#this is like mcu for people who read pop lit

[redspiderling]

MCU Breakdown: Black Widow, Part 1

I can’t believe this is happening 😭

First of all, congratulations to all of you who’ve been here all these years. We got it. We begged for years, and it’s finally here.

For once I wasn't dreading revisiting this film to write down what I got from it. I felt more like I might not do it justice. This film is so special to me, but here it is, the MCU Breakdown of Black Widow, part 1 (of who knows how many).

I remember back when I started running this blog and talking about a hypothetical Black Widow movie that had never been announced, always "yeah, we would be happy to do it, maybe, someday in the future", and arguing that it would be important for women and girls, no matter its content. I'm so glad we got it like this. So, so glad.

The rest under the cut.

Let's start with some technical details. The film has a lot of setups and callbacks, nothing is done in chance. For example, I love how the light, and the sounds we hear when we first, and last, see Natasha in the film, are the same. We greet her in bright -birds cheeping- morning light, while she's riding her bike home, to her family

and we leave her in bright -birds cheeping- morning light, while she's riding her bike home, to her family (I'm using the term family very liberally here in reference to the Avengers for the sake of the movie, bear with me, you know how I feel about those dudes).

It's signifying new beginnings, each time, not endings. Notice how, what we see is natural light, which makes this scene pop out, and look more real because the light is coming from the sun, and isn’t artificially made on VFX software. You will notice the stark differences in colours and lighting when the emotions and the atmosphere change in this film, because there is a visual language being employed here, the director has a story to say, and she uses all the tools she has to tell it. The light is exactly the same in those 2 scenes, because Cate wants us to make that connection, even if we make it unconsciously.

Natasha is placed in such a positive way, both at the start and the end of the film. There's this discussion about how "real" their little family was, but it was the characters that muddled up that image. The reality of their lives in Ohio is presented in a happy way, that had deep rivers under the surface, for sure. This wasn't accidental, for a lot of reasons.

First of all, if you take it the literal way, they were spies, and had to present themselves as normal. If you take it the allegorical way, any girl could fall victim to trafficking, and if you take it the character way, both Scarlett and Cate wanted to showcase that Natasha is human. They also wanted to give her something that wasn't always dripping with pain and sadness. They were both parts of her life, yes, but there was also joy, and light, and once upon a time she had been a kid, playing with her sister.

Also, and this has been mentioned before but it bears repeating: I love the actress they chose for young Natasha, and I love how they presented her character. She's allowed to be a young teenage girl. She's not sexualised. She's at that gangly stage between childhood and adulthood, and there's nothing sexual about it, no provocative clothing, no excessive makeup. She's a kid.

Plus, I know Cate said the actress already had her hair dyed blue and they just decided to let her have it, but I think it works well for Natasha's character. That small act of defiance, even that early on, against the system that wanted to break her. Also, the film gives us such great character moments, because they let the camera roll and don't rush through scenes, look at Natasha looking at Melina comforting Yelena. We can see the pain, the fear, where she knows that this isn't going to last, and wonders about what will become of them once their lives begin to unravel.

We also get to see the joy on her face, the wonder of discovering the world, how often do you get to see Marvel characters do this, just live in the moment?

Bioluminescence: the production and emission of light by a living organism. Or how Natasha is a bright light, that shines from within. Not my words, Cate Shortland's words. I felt it when I was watching this scene, but it was lovely to have it verified in one of her interviews. I wish I could meet her, and tell her that everything she wanted to put on screen came through, incandescent and crystal clear. Fireflies are a symbol for Natasha, as a bright light that shines from within, and never dies.

Small details that I love, the magnet on the fridge: Don't forget, above a picture of Natasha. LIKE WE EVER COULD, CATE.

We have another setup here, where the family gathers up to have dinner together. Even the sitting arrangement is the same as later on in the film.

Notice also how both young, and adult version of Natasha, communicate so well with Melina, just with their eyes. It doesn't necessary show a deep history between them, but it does show a bone deep level of understanding. Not just of their current circumstance, but of their future, and of what it will do to them. Melina knows what's coming and she's says it "I'm sorry", but they're both resigned to their fate, Melina because she doesn't see a way out, and Natasha because, well, here she's a kid, and therefore is powerless.

The dynamics between Yelena and Alexei is so different. Yelena is young and doesn't understand, so they're speaking about completely different things. "I don't have my shoes" is what she says, and it's heartbreaking in its innocence, as Alexei is loading his gun and reading himself for battle. We can still see that he's not indifferent to her, telling her she can have "fruit loops in the car". He's not a monster, he just doesn't have a choice (or at least, he thinks he doesn't).

Also, notice how the camera angles are employed here: Natasha and Melina look each other eye to eye, Yelena looks up to Alexei, Alexei looks down on her, there is an imbalance of power and understanding in the second set of images, and the camera tells us that.

Melina doesn't let Natasha take the photo album. For one thing, it's certain that Natasha wouldn't be able to keep it. For another, Melina wanted the memories, and probably didn't want anyone else to realise/think that they cared about their little family unit.

There's just a lot of thought that's been put in the details of the script, to show us their bond, their attempts to hide it, to show the characters' personality in everything around them (notice the plants that are ever present in Melina's home, in Ohio and later in Saint Petersburg). She might seem cold, she has been through a lot, but she cares. And that care has brought her pain. And we have to see that pain, because we get the quiet moments like this one, where she stands alone in an empty home knowing that part of her life is over, never to return.

The mission, is the last thing Melina asks about. The last thing Alexei mentions, the last thing either of them cares about. First, she refused to accept that they had completed the mission and were now hunted, then she accepted it and they loaded their family in the car, and then she asked about the leaked files.

Also, notice how that shot is framed. Both images silhouetted by the light because it’s the moment and the prop smack down in the middle of the frame that’s important, now what they’re going through, emotionally, they’re not themselves in that moment, they’re nameless, tools of the trade, expendable in front of that tiny floppy disk.

Yelena is singing while the rest are plunging in despair, but still humour her and play her song.

I found this shot a bit... Jarring. I get it that for American audiences this would show that they're actually leaving "home" behind, but for the rest of us... Eeeh, I'll give it a pass because it is an American production and this is just something to be expected. I mean, Yelena's song was American Pie. We get it, you still love America, just because you're making a film about Russian spies doesn't mean you're a commie Marvel, it's ok.

But in any case, the setup for the action scene here was excellent. Happy, familiar music playing, car is on the main road, car goes off the main road familiar music gets toned down and eventually completely lost in the darkness.

Yelena knows what to do, we see it, so that we know that this 6 year old girl who holds her stuffed animal and walks barefoot has practiced for this moment.

By the way, Natasha did take another item with her along with the photobooth pictures (it also looks like a photo album with Disney princesses on it), it didn't survive the trip. We are informed of this for a very specific reason: Melina didn’t ask Natasha not to take the photo album out of malice, or just because she wanted to keep it for herself. She knew it wouldn’t survive the trip in Natasha’s hands. We also get a close shot of the image strip (and we get it again, during the credits), because it will be important, later on.

Bet y'all also forgot you were watching a superhero movie until this happened? That wasn't accidental, they wanted us to see them as normal people, this is the moment when that ends.

Natasha saved her family, even though she was a terrified kid.

I know that they did the huge titles thing to connect this film to Civil War but... Listen, Civil War needed the huge titles because that script and the way that movie was directed was a complete disaster. We needed to know where the characters were each time with huge ass title because there was NO OTHER WAY TO TELL. Between complete lack of a timeline, and the fact that you couldn't even tell what time of the day it was due to the horrible lighting, you definitely couldn't tell what the location was because it was irrelevant to the plot like, 90% of the time. Not to mention the title cards in Civil War were usually followed by dimly lit grey corridors so, yeah, give us a title so we know at least where they are, generally.

This film. Didn't Need That. For the most part anyway, there are 2 locations where the titles worked. First one was Ohio, the other I'll reveal later.

But here. Guys, they're Russian spies escaping from the US on a small plane... Where else would they go if not to Cuba?!?! This is the Black Widow movie paying for the sins of Civil War, in a small way in this instance.

Yelena tells Melina that pain only makes you stronger, Natasha cries, and they setup my heartbreak for later.

Natasha protecting Yelena, terrified, and staring men down the barrel of her gun anyway. Such a badass and heartbreaking callback.

Notice how this scene makes us look at how men view this. There's an allegory here as well, but I'll address what's actually happening in the film:

Dreykov notices Natasha's natural instinct to protect herself and her sister, and all he sees is something he can use. A tool for violence, instead of sex, in this case. But the implication is there. Not a person, or a terrified girl, just an object to be used by men.

So glad that piece of shit got blown up and never mentioned again. Any man looking for exposition on Dreykov to feel the "loss" when the villain is gone: Fuck you. Go get some therapy.

Moving on from that piece of shit, difference between Melina and Alexei: Melina apologised. Alexei lied, but he also tried to give them hope. We can see the devastation, because the soldiers never thought of them as girls like he did, and didn't blink before drugging them and taking them away.

Yet another setup, of Natasha and Yelena, drugged and powerless as they are taken away. Because it wasn't enough that they were kids, they took away all their choices, and rendered them unconscious.

What can I possibly say about this credits scene.

It's very real, probably the realest minutes in the entire MCU, and it's merciless. They don't try to sugar-coat what's happening, and there are no jokes to diffuse the drama. These are girls being trafficked from all over the world. I don't know about you but I felt the switch from true parallel to real life traffic victims like this shot that looks like footage from Interpol

to Red Room victims as being a clear shift, and I was actually grateful for it. Because here I could put my back against the fact that the red room wasn't real, otherwise I would have broken down before the credit sequence even ended.

It was a stroke of genius to create an introduction to this entire world like that. We rarely see credit sequences anymore and it's a shame, because when they're well done they tell stories in and of themselves, and this is one of the best I've seen.

Even the villain is set up here. He's pointing at girls and saying "that one, and her", like he's picking pigs for slaughter. How much more setup than that do you need, to want to murder that man dead? Not any more, that was enough.

Nobody speak to me I’m crying.

Subtle, but there. Trafficking (and traffickers) exists because it IS being tolerated by governments around the world.

Unnecessary title aside, who else says Natasha looks at herself in the mirror hear and repeats "pain only makes you stronger", as she's being hunted away from yet another family.

Then she's saying it again because it bears repeating and Natasha has been through A Lot these past few years. I love how unfiltered our first image of her is. After all she's been through, we basically see her stripped of all her tricks in a moment where she’s alone with herself and her thoughts(something we later learn she tries not to do much), and she's just a woman having a tiny breakdown in a semi-public bathroom. Again, human.

This is where I will leave you for this first part. Hey, I got through the intro, I count that as a win given just how long this breakdown has already been. If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading, come yell at me in my inbox whenever, see you for the next one xo

[nethandrake]

i (really, really, really, really, really, really) like you.

stevetony. mcu. rated t. high school/bakery au feat. pre-serum!steve. 4k words.

for @noririna / @venusiaries

also on ao3.

*****

Steve’s imagination has entertained the most outrageous things over the years. Take the time he thought he was the descendant of Captain America, for example (he was five, sue him). Or maybe the time he thought he saw God when Scott Lang accidentally nailed him on the head with a football because concussions.

But that’s the thing about the imagination, they’re just figurative. Most of the stuff that swims Steve’s brain has a very, very low possibility of coming true.

So no one should blame him for almost walking into a wall when Tony fucking Stark shows up at his mother’s bakery one Friday night.

Sure, Steve’s thought about it over the years, thought about it the moment he laid eyes on Tony, came up with various scenarios on how it’d go down, what they’ll say, what they’ll do.

But he’s never thought it’ll ever happen. Tony fucking Stark shouldn’t know of Steve’s existence. Tony fucking Stark, son of one of the richest people on the planet and one of the most popular kids at school, shouldn’t know of scrawny, weak Steve Rogers’ existence.

His hands begin to shake as Tony strides over towards the counter, a lazy grin plastered on his face. The familiar scent of grease and mint waft through the air as Tony closes the distance between them.

And that’s when everything comes crashing down on him.

His crush is here.

His crush is going to be standing in front of him in a second.

His crush, who doesn’t know about his existence, is going to be standing in front of him in a second and he

Steve should duck back in the back, demand his mother serve Tony while he completes his little freak-out alone. But of course, like the idiot he is, he blurts out, “It’s you,” instead.

Tony’s lips quirk to the side, his eyes glinting under the ceiling lights. They’re so much prettier up close. So much prettier, holy shit. They're so brown.

“You know who I am?”

Steve couldn’t help but preen at the flirty tone directed at him before quickly reeling his pleasure in. Tony flirts with everyone. It’s how he communicates. Steve shouldn’t be happy about something like this.

“Of course I do! You’re—You’re—”

You’re the guy I’ve been crushing on since we were kids.

“You’re Tony Stark,” he says instead. “Everyone knows who Tony Stark is.”

For some reason, Steve’s reply causes Tony to deflate. “Oh.”

Backtrack, Steve. Fucking backtrack.

“I mean, you’re also the guy in my Lit class,” Steve quickly amends. “You sit behind me. ”

Tony lets out a laugh and god, it's so pretty too. It's bad enough that he looks pretty. But his laugh? Sounding pretty? It's downright criminal.

“I'm pretty sure I know who sits in front of me, Steve.”

Okay, now Steve has to be dreaming.

“You know who I am?” Steve squeaks out.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I know you?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up. “I’m a nobody. A nobody—”

“A nobody who squared off against Rumlow and his goons last week. All seven of them.”

Steve ignores the sting that hits his heart. Because of course, that’s how Tony knows him. How could Steve forget about his own little reputation? No one ever takes notice of scrawny little Steve Rogers unless he’s getting beaten up.

“And lost.”

“And lost,” Tony echoes kindly. “But you did, anyway. You stood up for Peter. And all the other times you stood up to the bullies at school. It’s amazing.”

If Steve's cheeks were warm before, they're definitely on fire now. He knows how much Peter Parker means to Tony. Their close brotherly relationship, something that warms Steve’s heart.

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Tony grins, leaning over with his arms on the counter. He has several inches over Steve, his gorgeous brown eyes boring into Steve’s. Just the thought of their height difference does funny things to Steve’s pathetic heart.

He is never, ever telling anyone about his size kink. It’s already bad enough his own friends tease him mercilessly about it. He doesn’t need to add Tony to the mix.

“Let me just say if I was there, I would’ve totally jumped in. No one messes with Peter. I’m glad you were there.” Tony exhales and fuck, their faces are close, so close that Steve can feel Tony’s warm breath. “And your boyfriend.”

Steve whips his head up in alarm. “My boyfriend?”

Tony nods slowly, as if it physically pains him to do so. “Yeah. James Barnes, right? I think you call him Bucky?”

A flash of his best friend’s face pops up in his head. Steve banishes it before he gets more grossed out.

“No! He’s not— I’d never— That’d be like dating your brother! Gross!”

Tony looks relieved at that, his lips curl upwards. “I don't have a brother so I can't really say,” he snorts. “But I get you. I get that shit all the time with Rhodey.”

Steve mentally files that information for later. He won’t lie, he’s one of the many people who thought that way. Good thing he’s proven wrong from the source himself.

He is so glad his mother isn’t out here witnessing him fail at communication. So fucking glad.

“So,” he begins, clearing his throat, “anything I can do to help you tonight?”

Tony straightens. All of a sudden, he looks nervous. Steve can’t remember the last time he’s seen Tony nervous. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen Tony nervous.

“Yeah. I was, uh… You know Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, right?”

And just like that, Steve’s heart breaks into two.

*****

read the rest on ao3.

[ladyloptr]

•Part-Time•

Request: twt@LUSTFORLOKI. To sum up this one, Reader is a college student who took a part-time job in the Avengers tower as a sort of housekeeper/maid/butler. Steve, for all of his self-righteousness, doesn’t know how to treat a housekeeper/maid properly in the 21st century. Thankfully, Loki shows up, and as usual, has a plan for everything. (I’m such a Steve-anti. Poor Steve.)Lots of angst, some fluff.

Fandom: MCU AU

Pairing: Loki x College!Reader.

Warnings: Angst, Abuse, Violence. OOC Steve, Major Steve bashing, so any Steve-stans, please look away.

{————}

You need this job.

That’s the only reason why you’re here, and why you tolerate some of the insanity that you’re forced to endure.

You saw the advertisement on the internet, it was hard to miss. Big, bright and attention grabbing, just like your employer, Tony Stark. He was looking for a butler basically, but also sort of a housekeeper. Someone to help keep the tower in order, but also to help the Avengers if they ever needed anything.

Surprisingly, for all of his melodrama, egotism and childishness, Tony Stark is a great boss, and his wife, Pepper, is an even better boss. They’re both always pleasant to you, they pay you well, they pay you on time, they’re never rude (despite Tony’s jokes sometimes being a little-uncalled for), and they never really ask much from you.

Sure, your job is to help keep the 90-something tower “in order”, but you, interestingly enough, don’t do much cleaning. As Tony once said “I have people I pay to do all of that.” Your job is mostly centered on making sure that Tony’s physical files are organized, that the training room has all of the practice weapons properly locked up, and to make sure that the kitchen and main lounge/living room isn’t a hot-mess-express.

So, the only thing you really ever have to clean up is the kitchen, and on occasion, the living room. The Avengers don’t typically leave behind much of a mess.

Really, the insanity isn’t Tony, or Pepper, or cleaning, or the pay, it’s helping the Avengers when they “need something”.

Oh-correction. The insanity is helping Steve Rogers when he “needs something”.

The Avengers are all grown ass adult superheroes (minus Peter), and you’re a college student taking a part-time job so that you can take care of yourself. Most of them find it uncomfortable to ask you to do meager things for them, so they mostly ignore you, and do things for themselves like functional members of society.

Except for Steve Rogers.

You are unsure of what you did, but the moment you started working here, he’s been nothing but cold and mean to you. He asks you to bring him a drink, to bring him a snack, to bring him a napkin, to bring him his breakfast, lunch and dinner. It’s gotten ridiculous. He’ll even ask you to make sure his bedroom is neat after he wakes up, and to make sure his bathroom is cleaned every few days.

This is behavior you expected from the Asgardian princes, Thor and Loki, but definitely not from Captain fucking America.

Then again, as Captain America, perhaps his behavior rightfully represents what a lot of Americans are; entitled.

(I’m American also, lol, no hate plz.)

He’s nothing like what he was supposed to be. On camera he was gentlemanly, kindhearted and appreciative. It was a shock to you when you found that Loki, of all the people in the tower, acts more like Captain America, than Captain America.

Which was truly bewildering to you at first. Just think about it for a moment...

The guy who tried to take over the whole world and enslave mankind is the one who greets you with a smile everyday, and offers to make you tea on Saturday and Sunday mornings (which are the only mornings you can work-you got those 7am college classes, RIP). He even helps you with your studies, homework and college essays if you find yourself falling behind. It took some time to get used to his kind gestures, which sometimes bewildered even Thor at times.

While Loki got familiar with you, your relationship with Steve Rogers, on the other hand, ended up only getting worse.

It turned abusive, sometimes violent, and the only reason you never went to Tony is because you know that the two are close friends and coworkers. You could go to the other Avengers, but you’re sure that their relationship to Steve is similar, as well.

Bucky Barnes is another person you know is close with Steve. Those two go way back-before you were even born.

One day, you were careless in leaving your house. It was a Saturday morning, you were tired and you hadn’t noticed that both of your arms had begun to bruise from Steve’s super soldier strength.

He had hit you a few times in anger yesterday. You can’t really recall why.

“What are those on your arms?” Loki asks, within seconds of seeing you. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“I’m The God of Lies, my dear, you’ll have to do better than that.” Loki says, looking over your arms, carefully. “Is someone harming you?”

“No. I fell.”

“Try again.” Loki challenges, looking up at you sternly.

“I’m fine.”

“Who is harming you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes. “Is it someone in here?”

“Loki...”

“Is it an Avenger?”

Loki catches the subtle change in your eyes, the spark of fear that lit up when he asked whether or not it was an Avenger.

He growls. “Who is it?”

“Loki, please, I don’t want to talk about it.” You plead, getting rather uncomfortable now. “Can we just... play chess or something?”

Loki frowns at you for a while, before sighing in defeat. “Fine, alright.”

He doesn’t bring it up for the rest of the day.

You make sure to wear long sleeves to cover the bruises on your arms for the next couple of days, at least until the bruising goes down.

“What did I tell you about leaving my bedroom a mess?” Steve demands. “It’s a simple request. I’m not asking you to teach a dog to sing.”

Steve has decided to now confront you in an empty hallway about not tidying up his room yesterday.

“I’m sorry...” You mutter. “...Tony wanted me with him all day yesterday.”

“You couldn’t have come do it before you left? You just went home knowing my bedroom is a mess?” Steve asks, quickly getting upset.

“Tony clocked me out himself, so I was already off shift. Besides, it’s not like you can’t clean your bedroom yourself.” You answer.

Wrong answer, apparently.

He grabbed your arm and held it in a bruising grip, once again reminding you that he’s no ordinary human.

You let out a whimper and try to pull away, which proves no use. You’re not surprised when he slaps you. You’re surprised by how a super soldier serum can make a simple slap so painful. You’re even more surprised when your nose starts bleeding.

He must’ve inadvertently popped a blood vessel or something.

He raises his hand again, and you close your eyes, prepared for a punch or something worse, but it never comes. You open your eyes and see Steve looking at something behind you. You turn around and see Loki standing at the other end of the hall, his hands behind his back, an indifferent look on his face, but his eyes tell a different story.

You’ve known Loki long enough to realize that if you want to know his true emotions, you read his eyes, not his face. He’s a master at using his face to guard his true feelings.

And his eyes currently hold a barely contained storm of rage inside of them.

“I apologize for... interrupting...” Loki barely managed to keep his voice steady. “But dinner is ready, and I was wondering if (Y/N) would be joining us tonight.”

You nod, frantically. Steve releases your arm, and you rush over to Loki’s side.

“Loki Laufeyson, master of perfect timing, always ready to save the day.”

“Actually.” Loki corrects. “It’s Loki Odinson, master of sorcery, always ready to put ignorant Midgardians in their place.” He smiles a very unpleasant smile. “But yes... I suppose you’re also somewhat correct.”

“No one will believe you.” Steve says.

“Perhaps you’re correct.” Loki drones. “I am not here to hold a conversation with you, however, I am here to take (Y/N) to dinner.”

Steve snorts derisively, and walks by Loki, intentionally bumping shoulders with him.

Well, Steve was bumped, Loki didn’t move even a centimeter.

“Might want to clean her up first.” Steve says, as he retreats. “Wouldn’t want everyone to think you were beating up on her before dinner.”

Loki clenches his jaw. You look away, nervous about what he’s going to say.

You’re startled when he tilts your face up by your chin, and then slowly uses his seidr to heal any damage Steve has dealt you, including the bruises on your arms. He checks you over multiple times, making sure you aren’t still hurt.

Once he’s finished, he takes both of your hands and makes eye contact with you. He’s still upset, but the anger has tapered down to a manageable level.

“How did you know he was hurting me just now?” You ask, in a hushed tone.

“The same day I inquired about your bruises, I forged a... connection of sorts.” Loki explains. “Today, I felt that you were in danger, so I went looking for you. I have a similar connection with Thor, otherwise that oaf would’ve perished long ago.”

You nod, it makes sense, somewhat. You blush as he kisses your cheek and then your forehead.

“I am sorry.” Loki squeezes your hands, gently. “I wish I had noticed earlier. I would’ve killed him in that moment, would it not result in me being casted back to Asgard. The last thing I want, is for you to be left here to deal with all of this on your own.”

“Well... there’s nothing we can do about it now...” You murmur.

“I believe that to be untrue...” Loki’s eyes slowly shift up to the security cameras. “...Rogers appears to have forgotten about the many eyes this tower has.”

Your eyes widen. “The security cameras...!”

Loki smirks. “Stark will review the footage if you ask him to. I could accompany you to his lab tonight after dinner, if you so wish.”

“Yes, I’d love that.” You wrap your arms around Loki as tight as you possibly can. “Thank you!”

“You’re most certainly welcome.” Loki chuckles. “Time to cook up a scandal...”

A/N: SORRY STEVE STANS, I TAKE ALL REQUESTS, NO REQUESTS LEFT BEHIND.

Also, I wrote this while struggling with depression (it’s been two weeks, and it seems to not be improving, and this crap can last as long as a couple of months, so I wrote it anyway. Better than waiting a few months to finally get on this), and I’m not sure if y’all have noticed, but my storytelling feels weird in this one. My ability to produce a thorough, flowing storyline appears to be sort of hindered right now. I’ll try to update it if I can.

[saysomethingspiderman]

Bravado

Synopsis: Keeping your relationship a secret for the last year had been a breeze. That was until you joined Tom on his Instagram live and pretty much gave the game away.

Warning: Brief mention of sex

The Marvel quiz had been an idea that’d been thrown around for weeks. Initially, Dom came up with doing some sort of quiz to slightly lighten the mood of lockdown. Then Tom mentioned making it Marvel related. That got the fans excited. You wanted to join in, of course you did, but having kept your whereabouts during lockdown a complete secret for the last two months, you knew it wouldn’t be wise to join in with Tom and his brother Harry and reveal the relationship you’d kept a secret for over a year now. Some days during the lockdown had felt near impossible to stay out of the way when you were sharing the house with three boys who weren’t shy about posting random videos on Instagram. But so far, no one suspected anything.

After a few technical difficulties, Tom managed to set the live up (albeit a little late) and you smiled to yourself from his bedroom upstairs at the sound of his laughter. Although you’d planned on making the most of your time alone by doing absolutely nothing, you couldn’t resist the temptation to watch the live you knew would be absolutely chaotic. Tom wasn’t the best with technology, especially when it came to Instagram. Would it be too cruel to call him an old man living in the body of a twenty-something? Cruel or not, it was true.

For the first few minutes you just kept quiet and didn’t send any messages. Instead, you took the time to grab some paper from one of Tom’s drawers and answer the questions. Despite dating one of the stars of the franchise, your Marvel knowledge was more than a little rusty. The only one you were confident you’d got correct was who the tallest in the MCU was and that was only because you knew for a fact that it wasn’t Tom; he was more towards the bottom of that list. You sent a message here and there but you knew Tom wouldn’t notice simply because of the amount of people sending their own messages to him, wanting desperately to get noticed. There were a few people who noticed you were watching; you’d grown a small following of your own from the odd time you appeared in photos with one of the boys. People were aware you were friends, but no one knew just how close you and Tom actually were.

Eventually, Tom and Harry got through the questions and wanted to invite people onto the live so they could go through the answers. It was sweet to see how people reacted to virtually meeting Tom. How did he handle people crying over him so professionally? Sometimes you forgot how much of a star Tom really was. To you, he was just the cocky boy you’d grown up with who often woke you way too early in the morning just for a cuddle. The fans didn’t know how sweet and romantic he was behind closed doors. What they knew was only what he allowed people to know.

The next section of questions were discussed and as the boys said goodbye to the fan, Tom started looking for someone else to join the live. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips and you sent a few messages, requesting to go live with the boys.

“Okay, who we going live with next?” Tom asked mostly to himself as he scanned the hundreds of messages. When he spotted your name popping up a few times, he couldn’t hide the grin that lit up his face. “Let’s invite [Y/N]!”

Harry’s head shot up and he gave Tom a look he either chose to ignore or completely missed. What was he playing at? He knew you were in the house. Surely people would recognise the place? He gave Tom a light kick under the table but Tom had already sent you the invite, which you swiftly accepted.

After a few moments you connected and your slightly blurred face appeared at the bottom of the screen. You moved over to the other side of the room to try and get a better connection but kept the phone close to your face so people could only see very little of the room you were in.

“Well hello, boys,” you greeted with a soft chuckle and a lame wave.

“Hello, darling,” Tom replied smoothly, his attention now solely on you and not the hundreds of thousands of people watching. His grin grew and his eyes sparkled. He’d been away from you for barely an hour and even though you were in the room above, he still missed you. “You staying safe?”

“Yeah, I’m keeping as far away from everyone as I can,” you said with a shrug and sat down on the armchair Tom had in the corner of his room. “Everyone I’m staying with is doing my head in though.”

“What?” Tom snorted and Harry shook his head next to him, looking down to hide his smile. “Everyone?”

“Alright, I suppose there might be one person I can tolerate.”

“That’s more like it,” came his mumbled reply, making you laugh. He sat up a little straighter and ran a hand over his face as he grabbed the next question to go through. “I hope you’ve been getting involved in this quiz or I’ll be very disappointed.”

“You really think I’d miss watching you try and figure out how technology works?” you replied and raised an eyebrow. Reaching down, you grabbed the paper from the floor and held it up to the camera so he could see you’d at least tried.

“Half the answers are missing!” Harrison laughed from where he stood behind Tom and Harry with Tessa lying in his arms like a baby.

“Well I can’t be good at everything!”

“You’re good at the important things, darling,” Tom teased, grinning wickedly and gave a wink.

“Oh, of course you’d say that.”

The mention of your name in the comments a few times caught your eye and you took a quick scroll to see what people were saying. Most people were trying to get Tom’s attention but there were those who had noticed how easily the two of you got along. Were you flirting as much as people made out? Then you saw Tuwaine had decided to chime in because what else would he do other than stir the pot?

Tuwaine Are we going to find out the answers or should we all just leave you two alone?

Deciding to ignore the comments that blew up after Tuwaine’s input, you shook your head a little and held up your piece of paper again. “Right, Holland, are we going to go through these answers or what?”

Tom grabbed the question he’d abandoned at the side of the table and quickly gave it a read, then snorted to himself. He looked up and rubbed his hands together, as though he had something good cooking. “Alright, darling, if you get this wrong I’ll be hurt,” he said and held a hand over his heart. “This is the most important question. Alright, so who is the coolest superhero in the MCU?”

Leaning back in the chair, you pressed your fingers to your chin as you pretended to think. The answer was on your sheet surrounded by little drawings of hearts. “I suppose I’ll have to go with… Well, Spider-Man’s definitely the cutest. Oh, did you say coolest?” you asked and gave a slightly dramatic gasp over revealing such a thing. “The coolest I’d say is Captain America. Without a doubt.”

“What? Are you serious? There’s no way he’s the coolest!” Tom argued quickly and shook his head.

“I think you’ve just broke his heart, [Y/N],” Harry laughed and patted his brother’s shoulder gently.

“Oh I love him too much to do that,” you replied, joining in with his laughter. Harrison’s pause in the background and Harry’s slightly widened eyes went unnoticed as you just watched Tom’s face soften with a warm smile. “So I suppose I can say that Spider-Man’s the coolest too. And the cutest.”

“That’s the most important one, right?” Tom leaned closer to the camera, his whole face almost taking up the entire screen as he grinned away like a love-struck teenager.

Shrugging a shoulder, you said, “Cutest doesn’t mean anything. Tessa’s cute, doesn’t mean I want to see what’s underneath her Spidey suit.”

“Give me a time and a place, darling, and I’ll be there.”

His words surprised you. Had he forgotten you were on a live to nearly 200,000 people? Well, being honest, you’d forgotten too. In fact, you’d barely even paid attention to Harry and Harrison. It felt like just the two of you were on your regular FaceTime sessions while he was away working for days or weeks on end. More often than not, those video calls ended with a hand between your legs while Tom told you what to do. Luckily things hadn’t gone that far yet.

Even though you were aware of how many people were watching, you couldn’t let Tom win. You had to be brave. Leaning back against the chair, you let the shoulder of your cardigan slip from your shoulder.

“You better not be late, Tom. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting. If you’re late, you’ll have to make it up to me,” you said with a small sigh.

Tom licked his lower lip and raised a brow. His eyes scanned the skin you’d just exposed and couldn’t help thinking of how his head had been buried in the crook of your neck just that morning while he pounded away into you. “And you know I wouldn’t complain about that.”

Before you could even begin to think of what to say in response, Harry pulled Tom back and waved at the camera to bid you a sudden farewell. Harrison left the office giggling to himself. Tom straightened out his cap, his cheeks flushed as he gave a little wave goodbye. The connection ended and you just sat there grinning like a big idiot.

If people didn’t have their suspicions before, they definitely had them now.

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Gif by @cosmicholland​

Taglist: @mrsjeffwittek​ @kthemarsian​ @gcldreinhart​ @ficklemcselfish​

[writerwrites]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Protégé to Bruce Banner, Rosemarie finds herself working closely with and befriending the Avengers. Friendship, lust, heartbreak, and so much more find her along this heartbreaking journey into new adulthood. Rosemarie discovers her self-worth and that home is where the heart is… she’ll just have to figure out what her heart is saying first.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, angst, fluff, language, ye ole slow burn, and eventually death, pregnancy, love triangle… or love adjacent to a triangle? It’s complicated.

playlist . masterlist

A/N: This WIP is intentionally made to ruin all of our lives with feels. You were warned. It’s just my writing style, but I use a name for the reader, in this case Rosemarie, so adjust your imaginations as you read, fam. Also, I do what I want, so don’t come at me for MCU canon timelines. The most notable YOLO in this series is that Bucky/Winter Soldier is an Avenger pre-Blip, Banner isn’t in space, and though there’s tension between the Tony and Cap ‘sides’ of the Sokovia Accords they’re all trying to work together. Avenging is not a main point to this story, but that’s the clarification I will give you. I hope you enjoy my first posted fic, leave a comment, review, message, etc.

Chapter 1: Let’s fall in love for the night...

--- STARK INDUSTRIES: THE TOWER; MIDTOWN MANHATTAN ---

“To the wolves,” Natasha whispered to Bruce as she pressed her fingers to his chest, stopping him from coming to his employee’s rescue. It wasn’t a malicious act, Nat had sized her up as ‘new to this’ and she wasn’t wrong. Rosemarie’s rapid ladder climbing in academia and internships had kept her barred from most parties. At first it was because she was underage, but even in her last year, most people found her intimidating or shy. Natasha glowed like a friend full of faith in a new puppy- or maybe it was the expensive brand name highlight on her cheekbones. “She’ll be fine. If you go to your little lab rat now then she’ll stick to you all night because you’re familiar. Let her have her moment. I’m sure she’s the last one of the three you invited that you’ll need to worry about.”

Bruce pursed his lips and looked down at Natasha’s mouth and her angled features that were made more accentuated through meticulous contouring. “Well, how can I say no to you when you show up in this dress, Jessica Rabbit?”

She leaned into his shoulder, her silky gloved hand sliding up his arm, and whispered in her sultry deep voice that sent shivers up down his spine, “Exactly, now dance with me, big guy.”

Though Rosemarie couldn’t hear what they were saying she watched her boss in his bright red pants and suspenders over a white button up being led to the dance floor. It took enough of her focus to keep her mouth off the floor. She never expected to see Dr. Banner smiling and maybe no one else did either because she’d made it deeper into the room seemingly unnoticed as everyone’s attention diverted to Nat and Bruce or back to their own conversations. The laughter and atmosphere was enough to make Rosemarie find her own small smile. Everyone donned costumes of varying extravagance, the music was at a low enough volume to welcome conversation, and as the songs changed she noticed it slipped between Halloween and pop music. Before she knew it, she’d breezed through the crowd toward the bar, invisible.

There wasn’t a single seat free at the bar and Rosemarie used her equivalent of a super power to keep slipping through the line along the bartop to it’s far corner where a couple was too busy flirting to notice her standing next to them, waiting to order a drink. The minutes ticked on and burning holes into the bartenders’ backs didn’t make them notice her. When her eyes moved up the bar, guessing who everyone was dressed as, Rosemarie felt the shock of the scene as people she had seen on television or read about during her research stood chatting just a few feet away. Swallowing at the dryness that settled in the back of her throat as she tried to pick apart their costumes and tell herself this wasn’t a big deal, that she’d even ‘met’ them during her Stark internship- albeit through a lab window. All of the chatting Avengers donned black suits with white shirts and black ties, some had sunglasses on and she smirked at her hands when she caught sight of Captain America and the notorious Winter Soldier’s suits added the accessory of fedoras.

Maybe she hadn’t realized she laughed out loud a little, but Rosemarie was caught in the act. Their blue eyes moved down the bar to the young doctor leaning against the wall still waiting to be noticed by the bartenders. The innocent chuckle caught in her mouth as her face warmed and her eyes fell to the surprisingly comfortable heels. Rosemarie’s brain raced, the sensation of eyes on her, of being seen, had her mind flitting from panic, to embarrassment, and even fleetingly to Natasha’s hands brushing along her leg. Despite no physical scarring, the heat in her cheeks felt like there were tallies adding up on her forehead marking this as three times more than she had been seen in years. Casually trying to look up under her lashes brought a new surprise, the group of suited men had dispersed just as quickly as she had noticed them. But then she heard it, a Brooklyn drawl that sounded like home. Then she felt it, the gentle brush of cold metal just above her elbow. Timidly, she looked up from those heels, polished boots standing toe-to-toe, and her eyes kept moving north up the stocky, six foot frame of the Winter Soldier. The white shirt was tight to his chest and just as she surveyed his neck, a shot was offered to her.

He broke the silence, pulling Rosemarie from her reverie “You looked like you were waiting a while.”

Looking graciously at the drink, now more than ever, she took it and looked into his bright blue gaze with a nod, “You’d be right in guessing that, Brooklyn.”

“Brooklyn?” He watched Rosemarie with curiosity as she took the shot, wondering why she’d called him that, but she offered no explanation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

With the burn in her throat from the smooth tequila, she found a new fleeting liquid-confidence. “Natasha won’t be happy if her Snow White ensemble isn’t instantly pin-pointable, sir.”

“Well, Snow, what can we do to get you out of this corner and have a little fun with us tonight?” His blue gaze looks innocent enough, Rosemarie decides, but his thoughts are anything but- a game already in play amongst the suited men.

“You’ve already done it.” Before she can banter any more, his vibranium fingers took hers and he brushed her past strangers toward the Avengers, maneuvering her curvy frame through the room with ease.

“Snow, the boys,” Smiling and quite literally looking up at everyone, the doctor realized the soldier hadn’t yet dropped her hand, but just as quickly as she had that thought, he’d left her hand cold and empty. Rosemarie reached out to shake everyone's hands in a whirlwind of greetings as she tried to remember the few first names she wasn’t familiar with. “You’ll have a hard time remembering some of our names if you’re going to stick with your current system. Steve Rogers, also Brooklyn.”

Steve’s grip was surprisingly gentle, giving you one firm shake before his fingertips brushed your palm and let you go. A stark contrast to Thors’ which had been strong, and Rhodey and Clint’s which were fleeting and polite. Rosemarie choked on the air leaving her lungs as she tried to keep her cool, feeling the Brooklyn boys’ blue eyes still watching her as a charming man you knew as ‘Falcon’ leaned in front of them, “Sam or, if we’re being technical- the one and only Agent J.”

Rosemarie listened to the cadence in Sam’s voice and guessed Harlem, but bit her tongue, smiled and nodded. “Men in Black, classic choice, but these two…” she pointed between the two super soldiers, “Are the Brooklynites the Blues Brothers this evening?” The smirks that lit up the two men’s faces gave her an indication that she’d gotten it right and, as much as she wanted to keep looking, there was something fun in this game of being in a circle of lethal and exceptionally attractive people, though she was positive she wouldn’t hold their attention long. “Now you three,” her gaze panned over the remaining suits and then between them at the minglers nearby. With a sigh she shook her head, “You’ll have to tell me.”

“Reservoir Dogs.” It was Clint who shrugged it off with a confident smirk. “Tony’s idea, but I think he just wanted to see who looked best in a suit.” His hazel eyes moved over Rosemarie’s shoulder, “It was nice to meet you, kiddo, I’ve got to get back to-” With a clap on her shoulder Hawkeye walked past you and through the barrier of soldiers at your back.

Rhodey was quick to follow, mentioning his night was all about business and politely excuses himself as Rosemarie looked at her heels and tried not to take offense to having so quickly cleared out the room. She put her smile back on, trying to brush it off and to brush off the ‘kiddo’ comment, too. “So, Brooklyn mentioned something about you all being where the fun is tonight?” Pivoting, she closed the gap that Clint and Rhodey’s absence had made in their little group. 

“I mean, we are, I don’t know about the two fossils.” Sam laughed as he drank his beer, a clear buzz already going.

“Just because we can’t get wasted doesn’t mean we are any less fun than you idiots. Besides, someone has to babysit the Asgardian and the college rambler.” The Winter Soldier’s words were honest with a twinge of annoyance but Steve clutched his shoulder and smiled. “We’re wondering who you think we all should be dancing with.”

Her thoughts were on who could be the ‘college rambler’ and the request. An actual laugh passing her lips that bordered a scoff, but she looked around and gave it her best shot. “Thor maybe with the brunette over there talking to the lady agent with Mr. Fury.” Tilting her chin up she saw the corner of his mouth turn up into a smirk as he took his hand out of his pockets and smacked a handshake into Sam’s hand.

“I bet he’d be more upset if it wasn’t Sif. I swear those two have been harboring feelings for each other since…” Sam laughed and shrugged. “All right, matchmaker, not a bad start. Who’s next?”

Swallowing, she looked around the room. There were plenty of women standing around chatting to other women, but one beautiful woman looked around the room with an expression all too relatable to Rosemarie’s. “Sam, what about the petite cutie with the marg by Nat?”

Taking his hands out of his pockets, Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder and shook his hand. An odd gesture, Rosemarie fleetingly thought, but before her eyebrows could even draw together in confusion the soldiers looked at each other and Cap, shaking his head, told him, “That’s Thor’s ex, Jane.” His head tilted at the young doctor in front of him. “Isn’t she working with you and Banner?”

With a shrug, you looked over again, Sam leaning on the table and Nat rolling her eyes, Jane clearly trying not to make direct eye contact. “Well, I’m clearly no matchmaker, so I hope that if she’s working with me that Sam doesn’t actually tell her what I did.”

“Don’t take it too hard, most of the regulars have at least gone on a date with Tony and everyone else has done God knows what with at least one other person in the room.” Steve shrugged, offering a gentle smile before bringing his beer to his lips and pulling his eyes from her.

“Okay, we won’t force you into playing our little game anymore, so it’s our turn then.” Rosemarie looked up at the two remaining Avengers, but their eyes were on each other and then out through the crowd.

“What about Pete?” Steve suggested, nodding toward a somewhat familiar face.

It took a moment before she could place him. “He’s a college student interning for Stark, isn’t he?” Her eyebrows drew together with uncertainty. If she remembered his story from the one conversation they’d had, he was a savant like herself. “He’s a bit young, isn’t he?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m old enough to drink.” She nipped back at the boys, her own Brooklyn accent thick.

“All right, what do we have here? The beginnings of a joke, surely. Two cavemen and the apprentice of Yoda walk into a bar…” The clap of hands and quippy attitude were quick to place.

Steve greeted him tight lipped with a single nod. “Tony.”

“Cap. Barnes. I see you’ve met my former intern and young doctor of neuroscience that is leading one of Banner’s teams at BST. Doctor...,” He trailed off, either to let her introduce herself or to remind him of her name.

Regardless of whatever game Stark was trying to play, her non-confrontational nature made her quick to smile, nod, and shrug off the introductions, “I’m just Snow tonight.”

Tony’s head tilted to the side and both super soldiers failed to hide their amusement. “Y’know, I see why Pepper likes you.” As if hearing her name made her ears tingle, Pepper slipped in at his side, offered up a wave to the group, whispering into his ear and pulled him along as her black dress ghosted the pristine floor, a perfect replica of Hepburn’s Givenchy gown from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. But as he passed her he whispered in her ear, “Don’t get too caught up with these troublemakers, kiddo.”

Needless to say, Rosemarie knew they’d heard it when she caught their jaws clenching and she groaned. “I make decisions for myself, thanks.” Brazenly, she grabbed both their hands, “Back to the bar, Brooklynites. I think we all could use a drink.” It amazed her how, with a look, three people gave up seats for them. “So, back to this horrible job you gentlemen were doing at a setup, care to try again while I enjoy this?” She lifted the shot, throwing it back after they did the same, and then made an order for an actual drink. Her attention wasn’t on them, unaware of the looks they gave each other, their gaze panning the room. “Giving up on the impossible mission, boys?”

“Impossible?” Steve laughed.

“Giving up?” Bucky scoffed.

“It’s all right. I did what Nat and Bruce needed, a quick show of my face and day one of the new job is done.” She shrugged, sipping on her drink.

“Day one?” They’d asked in unison.

“Yup.” She nodded, polishing off the drink, a sudden urge to make the most of the night now settling into her bones and she slipped off the chair, the Winter Soldier’s vibranium hand reaching over to quickly help Rosemarie steady.

“... and you’re at a Halloween party instead of celebrating with friends?” Steve pressed his lips together, trying to hide a look of pity.

“Don’t.” She grimaced in a whisper, a slight sadness in her eyes as they met Steve’s. “It’s a party. Dancing, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing right?”

The pulse of the song felt familiar, even if she didn’t know the words. Rosemarie’s hips swayed side to side, arms up like the music was pumping and she was home alone dancing Bachata. Forgetting about the peak of skin that the crop top exposed in doing so, she felt the heat rise in her body when both of them swallowed. Her eyes fluttered closed and she kept dancing. Eyes closed, ignoring the initial eyes on her or that Nat had pulled Bruce to the floor and Pepper, Tony before the majority of chattering conversations ceased and the floor filled with laughter as a new tune thumped on.

The gentle sensation of a hand on her hips made her eyes open and Rosemarie gasped to see Natasha swaying with one hand behind her on Bruce’s neck and the other on her hip. “How much have you had to drink? I definitely didn’t think you’d be the one to start the fun tonight.”

“Surprise?” She tried to laugh, “Not much, promise.” The comment was directed at Bruce who didn’t seem bothered either way. “We’ve got work in the morning. I wanted to have a little fun and appreciate the invitation before heading back home.”

“Already?” Nat pouted.

“Brooklyn, baby! It’s about forty minutes home.”

Rosemarie watched Nat’s hand pull away from her as she slowly stopped dancing. “Then I guess we’ll just have to drag you out sometime. You seem like you’re getting along with everyone, right?” Her green eyes looked over the doctor’s shoulder back to the bar. “Get this one home safe. She’s headed that way.” Just as Rosemarie was about to protest, Nat wiggled a finger.

It seemed like a fruitless thing to argue, but in her mildly buzzed state she lacked the energy to fight or to realize that in a tidy little pile in a limestone on the Upper East Side bathroom were her keys, clothes, and badge. With a nod and a quick goodnight, she headed toward the elevator, weaving effortlessly through the crowd with a smile on her face. As the doors dinged open she could feel the presence of the two men on either side of her. “You don’t have to, guys. It’s Brooklyn, been there my whole life. I can handle myself. Hell, you see how easily I walk through this room. I’m Harry Potter in the restricted section twenty-four, seven.”

Neither of them seemed to catch the reference, following her into the elevator. Steve broke the uncomfortable silence, “I’m not much for partying and he’s not much for groups without me.”

“Now, you’ll have to pick your poison because we both rode motorcycles here.” Rosemarie crossed her arms stubbornly at his comment. Crossing her arms after hitting the main floor’s button, he realized she wasn’t going to cave. “All right, looks like we’ll have to do this the old school way. Three out of five?”

“That should get us to the main floor.” Laughing like schoolboys, they played rock-paper-scissors, the doors opening, and Rosemarie ducking under their hands to get out.

“So who won the honor of a very long chaperoning adventure?” She asked as they reached two motorcycles in the parking garage.

“Go on, Buck. I’ll see you back home later.” Steve’s face was warmer, a genuine look of happiness on his face as he clapped a hand to his friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “C’mere Snow, let’s get a helmet on you.”

“It’s Rosemarie, actually.”

“She speaks!” Bucky got on his bike, his own helmet secure and the engine purring. “Pretty name, doll. Bit of a mouthful, but maybe it suits you.”

“I used to be called Rorie when I was little.” She rubbed her hands nervously in front of her as she also listened to Steve telling her how to get on the bike. He even took her hand to help her as she swung her leg over. “Good night, Steve. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

Tilting his head to meet her eye, he smiled, the kind of warm smile where it met his eyes and made creases in the corner. “I hope so.”

And with that farewell, the engine was revved and Rosemarie lurched forward in fear. Her arms wrapping to the best of her ability around the suited soldier, taking in fist fulls of his shirt when she couldn’t fully hold on to him. His vibranium hand covered her, his hand patting hers as she hid her face into his back. It took her a minute, but he let her get used to the chill of the wind on her arms and legs, the stop and go of the city’s red lights, and the proximity to a man she hardly knew. When she finally plucked up the courage to look up they were halfway to Brooklyn. Her right arm stretched out and she flipped up the visor to the helmet, letting out a laugh and cheer as they zipped through Queens Midtown Tunnel. His vibranium hand patted hers and though she couldn’t see it, she thought he was smiling too.

It wasn’t until they reached Brooklyn’s limits and her racing heart settled into a calmer cadence that he pulled over at a red light and flipped up his own visor. Exasperated, she pouted and gently tapped her helmet to his, “Don’t stop driving!”

Then he laughed, just like he had with Steve, and explained himself, “You’ve got to tell me where you live eventually.” It took a moment, a fleeting thought that it would be easier to show him the address on her ID than to try and shout over the sound of the bike through a helmet, that she realized she’d been to caught up tonight to remember her clothes, lab coat and badge, keys, and even her phone were in Bruce and Natasha’s house. He could tell something wasn’t right, pivoting on the bike to get a better look at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My keys are on the damn Upper East Side.”

Laughing again, the man simply shook her head. “That’s fine, we can get it later. What’s the address?”

--- ROSEMARIE’S UNIT ON E 22ND ST; BROOKLYN ---

She didn’t get it at first, but with their feet in front of the triple locked tiny fourth floor apartment, he squatted, took something out of his coat pocket, and within twenty seconds the door was opened, no sign of invasion. “Wow. You’re good with your hands.” Her cheeks were bright red as she slipped past him into the pitch black apartment. “Thank you so much, Mr. Barnes.”

He cringed and shook his head, “Bucky, please- or even Brooklyn or Barnes. Never James, never Mister Barnes or Mister anything-else, and preferably no Winter Soldier, either. Just Bucky.”

“Have it your way, Bucky.” She gave him a nod to come in while she leaned against the door, a warm smile on her face as the liquor was quickly leaving her system and the little flirtations had no gray area. “Let me make up this coerced escort nonsense for you.”

“Are you sure, Rosemarie? I thought you had work in the morning.” His blue eyes looked down at her, trying to read her expression as he tried to decide if he was being propositioned and if going in was a good idea.

“I’m sure.” With a laugh she tugged on his hands, his entire frame completely immobile in the hall. “Come keep me company and we'll have snackies!”

Bucky nodded, stepping into her home with clear eyes and a sense of expectation that she’d drawn a line about where the night would lead. She flicked on light after light, the room filling with a warm honey-white glow that illuminated the books, art, pictures, scattered around the room and hanging on the walls. “This is nice.”

Her head popped up from behind the refrigerator door, her eyes falling on the man that looked obscenely too broad for the space. “Do you mean the apartment or the picture?” Rosemarie saw his blue gaze studying a painting on the wall, “It’s a painting of Roraima in...”

“The borders of Venezuela, Brazil, and Guyana.”

“Yeah… I want to go someday. It was my brother’s last painting.” She swallowed and looked down at the peanut butter and nutella sandwiches she was making, reminding herself to catch her breath. It’s not like he hasn’t travelled all over the world. It’s not like he really cares about where you want to travel to. He definitely doesn’t care about your crazy family.

“You should go, it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.” He smiled at the painting and came to the kitchen counter, noticing the crease in her forehead as she made their late night snack. “Do you want to talk about him?”

She shrugged, both surprised by the question and uncertain of her needs colliding with her personal baggage. Instead, Rosemarie slid the plate of four half-sandwich triangles toward him and then added two spoons to the plate before tucking a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cinnamon Buns ice cream and two bottles of hard cider under her arms. “He’s the one that used to call me Rorie. He couldn’t really get Rosemarie out and my parents hated it when people mispronounced it as rosemary.” It felt like a simple enough gateway to let her try to gauge his interest. After flopping onto the couch and nodding to the spot next to her he joined her, setting the food on the coffee table and taking one of the ciders. “I think they’re twist off caps?” She struggled, cheeks red with embarrassment, but Bucky used his vibranium hand to flick the cap off before doing the same with his. “Oh, so that’s what the hand is for.”

“Among other things.” They shared a soft laugh and he watched her kick off the heels and pick up the gaming controller, talking to the television as it popped up with the Netflix logo at her commands. “What are we watching?”

Tossing him the remote she grabbed a slice of the sandwiches and pulled her knees to her chest. Taking a big bite, the hazelnut and peanut butter coated her mouth and she let out a satisfied hum. “Brooklyn's choice.” A second big bite and another hum and Bucky’s curiosity got the better of him, clicking the first film on her recommended list to snag a slice for himself. A deeper, similar hum passing his lips made Rosemarie squirm in her seat. She washed it down with the cider. “Right? Comfort snackies are the best late night food.” Rosemarie turned to look at the super soldier taking up two thirds of the love seat to find the hazelnut spread in the scruff of his overgrown stubble. With liquid courage pulsing in her veins she leaned in slightly and brushed it away with her thumb, but not courageous enough to meet his piercing blue eyes. Heart thumping in her ears, she whispered, “I forgot to grab a napkin.”

Bucky’s full lips wrapped around her thumb, his eyes unblinking as hers went wide. The soldier didn’t give her a chance to act on flight, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her onto his lap as she whimpered at the sensation of his tongue sliding up her finger. “Aren’t you just starved for attention.”

He wasn’t wrong. It had been six months since she’d been with anyone and that was a one night stand with a stranger from a bar and longer still since someone had been inside her. She’d taken herself out to celebrate finishing school and someone told her she had the perfect body. Rosemarie squirmed in his lap thinking about the way their hands had worshiped her curves and their mouth had set her off. It was one of just a couple of encounters. All of them paled in comparison to having the broad shouldered and bright eyed man holding her close. “I..It’s…”

The man smirked at how flustered she was, His fingers moving from a firm grip holding her waist to brushing up her back as he finished the snack in one final big bite. He almost looked childish if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes, pupils blown and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Complicated? Doesn’t have to be, Sugar.”

Sugar, the word was sweeter in the subtle hints of his accent, a dated term of endearment that wasn’t typical in any non-condescending modern usage, she thought. This wasn’t how intentional. He wasn’t even on her radar and as he drank his cider and watched her, she climbed off his lap and slowly unbuttoned the yellow shorts, stopping before she pushed them down because her little panicked mental monologue found her again. He doesn’t really want you. He just wants to get laid. Maybe I just want that, too? This is never going to happen again, so calm down, focus, enjoy the moment. But the ice cream on the table is going to melt and leave a water ring from condensation... Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her legs closer by tugging on the loose fabric of the shorts before he wiggled them down her legs.

His now empty bottle set to the side, Bucky looked up at her as he leaned forward and pressed his full lips to her hips. The warmth of his mouth and the sting of cool from the wet mark he’d left after it met the air felt as starkly contrasted as the warmth and the cold of his two hands. Nibbling on her bottom lip, he kissed the other side and questioned her demeanor. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Letting his fingers rake up her back and under the crop top, Bucky used his superior senses to interpret what she wasn’t saying. Rosemarie now realized just how small she was next to him, her pulse thumping with a far more vibrant cadence than when he’d taken her finger into his mouth. Now his own fingers rubbed her back and moved south, pushing her panties to the floor before coming back up to take off the crop top too. But he didn’t gawk or let his eyes wander, he just drank in the smell of hazelnut and peanut butter on her breath, the faint smell of honey and apricots from her morning shower, and the heat rising in her cheeks. “Where have you been the last ninety-nine years, Rorie?”

Swallowing down the nickname, she brought her hands to his tie, “Should I be flattered or creeped out about this age gap?” Nervously giggling she loosened the silky bit of black fabric, watching it ruffle into the mess of her own clothes half on the floor and half on the couch. She felt his muscles through the pressed fabric of his shirt until they ghosted along the top of his slacks and as she looked at his neck, still too anxious to meet his gaze, Rosemarie chewed on the inside of her cheek. Nerves, she was nothing but nerves on fire. When she undid his belt with shaking hands, his hands left hers to quickly undo the buttons of the dress shirt. It was a frantic and rapid dance to get him just as naked as she was and her nervous laughter abated into a whimper. The zipper went down exposing black boxer briefs and with her thumbs in the elastic and she pushed it down, just as he’d done to her, just enough to make his clothes fall to the floor. “This seems entirely unfair.”

He let her eyes move down his body, his chest rising and falling at steady pace, though obvious that he was taking deeper breaths. Rosemarie rested her forehead on his sternum, drinking in the toned muscles that met the cut of his hips, the hulking lines of his thighs, and then at last the bulk of his cock. She didn’t hide her fear from him well at all, completely certain she’d never be able to handle the size of the solid man. His hands went to her neck, hot and human, cold and robotic, and that tender tilt up of her chin, forcing her eyes to look into his, she knew that he knew. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you feel like I…”

“Bucky.” She interrupted, breathing sharply. Before her mind in all its anxious sadness could torment her back into silence she managed to whisper, “Of course I want you. I’m scared, not an idiot.” Leaning up, her lips brushed his, so close to kissing him, she made her request. “Please, gently.”

Of all the stories she had heard, she didn’t know if he was capable of it until he kissed her. Her soft lips were met with his, hungry and forceful and then, just before she could flinch, his tongue parted her lips and the kiss became subdued. Bucky knew what he was doing, teasing her with the passion she was missing out on while enticing her with the promise of giving her what she’d asked for. Her demure little touches of her fingers avoiding all his most sensitive areas made him moan against her lips. The man couldn’t help but wonder if she was intentionally teasing him in return. His lips left hers, trailing wet kisses down her neck and across her breasts. Bucky flicked his tongue across her nipples, hiding his smirk in her ribs at the squirm of her hips under his hands when he gave them no more attention and sat back on the couch. She was so close to pouting, protesting, and pleading, but his hands moved down her curves and tugged at the soft flesh at the back of her thighs, pulling her onto the couch to straddle him. 

Rosemarie rocked her hips forward, pressing his length against his stomach and her clit. The groan that came from the back of Bucky’s throat had her dripping and as she continued grinding against him while they kissed, she could feel herself dripping down her thighs and onto him. His kisses were patient but the longer she kept teasing him, feeling her skin heat beneath his touch, Bucky began to rut his hips compulsively. Her finger tips dug into his shoulder and neck as the tight coil of her climax built in her belly before any part of him had even been inside her. Slowly she lifted herself and he looked into her eyes knowing what she was finally ready and asking for, confirmed by her lip biting and head nodding as she lowered herself onto him.

Bucky let her take him in, slow but keening. He could tell how badly she needed to do this on her own, quiet gasps between tongue tangled kisses as every inch of him stretched her. He savored those little sounds, they only made it harder for him not to thrust completely inside her. His mind was in a fog, intoxicated by the smell of her, the shake in her legs, even the way her body reacted to the cool metal of his weapon brushing her hair from her face. She’d turned into it, briefly pulling her lips from Bucky’s to put her burning cheeks to his palm and she knew he could kill her just as much as she felt it in her gut, he wouldn’t. She’d been in love just once before and never been looked at like this and just as she’d thought that his kisses stopped and his hands held her still and he asked her, “What’s that look?”

Rosemarie pressed her lips to Bucky’s metal wrist and his expression was just as unreadable as hers had been seconds earlier, “What’s that look?” Her playful feedback of the same question was far less focused, each word a breathy whimper as the sudden lack of affection made her all the more eager to be full of him. The doctor swayed her hips in small circles, calling out in her native tongue as their thighs met and he hit every spot, stretching her out.

“Fuck. Fuck you’re so tight.” The timbre in Bucky’s voice made her squeeze around him and he clutched her hips to stop her from moving for fear that the evening would be short lived. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder and she caressed his back and did the same, the salt on his skin coating her lips. They listened to each other breathing and Rosemarie began a slow ride, relishing the sounds of his pleasure. “Good girl,” the words were whispered in her ear - a stark contrast from his grunting just seconds earlier, his teeth brushed her earlobe, and then his hands squeezed her ass as he met her pace with repeat eye watering thrusts.

The English language failed her, pleading for more and pleasantly surprised when he understood. Bucky’s pace stayed the same, but each thrust was deep and then deeper. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair and pulled until his mouth was back on hers. The small apartment echoed with the bawdy sounds of moaning pleasure and skin on skin, all of her muscles began to tighten as he brought her to the edge. Leaning back slightly with a hand on his knee and the other on the couch Bucky accepted the invitation to access more of her body. His tongue drew circles around her hard nipples and his thumb massaged her clit. The slow build to the first orgasm had been worthwhile and obscenely wet, they could feel her pouring down their legs and soaking the couch. Immediately, her entire body shook and her face was bright right, her eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry, that… that’s never happened before and…”

A soft hush passed his lips and he pushed back inside of her, finding a new rhythm as her muscles reacted, milking every thick inch of him. “You’re sexy, beautiful, smart, and…” he swallowed, his thrusts became erratic, and maybe it was the compliments or an instinct he was close but Rosemarie couldn’t help herself, bouncing up and down on him, and every time he bottomed out she practically danced for him, grinding on him for friction to her clit. “Don’t stop.” He was the one panting and begging now. “Good girl, beautiful. Just like that.”

All the positive praise as his eyes stayed on her wide hips and full breasts made the woman question if this was how sex was supposed to be. The curves she only liked in certain outfits, now being drunk in like a missing Van Gogh. She got off on it, her body still reeling from her first orgasm and Bucky rutted into her as she gave him his. Lost in the moment, they held each other tightly, his cock filling her until he dripped his own mess onto the furniture. But despite the new exhaustion and how her tired body draped over him, he was still hard and she was still hungry. “More.”

The whimpered plea was met with his strong arms holding her as he walked down the short hall opening the first door to find it was the bathroom and then the second, her bedroom. Her legs were too tired to wrap around him and the tips of her toes tickled their way across the floor until he pulled her on top of him on her bed that was obscenely small for a man of his size, let alone two people. “Rorie, you should get some sleep.”

She bit the muscle of his flesh arm. “You’re still inside me, Barnes.�� Her lips moved across his skin, nipping at his ribs before trailing her tongue along the toned muscles to his other arm, where she placed a kiss and settled her head. Her dark hair was unruly as it draped across him, his own no better on her bedsheets. Though breathless, she managed a feeble argument. “You can’t just bring me to bed, be inside me, look like this, and not keep going until I’m unconscious.”

He laughed, not maliciously but rather out of shock at how sleep impacted her candor more than alcohol had and all Rosemarie could think was there’s nothing more beautiful than you. It was written all over her face, but he missed it, his eyes closed as he laughed, and maybe he’d never believe it if he had. She couldn’t help herself, kissing every inch of his skin that she could without moving a muscle, savoring her legs tangled in his. “If you want me to put you to bed, there’s more than one way to do that.”

“But only one way I really want you tonight.”

“Tonight? There are other ways you want me on other nights…”

“Mmmhm, Friday night? You free?”

“It’s a date, sweetheart.” The banter was sleepy, but Bucky’s hips were already lifting off the mattress and his arm around her waist pinned her there to take each eager thrust.

What had started slow and sweet, evolved into deep and needy, now found an impassioned second wind. He worshiped her mouth, the tip of his tongue brushing across the roof and before he could have the audacity to take it from her, she nipped, and caressed his tongue with hers. Then Rosemarie worshiped his chest, arms, and stomach; pushing against him as she rocked her hips with every movement across his skin. He gave it to her again, deep thrusts, fervent even, and he pulled her mouth to his. “Good girl! So eager for another orgasm. Been a while since someone gave this pretty pussy the attention it deserves?” Her tired frame dropped slowly over him and he held her close on top of him, one hand brushing her hair as he still pinned her down at the waist as he claimed her. “I hear those tired moans, Sugar. I’m gonna put you to bed real soon. I want to hear it one more time. Say my name, roll those soft hips against me and say it.”

Her bedsheets were held in her fists, anything for further friction. They both got it and as she tightened around him she begged, sticky with sweat, sore and breathless, and still wanting. “Come with me, Bucky. I want to feel you throbbing inside me again. Bucky. Buck,” she was so close, panting, “Buck, don’t stop.”

Bucky tangled himself in her and gave her what she begged for, finishing deep inside of Rosemarie as her legs shook around him and her arms gave out, every muscle in her body vibrating. “Good girl. Now close those pretty eyes and get some sleep, okay?”

Though she nodded sleepily, her head almost incapable of being picked up from his chest, she mustered final exhausted chatter, “One last kiss and a promise you’ll stay?”

Again, he granted her request and she hummed at the sensation of his scruff on his chin. He smiled, satisfied, and finding her quiet verbalization of pleasure a sweet surprise he changed his mind about slipping out as soon as she fell asleep. “I’ll stay a bit, sweetheart. I gotta get your stuff from Nat’s before you have to head to work, but I’ll be here when you get up.”

She yawned, the word stay a soft echoing plea in her head that never passed her lips. Bucky reached over and pulled the blankets across them as Rosemarie already started to shiver. Typically he found the serum’s endurance enhancement’s side effect of insomnia infuriating, but tonight he was grateful for it. Watching her sleep in his arms like she needed him, clinging to his body every time he sighed or moved an inch. Then, despite usually only needing a few hours of shut eye a week, he drifted off into an unheard of peaceful, dreamless sleep. The last thing on his lips was a kiss to her temple and on his mind, no idea how he’d make it to Friday.

INTRO . CHAPTER 2 (Coming Soon!)

Taglist: @caplanbuckybarnes​

[mcwriting]

one kiss is all it takes

I had this cute idea pop into my brain one night when I was tryna sleep and just couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

It’s wayyyyy overly descriptive but this whole thing was basically me imagining every little detail possible and putting it on the page. I’m not one for ambiguity in my writing if you haven’t noticed lol. 

Anyways I’m still working on starstruck so here’s this for your troubles 

Fandom: Thomas Stanley Holland (plus mention of spidey)

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader (ik the beginning has Peter but it’s explained under the cut ;) lol)

Setting: good ol’ Atlanta, GA (aka a place I wanna visit so bad) 

Word Count: 4943 (omg I almost had a stroke reading that number this is my longest story to date)

Warnings: teeny bad word, some SeXuAl themes and kissing, as the title implies

Rating: T but it ain’t that extreme 

sorry it’s so long lol rip 

+

“Look, Peter, you may have been gone that 5 years, but I lost almost everything during them, and then, it all somehow got worse,” you explained through gritted teeth, standing from the end of your king sized bed to face him.

“My mom, my only source of comfort, was snapped, blipped, gone, sucked into a stupid rock for five years and me? I was stuck up here in this dumb apartment with an asshole father,” tears streamed down your face, confusing you, as you continued ferociously.

“You know what happened after maybe six months? He brought home his idiot secretary and flaunted her in front of me for over four YEARS! And guess what happened after the whole shebang was over and everyone came back?”

Your voice finally cracked and you stared at Peter for a moment before continuing.

“He pretended that he was faithful the entire time, all the while ignoring me and ruining every false hope I had that he was a decent human being. So you know what, spider boy? You may have been gone those five years, but I lost every good relationship in my life, so don’t come here pretending like you’re the only one with problems in this city,” you whispered.

He stood, reaching out to say something, but you held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. 

“You know what? Just get out,” you commanded.

“Wait I-”

“Out. Now.”

He stood for a brief second before stepping to your open window. Before he could put the mask on and go, a loud voice cut through the silence over a speaker.

“Cut!” Exclaimed Jon, causing both you and Tom to relax and smile.

You wiped the unintentional tears from your face. This had been your third take and for some reason, you had finally worked up a cry for the scene. It felt right, and Tom came over to compliment you on it. 

You were filming for another Spider-Man film and your character was a fresh take on Gwen Stacy, who had a new name similarly to Zendaya’s MJ. 

The character was a rich, somewhat bratty New Yorker who had been eleven during Thanos’s snap and grown into a sixteen year old Midtown student by the time everyone was revived. 

She hadn’t been on the European trip displayed in Far From Home, the excuse being that she was a model working events and doing photoshoots all summer. She also had become one of the most popular people in the school due to her internet fame, incredible academics, and wealth.

You had been shocked to receive the role but honored to become a member of the MCU. Over the couple of months spent in Atlanta by now, you had become integrated with the rest of the cast, getting especially close with your celebrity (and now real) crush Tom Holland. 

Weekends were often spent at the house Marvel provided him, where he lived with Harry and Harrison, who was once again able to tag along as Tom’s “assistant.” You lived only minutes down the road in your own small place and would go to Tom’s to swim or just hang out.

You and Tom were currently talking, you joking that you wished the scene was done so you wouldn’t have to bring out tears again. 

Almost prophetically, the Jason Bourne theme began playing over the speakers, Jon’s way of indicating that the scene was finished and needed no further work until post-production.

You looked to Tom and both of you sighed and held out arms for a hug and congratulations, ready to wrap the day as it was a late Friday night and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed all weekend.

You two began walking off of set to go to the trailers when Jon jogged after, calling out,

“Hold on guys, I need to talk to you about next week!”

He was holding two manila envelopes, each printed with yours and Tom’s names. Jon gripped them tightly.

“So I thought I’d give you these tentative scripts for the kissing scene so you two could prepare for Monday. As always, you can do some improv or try to make it better but I thought I’d give this as a heads up,” the director explained.

You were stunned, and surely looked it too. A quick glance at Tom showed he was more collected but definitely confused too.

“I’m sorry, Jon, but kiss? You never said there would be one between us I mean, he and MJ are still together, right?” You asked tentatively.

“Yeah I’m gonna have to agree with y/n, man. You said we might have a ‘moment’ but never mentioned a kiss. The fans’ll hate us,” Tom concurred, “but I haven’t read it yet so I’m sure it makes sense.”

“Wait did I not warn you guys? I’m so sorry. I mean we can change the scene if it makes you guys uncomf-”

“NO!” you exclaimed way too quickly, face heating up. “No, no, I mean, I’ll do it, if Tom’s in. I just, uh, didn’t realize we’d have to do an actual, real kiss is all.”

You had never kissed anyone before, and the prospect of Tom Holland being your first was unbelievably tempting. Tom had nodded along and agreed to move forward with it as well. With that and the scripts now in hand, you began walking to your trailers again, Tom alongside you.

After a few moments of silence under the artificial lights outside, Tom spoke up.

“Hey, would you maybe want to practice this scene at my place tomorrow? I know it was all kind of just thrown on us and I’d definitely feel better with some rehearsing.”

You smiled at the gesture, but again blushed at the thought of kissing Tom Holland, the guy you had been crushing on since Homecoming. You were glad that there was a shadow hiding your pink cheeks.

“Honestly, that’s perfect. I can come over at like 11 and after we can all have lunch and hang by the pool?” You asked, nervously hoping he would accept as you stepped in front of the steps to your trailer.

“That’s perfect, darling,” he replied, voice smooth and clear. You couldn’t help but look back at him walking away as you climbed the steps and went through the door, butterflies making themselves present in your stomach.

+

You slung your bag containing a swimsuit, sunscreen, towel, and snacks over the back of a chair and tossed your keys on the end table in Tom’s living room. You, Harry, and Haz sat on the kitchen counters while waiting for Tom to come out from a shower, joking around and sipping on beverages.

Soon enough, Tom came out and led you into the office, a small room with a couch, desk, and bookshelves that connected to the backyard with a sliding glass door. It was pretty private and well lit, giving you both a comfortable environment to work.

You started off by just reading over the lines and doing some basic marking, always stopping before the kiss. The scene would tie into Friday’s take, where Peter would return to your room to apologize, and you would kiss him out of nowhere in your distress. Then, you would promptly kick him out again upon realizing the ramifications the kiss could have on Peter and MJ’s relationship.

Finally, Tom suggested you work on the kiss by itself, 

“Before we do, can I make a confession?,” you questioned, chest beating heavily.

“Of course,” he said, full attention on you, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Look, Tom, I’ve never kissed anyone, in real life or acting. Can we please take this slow?”

“Absolutely y/n. I had no idea,” he looked around, “and since it’s your first time, I think a lesson is at hand.”

You cocked an eyebrow, then nodded, trying not to seem too excited. He led you over to the large, sturdy oak desk, gesturing for you to hop up.

“I know you’re in control of this during the actual scene, but if it’s okay I thought maybe I could lead it for right now? I get it if you don’t want to but-”

“No, no. That’s a great idea,” you pushed onto the desk and sat on the edge, legs dangling, “tell me what I’ve gotta do.”

He smiled and stepped forward.

“Okay, um. Well. Is it okay if I get between your legs, or put one knee in and,” you burst out in laughter at his wording, “Oh my God that sounded awful didn’t it I’m so sorry I just don’t want to push you further than you’re ready to go.”

“Tom,” you put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer, your knees now around his hips, “you’re doing great. And you know me, I’m not afraid to tell you what’s up if I’m not feeling it.”

He looked down at you sheepishly, then placed his hands on the desk on either side of you. Your position caused you to be only a few inches shorter than him, so as he leaned forward his face came even closer. 

The proximity made your heart race, and you tried to figure out where to put your own hands, settling on your lap for now. 

He grabbed your wrists and placed your palms on his back, then put his own on your shoulders. 

“Okay so is it alright if I put my hands on your neck and chin? Or do you want to do something different?”

“Dude, just do what feels right. You’re the one with experience. If it goes bad, then it’s bad and we figure out what to do, right?”

“Maybe you should be the one doing this then,” he chuckled, causing you to wrinkle your nose and shake your head. 

His fingers traced up your shoulders and neck, him placing the left on the nape of your neck, underneath your mess of hair, and the right just below your chin. He tipped your face up gently and you were now millimeters apart, so close that you could feel his hot breath.

“May I?” he whispered, making you gulp and give a slight nod. You could feel your eyes glazing over.

He took this as a yes and leaned in further, finally closing the gap. You closed your eyes completely to melt into his warm lips. The feeling of his fingers gripping your hair was like heaven, and after a seeming eternity, finally you separated to get some air.

Your eyes were still closed when you felt Tom brush his thumb over your lips. Upon opening your eyes and glancing up, Tom was looking at you with a soft grin mimicking yours. His left hand remained in your hair but he slid the right one down to the space between your shoulder blades.

“Was that alright for your first time, darling?” He questioned sweetly, words dripping like thick honey in the still air. 

It was like fireworks were going off around you in your head.

“I, um. It, yeah. Absolutely. I’m just... wow.” you stammered, unable to compose yourself properly. 

He breathed out a laugh and threw his head back, then went back to looking into your eyes. You studied the crinkles by his eyes and his lopsided grin closely, trying to burn the memory into your brain forever.

“Shall we try again?” he asked cheekily, and you responded with fervor once more.

He continued to move his right hand further down, palm spreading over the small of your back. Your nerves tingled at the touch and instinctively you arched your back. Your own hands found themselves on his shoulders and your legs wrapped all the way around his hips loosely.

The second time was longer, hungrier, more passionate. 

Am I dreaming? You promptly imagined, wondering how life had brought you to this moment.

After separating this time, you could see a ravenous flame in Tom’s eyes, and you decided to try something different. 

You told him to wait as you climbed further onto the desk, sitting on your knees and now towering a few inches above Tom. He looked a you with an interested glint in his eyes as you scooted closer.

Your hands found his again and this time you guided them to the lowest part of your back, hoping he would take the hint. 

With that, you were now in control, grabbing each side of his face between your palms and pulling him forward and up into another kiss, his hands instinctively traveling below your hips and onto your glutes, just as you had wanted.

Suddenly you broke the kiss, afraid you were coming on too strong. 

“This is all for research purposes, right?”

“Sure, we’ll call it that,” he quipped before pulling you back down.

Eventually you found yourself standing on the ground, once again shorter than Tom but happy nonetheless. The make out session continued, both of you trying to convince yourselves that with each new hand position or lean you were purely trying it all for the measly scene on Monday. 

Finally, you found yourselves on the couch. You had started by just sitting next to each other, similar to how the scene described your positions, but now somehow you were sitting straddled over his lap, knees digging into the sofa and his hands once again resting on your backside.

Nothing could ruin this moment you thought as your fingers ran through his curls.

Oh how wrong you were. 

You thought you were just imagining the sound of the door creaking open, but suddenly realized that you hadn’t when a new male voice spoke up.

“Woah, hey there you two,” Harry joked, causing you to whip your head around and stare at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Harry! It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” You immediately exclaimed.

Nice one, y/n. Like you aren’t just straight up making out with his brother??

“Righttttt. So anyways I just came to let you know that lunch is ready and also you guys have been in here for like an hour but feel free to finish up whatever... this is,” he trailed gesturing vaguely at you two before turning around and shutting the door behind himself.

You turned back to Tom, whose face was red as a tomato (and yours probably was too), then in record time separated yourself from his lap, heart pounding like never before.

“Sooo... lunch?” He asked awkwardly.

“Definitely. Definitely lunch.”

+

You were lounging on a chaise near the pool, sunglasses covering your closed eyes as you soaked in the sun. The boys were messing around in the pool and you couldn’t help but think about what happened before lunch every time Tom spoke.

“Hey y/n!” he called.

“Hmm?” you hummed, not bothering to look up. 

“Why don’t you join us? We want to do a chicken fight and I need a partner.”

“Depends. How warm is the water?” you ask, still unmoving. 

“Like 30 degrees! It’s so nice.”

“That’s below freezing in Fahrenheit. Not very appealing to me.”

“Alright that’s like, what, 85 f? It feels reeaaaally good, babe.”

You couldn’t help but smile when he called you babe. It wasn’t the first time he had, and he actually did it to a lot of people, but it still felt nice.

“Alright fine,” you sighed dramatically as you stood up, removed your sunglasses, and dove in.

+

An hour or so later, more members of the cast had come over and you decided to join Zendaya under the porch, both of you watching the new team of Jacob and Tom chicken fighting Harry and Harrison while Tony, Remy, and Angourie looked on from nearby.

“So I heard that Harry saw something going on earlier. Anything you wanna tell me?” Z mentioned slyly, lowering her sunglasses to eye you.

You groaned and placed your head in your hands.

“Is he really gonna tell everyone?” You managed to ask, wanting to crawl in a hole and hide forever. 

Zendaya had been the first person to confront you about your crush on Tom about two weeks after filming began. She had told you that most of the people on set had a suspicion but were afraid to ask, so ever since then you often confided in her for advice or just to spill tea.

Finally, you sat up and quietly told her what happened, her trying to hype you up occasionally while you instead tried to shush her as not to draw the boys’ attention.

That night, after pizza and drinks with everyone, you prepared to go home, grabbing your bag, keys, and script. You called out a goodbye to everyone still there and waved, heading to the door.

Tom jumped up and followed you.

“Hey, y/n!” you turned around at his voice and could see everyone elbowing each other and whispering in the beackground. He led you out the door and shut it behind him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright after today and say I’m sorry if I ever took things too far,” he confessed. Your heart swelled at how sweet and considerate he was.

“Honestly Tom, I could say the same. I’m was afraid you think I’m crazy or something,” you joked, causing a chuckle from both of you and him to shake his head. 

“I could never. You already know how crazy I am, and I think I’ve already seen some of your wild side too,” he shot back.

You both said your goodbyes and went in for a hug. It lasted a few seconds longer than normal, and when you pulled away, he looked down at his feet. Even then, he still waited on the porch for you to get in your car and waved as you pulled away, making sure you got out safe.

+

It was 5 am Monday morning and you weren’t ready to head to set. 

Your Sunday had been pretty standard, reading over lines in the morning and hanging out with some of your cast mates that afternoon. Once night fell, though, you found it difficult to sleep in fear of the kiss scene. 

Yours and Tom’s Saturday afternoon kept replaying in your head like a Twitter gif until you finally succumbed to exhaustion, dreaming still about a certain celebrity, so you weren’t exactly well rested upon waking.

Once arriving to your trailer at Pinewood Atlanta, you dropped off your things and headed straight to hair and makeup. The scene would be set at night as your character prepared to go to bed, so only a light coating of natural foundation and clear mascara adorned your face and your hair was tied back in two french braids.

You were glad that your makeup was so quick today, but you also didn’t want to leave as dread filled your stomach about the scene.

It was one thing to make out with Tom Holland in the privacy of his own home, but another to plant one on him in front of the cast, crew, and cameras.

You headed to wardrobe, where you got dressed into comfortable black leggings and an oversized midtown sweatshirt. 

You were walking out when Jon, looking down at his phone in hand, almost ran into you, stopping you in your tracks.

“Oh, hey, y/n! Just the person I was looking for. I just wanted to see how you were feeling about this whole kissing scene. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” you laughed, “but really, Tom and I worked through it Saturday so I think it’ll be alright.”

“Right, yeah I heard about that. Harry said you guys were pretty... thorough about the scene. Well anyways, we’ll call you and Tom to set in a little bit. He’s getting in the suit right now. See you later!” Jon walked off, going back to his business on his phone.

You, on the other hand, were frozen in place, mortified. Why did Harry have the need to tell everyone that he caught you locking lips with his brother? It was just research, after all, nothing serious, you tried to convince yourself again.

You of course shouldn’t have been surprised. Leave it to a Holland brother to keep his mouth shut...

+

You walked onto the bedroom set, where Tom was already present with his back to you, getting some last minute translucent powder over his t-zone. 

His ass and thighs looked exceptionally good in the suit today, the tight material hugging his muscular body nicely. 

You felt a little bad that your costume was literally pajamas and Tom’s was spandex, but hey, you weren’t necessarily complaining. 

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off any “intrusive” thoughts, considering the high you were still riding from Saturday and your nervousness for the shoot. 

When Tom turned around and his eyes met yours, his face lit up.

“Hey, darling. Good morning. How are you? Are you ready?” he immediately began, his chipper voice surprising you considering how early it still was. You both went in for a hug.

“Good morning to you, too. And I think so, considering how well we prepared the other day,” you joked quietly into his shoulder. 

You both pulled away and he had his eyebrows raised in response to your smirk. 

He was about to rebut when Jon made his way over, putting one hand on each of your shoulders. 

“Alright you two. I know you worked things out over the weekend, but you guys are gonna have to hold back a little bit, this may be an intense scene, but not that kind,” he chastised, a hint of mischief in his voice. 

Jon was eyeing both of you, and you and Tom both looked to find each other blushing like mad.

With that as confirmation, Jon clapped his hands together and yelled out for the production team to get in their positions so you could camera test and eventually shoot the scene. 

With everything planned out, you both got into character and found yourself in place to begin. 

The AC held a clap board in front of the camera, waiting for the all clear to begin your take.

“Alright, action,” Jon called over the microphone. 

You walked across the room, stopping in your footsteps. 

“Peter...” you trailed in surprise. 

He pulled off the mask and shook his head, motioning for you to wait and allow him to speak.

He began apologizing, trying to convince your character to give him a second chance and even try to be friends.

Then he started talking about his parents and uncle Ben, causing your face to fall over time as realization that both characters had experienced extreme loss in different ways, his much worse than yours. 

Both of you eventually sat on the side of the bed closely and looked at each other, a sad expression glazing your features. You looked down in thought.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked tentatively.

An overwhelming urge took you over and your lips crashed into his. You had squeezed your eyes shut and put a hand on his shoulder. Peter stiffened like a board, but then kissed back.

Suddenly, you pulled back, eyes wide open. 

“Oh my God. You’re with MJ. I just kissed a taken man. Peter, you just kissed me back!” 

Panic overcame your voice. 

“You have to leave, now!” you exclaimed in your alarmed state.

“Wait, we can talk about this, it wasn’t what you think!”

“Peter, I can’t do this to your girlfriend. She doesn’t deserve this. You need to go, and you should probably give her a heads up about what happened. But please,” your voice was desperate now, “make sure she knows it’s my fault. Make her hate me, not you.”

Parallel to the last scene, Peter went back to your open window, ready to mask up and swing out.

“Cut!” Jon called out again, then asked you to stay in your positions while he came down.

“Guys that was great!” he began upon getting closer. He then gave you both a few notes, explaining that you would need to do the shot a few more times at least to get it really solid. 

After every take, both you (and hopefully Tom) became more comfortable kissing in front of the crew. It took another twenty or so takes with different motivations and movements and angles before Jon called it done.

Both of you suspected that he and everyone else really just wanted you to kiss more, but no one would mention it out loud.

With the scene finished, everyone prepared to film other parts of the movie where Peter would have his mask off and you got to have a few breaks, watching from afar with Harry, Harrison, and some of the other assistants.

Harry leaned over at some point during the afternoon.

“You two really tamed it down, huh?” he whispered. You gave him a backhanded hit to the bicep.

“Oh shut up. We were acting, that’s all.” 

He raised a suspicious eyebrow and leaned in again.

“Tell that to the video Harrison got of you two in the study. He may or may not have set up a camera in the bookcase,” he suggested, glancing over to Tom’s oblivious best friend.

You gasped and straightened up.

“I’ll kill him,” you too looked to Haz, then Harry again, “but after he shows me the footage.”

+

A long filming day had once again commenced, and you were packing up your bag to head home when a knock was heard on the door of your trailer. 

The distinct rapping pattern alerted you that it was Tom and you opened it up to see him looking down at his phone. 

“Hey, y/n. Ready to walk to the parking lot?” he asked holding out his hand to help you down the steps. 

For a while now, Tom or one of his “assistants” would usually walk with you to your car for safety purposes, especially if it was dark out. 

As you both strolled through the darkness, you couldn’t help but notice the slower pace you both took on, trailing quite a few yards behind Harry and Haz, both of whom laughing at who knew what while going to Tom’s vehicle.

“So I think today went well,” you brought up, not sure where it would go.

“Yeah it was fun. I do have to say, however, that Saturday was a bit more enjoyable than this morning,” he implied, eyeing you.

“Oh yeah? I’d agree, but I hear that your best friend happened to catch it all on video.” 

He huffed and rolled his eyes.

“That voyeur, always ruining the moment. Maybe we oughta try it again sometime, without the threat of others watching,” Tom suggested, surprising you. 

You decided to get bold.

“You’re not even gonna take me out first? The nerve of some people,” you jokingly scoffed, gazing away from Tom at the cars highlighted in moonlight.

“Okay,” he replied, mimicking the way you had looked away when you turned back to face him. There was a faint smile on his lips. 

“What?”

“I said okay. Let’s go on a date.”

You stopped in your tracks and fully turned towards him and he followed suit. 

“You don’t mean that do you? Like, you actually would take me on a date?”

“If it meant that I could kiss you one more time I would take you on a million dates,” he replied sincerely. 

You couldn’t help the way your jaw dropped in surprise. Both of you stood silently staring at one another, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly, you burst into giggles and he did too.

“That was so cheesy!” you exclaimed between laughs, both of you doubled over, and he nodded in agreement.

After calming down you gave him a toothy grin. 

“The answer is yes, by the way.”

“Really?” he asked incredulously. 

You began walking again, your car just in sight. 

“Of course. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had a huge crush on you since before we even met,” you confessed. You stopped again, just behind your car bumper.

“Coulda fooled me. I thought I was the one being obvious. I have been attracted to you since the first time we met, and my feelings have only grown since knowing you.”

 You couldn’t help the butterflies erupting in your stomach and your widening smile as you looked up into his eyes.

“You know, I think I could make one exception right now, as long as you’re willing to make it up later?” you proposed, your eyes looking to the moon and stars now as you awaited his reply.

“I think that’s a debt I can handle,” he responded, snaking a hand around your waist and the other up under your chin again. 

He closed the gap between you both and you smiled against his lips, eyes closing in euphoria. 

You could’ve probably stayed there forever, but the hoots and hollers of the other two British boys just across the aisle made you both pull away. 

You looked towards the voices to find Harry and Harrison sticking out of the sunroof of Tom’s Audi A8, where they were still cheering and Harrison was holding up his phone to film. 

Both you and Tom couldn’t help but laugh at the once again unfortunate circumstance as he threw an arm over your shoulder to pull you close and you put one hand on his chest next to where you rested your head. 

Maybe you two were destined to be seen every time you smooched, but hey, at least you were the one kissing Tom Holland. 

+

A/N: yo this took way too long to write. Mostly bc I’m still in the process of writing starstruck and I always get stuck deciding on which piece to work on every night but alas! It is done! I’m proud of this one. I know it’s long, but I think it’s worth it ya know? Hope you all enjoyed! XO love y’all :)

[takadasaiko]

63 & 98 for mcu? :3

FFN II AO3

Prompts: 

63 - “Flea markets don’t carry fleas, you know?”

98 - “The store ran out of Easter eggs.”

Flea Markets and Easter Eggs

The kid was ecstatic, and there was no pause button for it. The moment he'd found out that Morgan had never had an Easter egg hunt he had fixed every ounce of determination - which he was never lacking in - on making it the best Easter egg hunt she could ever want. Tony hadn't known exactly what that meant, having never really celebrated it himself as a kid, but he had thought maybe some colourful streamers, some chocolate, and bunnies. Bunnies were a thing, right? Just as long as they weren't real bunnies. There were still days Pep hadn't forgiven him for bringing Gerald home.

Somehow he'd gotten suckered into picking Peter up at seven in the morning. Tony had protested the hour loudly, but the teen had been adamant. It was some kind of special market that was only open certain days and if they didn't get there early it'd be picked clean. It had the best collection of All Things Holiday that they couldn't get anywhere else, he was certain. Tony just had to trust him.

So there he was, sitting in his Audi at seven in the morning outside of Peter's apartment building, second cup of coffee in his hand, and reminiscing about how soft and warm his bed had been that morning and how Pepper and Morgan were still enjoying their day to sleep in. Didn't saving the world a couple of times over buy him a pass on every early morning between now and the end of time? No? Well it should have.

A loud tap on the passenger window had him jumping in his seat and Tony glared over his sunglasses as Peter waved, far more awake than any self-respecting human had a right to be at this hour. He motioned and the teen popped in. "Morning, Mr Stark! You made it! I almost told you six-thirty because I thought you'd be late, but guess I was wrong. We're just gonna go a few blocks over. You want to walk? We could totally walk. Is this coffee for me?" He motioned to the extra thermos in the holder.

"No."

That stopped him in his far-too-awake-tracks. "No to the walking or no to the-"

"That's not your coffee, but no to the walking too."

"But… you've got a cup in your hands?"

"Kid, you wanted me in Queens by seven. This is at least a three cup kind of morning if you want me functioning."

"Your cardiologist is gonna yell at you again."

"And I will blame you and your early morning demands," Tony answered lightly, a small smirk finally tugging his lips. He finally motioned to the thermos and Peter grabbed at it before he changed his mind. "Where're we going?"

"Uhh, just a few blocks over. Honestly, we're getting such a late start we probably should walk. We'll park about as close."

Tony sighed dramatically and threw the car door open to step out. He followed in step with Peter as the kid rambled on about all the different types of holidays and celebrations he'd had when he was a kid. Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. They were always together, always happy to celebrate no matter what was going on around them. He went on and on about it, lulling Tony as they walked. There was something to be said about the innocence Pete had somehow retained over the years and through every trial he'd been up against. He was an amazing kid. Smart, brave, and determined. The world was safer for having him in it.

"Here it is!"

Tony slammed to a stop and looked at the big, wooden sign that read Queens Flea Market. "I'm sorry, did the store run out of Easter eggs?" he deadpanned.

"This was always it. C'mon!"

The older man didn't budge. "Flea market. Why is it called a flea market?"

Peter shot him a confused look. "I…. don't know?" He paused, tilting his head a little. "You know that flea markets don't actually carry fleas, right?"

Tony's dark gaze swept the rundown excuse for market beyond the entrance and he crinkled his nose a little. "Coulda fooled me. C'mon, kid. You can find whatever you need at a store."

The teen's sunny demeanor dropped a few pegs and his shoulders sagged. "It's just…. this is where May and Ben used to take me to get all the Easter supplies."

Ben. Ben Parker. Tony had only heard the kid mention his father's brother a handful of times, but he'd been gun down in a robbery just a couple years before they'd met. He had been Peter's inspiration to use his powers to help people, and had probably been the last close male role model in his life until….. well shit. He couldn't not go in now.

"Uh, Mr Stark?" Peter called after him as he strode by.

"Waiting on you now, Parker," Tony called over his shoulder.

And just like that, all the energy was back. Pete's mouth ran a mile a second as he talked about the different booths, what all they were looking for, and what all they could do to make that Easter amazing for Morgan. He bounced around, waving and chatting with vendors, and Tony did his best to blend in. Not that he ever did that well. It wasn't long until he had a kid or two tugging on his jacket and asking for Iron Man's autograph. A few passerbyers wanted photos and thankfully only one asked about the scars. That was an improvement.

"Last stop. Easter eggs."

"Is there a table that sells just plastic eggs?"

"How about one better?"

"What's that?"

"Cascarones."

"Huh?" He wasn't sure he trusted that wide grin as he took off for a table with egg cartons stacked.

The tiny woman watching the table greeted Peter in Spanish and the kid answered back surprisingly well, smiling and asking her questions in short sentences.

"Señora Cortez, Mr Stark doesn't know what cascarones are."

Tony offered an awkward wave of greeting and her dark eyes lit up as she smiled back. "I think you should show him." She grabbed for one of her cartons and opened it up, revealing twelve beautifully and brightly painted egg shells.

"Those are awesome, Pete, but Pep'll kill me if we hide real eggs in the yard."

"They're just shells," Peter laughed as he reached for one, a glint of mischief in his eyes that made Tony nervous. "See?" He held it up and Tony leaned in, every instinct screaming against the action. He found out why half a moment later as Peter reached up and smacked the hollowed-out egg shell against his head, confetti exploding from it and all down his face.

The teen leapt back in an instant, howling with laughter as Tony blinked against it, his own chuckle starting low in his throat. Oh. They were going to have fun. "Cascarones?"

"Cascarones," Señora Cortez confirmed through her own laugh.

"So we're gonna take all of them."

She looked over to Peter who shrugged, still laughing, and started piling cartons in a bag.

"Pepper's gonna mad when she realized there's confetti."

Tony offered his protege a wink. "I'll just make sure I run faster than you."

A few minutes later he'd paid the woman for their prize and they started the trek back to the car, both trying to catch the other unaware as they chucked confetti eggs at the other.

-------

Notes: I thought we could all use some Iron Dad and Spidey Son fluff after today

[itsybitsyparker]

Hey guys. Inspired by a few people I’ve seen around here and my burning need for cash I’ve decided to open up WRITING COMMISSIONS. What this means is that you give me characters and some idea of a plot that we can either workshop or I can run with and I’ll write a fic for you!

Price: 5 cents per word. Payable to me through my Venmo or my Paypal

Contact: spiderwebsandthreads@gmail.com or through Tumblr IMs or through my Discord (Bad Spider Mom#5849)

How this will work:

You message me through my IM’s on Tumblr or ask for my Discord and tell me what fandom you want me to write for, what characters you want in it, some idea for a plot (if it’s too vague I will ask for details so I can make sure I’m making you something you actually wanted) and a word count range you want me to stay in.

IF I accept the commission I will tell you how much it’ll cost and a rough estimate of how long it’ll take. This will depend on a few things: how busy I am at the time (I’m a full time university student.) how long the desired fic is, and unforeseen circumstances that might pop up. I won’t do anything more than 5-6k for now due to the amount of time I have on hand.

Anything 3k or under will take roughly a week to a week and a half. Anything 3k to 6k will take about two weeks 

As a bit of insurance I will be asking for roughly half up front, if something unforeseen happens and it turns out I will not be able to get your commission done I will refund you the amount you have already paid me. 

I will send you periodical updates as I write especially if it’s going to take me longer, just so you know that I’m still working on it :D

FANDOMS AND MORE UNDER THE CUT.

Things I will write: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pretty much any trope/ AU under the sun from soulmate au’s to fake dating au’s to supernatural creature au’s whatever, smut (as long as it’s not gratuitous. I’m not confident in my ability to write it) etc.

Things I will not write: excessive amounts of smut or gore (again, a reasonable amount of either is fine but if it’s 3k of nothing but descriptions of wounds/blood, nope.), relationships that ship a minor with someone over the age of 18, anything furry related, pretty much anything kink oriented, Non consensual anything, suicide attempts, etc.

Fandoms I will write for:

Good Omens

Disney <3

Critical Roll / D&D things

Harry Potter

Star Trek (mostly AOS based although I have seen the OG series, the OG movies and parts of Next Gen, Voyager and am currently working my way through Star Trek Discovery on CBS)

Marvel (mostly MCU based but I will hunt down information in the limited comics I have access to if need be. Example: I love the Young Avengers and will happily write for them even though they aren’t in the MCU)

The Umbrella Academy

Doctor Who/Torchwood

Sherlock

Merlin

Rise of the Guardian

Big Hero 6

Dirk Gently’s Hollistic Detective Agency

Lucifer

Criminal Minds/Bones (I’m lumping these together bc they’re both crime procedural shows)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel

Doctor Horrible

Supernatural (if you don’t care that I haven’t seen anything past S10 except the Scooby Doo episode.)

Detroit Become Human

If you want something Greek or Norse mythology based or even more obscure things like ships between Shakespeare characters. or weird cracky ships between that two characters in that one horrible book you have to read for a Lit course I’m down I’m a total dork.

Note: I will TOTALLY write for OC’s as long as you give me a detailed backstory and put up with me badgering you with questions so I make sure I’m characterizing them right.

Another Note: I will write pretty much any ship, even if I don’t ship it myself unless it’s something that personally makes me uncomfortable.

ANOTHER NOTE BUT BIG THIS TIME: Do not claim anything I write as your own work. That’s plagiarism at best and it is illegal.

[spaceorphan18]

MCU Fic: Misplaced (1/17)

TITLE: Misplaced RATING: T PAIRINGS: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker ADDITIONAL TAGS: All the tags! Mostly slowburn romance and friendship SUMMARY: After MJ visits Peter for his birthday and gets him in trouble with Tony Stark -- they're sent on a mission to find one of Howard Stark's old journals. The mission leads them on a crazy chase, which includes traveling around the country, tracking down various Avengers, and seeking out the current hiding place of Captain America. Along the way, they learn that there might be more to their relationship than just friendship.

A/N: This is the other big project I’m working on! For all those who enjoy the MCU - here’s another big adventure for you :) 

Thanks to @ckerouac​ for all the help with the plotting! 

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta - she makes all my work better <3

***

Chapter 1

“What do you mean you don’t have the newest Adichie?” MJ stood at the counter, tapping her nails lightly while she waited for the new page - a college-aged dude name Jeff - to look over the computer again.  

“I don’t know who or what Adichie even is,” Jeff said.  Clearly, he didn’t. MJ noticed him typing and retyping the name into the computer, searching for a correct spelling.  “Aren’t they some pop artist?”

What? Oh.  “You’re thinking of Avicii, and no.” MJ had a lot of faith in the library staff, but this new guy was testing her patience.  “It’s Chimananda Ngozi Adichie, do I have to spell it for you?” Yes, she did.

“Yeah, we don’t have that,” Jeff said.

“It came out last Tuesday,” MJ said to him, trying to get a glance at the computer screen.  Jeff pulled it away from her. “Usually Rebecca puts new feminist stuff on hold for me.”

Jeff winced at the word feminist but tried to recover. “Who’s Rebecca?”

“The head librarian?” MJ said.  Clearly, she needed to speak to whoever hired this guy.  “Your boss?”

“Oh…”

“Forget it, I’ll just grab Handmaid’s Tale again.”  

Recognition crossed Jeff’s face. “I know that one!”

Good for you, would you like me to give you a standing ovation?  She bit her tongue, though it was hard.  

“Prepping for the new season?” Suddenly, Jeff was more interested in talking to her for some reason.  

“My family doesn’t own a TV,” MJ said.  

“What?”

“My parents are nobel prize winning PhDs on the international space station currently engaged in a mostly-diplomatic conversation with the Kree and the Skrulls -- those are alien races, who want to blow up the Earth to make way for an intergalactic highway,” MJ said.  “And they said TV rots my brain.”

Jeff’s jaw slowly dropped.  “Seriously?”

“No, dumbass - but apparently, you’ll believe anything.”  MJ grinned and walked away.

“Mr. Stark took you to an AC/DC concert? That’s so cool! I’m totally jealous.”  A voice caught her attention. Sure enough, there was Ned Leeds sitting at one of the computer terminals, talking to the only person he ever really talked to...  Peter Parker. The decision to crash the conversation was easy.

“Hey losers,” MJ said.

Ned nearly jumped out of his seat as MJ came up behind him.  “MJ, I didn’t even hear you!”

“Most people don’t,” she said with a shrug.  

Over Ned’s shoulder, Peter’s face lit up, a large, dumb grin on his face. It sorta made her smile, too.

“MJ, hey,” his voice squeaked more than usual over the rocky computer connection.  He was happy to see her. Probably wasn’t her specifically though. She doubted he was doing a whole lot of interacting face to face for Tony Stark’s “internship”.  “How’s your summer?”

“Fine,” she said.  Her life was dull at the moment, no need to expand on that.  “How’s the internship? Not crawling up the wall due to boredom are you?”

Peter’s dopey grin faltered. “What, no…”  Yeah, you’re a bad at secrets, Peter Parker. “I’ve been learning all sorts of things like--  what’s that?” Something off screen had his attention. “But I’m.. .Fine. Sorry guys, I gotta go.  We’ll talk next week, Ned, promise.”

They said goodbye, and Peter’s head disappeared from the screen.  Ned sat back in his chair, resigned.

“What, you miss him or something?” she teased, elbowing him in the shoulder.  

Ned nodded.  “It’s been a few weeks, but, uh, it’s kinda weird when the person you spend all your time with isn’t there anymore, you know?”

She did know, more than she cared to let on.  She missed him, too. Not that she would admit it to anyone  but Peter being around made things a lot more interesting.

“It’s his birthday in two weeks,” Ned said, somewhat out of nowhere.  

“Yeah?” She knew that but leaned against the table, interested.  

“We were going to take a road trip up to Maine when he got his license,” Ned said.  “And then go camping up in Canada or something.”

“That’s so lame…”

Ned didn’t banter back, only frowned.  

“Hey, I have my license.  Why don’t we go seem him?” she offered.  

“We can’t just show up at a Tony Stark facility?”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Ned thought really hard about it.  “I don’t know where it is.”

“Yet, we know someone who does…”  

She grinned at Ned.  The summer was about to get way more interesting.  

[Read more on AO3]

[whitewolfbumble]

The Fallout - Prologue (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Talk of nightmares and (minimally) human experiments, some fighting (ala Civil War), tiny bit of language.

Word Count: About 3k 

A/N: Hello my precious blueberries. Welcome to the prologue before the start of The Fallout! You can skip to Part One if you so choose really, this sets up where in the MCU timeline we are, along with you backstory, and the first meeting with you & Bucky. I haven’t written anything in forever so please let me know what you think or if you would like to be tagged!! A reblog, like, or message would mean so much! 

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST

They had found you some time ago. To be specific about it, Steve had found you some time ago. It felt like another lifetime to you now. But you tried not to keep track of the amount of lifetimes you felt you’d lived.

Back in those days the Avengers would catch wind of something about to go down, but time and time again you would beat them to the punch, as it were.

They would show up just as you left, expecting to find an enemy to take down or situation to get under control. But they would instead discover a group of enemies roped together (usually unconscious and somewhat undamaged) and the day saved. You had tried to put the killing behind you… as much as the gangs and groups you tracked down would allow.

The Team would show up and you would vanish, leaving only the whispers of any onlookers who caught a glimpse of you. Tearing apart buildings and bodies was never much of a public activity of yours, but whispers followed your wake nonetheless.

There weren’t any civilian casualties to your missions so you were never high on any official watch list. Just a ghost that went from city to city, popping up in one country then the next, somehow knowing where the trouble would be. Often just before the Avengers knew it and always just enough time to get it done yourself before they flew in.

It was a game you had played for quite a while.

But Steve knew what this looked like. He understood who could train someone to do this, with the stealth, boldness, and efficiency like you did. He had said as much when he finally caught you.

“How long were you with them?”

There was no real condemnation in his voice surprisingly, but understandingly. It was the first time you had met the infamous boy scout face to face. You figured he would be a self-righteous prick but, like all that met him, that notion was quickly dispelled.

You had wanted to distrust him more than you inherently did, like you did everyone. Even when you lined up side-by-side the destruction and bloodshed you had caused lately versus the kind yet firm voice of Steve Rogers, something didn’t add up. There was another variable that made him a little softer than expected, you just didn’t know what yet.

“You would’ve read my file. Guess,” you said, not exactly unkind.

Maybe it was a combination of his kind eyes and voice that prompted your invitation for him to pry deeper. Why ever you said that to him, you didn’t know. You decided in a moment that you didn’t want a gentle man like him to look too far into your past after all.

He thought briefly nodding slightly as he took your advice and began to take a crack at it. “Not all of them had pictures–”

“You’re right. The worst of their experiments didn’t.”

You figured out later what it meant for Steve to find you. You were a step to something greater. You didn’t take offense to it, on the contrary; you joined in, firm and resolute when he told you why you were so important. And after years that would hopefully be coming to fruition today.

“Keep sharp, they’re not going to be far behind,” said the voice in your earpiece.

“Understood,” you whispered back. A heavy slam followed your words. 

Entering the small apartment with a heavy kick to the wood door, you didn’t stop to look around or search for anyone. The only movement was the cloud of dust brushing up around you when the door hit the wall. You knew no one would be here, your recon earlier proving this specific unit was abandoned.

Special forces weren’t going to be exactly gentle in this situation but they would be a lot slower than you. You also needed to be a lot more subtle than them too.

Subtle being relative, you noted as you kicked in the back door, a gust of cool air flooding you and the stale space.

The musty little apartment you were in had been abandoned like most in the decrepit building, offering a perfecting “jumping off poing” as it were.

This place was perfect for someone lying low, you noted, appreciating how smart a move this was for the man you were after.

“I’m about to enter the apartment, I’ll confirm once I’m in,” you said, hushed. “Or you’ll hear a big metal fist hitting my face and the cracking bones will tell you.”

“Please,” Sam started, flying somewhere above you as you gauged the balcony one floor below you and one to the left. “Like he could possibly get a shot at you, even if he was in there. And that would mean you were wrong about him being gone. For the record, also not happening. I’d stake my wings on it.”

“Yeah, except that is exactly how you would want your apartment to appear if you were actually there,” you said, looping and securing your grappling device onto the railing then to the back of your belt.

You slipped on your gloves: jagged metal on your knuckles but a gripping ribbed plastic on the fingers and palms.

“You’ve got this, Y/N,” Steve said on the comm line, somewhere below you. You pulled yourself up on the railing crouching and keeping low, steadying yourself in the slight wind. The fourteen stories between you and ground didn’t factor into your mind at all, eyes and mind focused. “We’re here as back up. This is only recon. We only need confirmation for now.“

“Is that how you stayed alive all these years?” Sam questioned, ignoring Steve. “Paranoia dialed up?”

You still stayed fixed on the balcony you intended to leap too, muscles tensing as you readied yourself.

“Probably,” you said before throwing yourself off of the ledge.

A rush of cold wind whipped your face and whizzed in your ears, the sudden feeling of falling fast lurching your stomach into your throat. Arms out, you grasped on to the metal railing of the intended balcony with a bone-jarring thud and used your soaring momentum to throw your body head first over it, flipping in one smooth motion and rolling to your feet. You ended up in a crouched position on the balcony floor, with the feeling of your stomach now at your feet before it snapped back in place.

Immediately you pressed yourself to the side of the balcony, flush against the cold, rough brick. Silently you pulled your gun out and stood up, unlatching the safety line from your belt. Looking through the small back door window into the apartment you saw the curtains somewhat drawn, leaving the interior dimly lit with a soft orange glow.

Exactly how you would have left it.

Getting in wasn’t a problem- most places couldn’t keep you out no matter how hard they tried- and certainly not a 50-year-old rusty porch door in Bucharest.

Whisper quiet you walked in, measured footsteps grounded and stable like you were waiting for a shadow to leap out and kick your legs out from under you at any moment.

You weren’t nervous, not really, it was more habit than anything. Or maybe experience was a better word for it. People dropping out of the shadows to try and kill you was all too habitual for you. Or it used to be anyways. But old habits die hard.

You made quick work of the tiny interior. Nothing in any rooms, no one to be found. ”I’m in. All clear.”

The dark apartment was dingy and homey. Soft light bleared through the old tattered curtains, lighting up small patches of the equally old space in a dusty haze. A mismatch of outdated paint and yellowed wallpaper lined the creaky, cramped apartment. Everything was basic and old and used. Little food, no real clothes, a tattered blanket on a threadbare mattress. It was lived in, with the worn look of memories rotting every inch of it.

You immediately liked it, in a sad kind of way. This would be a place you would pick too. A place you felt you deserved. Dated and forgotten.

You made your way back the door again to start your search and stopped in the kitchen first. Your mission was not to find the owner necessarily, but to confirm the intel was correct that this was his place.

You picked up a small brown notebook off of the top of the low fridge. Carefully you turned it over before gently opening the pages. Small cramped writing was within, sometimes long continuous blocks of words filled page upon page, sometimes short little pieces only a couple lines each were here and there. Small little coloured stickers stuck to some of the pages, obviously there to keep track of something of significance. You turned to a red one, part way through the book.

“…Coney Island Cyclone six times. We got sick but were laughing right after for some reason. The girls had left us after the third time around…”

Memories, you thought to yourself. This was a book of memories.

“Y/N?” Steve said while you kept reading.

“The intel was right, this is his place,” you said in a whisper.

“Confirmed?”

“Confirmed,” you said, holding the open notebook in your hand. “I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“For what? We don’t have long. If it’s his place he’ll be close and we have to find him before the German Special Forces are on his trail.”

You turned over a few more pages, fingers and eyes trailing down the small little words.

“Then you should go,” you whispered. “I need to follow up with a few things here.” 

“Y/N, you’re our best way of tracking him, I need—”

“I haven’t… secured the area,” you said, not really any truth to that. “I need to make sure there aren’t any… traps for unwanted visitors. Particularly if the police decide to knock on the door.”

You shrugged to no one, making up some excuse to stay put. You knew he would be back, and you knew this whole mission wouldn’t work if the team overwhelmed him.

“Alright,” Steve agreed after a moment. “Sam will keep an eye above. Y/N, update me immediately if anything happens.” 

You nodded in acknowledgment.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, agreed,” you sighed slightly. Somethings go without saying, just not on this team.

You continued to stay motionless in the kitchen, reading the little booklet that was left behind. You knew he would come back for it. This was precious. You only write down memories for a limited number of reasons. He wouldn’t leave this unattended long.

You didn’t tell Steve your gut instinct about this as you didn’t want to get his hopes up. Really, very few of the possible outcomes you could think of actually ended well. So you waited alone.

“… stabbed in the side, throat crushed. There were two witnesses, his wife and their child, and I shot both in…”

“… injections in both thighs with a deep green liquid, making me convulse uncontrollably. Searing pain began from my hips to my feet. I begged them to cut off my legs but they didn’t respond. They never did. The pain didn’t stop until after the sun when down…”

“… train car alone, cargo carrying boxes of cheap plastic toys. It was dark and freezing and traveling somewhere in the woods…”

“…. and I couldn’t control it. I resisted until I blacked out but they tried again and I wasn’t able to stop it…”

Your back had been to the front door the whole time, but you didn’t need any indication that he was there. He made no sound, and nor did you. He would’ve known you were in the apartment before he entered, just as you knew when he came in and stood behind you now.

“Head’s up, Y/N, German Special Forces approaching from the south,” came Sam’s voice.

You paused, debating on responding and interrupting the silence that now hung heavy and thick in the air.

“Understood,” you said quietly, placing the notebook back on the fridge and turned around slowly.

He stood there in front of you, your mind snapping his face into the memories you had of him. Those memories were old and worn and blurred. They still stung you white hot in your dreams sometimes, but the faces in those memories had faded over the years.

The sudden wave of remembrance bound you in like a vice, twisting and weaving pain into your muscles, sinking deeper and deeper. It was like for a brief moment you were back there, reliving them from the beginning. For a second there was such clarity to those memories that you haven’t had in decades.

But you looked beyond his face to his eyes, and the murky twisted face that usually filled your unconsciousness shifted back into its usual place, before the image of the nightmares faded from your mind completely.

His eyes were different than what you remembered. Vastly different from what you had seen all those years ago.

Deep and blue and searching your own eyes for something, he looked at you. In them there was no threat. He held your stare with his own, guarded and with a muted desperation of trying to place you.

He didn’t remember you.

Your blurry memories had come flooding back in a second, but his had not. You weren’t a painful memory behind his eyes or written in his little brown notebook. He didn’t remember.

For some reason, you instantly felt lighter at that. The pain of your shared experiences would have weighed heavily on you both and you had been bracing yourself for it. You were relieved that it never came.

You immediately took him in, wondering about the next move. You knew yours wouldn’t be violent if you could help it. He was breathing fast, but body looked to be relaxed enough for the situation. He stood wearing a simple cap, red shirt, and brown coat. No weapon, no clenched fists, not even in a posed position ready to leap into violence. He was oddly still, obviously fighting the desire to kick into fight or flight.

He probably didn’t know why either. But you did.

“Do you know me?” you asked simply, your voice smooth and low.

His breath was still quick, you could practically smell his adrenalin mixed with that telltale super soldier heat.

“No, I don’t,” His voice was deep and growly, but it wasn’t completely sure. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“They’ve set the perimeter,” came Sam’s distant voice in your earpiece again.

“I know you’re nervous,” you said taking a small step forward. “And you have plenty of reason to be… But you know that’s not true, Bucky.”

Regardless of whether or not Bucky remembered you from his past, you were an Avenger… of sorts (or that’s at least how you thought of it). 

You weren’t shiny, or in the spotlight, or a poster child of good deeds. To the public you were quiet and dark and kept back, hood covering you up and eyes always down. Generally the populous didn’t bother you much as most were too afraid of you anyway. All for good reason.

Maybe he could ignore any semblance of memory, but not when you were face to face here. He knew from the media that you were Hydra, twisted and broken like he had been by them, and that you had escaped their death grip on your body and mind.

At any rate, he would know from the TV coverage what brought you here and could guess your allegiance.

“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore,” He shook his head once, slightly, body getting tenser by the minute.

“They’re entering the building,” Sam buzzed.

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now,” Another step closer, your voice a kind warning. “And they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

He nodded, understanding. Defeat was behind his eyes. And you didn’t think it was for his impending fate, but the souls that were going to try and take him down. A pang of understanding hit you.

“Smart,” he said, shifting. “Good strategy.”

Right on cue came Sam’s next warning was followed by footsteps coming from the ceiling above you. Both of your eyes broke apart from each other and shot upward for a moment.

“They’re on the roof, I’m compromised.”

Bucky turned to the right and walked towards the other side of the room, his fist now clenched and breath sighing.

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Bucky.”

He sighed and you could see the defeat in him rolling through his body, uncoiling and recoiling his now posed muscles.

“It always does.”

“Thirty seconds, Y/N.”

Shit. You needed more time. Your goal had been to get here and convince him he could have a life. Build new memories. And not do it alone. You weren’t convinced of your resolve until you saw him. The real him. Not the one you had known or the one they had made him be.

“You don’t want to live like this anymore, do you?” you asked quickly, needing to at least try and reach him before this all went to hell. “You could have gone back to them, but you didn’t. If you still want to fight than why are you here?”

He looked up, pained and guarded. “I don’t know.”

You all but closed the distance between the both of you, walking within his metal arms’ reach.

“Because you don’t want this anymore!” you implored. “I got out Bucky, I did. You know you can too. You can return to who you were. It’s possible, I’m proof of that.”

And then everything went to shit.

One grenade crashed through the small kitchen window and immediately your emotions shut down and you kicked it into high gear.

In a split second you slid back over the small kitchen bar and reached to grab frying pan off of the stove. You swooped down to scoop the grenade back out the window when another came through the window next to Bucky.

He reached down, grabbed it, and threw it at you as you swung around, knocking it back out the window with the frying pan. But just barely.

“Really? C’mon,” you said. Such a dick move.

Hearing yelling from outside and figuring you probably couldn’t reel in an ex-Hydra super soldier alone, plus fight the full force of the German Special Forces team, all while simultaneously not managing to kill either party. 

Killing them would’ve been quick and easy. But this you had your doubts at.

“Steve, I have an update!” you shouted, as Bucky one-handedly threw the dining room table down the hall, blocking both the door and the soldiers looking to get in.

But two soldiers crashed through the windows and you both simultaneously punched them out in one hard blow to the face. He might have a metal arm, but you came prepared with your own brass knuckle gloves. 

The jagged metal met the face of the nearest soldier and you fought your instincts to both keep fighting him and keep fighting everyone else until they all stayed down.

You didn’t need to shout commands or tell Bucky what you were doing, you knew you both would be thinking of the same thing. Call it your shared Hydra upbringing.

You wretched open the back door just in time for the solider to come in gun first. You grabbed it hard and pulled, sending him careening forward until Bucky’s appeared beside you, his fist slamming into the soldier’s chest and sent him flying back two feet in the air and almost right off the balcony’s edge.

You reached out and grabbed Bucky, eyes wide. Did he have any control in a fight? You couldn’t remember exactly when you came out of it, but even with some shared experiences and similar reflexes, you were still decidedly not the same people.

“Bucky, stop! You’re going to kill someone!” Pot calling the kettle black right there, but whatever.

“Y/N, I’ve engaged! Working my way up to you,” Shots and grunts sounded in the background of Steve’s voice.

Bucky whirled around with a metal arm crashing into your chest and slamming you down to the ground hard. For a moment his body was poised above you, his own chest heaving against yours. Again he brought his metal arm up and fist clenched he drove it down into the floor, just an inch away from your face.

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” He reached into the newly made hole in the floor, pulled out a bag and threw it clean out of the apartment to the building across the street.

And from the look in his eyes, you believed him. His eyes were endlessly deep and pained. But the pain wasn’t for himself.

Maybe he did have control.

“Alright,” you nodded, agreeing with him, just as Steve crashed in and the next wave hit the three of you full force.

PART ONE

[redspiderling]

MCU Breakdown: That b-roll called Endgame, part 2

This mess has been swirling around my mind all day and I can safely say that once I managed to block individual offences and look at the greater picture, I was able to reach a conclusion that might bring some peace to my mind and, hopefully, yours too.

We’re not here to once again simply exhibit how this movie failed to express itself in a visual way, we’ll go a step further because I’m an asshole like that.

We’re here to explain why the failure of visual expression cheapens the story-telling process and leads to an unfulfilling cinematic experience.

I’m adding a “read more” this time because I actually remembered to do it.

Let’s ease ourselves into this.

Exhibit 1: Not using any visual storytelling elements.

This is the moment Pepper realises Tony has figured out time travel. That they can -potentially- travel back in time and save trillions of lives. And it’s shot, like this

Like a picture from a furniture catalogue. I’m saying furniture catalogue not only because the shot is 80% furniture and 20% character. Not just because it is quite dark, and the pieces that are drawing the attention of our eyes are the various lamps and candles, bright and shiny in an otherwise brownish, muddy frame. 

This moment hasn’t earned its existence in our minds as an emotionally charged one. 

It’s not just that Tony was never the character who envisioned himself as someone capable of “settling down”. It’s that our brains have been trained for centuries to look for visual clues. The wringing of hands, the beads of sweat on a forehead, nervous gestures, restlessness. The symbolism of a storm in the horizon that trouble is coming. They’re all simple things but they’re layers upon layers of meaning.

The trouble isn’t just that the Tony we know is not the Tony we’re looking at. It’s that the way the story unfolds, visually, doesn’t fill us with dread. Instead we are left looking at an image of a somewhat peaceful existence void of any emotional charge. 

How this scene represents the “enormous scientific revelation will restore balance to the universe but will potentially ruin our family” sentiment, is an enquiry for me to make and for the Endgame show runners to never explain.

Exhibit 2: Using visual storytelling elements wrongly

To move forward from that significant for all its insignificance moment, it’s old news in the fandom that Endgame took the concept of found family and kicked it to an alternate dimension. 

What we are looking at here, is the New “But Actually Really Damn Old” Dream of the MCU: Typical affluent white heteronormative Heaven. 

And yet that’s not the problem. It is a problem, in the general “this is the 21st century and it takes a bit more to impress us” sense, but it’s not a problem from the perspective of a story. You can tell good stories for us all to enjoy that begin and end with this narrative, as long as you do it well. 

It is quite obvious that the basic concepts of visual storytelling are known to these people. And they do attempt to use them on occasion. We’re talking about visual clues that will help nudge the viewer in the right direction, so that when the moment comes, the viewer will have seen it coming and won’t get annoyed. 

Thus one could easily assume any form of foreshadowing is better than no foreshadowing, right?

Perhaps. But from my experience, certainly not in this instance. This is one of the big problems with this film, it is not certain where to draw the line on just how much does the viewer know? Is this their first MCU film? Second? Did they see Cap 1 and skip the rest?

Our story tellers don’t use all the information they have provided us with, and that creates traps for them. Even when they do attempt to warn us for what is coming they create more trouble for themselves. Because foreshadowing needs to be consistent. And dead ex girlfriends who got married more than 50 years ago, are not a likely candidate for a love story in the mind of the viewers.

Visual story telling is crucial and it needs to be consistent. You can show me hints that I will pick up on. 

Here's Steve in the Avengers. He's certainly a man out of time, with his old man clothes.   

Thankfully, by the time the Winter Soldier appeared, he was fitting in quite well in the world. A modern man now, with a modern attire.

So I'm left to watch in bewilderment and wonder, why is Steve back in his old man clothes in Endgame? 

When did this regression occur? Viewers are not idiots. Like I said, we are trained to pick up on visual clues, it's crucial to our survival in the world. If I see a monkey eat seeds from a tree and then die, I'll remember not to eat from that tree.

I see the attempt here. The lack of colour and hope in the frame where Steve gazes longingly at the old compass, the soft, dream-like orange of his perfect life with his little wife. I can take a hint. Do I want it though? Have you prepared me for it? Does it make sense in terms of the other visual clues you've provided me with over the years?

Exhibit 3: Shifting the responsibility

Did I mention how much Marvel lucked out with the casting?

There’s 0 visual language employed. There’s no symbolism, no light, colour or perspective of happiness, or hope, or hopelessness. The only thing between those two pictures that says Tony and Natasha are not having some really strange conversation with each other right now, is the expression on their faces.

The fulfilment Tony found in parenthood and Natasha’s heartbreak over Clint’s crimes is visible only through the talent of the performers, not through any visual clues the show runners left behind for us. 

Natasha stressing

Professor Hulk and Dr Strange paying their respects

Clint’s guilt

Wanda remembering her dead loved ones

Complex emotional moments laid entirely on the shoulders of the actors. Which isn’t entirely a condemnable thing, talented actors can pull strong emotions from their audiences, but they can only do so much. 

Lets reference a pop culture legend most of you will understand

We don’t remember Luke finding out the truth about his father just because  Mark Hamill is a really good actor. We remember it because in that moment, Luke had been brought to his lowest point. He was worn from battle, his life was hanging from a thread. Darth Vader was looming over him, the personification of everything he hated and in that moment he found out that a part of him came from that evil. 

That build up was the result of a well written script, of a masterful piece of music, a visual tone that brought us to the brink of a revelation. The performance was part of the tale that will be retold for generations. 

In conclusion 

While there have been literally dozens upon dozens of articles about fans and viewers and critics having “issues” with this or that in Endgame, the truth is that our real problem, is this mixed bag of hardly ever used, or wrongly used storytelling elements. One that has been building up to a disastrous result for years.

And while all that is the least of Endgame’s crimes in the eyes of a Natasha fan (I have a personal vendetta against the film at this point) I still can’t help but bemoan the loss of a singular opportunity for creating a milestone in cinematic history. 

Because if we can’t revisit Endgame for its story due to a complete lack in originality, and we can’t revisit it for its visuals, we won’t revisit it at all. And with it most of the MCU will go down as a piece of popular media that took the world by storm, but won’t have much to recommend it 10, 20 years from now. And isn’t that a shame. Edit: If you’re wondering why they messed up this badly, there’s a long list of reasons:

This wasn’t actually planned ahead. They didn’t write all the films from the beginning, they were making things up as they went along, so they created pitfalls for themselves.

They ignored the visual language.

They went along with weak scripts.

For Endgame specifically, they did ridiculously extensive re-shoots, which resulted in messy set ups (misplaced items on set, badly lit scenes, bad special effects) and bad editing.

They bit off more than they could chew with the amount of characters presented on screen, and never managed to create complete and fulfilling storylines for them.

Finally, they allowed bigotry and sexism to affect their judgement, thus placing the viewer against their narrative.

[bookmawkish]

I’m Not Getting Him, You’re Getting Him (Heckyl in the MCU)

a random piece of random for the lovely @worldoftherandom and no I don’t know where this came from, nor do I particularly care because it amuses me to write this rubbish XD

It is required listening while reading this fic. 

https://youtube.com/watch?v=4G6QDNC4jPs

All the Heckyl in the MCU stuff

“We were having dinner.”

“Yes. You said that ten minutes ago.”

“And it’s still true.”

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff hurry along the sidewalk, doing (for those who don’t know them) a very believable impression of a perfectly normal couple trying to get home or into a taxi and out of the rain as quickly as possible. It is February, and the chill has been hanging over New York for weeks: the sort of cold that gets into the bones and leaves a person miserable.

Clint is doing a good job of being miserable, cold or not, and perhaps this time with good reason.

“This is exactly why I don’t bring my phone with me when I’m trying to relax. I take a couple of hours off, get dressed up, go out -”

“Is there something you know about Director Fury that suggests he is in any way bothered about your personal life?”

Clint gives this due consideration.

“I don’t want him to even think about my personal life,” he says, swerving to avoid a deluge of drips from an oversaturated restaurant awning, and peering down the next intersection. “Is it this one? 57th and Third?”

Natasha consults her own phone, and the co-ordinates sent to her. She nods. They pick up the pace.

It’s a little after eleven in the nightclub district, and while the restaurants may be starting to wind down, the dance clubs and the bars are just starting to get into full swing. As the Black Widow and Hawkeye head down the side street indicated by Fury’s note, they have to sidestep increasing numbers of people spilling out from any number of bright doorways: the thump of heavy bass can be not only heard, but felt underfoot. Clint pauses, rests his hand briefly on the wall underneath a virulent neon sign, and stares up, his face harshly lit in the green glare. Natasha reads it aloud: The High Voltage Room.

They’ve arrived.

There is a huge line of clubbers waiting to get in, much longer than at any of the other clubs. Word seems to be getting around, because more and more excited people seem to be flocking over as Clint and Natasha turn down the back access alley and start their assault from the rear.

“I’m not getting him,” Clint says, as Natasha gives him a quick boost up onto the back wall that seals the club’s kitchen and dumpsters off from the public alley. “You’re getting him. I‘ll provide backup. Or possibly just laugh from the sidelines.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

Clint disappears over and Natasha follows, landing silently. They find the door to the kitchens unlocked. Lucky.

“I don’t have to like him. It’s not in my contract.”

“You got a contract? Huh.”

Inside, the bass is not so much a sound now as it is a physical thing. It vibrates through the walls, the floor, every cell in the human body. Natasha frowns slightly as she navigates through the staff sections, dodging fry cooks and haggard-looking bar staff heading out for a smoke break. Be covert, Fury’s message had insisted. Don’t cause any more trouble than he already has. They are, of course, not seen, and being heard in this cacophony would be practically impossible. Then Natasha pushes a swing door, the noise intensifies to almost unbearable levels, rig lights swing to glare and flash into their faces, and they’re out into the main club.

According to the excited chatter of the cheerful clubbers that press in on all sides, it’s Classic Dance Night. As if Clint couldn’t have guessed. Not that classic club dance hits are his thing. Not at all. And he’ll tell you so quite emphatically if you ask. The place is packed to what seems like almost illegal capacity: it’s barely possible to move in the crush of bodies. Hot skin, sticky floor, sweat and overexcitement. And yet people are still coming in. There’s a general thrill of overwhelming anticipation across the crowd, and Clint rolls his eyes in exasperation that this is somehow his life. He’s picked up on the telltale overarching scent of ozone and heavy cinnamon smoke that’s lacing the whole room. And Natasha wonders why he doesn’t like him.

It’s Clint that spots him in the end - and he taps Natasha’s arm, pointing deliberately, before leaning in to her ear and shouting:

“Get him before he does it again. Then we can -”

His last two words fall, suddenly too loud, into an abrupt lull in the music.

“ - go home!”

There’s a brief, blessed moment of silence. Then the crowd roars, releasing their pent-up anticipation, as the intro to the next song begins.

 I still hear your voice when you sleep next to me

I still feel your touch in my dreams

 There’s a very small, almost perfectly circular clearing opening up in the very centre of the dance floor. Probably no more than a metre or so across. And in the very centre of that circle, there indeed is Heckyl, the Cause Of Nick Fury’s Ire, the Unwitting Ruination Of Dinner Dates, and apparently New York Clubland’s Most Wanted On A Rainy Friday Night.

He’s wearing a shriekingly neon blue singlet that is startlingly tight, and what Clint suspects are Loki’s leather trousers, plus - are those Nike Air Mags? Clint smells Tony all over this. Nobody sane can afford those. Plus, annoyingly, Heckyl is somehow making the whole ridiculous ensemble look good. He has his eyes closed, body hitching to the intro, sweat sheening his exposed skin, his expression beatific. God, Clint hopes he isn’t high. The idea of Heckyl on MDMA is just too horrific to contemplate. He gives Natasha an unsubtle shove in the back, and she glares at him, gesturing in front of her. The crush of the crowd has reached almost immovable levels. She can’t get through without stabbing someone, and judging by the look on her face she’s seriously considering it.

 Forgive me my weakness but I don’t know why

Without you it’s hard to survive

 Heckyl flings out an arm, and the crowd bellows again in renewed excitement. He flings out the other, and Clint groans inwardly as blue light begins to curl and pool in the alien’s palms. He knows this track and he’s pretty sure this is Heckyl’s regular performance piece, because, yeah, as soon as the main song refrain powers on in, here it comes -

 ‘Cause every time we touch I get this feeling

And every time we kiss I swear I could fly

 Heckyl’s eyes snap open, glowing blue-white from within. His whole body wreathes in lightning, snapping and flickering over every inch of him, gathering and intensifying in his out-thrown palms until it seems to get too much for him to control: it overloads and arcs out in long, crackling lines across the crowd, who are screaming and dancing and crushing in even more. Clint’s hair stands on end as the spreading tendrils of Heckyl’s power burns over him, his entire body tingling with mild electric shock, then it’s gone, conducting out into more people and the floor and the ceiling.

The lighting rig is shocked into overdrive, the lights suddenly much brighter, flashing faster. Bulbs pop in twenty places. The giant disco ball, rotating in illuminated glory high above, takes the brunt of it all and explodes into gleaming, electrified dust, showering the crowd in mercifully harmless glimmering sequined plastic pieces. The crowd, if it’s possible, goes even more crazy, dancing harder and faster and pressing in closer against Heckyl until he’s almost lost to sight in the swarm.

Natasha elbows Clint and leans in.

“I’m not getting him,” she shouts. “You get him.”

Clint, watching the undulating, joyful crowd in a kind of awe, shakes his head solemnly.

“Man’s got his Cascada on,” he says. “You don’t interrupt a man mid-Cascada.”

[dibleopard-writes]

Iron, Steel, and Tin - Chapter One

Fandom: Iron Man/Doctor Who

Pairings: None

Word count:  1706

Content Warnings: Referenced Suicide (Spoilers for Waters of Mars)

A/N: I’ve recently started watching the films of the MCU and I had this little idea that snowballed in my head until I began to write it down. This is set after Iron Man 3 (for Tony Stark) and Waters of Mars (for the Doctor). Let me know if I need to add more warnings

Summary: After his disastrous (or so he would call it) visit to Mars, the Doctor is at a loose end and completely, painfully alone. It turns out that investigating a Torchwood facility with nothing to lose is not a good idea because now the Doctor is standing beneath the Statue of Liberty, dazed, and staring at a skyline that seems subtly unfamiliar.

After his revelatory run-in with demons of his own creation (or so he would claim), Tony Stark is at a loose end and ready for it to weave into a new beginning, starting with removing the shrapnel from his chest. A day's hesitance is all it takes for the world to catch back up to him and soon heart surgery is the least of Iron Man's issues.

Or, an army of ghosts appear around the globe and Tony Stark meets a man who knows what they are.

Chapter 1

Also available on Ao3.

Chapter 1: Rust and Roses

And there's no one to stop you.

No.

The words still bounced around his head, their measured fury seemed so burning now, although Adelaide’s voice had been as cold as the snow she stood in. He hadn't seen it until the bright flash lit up the window and the wavering timelines slotted into place. Captain Adelaide Brooke died on Earth, not Mars as she should have, and the world would see the gun lying beside her as proof of her suicide. No one would know that he had forced her hand in his power-hungry craze.

Some Doctor he was.

The Time Lord Victorious’ reign had ended as soon as it began, and now the Doctor felt empty. The slow pulses of the time rotors soothed him as the TARDIS orbited slowly above an earlier, more familiar Earth. 2013, she informed him gently. He was still reeling. How could so much have happened in such a small amount of time?

The flames and the noise of Bowie Base One collapsing around his raged words were still fresh in his memory, terrifying. And yet somehow the calm little Georgian road haunted him the most. He had gone too far. His actions may have saved people -- ‘little people’ -- but they had crashed through the boundaries he had never considered crossing. Maybe he did need someone else to travel with, to keep him from stepping over the line that was nearer than he had first thought. But that would be selfish. He was a magnet for trouble. Who knew what would happen to a new companion? Not all of them could be as lucky as Martha and walk out undamaged. What if they end up like Donna? Or-

The TARDIS jolted, throwing him off his feet.

“What was that?” the Doctor asked, indignant at losing his grace, albeit alone. He got up and swung the console monitor around to face him, trying to push the creeping sadness of solitude away from his mind. The screen showed a map of Greater London and a bright spot radiating from a small industrial area.

“High energy readings. Space-time disturbance. Something pretty big, by the looks of th-” He caught himself. There was no one to explain the screen’s readings to. Not any more.

He zoomed in on the map and a box popped up in swirling Gallifreyan to inform him that the readings had come from a Torchwood facility and that it was one of the few that still ran as Torchwood had before Canary Wharf. An old rage reignited and he tried to pat it down. It was out of duty, not personal issues, that the Doctor plotted the coordinates. It was his duty to the world, protecting it from fractures in space-time, and definitely, definitely not the ghost of someone who hadn't died that moved his hands around the console as the TARDIS materialised outside a complex of warehouses.

The Doctor stepped out. All was quiet, even the roads were free of traffic. He crossed the cracked concrete and shattered the padlock on a nearby door. Checking that nobody could see him, he moved into the building and stopped to inspect the surroundings. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. Light filtered through translucent panels in the roof in a mossy green hue tinted with decaying yellow. Yet for all the signs of dilapidation, the contents of the warehouse was well maintained. Large storage containers were stacked around the room and the floor was littered with boxes of alien debris. Small purple gems glowed beside one box, obviously alien but somehow unfamiliar to his expert eye. The sonic screwdriver told him that the energy readings had originated from the centre of the warehouse, past the labyrinth of containers.

As he picked his way towards the epicentre, the Doctor noted the silence. It was complete and eerie in a place that should be crawling with armed security. Many times he had investigated this kind of building and very rarely did one as active as this turn out to be empty of people. Usually, firearms would be pointing at him before he reached the door. Nevertheless, he continued; he had nothing to lose.

The sonic’s whirring crescendoed in the middle of a circle of technology. Desks with monitors and wires surrounded him. More alien pellets littered the floor and tables and some were hooked up to strange mirror-like devices that stood facing the centre.

He moved up to a computer and turned on the monitor. It flicked on immediately and a number of files occupied the screen. Whoever it was that had used this last had been in a hurry to leave. The Doctor skimmed through the information. The words ‘Project Indigo’, ‘dimension cannon’, and ‘reverse engineering’ jumped out from the reams of technobabble. It rubbed him the wrong way to see them written out in a Torchwood document.

A clatter of footsteps rang out and he looked up to see the security that had been missing emerging from behind containers. Their rifles clicked menacingly and he stepped back into the centre of the room, arms raised in surrender. No leader was among them but they seemed to be waiting for a command.

“Doctor,” said a large voice that echoed around the warehouse, “such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The Doctor looked at a nearby camera perched on a storage container, “I'm sure it would be if you were actually here.”

The voice, irritatingly inoffensive and yet skin-crawlingly ominous, laughed over the speaker system, “Oh, you've got me there. Unfortunately, I cannot greet you in person as we are running some rather dangerous tests at the minute and, unlike you, I would prefer to stay out of harm’s way.”

“You need to stop. I've seen this kind of thing before; you're putting the whole universe in danger-”

“That's where you're wrong, Doctor. We've taken every step to ensure the world's safety. Our technology is designed from the best materials and soundest science we have. I assure you, Canary Wharf is in the past; we've moved on since then. We've improved.”

“No, you haven't, I've seen the energy re-”

“Doctor, Doctor. So wound up. Perhaps you need some space. Oh! What a coincidence: we have the perfect tool for the job.”

People in lab coats came forward and began typing. The Doctor tried to move out of the circle but was pushed back by the security guards. His mind was spinning and for a second he could hear Rose’s screams over the wind that was somehow picking up. A countdown began.

“No, stop this! You can't see what you're doing!”

“Nice seeing you, Doctor. Shame you couldn't stay.”

“...Three, two, one-”

“Wait-”

---

For a moment he could see nothing

And everything.

---

His retinas still bore the light of that moment like a brand when he woke. Rust-red stained the vision of his still closed eyes but he took no notice, too busy feeling a barrage of time hit his brain like the floodgates of a mighty river had opened and left him to the water’s mercy. Water was merciless, he knew that now, and so was time. Usually, he could see the glittering strands of timelines weaving and separating and interconnecting in a universal spiderweb, always familiar, always beautiful. Now, however, the silken threads had been washed out of sight by something new. He existed, at its mercy, for unquantifiable moments until the flood abated and the roaring waves became a gentle babble. Riverlets stretched before him and he knew they were time. They were wrong -- horrifically wrong -- but they were the timelines of a hundred trillion people in a hundred trillion places and he was a Time Lord. They were his reason for being. How could he have ever thought that the rules of time would obey him?

In the near-silence that his mind now afforded him, the Doctor became aware of his surroundings. Of the breeze -- salty, frying oil and fossil fuels -- of the grass underneath him -- recently cut and well-kept -- and of the sounds of people, distant traffic, and non-temporal water.

He opened his eyes and looked to the sky. It was blue and cloudless, partially obscured by a familiar silhouetted structure. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he blinked away the ghosting lights and saw a city skyline stretch out in front of him.

New York.

The Empire State Building rose confident and complete, wiping a good century or two from the list of possible dates it could be. The absence of twin skyscrapers narrowed it down further. He searched the skyline for further clues but found only a niggling sense of unfamiliarity. He looked up, and the Statue of Liberty, standing tall in her green glory, loomed above him. Deja vu overcame him and he had to look back to the city to remind himself that it wasn't 1930 and that the Daleks were far, far away.

But something was off. The niggling feeling grew into a more specific confusion. New York City’s iconic skyline had been altered somehow. In his frazzled state, it took him a minute to place it. There was a new building near the Empire State, oddly shaped and bearing a glowing blue logo.

But that wasn't the only difference. Looking now, familiar buildings bore unfamiliar neon signs. Had time been tampered with? Was this like the one-hundred-year setback of Satellite 5, changing technologies and attitudes? Surely not. But the only other explanation was-

The Doctor moved to lean against the pale wall of the Statue’s base as a wave of panicked dizziness overcame him.

This was wrong. Time was wrong. New York City was wrong.

Helplessly, his mind reached out to the TARDIS, hoping to grasp her familiar presence past the liquid time, but she was nowhere to be found. He fumbled around, tripping over timelines in an effort to locate her. Fruitless. The only friendly face he had left was gone. He pulled away from the space she should have been and buried his head in his knees. It was too much. This was all too much. He sat there, despairing, and let time wash past him in an unstoppable current until he couldn't tell the difference between minutes and millennia.

Tag List: N/A, let me know if you would like to be added.

[anoras]

dni: leos & libras, straight males with dyed hair, adults that only read ya, 100 gecs listeners, pop punk stans, people who have never had to scrape ice off their windshields, paranormal romance novelists, anyone who willingly chooses to move to manhattan, vermont drivers, people who pay for amazon prime, anyone whose only knowledge of delta rae is the song bottom of the river, anyone who has ever put a taylor swift song in a playlist about "feral women," unironic twilight stans, other virgos, anyone who has ever agreed with a post claiming that all adult lit is is books by white men about cheating on their wives, mcu stans, adults that don't eat vegetables, people who still pirate paint tool sai in 2021, people who didn't have a les mis phase in 2013, star wars sequel trilogy fans, people who hate country music, people who grew up with a backyard pool, people who have never seen a wild animal outside of zoos, people with pugs, anyone who's sincerely read or written rpf, people obsessed with war and peace, anyone who liked deathless, people who charge actual real life money for icon psds for the tumblr rpc, people who use the default hawke, blondes, people who say alexander the great was greek and not macedonian, people whose only exposure to mythology is through rick riordan, people who take this meme seriously, people who use a calculator to figure put the tip at restaurants, beatles fans, people who have never worked retail or food service, people who don't gatekeep, and most importantly; anyone who knew me in high school ❤

[findteenpenpals]

Hiiiiiiii! I don't know who you are but I already love you. Hug me, brotha.

I’m looking for a pen pal! I’m 15, Muslim, a sarcastic prick, and bilingual! I’m fluent in English and Persian. I’ve also got a French project so for the francophones, hit me up… please. I’ve been taking French for years, and although the language sounds beautiful to the ears and is fun to learn but I’d still like to learn it through speaking it with someone as often as I can :D Please, I’m dying with this project someone take this introvert under their wing :D Seriously, everyone who actually ends up contacting me will get a quick response. 

I’m a pretty open/accepting person, and I’m not very sensitive. (But I’ll understand if you are! I’m just letting you know so you don’t feel awkward making a joke about me being a nerd or whatever. I’m a queen anyways, I’ll understand if it takes you a while to see that light and look past my dorky exterior.) But if you’re looking for a listener, and someone you just need to get your thoughts out on then you can count on me. I’m not too shabby at distracting people from a bad day, though, I’ve got tons of funny stories about the events of my life to tell. I like to think my life isn’t that mundane through telling a weird story about the time I fainted in a grocery store (Or that time I convinced my aunt to stop being homophobic, that time I fainted in SCHOOL and I learned years later which way I fell through emails with my elementary school teachers, the great Tiger plushie heist and the eventual familial gossip that ensued, ) even though my life’s pretty… mundane.

My interests include film, I love reading studying about their cinematography, the colour palette of a specific movie, observing a really good actor (Predictable, but I had a really fun time seeing Heath Ledger play the Joker in the Dark Night.), listening to their soundtracks. I also especially love animated films (Disney, Pixar, Hayao Miyazaki,Laika and Dreamworks have made some good flicks.) and it’s something I’ve been nerdy about for as long as I can remember. As for movies in general, there’s something magical about taking whatever’s written on a piece of paper and transforming it to the silver screen. I’m sure, for a director, their minds are always ahead of the current work they produce and they can never get it done exactly like what they imagine. When something they thought up makes it as a movie and ends up being a masterpiece regardless of how different it turned out, that must be really awarding. I just love movies, dammit! I swear to God I don’t sound that pretentious when I’ll talk with you one on one.You can send me stuff about dank memes, (I love memes, so actually do that and I’ll love you forever.) rant about how much undeserved hate your fandom gets, Dan Howell’s fringe, how Bucky Barnes would dance with women today, interior design, what your crack ship’s first kiss would be like and I would still be absolutely enthralled. Despite not being a fan of any of those things besides Bucky and uh… dank memes. Not a normie in the slightest.

I think elderly people are adorable. I don’t fetishize or romanticize them, it’s just that most of the old people in my life haven’t been dicks and they’re fun to talk to about history or just our contrast in interests. Random but it’s a fact.

I’m also the bomb when it comes to Disney or Pixar trivia. Or just trivia in general. You could ask me to tell you a random fun fact (And I really mean the lit ones, not boring stuff like “The Little Mermaid came out in 1995!” I would say something like, “Mark Zuckerberg puts tape over his webcam. Canada has the Apology Act which means that if someone apologizes after committing something illegal (I’m not sure of the exact details) that it can’t be used against them in court to make them seem guilty. At Disney parks, all the images of Walt Disney smoking a cigarette have been photoshopped so you can’t tell he’s smoking in them. Also, most animators chose to work on Pocahontas instead of The Lion King because TLK was more expected to flop. Again, prolly messed up some details.”)

I like to read! Percy Jackson series are great :) I also really like this book called Flipped, heard of it? Huh, weird. Well, on continuing the conversation of things you’ve never heard about, my favourite author is Stephen King! In 7th grade, my teacher told me to read The Stand because it was his most acclaimed and epic book. I borrowed a copy, read it, and I was floored. It had me locked in, and once I finished it I loved it so much that I bought her a new copy on the last day of school and she had a copy to give to me! It was the cheesiest, 90s show ending to that year of middle school ever (Minus the pointdexters. I’m definitely not one at all, I like to imagine I’d be a soft-on-the-inside punk or goth chick. Yeah, I’m not one right now despite that being hard to believe. Sorry if you’re in a bandom and you’re cringing while.reading this.)

Shows: I like Avatar: the Last Airbender (I didn’t get really involved in LoK, though.) Supernatural, (although I’ve just started watching it, so if you’re a die-hard fan go easy on me!) Hannibal, Teen Wolf, Sherlock, the MCU/Marvel, X-Men, k-pop specifically f(x) and IU, I’ve seen a ton of shoujo/rom-com anime when I was younger if you’re interested in that, (planning on seeing Hunter x Hunter soon and waiting for the next AoT season to air.) Jane the Virgin, I’ve seen like two episodes of Suits and if anyone ships anyone on that show then come spill your heart out. 

Music/other: I love photography, I’ve saved around 700 total gifs and images, mostly of celebrities but a lot of them include pictures and art that I just really enjoy gazing at. The music I listen to is kind of all over the place. I like pop in general (specifically synth-pop and electro-pop), EDM, pop-rock, indie, k-pop, RnB, vocal jazz, jazz, music from the 20s-50s, 80s pop and rock, bossa nova, classic rock, rap. (I keep it to mostly Kendrick. I doubt Ego Death by The Internet counts.) Recommend me any music, anything. Weird sex noises? Um, okay. I’m hesitant but I’m asexual and I might just laugh, so go ahead. Country? I have a feeew country songs that I like. Try me. Metal? Haven’t found anything yet, but I’m always willing to listen. Are your kpop faves nugu? My weave’s already snatched by your gods, send me a link fam.

You can contact me on my tumblr: @krystal—meth

Twitter: krystal_meth

Kik: hajirah_unicorn

[jessicakehoe]

Everything That Upset the Internet This Week

What is the web-o-sphere angry about this week? A pop star campaigning against blogs, an athletic brand showing off a little bit of body hair and a superhero franchise introducing a gay character for the first time. (Warning: there is a very minor Avengers: Endgame spoiler ahead.) Here’s everything you need to know:

Ariana Grande Calls Blog Writers “Purposeless”

THE STORY: In E! News host Morgan Stewart’s “Nightly Pop” Coachella review, she called Justin Bieber out for lip-synching during his appearance in Ariana Grande’s headlining set and commented on his forehead acne. Bieber tagged Stewart in his response on Twitter, questioning why she spends time “tearing people down.”

Grande then opted to chip in: in response to a fan who tweeted that the entertainment host was seeking attention, Grande said, “They all do. And they all look silly trying to get it.” That tweet has since been deleted.

In another since-deleted tweet, Grande made a larger attack on those who write for digital publications. “People are so lost,” she wrote. “One day everybody that works at them blogs will realize how unfulfilled they are and how purposeless what they’re doing is and hopefully shift their focus elsewhere. That’s gonna be a beautiful ass day for them! I can’t wait for them to feel lit inside.”

THE REACTION:

E! is hardly a "blog" and calling someone's career purposeless is condescending and rude, no matter how you may feel about it. we can't all make bank making pop music

— Liv (@OliviaJRowe) April 24, 2019

Without all the blogs and the vlogs and the columns and the reporting, her career wouldn’t be where it is today… c’est la vie!

— MiileyD (@MiileyD) April 24, 2019

It’s called doing there job just like how you’re doing your job so I don’t know how doing a job unfulfilling and purposeless. Y’all need to stop acting like BLOGS aren’t some of the main reasons why y’all are known worldwide.

— REAL YAAD MAN 🇯🇲 (@iamteviii) April 24, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: This is the second time this week an A-list celebrity has taken to Twitter to share their distaste of blogs. (To read our defense of Fug Girls after Olivia Munn’s attempted takedown, head here.)

Here’s the thing: if you feel that you’re being unfairly treated, you’re have the right to speak up. Critical coverage, however, isn’t exactly unfair when you’ve voluntarily put yourself in a spotlit position. They can have their opinion, and you can have yours.

Grande clarified, in an additional since deleted tweet, that she didn’t mean to lump Stewart’s comments in with the larger scope of journalism. “There’s a big difference between journalism and what was happening in that video,” she said. “I was hurt for my friend.”

Nike Ad Features Female Armpit Hair

THE STORY: A new campaign image from Nike Women shows singer Annahastasia stretching her arm over her head and, in the process, showing her underarm hair. On Nike’s Instagram account, the photo is captioned “Big mood.” Since TK, the post has recieved over TK comments.

Here’s an example of what those comments look like: “That’s disgusting. Like please don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted this woman is brave enough to go around like that but that’s horrible. It’s not cute. Stop this feminist bullshit saying this shit is ok. Its not, it’s wrong. There are some things that women could do but just really fucking shouldn’t cause it looks rotten and disgusting and this is one of them, I get that it’s natural but it’s not cool.”

THE REACTION:

I’m confused. You expect woman who actually like to workout to wear your clothing that, at times, are 75% mesh and or see through but then come out with this armpit hair (ew) ad to promote Feminism. @Nike pic.twitter.com/rPYGlSzMtt

— Jillian Malloy (@itsjilly_duhh) April 26, 2019

https://t.co/zAhyrfqd1G Yeah this ain't selling any sports bras. Yes it is "natural" but so is nose hair and body odor. GROSS!

— Jennifer (@jenniferglynn) April 25, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: People still insist on policing female body hair? Weird. Your body, your choice. Shaming female bodies for their biological functions is how we become conditioned to reject our natural selves.

Avengers: Endgame Features First LGBTQ Character

THE STORY: Avengers: Endgame is the first MCU film to feature a canonically gay character, making it the first in the 22 movie franchise to even acknowledge the existence of LGBTQ people.

Endgame director Joe Russo, who actually portrayed the character onscreen, explained the importance of the moment to Deadline: “Representation is really important. It was important to us as we did four of these films, we wanted a gay character somewhere in them. We felt it was important that one of us play him, to ensure the integrity and show it is so important to the filmmakers that one of us is representing that.”

Russo plays an unnamed character who appears early in the film, where he casually discusses a date with another man during a support group led by Captain America.

THE REACTION:

"After 22 films we thought an openly gay, completely anonymous character should have three full lines of dialogue."

— Scott Weinberg (@scottEweinberg) April 27, 2019

*VERY SLIGHT AVENGERS ENDGAME SPOILER*

I'm still laughing that the first openly gay person in MCU is a stranger in a grieving session

— Dan the Dancer ✨ (@DVruno) April 27, 2019

AVENGERS: ENDGAME has the series' first openly gay character, say the headlines!

…who has no name, appears in one scene, and has maybe three lines, says the actual film.

It's a good scene, but let's not go overboard celebrating Marvel's boundless inclusiveness just yet.

— Andrew Todd (@mistertodd) April 25, 2019

RIGHTEOUSNESS OF THE RAGE: Progress moves slowly in the Marvel Universe. After all, it took 18 films to get a non-white lead in a standalone film and 21 to get a woman as the top-billed character. The Avengers is a massive global franchise, and this character does represent a small step in a positive direction. Hopefully, it’s just the first of many steps.

The post Everything That Upset the Internet This Week appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

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