

So, YN peed in a disposable mouthwash cup (and on her hand a little bit, but we won’t talk about that) and dipped three tests into it, laying it out on the edge of the tub and sliding down he closed door after setting a timer on her phone. Time seemed to become impossibly slow for three whole minutes and she jolted violently when her phone went off. She checked it, and tears welled up in her eyes when she saw that she had gotten a text from Steve. 

From: Grandpa

I’m pretty good. miss you though.

She put her phone back down and stood, opening the door and calling shakily from Michaela. She showed up seconds later, and wiped YN’s tears from her face. 

“I can’t— I can’t look.” She whimpered and Michaela shushed her softly. 

“You can.” Her voice acted as an anchor for which YN could ground herself with and she tried to move her feet towards the tests. 

“What do I do with Steve? I can’t— it would trap him. I don’t even know the guy. I can’t just drop a bomb like that on him when we haven’t even gone on a date yet.” She cried and Michaela frowned, her heart breaking for her friend. 

“From what you’ve told me, he’ll be there for you. He seems like a good guy. Now, let’s look, okay?”

YN nodded and with the help of Michaela, walked across the bathroom and ducked down to see if there was anything other than the first red line. She squinted, and let out a huge breath when there was no line on the first two tests. She checked the last one, and every organ in YN’s body burst into flames when she thought she could see a second, very faint line. 

“Michaela.”

“What.”

“Is that a second line? On the last test.” She whispered, as if raising her voice any louder was going to make the line darker. Michaela leaned in close and squinted, freezing when she did, in fact, see the second line. 

“I think so. I think it is.” She confirmed, and YN’s knees gave out. Her hand absently fell to her lower stomach and she lower lip trembled. 

“This may not be it, though okay? Let’s go to Planned Parenthood and get a real test, okay? Then we can spend thirty dollars on a really good test and we’ll make a plan from there, okay?” Michaela sunk other knees and held YN’s face, wiping more tears away and offering her a small smile. 

“Okay.”

_______________________

There was no way that all ten tests in front of her were wrong. There was no way the printed diagnosis from Planned Parenthood and a pamphlet reading ‘Plans For The Single Parent’ were telling her that her uterus was empty. There was no way the Clearblue test reading ‘Pregnant: 2-3 weeks’ was wrong— it better not be, considering it was a whole thirty dollars. 

YN sat staring at them, bouncing her leg and glancing at her phone every few seconds, half expecting for Steve to already know despite his three unresponded-to-texts still on her lock screen. She could hear Michaela talking to her boyfriend, Charlie in the other room and YN felt truly and utterly alone.

However, her hand had yet to leave her stomach during the whole day, as if the idea of a baby being in there (despite it being no more than a bunch of cells at this point) was a point fo focus for her. Despite the overwhelming elements fo her situation, there was a flutter of excitement in her chest. She had never wanted kids, and then the snap happened, and she was gone and then she was back, and her dad, who was in a plane during the snap had fallen from 5 miles in sky and landed belly first in the ocean. But now that it was a very real possibility, she couldn’t help but get a little excited. 

There was one one person she truly wanted to talk to, right now. The urge to hear their voice overpowered any other feeling and YN reached for her phone, choosing the first contact she recently texted and waited as the phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Mom? I need your help.”

_______________________

November 31st, 4th Week

“This is probably the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Why are you making this monstrosity in my house?” Michaela groaned, pulling the neck of her turtleneck sweater over her nose as she walked into the kitchen. YN rolled her eyes and shook her head, bouncing lightly to the music playing from her laptop. 

“Just because you’re the pickiest human in the world doesn’t mean other people can’t eat fun foods,” YN replied, lifting the lid on the stove and sniffing deeply. 

“Canned crab with sauerkraut on crackers is not a fun food.” Michaela grumbled and sat at the counter. YN rolled her eyes and stirred the pot, shrugging her shoulders. 

“What baby wants baby gets.” She replied simply and closed the lid, leaning against the counter beside the stove and cocking her head. “Would you prefer boiled clams in hot sauce  or crushed up Doritos dipped in a Starbucks Frappuccino to this or—?” YN trailed off and Michaela gagged openly, covering her mouth. 

“Maybe a salad. With nutrients that the baby needs.” She replied and YN rolled her eyes, opening the cabinet beside the fridge and turning around to stare at Michaela. Her eyes raked over the prenatal supplements and vitamins marked for different days of the weeks and then to the daily pill organizer in YN’s hand. 

“I’ve also cut my coffee from five cups to half a cup because I’m paranoid and I’m not eating dairy, which is hard because you know how much I loved pineapple and cottage cheese together. And this is the only meal I’ve been able to eat this week without getting nauseous and throwing up.” She commented, turning back and turning off the stove. Michaela walked over and leaned over the pot, wrinkling her nose but grabbing a spoon nonetheless. 

“I’m going to try it. Not because I’m curious but because I’m supporting my single-pregnant best friend.” She said, saying a little prayer and shoving the goopy mess into her mouth. She froze, chewed once and gagged, grabbing YN’s hand and spitting the mouthful of food into her hand. 

“I hate you.” She grumbled and stuck her head under the sink, rinsing her mouth and making her laugh loudly, clutching her chest. It was only seconds after that there was a knock on their door which YN made to get. She turned to her friend and pointed. 

“I made you do nothing. That was fully consensual on your part.” She laughed, spinning and opening the door with a smile. 

It was Steve. Holding a bouquet of her second favourite flowers. Smiling nervously with those blue eyes and big muscles and beard and short, carefully styled hair. She remembered in flashes the sound he made when he moaned. The sound he made when she made him laugh. The way he looked sucking whipped cream off her finger. The way his voice sounded that one time when they talked until five in the morning. 

So, she did what any sensible person did and slammed the door in his face. 

At the sound, Michaela walked around the corner, peeking behind YN to see that the door was still closed. There was a knock and Steve’s voice saying something YN couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears. 

“Who is it?” Michaela whispered, seeing the fear in her eyes. 

“Steve.” YN replied, her mouth feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton. Michaela pushed past her and looked through the peep hole, ducking immediately and turning to her with wide eyes. 

“That’s Steve?! You fucked Captain America on our kitchen counter and then hand fed him waffles?” Michaela whisper-yelled. 

“First off, he’s not Captain America anymore. Sam Wilson is, and second yes. Steve isn’t really an uncommon name so..” YN trailed off uselessly and Michaela looked to YN’s stomach. 

“Well I mean it makes sense,” Michaela said quickly. “All of your symptoms are stronger and you only had sex once without protection so it makes sense he has super sperm.” He said and YN shushed her as if Steve was on the other side with his ear to the door. 

“What do I do.” YN deadpanned and Michaela bit her lip. 

“You know what I think you should do. I think it’s time to tell him.” She said and YN nodded, wiping her hands on her pants and walking to the door, hesitating briefly before turning the doorknob and opening it. 

“YN. Hi.” He seemed breathless, and he looked at her softly. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I should have texted, but you weren’t responding and I got worried.”

YN shook her head and opened the door wider. “Steve, I think you should come in. We need to talk.” She whispered, and his shoulders fell as if he was expecting her to say something like this. 

“I figured.” He mumbled, handing Michaela the flowers and following YN to the living room where she pulled a shoe box from the shelf under the table and placed it on the top. 

“What’s going on, YN? Did I do something wrong?” He asked, turning towards her. She sat straight, not taking her eyes off the box in front of her and shaking her head. 

“You’ve been perfect Steve, and none of this is your fault, I should have been more responsible.” She whispered, her throat thick. She could hear Michaela eavesdropping from the kitchen. 

“Then what—?” He trailed off and went to touch her, but pulled away at the last second, not wanting to upset her further. 

“Something happened and I don’t— I don’t know what to do.” She said, finally looking at him with shining eyes. His face crumpled at the sight of her tears and h scooted closer to her, grabbing her hand gently. 

“I can help, YN. Whatever it is I can help you.” He said softly, holding her hand in both of his own. 

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Steve. Not with this— we hardly know each other.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She noticed briefly how good Steve looked in his brown coat and jeans and scarf and boots but shook her head when her periphery caught sight of the box on the table. 

“YN.” He said sternly and she melted slightly, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“I’m pregnant, Steve. The baby is yours— it has to be. There hasn’t been anyone since the snap except for you.” She finally said in one quick breath, she looked up at him to gauge his reaction. His face was a flat of marble, no expression or emotion in his eye. She half expected him to stand up and walk out until she remembered that this was, in fact, Steve Rogers and walking away from a challenge was unheard of. That’s what the textbooks said, anyways. She lifted the cover on the box and he peered in, eyes widening when he saw all the tests and pamphlets she had been reading and collecting. 

“Okay.” He said finally and he seems to be wracking his brain for something to say. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Were you just going to wait until you had him to tell me and collect money or something?” He asked. YN raised her eyebrows and shook her head fervently. 

“No, no, no, no, Steve. I would never. I just didn’t— I don’t— know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, reassuring her by his tightened grip on her hand. 

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you and what you would want to do with her.” She said and he raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s a girl?” He whispered, looking down to her stomach. She shook her head. 

“No, she’s nothing more than a bunch of cells, but ‘she’ just comes naturally to me? You said she was a ‘he’ earlier, so.” She smiled softly and he returned it, not looking away from her stomach. 

“Well, what are the options?” He asked, looking up at her and she shook her head. 

“One, I keep her and you leave.” She started and he looked genuinely affronted. 

“Not a chance. Next.”

“I go to Planned Parenthood—“

“No. Next.”

“I keep her, and you stay.” She whispered, looking up at him nervously. He froze, but nodded surely and cleared his throat. When he spoke he sounded rather choked and it made tears return o her eyes. 

“That’s an option for you?” He whispered and she nodded. 

“It’s my ideal option, Steve. This is your baby too.” She replied, equally quiet. He looked up and pulled her closer to him and she let it happen. Now, their thighs were pressed against the other and their heads were closer together. 

“You move into my place, though. I’ll get rid of my office so we can make it into a nursery and I keep work at work and family at home. I’d like to know you’re both safe.” He said, jumping to what he wanted to happen. She nodded. 

“That’s petty reasonable.” She commented. “I don’t have much, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.” 

“Your turn. Name a demand.” He returned and she wracked her brain. 

“I want to go part-time at work, but I won’t if we can’t afford it.” She said. Thinking about the cost of things came naturally to her since she had grown up in the Bronx.

“Babe.” He whispered, amused and smiling. 

“What?” She whispered back, smiling as well. 

“I have about 100 years of government compensation in my bank account. Plus I was a Stark Employee and an Avenger for twelve years. Money isn’t an issue, I promise.” He explained, and she nodded. The relief that had washed over her then was overwhelming and she coughed into her fist, a sob building in her throat. 

“Sorry,” She choked, rubbing her eyes. “This happens a lot.” 

“It does!” They heard a voice from the kitchen and YN glared a the door. 

“Fuck you, Michaela!”

“Promise?” She called back and Steve smiled, chuckling lowly. 

“Your turn.” She said, nudging him. He sucked in a breath and thought hard. 

“I’m at all the appointments. I’m at all the classes. We don’t announce it to the public, but we don’t hide the fact that you’re pregnant. I’ll have to talk to Pepper soon, but only when you’re ready. I want to be in this with you. The whole ride.” He said and YN blinked more tears out of her eyes. He pulled his jacket off and pulled his sweater sleeve over his fist and wiped them from her face gently. She sucked in a breath and leaned into his touch slightly, not fighting it when he pulled away from her. 

“Good.” There was a pause of silence before he shifted nervously, a new idea popping into his head. “What?” She asked. 

“This is gonna be a little extreme, actually.” He sounded afraid, but she nodded for him to continue despite her own nerves rising. “I’ve been learning that it’s okay to have kids with your boyfriend or girlfriend now, and that’s really great and cool but it doesn’t work for me.” He said and she looked up at him, alarmed. 

“What?”

“We don’t have to, but my Ma would roll in her grave if she found out I had a kid with someone that I wasn’t uh— legally bound to.” He winced at the formality of his own words. 

“I don’t think I understand,” She said. She did, she just didn’t quite believe what exactly he was asking her. 

“I would like to marry you. It’s really important for me that my kid is uh— mine. And was born into a marriage, you know?” Steve’s voice seemed far away as he continued to speak, and YN swayed in her seat. 

“YN?” He asked, watching her eyes become unfocussed and falling for Michaela. She heard nothing more before her eyes closed and she slumped back on the couch, unconscious. 

________________________

The first thing YN remembered when she woke up was a cool cloth being pressed to her forehead. She sighed at the sensation, rolling her head away from the glaring light from the window and opened her eyes, smiling as Michaela looked down at her. 

“Hey, Mich. I had the weirdest dream.” She started, groaning a the pounding headache in her brain and sitting up slowly. “Remember Steve? Magic Dick Steve? Yeah. That’s Steve Rogers. Anyways, I had a dream that I was pregnant with his kid and he asked me to marry him. He was wearing his suit, though which as weird because I couldn’t see his face behind his helmet-hat-thing.” She mumbled, rubbing her forehead. 

“That wasn’t a dream, YN.” Said a low voice from the kitchen. YN looked over and her eyes widened when she saw Steve Rogers walk through the door, a plate of crackers and crab and sauerkraut in his hands. There was also a reusable mouthwash cup filled with her medication and a bottle of water in his other hand. 

“Holy Moses, baby Jesus in the garden be with me.” YN prayed briefly and accepted the plate of food from him, piling it into her mouth much to the amusement of Steve and the disgust of Michaela. 

“It’s the same thing my ma used to crave, actually.” Steve shrugged. “I tried to make it one time back in the day for mothers day but the only fish I could afford was the crawdaddies from the pond down the street and the crackers I stole from Bucky’s house. I couldn’t even use the stove, yet so everything was raw.” He smiled when she laughed loudly at his story. “Yeah, she wasn’t too big of a fan but she appreciated it all the same.” 

“That’s really cute, Rogers.” She smiled.

“I’m sorry for dropping that request on you, I never meant to hurt you.” He muttered eventually and she shook her head.

“I’ve actually fainted twice already so it isn’t too much of a big deal, but yeah. That was a good request.” She scratched her nose and took all the pills at once, gulping down half the bottle with it and leaning on her elbows. 

“I’m sorry again.” He whispered and she shook her head. 

“It’s your kid, Steve. It only makes sense you would want that for her.”

“Him.” He teased and she rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll do it.” She said finally and his head whipped over to her as fast as lightning. She was half worried that she would need to take him to the hospital incase he tore something. 

“What?”

“I’ll marry you. I think you’re a pretty great guy, Steve and I’m not getting any younger, anyways.” She shrugged and Michaela gaped at them like a fish. 

“You’re 24, YN.” She scolded and she looked at her friend. 

“And my baby daddy wants to stick around and support us. It’s only fair I do this for him.” She shrugged, looking between their stunned faces.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, aghast and shocked but looking sedately overjoyed. 

“As sure as I’ll ever be, Rogers.” She stuck out her hand and he looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “You take care of me and your kid and I marry you? Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.” She commented and he took her hand in his. 

“It’s a deal, then.” He smiled softly and tried his damned best to not jump across the couch and kiss her. This was never how he wanted to propose to someone, but hey, he was 106. Never a time like the present, right?

“Damn it.” Michaela swore. The newly-engaged couple looked over at her and she shook her head at both of them. “I’m gonna have to find a craigslist roommate aren’t I?”

_____________________

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