make me less mad

some height difference prompts
  • i’m always scaring you on accident because 1) i walk silently 2) you never see me coming because i’m literally over a foot shorter than you 3) you just really don’t pay any attention to anything below chin level do you 
  • you always put things on the top shelves because that’s pretty much eye level to you and so you think it makes sense but exCUSE ME, IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED YET I’M ACTUALLY THE SIZE OF A SEVENTH GRADE CHILD AND WHY ARE YOU PUTTING EVERYTHING ON THE TOP SHELVES THAT’S BASICALLY A DIFFERENT ATMOSPHERIC LAYER TO ME YOU SENTIENT TREE
  • “how tall are you even??” “like six seven i think, idk” “what the fuck” 
  • i have to stand on a chair to be intimidating when i yell at you and you always start laughing at how ridiculous i look and damn it your cuTE LAUGH ISN’T GOING TO MAKE ME LESS ANGRY STOP HUGGING ME PUT ME DOWN I’M STILL MAD AT YOU
  • everyone seems to expect me to be some evil angry midget because i’m so short but i’m actually really chill, it’s my tall friend over there who’s pretty much satan 
  • stop being a snarky salt lord or i will elbow you in the crotch with no regrets. that’s what you get for being tall and an asshole. 
  • this is really awkward because i swear i know what your face looks like but i always recognize you by the top of your head and today you wore a hoodie/hat/coat so i was looking for you for about half an hour before you took off the hood/hat and i realized who you were
Massive update on safe mode

Okay, first off. I’m sorry. Everybody was in the heat of the moment and reacted terribly with the new update. I was a big part in that and I feel bad about it. But there are some new things going on with the update that they have fixed/explained to us.

#1 : Replied to my email about the issue.

(Image - Tumblr Trust and Safety replying with this:


We appreciate you writing in about this. We’ve heard from a bunch of users that Safe Mode was filtering posts from the LGBTQ+ community even though they were completely innocuous and totally safe-for-work. Please know that was never our intention, and we appreciate you letting us know so quickly—and forcefully! We’re deeply sorry. Tumblr will always be a place where everyone is welcome and protected, so we want to explain what happened.

The major issue was some Tumblrs had marked themselves as Adult/NSFW (now Explicit) as a courtesy to their fellow users, and their perfectly safe posts were getting marked sensitive unintentionally. That should never have happened. We’re sorry.

We invite you to check out the post on our Staff blog for more details on what happened and what were doing to improve things:

Thanks again,
Tumblr Trust & Safety )

First off, I’d like to thank them for answering so quickly and responsibly. They fully explained the issue to me in a very adult manor and I very much appreciate that.

Second, they actually gave me a explanation for the issue unlike most staff/helpers online. Which i again, very much appreciate.

#2: They are trying to fix the issue as quickly as they can without 100% removing the feature.

This, to me, is very understandable. the update on staff’s official blog is this:

Hi Tumblr—

We’ve heard from a bunch of you that Safe Mode was filtering posts from the LGBTQ+ community even though they were completely innocuous and totally safe-for-work. Please know that was never our intention, and we appreciate you letting us know so quickly—and forcefully! We’re deeply sorry. Tumblr will always be a place where everyone is welcome and protected, so we want to explain what happened.

The major issue was some Tumblrs had marked themselves as Adult/NSFW (now Explicit) as a courtesy to their fellow users, and their perfectly safe posts were getting marked sensitive unintentionally. That should never have happened. We’re sorry.

We’re making some changes that should improve things:

Changes to self-marked blogs

What was happening: Because we consider Explicit blogs to be predominantly sensitive content, we were automatically marking all their posts as sensitive. That was too broad.

What we fixed: Now each post is classified individually. As they should be.

Changes to reblog chains

What was happening: If an Explicit Tumblr reblogged a safe post, we were marking that reblog as sensitive. This was even happening to text posts. Which is silly.

What we fixed: We changed the logic so that if the OP is safe, all its reblogs will also be safe.

Changes to photosets

What’s (still) happening: When you make a photo post, a computer algorithm classifies the image as safe or sensitive. It’s a machine so it’s not perfect. And the chances go up with photosets because there are multiple images. But out of an abundance of caution we keep posts marked sensitive until the OP requests a human review (by tapping the appeal button on their posts).

What we’re working on: We plan to have photosets analyzed as a whole group, rather than as individual images. That should reduce the number of mistakes the machine makes.

Safe Mode is supposed to make sure people aren’t surprised by things may not want to see—specifically, nudity. It might take some time to get it perfect, but we’re committed to getting there with your help. Our algorithms will keep getting smarter as you give feedback on misclassified posts, and as you share your concerns and suggestions.


And finally, please stop attacking staff with this issue. They are trying to help us and do not want to hurt us. You are simply putting them under much more pressure and stress than helping. They are not trying to hurt us. Stop attacking them over this.

I will email them and contact them with further issues about this, thank you.

OT3 goodness
  • We specifically bought this mini-van instead of a car because it has three seats in the font but now all we do is argue about who gets to sit in the middle
  • Our group chat is mostly just Person A serenading the both of us with song lyrics and dirty messages oh my god this fucking dork…oh shit now I’m kinda aroused one of you fuckers meet me for lunch asap
  • We all tried to spit our toothpaste in the sink at the same time and ended up banging our heads together and communicating in unintelligible noises due to having too much fucking toothpaste in our mouths oh my god will one you just spit first I’m so tired I want to go to bed
  • Person A always sleeps in the middle because they are the smallest but that also means that sometimes they end up like a whole half of the way down the bed by morning and more than once now we’ve both been terrified we accidentally suffocated them in the night
  • Person B is literally so fucking ticklish and we tickle-attack them so often that we think they might actually secretly hate us and have plans to leave us
  • Your parents are super supportive of our relationship which is really nice but every year your mom knits us three matching Christmas sweaters and we have no choice but to wear them and now the entire extended family knows we’re all together and it can get kinda awkward at times but oh well I love you both so much, hey Person A show us your childhood bedroom
  • You and I were innocently making out but then I got aroused and so did you but we knew Person C would be home literally any minute so we just decided to wait for them at which point they walked through the door and took one look at our faces and realized exactly what was going on before sighing at us disappointingly and taking off their shirt
  • You two are such trouble-makers and I am literally cleaning up after you 24/7 please be adults for like one second and no both of you simultaneously smothering me in neck kisses isn’t going to make me less mad….but carry on anyways
Things I'm doing to better myself this summer

- Getting rid of alcohol and coffee from my diet
- getting up in the morning

- drinking A LOT of water

- writing down how I’m feeling

- moving my body as much as possible (even if it’s just dancing whilst cooking!)

- taking at least one breath of fresh air a day

- keeping my surroundings clean and tidy ~ helps to keep my mind clean and tidy!

- understanding I’m better off without some people

- staying in my own lane ~ drama free ~

- focusing and working on my goals

- count my blessings! What I am grateful for

- listening to someone to UNDERSTAND them, not just to reply.


- trying to eat less processed sugary foods!~ they just make me feel kinda mad and lethargic after

- letting my skin and hair breathe by wearing no makeup and using no heat on my hair

When I was 5 I put on my brother’s glasses and
my mom’s shoes and
my dads tie and found my mother at the dining room table crying.
I went and stood right next to her and said I was trying
to make her less sad and then
she told me she was mad at daddy because
he was hitting me and Sam.
I told her, but it’s okay! It doesn’t hurt so bad, I told her
look! No boo boos on my body, look!
I’m okay! And she said, yes,
my little girl is all grown up,
an adult in the body of a five-year-old.

When I was 7 my mom would stand on the sidelines
as my brother’s head cracked and bled
and my dad tied rope around the door knob of my childhood bedroom
and my mom cried and cried and screamed
stop! Stop! And then she let my dad
make my brother bleed and then
she let him lock me in my room and then
two or three days later
my dad would remove the ropes and
my mom would come in and wrap me up in a hug to tell me how
sad it made her that daddy had hurt me and I told her
it’s okay, mommy! It’s okay! And I rubbed her back while
she rubbed me in places for mommy to never touch and
she cried into my shoulder as I sat on the carpet of my childhood bedroom which
was covered in my own urine and feces.

When I was 8 my mom and dad called up to me and Sam,
had us down on the couch for a family meeting, said,
we are getting a divorce and then
my brother was in tears and my mother
was in tears and I said, hey! It’s okay!
And I held my mothers hand and I
rubbed my brothers back and
my dad just kinda sat there as I cared for the two of them.

When I was 9 my dad came to me and said,
was your mother cheating on me with her boyfriend when we were still married?
I said, what? Of course not! She loved you, she loved us. And he said,
okay, thanks, I trust you because I know
that your mom would tell you secrets when
she would come into your room at night.

Then when I was 9 my mom got married to a new man;
she said that she loved him and that
he would treat us better than our dad except that
he ended up being just as bad.
And on their wedding night my mommy cried
after she yelled at me all night because
my dress could have gotten dirty even though
I was unbearably careful not to get my red adult lipstick on it’s ivory white,
she said she wanted me to sleep in her bed.
So mommy and me slept in a king sized lovers bed as
she cried into my shoulder and I told her it was going to be okay and
Because of Winn Dixie played on TV until we both fell asleep and
I was still wearing mascara and
she didn’t notice when it streaked tears on my cheeks because
it was never about me.

Mommy had a baby when I was 10 and he was so cute and
I locked myself in the closet at the hospital and I cried and cried and
I screamed at my mother for ruining his life
and he hadn’t even been breathing for more than 24 hours but somehow
I already knew that he was fucked and
my mom was so angry with me until
at home the next few days I told her I was sorry and then
she cried into my shoulders because
she was sad and had that thing that mothers have when
they have their baby and then become extremely depressed.

Mom comes home with stories from work,
how she hates this person and how
this client is awful and how
this employee sucks and
it’s all work, work, work, and then
yelling when I try to say I can’t handle hearing about work anymore.

I am screamed at for getting sick, then
mommy gets sick and I am on my hands and knees at her bed,
begging her to let me help her feel better
because if I don’t she will stop loving me and
without her love what would I be?

When I was 13 my mom and I fought more than talked.
She tried prying me open because
I had shut myself up tight and all I ever did was silently nod my head
and sometimes say “mhm” and “oh”
to simulate a person who was listening
but my mother needed more of me and
I needed more of a mother and
mommy always ended up the one who got what she wanted and I
always ended up crying alone at night.

When I was 14 my mom took me to a Taylor Swift concert and
in the car on the way there she was silently sulking so
I kept trying to cheer her up and finally it worked and then at the concert she was angry and sad and
I worried the whole time about how I could help her feel better and
I let her touch me in ways which were not okay so she would smile and
then I finally enjoyed parts of the concert until
we got in the car again and I realized I had
used the bathroom in my pants.

When I was 15 I was so used to
being nothing more to my mom than an ear for her
to scream into or cry into that I would constantly forget
to listen to my body and my head.
When I was 15 I never ate and used the bathroom in my pants and
my mom didn’t even notice that I spent most of my time
in bed because unless she was in it with me
the beating in my chest didn’t matter.

When I was 16 I lived with my dad and
my mom would put me in the middle of their fights as
many kids who have divorced parents understand but
my mom would call me in tears to say that
my dad didn’t want me in his life and
as a teenager I believed her because
that’s my mom and I knew so many of her secrets and
why would she lie? And she would call me
and she would cry and
I would tell her it’s okay! It’s okay!
The same way that I always had and
then we would hang up and I would slice open my skin
because what else are you supposed to do
when your mom is using you and
your dad doesn’t want you to live?

When I was 17 and 18 and 19 and 20 I tried to kill myself and
my mom was in tears and she would sit at my bedside and I would say,
It’s okay! It’s okay! Look, the cuts aren’t even that bad,
I’m going to get better and you’re going to be okay and
the boo boos are so small!
And she would cry and I would hold her hand
and I would comfort her as if she was the one
who was laying in a hospital bed with
a stomach that had just been pumped and
stitches up and down her fucking arms and legs.

When I was in treatment centers for
starving myself and slicing myself open and filling my body with poison pills over and over and over again
my mom came into family sessions and
she would cry and say she was always there for me and
why don’t I ever talk to her?
Why don’t I go to her for support?
And I would say,
It’s okay! I love you! You’re going to be okay, we will get through this!
Until the day when I decided that
we wouldn’t because I couldn’t live this life in which
she was allowed to steal my soul over and over and then
get to play the victim for support so
I yelled and screamed and told the therapist
how things really were and my mom’s palms were bleeding because
she always bled when she touched me and the therapist
blamed the thorns which were born onto me
and said that I needed to try and have more empathy.

When I was 17 I lived at my moms house;
I was somehow convinced that it’d be better
than my dad’s because it was the lesser of two evils and
I don’t know if that was true but I know that my mom
had me wrapped around her little finger and
when I moved out of her house she cried
and said she did not think she would be able to live her life
without knowing I was at home with her and
I felt a small pang of guilt because
I held her hand for so long as she told me
she was going to die and she made me believe that
without my hand I would send her to her grave except that my hand had always been coated in thorns, she just
liked to bleed because bleeding meant
she’d get other people’s sympathy.

After I moved out my mother figured out how to fucking live without me
and today she will have to continue to fucking live this way day after day
and then she’ll have to figure it out forever because
I never want to go back to being that girl
who was forced to stuff her head filled with cotton balls
so she could drown out the noise of her mother’s ache after
being shot up with her own poison novocaine.

I was constantly in need of eyes which would see what was happening to me.
I needed her to say no to my dad and then
take the rope off the door and
call 911 when my brothers head would bleed and
I needed her to smell the feces and then
clean it up and protect me and
I needed her to listen to me and to take her hands off my body
when I told her to stop and I needed her to notice
that every single time a tear from her fucking broken eyes landed onto my skin
it created a welt and the welts have never healed
and I needed her to be there but she wasn’t and
now I am permanently scarred because
of the way she used my baby brain as a sponge as if
I was the one who would be able to soak up all of her pain
and then just be able to put it away somewhere safe.

Now here I am, crying because
I am writing ANOTHER fucking poem about
how my mother looked the other way
when I was in excruciating pain and how
I do not have a time machine.
I only have these words and maybe that’s why
all my poems go on for six, seven,
ten pages long;
it’s the only way I can explain that my mom and my dad and
my family and friends were such utter negatives in a life which had the potential to be so positive and how
I have to start from square one because
I never got to have a childhood;
I spent too much time being a mother to my mother and
not enough time wearing diapers and
learning how to walk because
I already knew how to talk when I was too small to know that
being touched and being fucked and being hurt in ways that felt
so bad that it physically shut off your brain
wasn’t okay and
maybe I just have no other way to explain
how much pain my whole entire life has been filled with
unless I go on and on
without knowing when the words are going to stop.

As a child I was a parent and
as an adult I am a child and
I don’t know how to find the in-between.
I am in a weird sort of limbo where
I am trying to keep myself together and I am
trying to keep the adult in me clean while
also crying when I spill milk at the table and
sucking on my fingers in my sleep.

I still hope everyday that my mother
can find a way to be happy, but I know
that her happiness is not going to be found
through touching or talking or stealing my life away from me.

When I was a child, my mom called me her therapist and then
when I grew up I got my own therapist
who I now want to call my mom and
I am endlessly confused and conflicted;

all I know for sure is this:
I am shattered into small pieces,
each holding a memory.
My mom belongs to so many of those parts of me
and I am trying to figure out how
I can throw them into the fire without
being engulfed inside that same flame.

Accidents Happen (1/?)

Peter Parker X Reader

A/N: Sorry I haven’t been posting! Been super busy with school and life! But I am back, now! Anyways, here is a new series I decided to write! I wouldn’t say that this fic follows the MCU plot lines, but I wouldn’t say that it doesn’t. We’ll see what happens! It’s a slight AU, I guess.

I kept them at 16! I know some people have issues with that! So don’t read this, if you do!

ALSOOO there are smutty situations, so to cover my own ass: NSFW 18+

Warnings: Teen Pregnancy, NSFW (Sexual content), angst, thoughts on options, swears, etc.

Masterlist // Accidents Happen Masterlist

Originally posted by 0chlophobia

“Hey, Y/n, it’s Michelle!” Michelle’s cheery voice came through your voicemail, “Just wondering where you are, today! Peter said he hasn’t talked to you, yet, and your phone has been off! Check in with us! Bye!”

Fucking hell.

“Hey, babe, it’s me.” Peter’s concerned voice was next, “Michelle already gave you a voicemail a few hours ago, but I’m starting to worry. Are you okay? Please, call me.”

Biting your thumbnail – a horrible nervous habit – you deleted the messages from your phone with your free hand, and shut it off. You needed to think. You needed to come up with a plan.

You needed to talk to Peter.

Freeing your thumbnail from your teeth, you dug your hand into your backpack, and pulled out the folder that you’d received from the doctor a few hours previous. Your heart was racing, it felt like it was going to explode out of your chest as you opened the folder to go over everything, again.

12 weeks pregnant! Your baby is the size of a plum!

The pamphlet’s bright and cheery words did nothing to make you feel any better about the situation. You were pregnant. 16 years old, and fucking pregnant.

How were you going to tell Peter? He was already so stressed about being Spider-Man. He was stressed about school. He was stressed about training with The Avengers. He didn’t need to be stressed about a baby, or a pregnant girlfriend – on top of everything else. You hadn’t even been dating that long. One month. A fucking month ago. Granted, you’d been best friends for a few years, but this part of your relationship was still so new.

This… pregnancy… has been happening longer than you calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

You hadn’t even had sex since that night. The night that started this pickle.

It happened when you’d just gotten back from a weekend-long band camp, a little before Halloween. Your mom was high, as she usually was, so you decided to go over to Peter’s to get away. Aunt May had made a key for you - since you basically lived there - and you let yourself in. Nobody was home, so you’d decided to change into your pajamas, and binge watch something on Netflix while lying in Peter’s bed. After a while, you had fallen asleep.

“Y/n.” Peter hissed, shaking your shoulder, “Y/n, wake up. I need your help, again.”

Rolling over, eyes bleary, you took in Peter’s physical appearance. “Jesus, Peter, what the fuck did you do?!” You sat up, throwing the covers off of you and ushering him to the bathroom. His head was bleeding, there were bruises forming on his face, and he was holding his side. Blood was running over his fingers, and you felt a wave of worry wash through you. “Is that a fucking stab wound?”

He nodded, wincing as he sat on the counter next to the sink, “I thought the guy only had one knife. I was mistaken.”

You shook your head, helping him shrug out of the top of his suit, exposing his bleeding abdomen, “It’s deep. I can heal it, but it’s going to hurt and you’re going to have a scar.”

His face was scrunched up in pain as you laid your hands gently over the wound, “Just do it.”

You closed your eyes, focusing all of your energy to your hands, feeling the familiar tingle and burn. Your head swam a little as your energy seeped into his wound, closing it and repairing the damage done. You ignored his grunts of pain as you finished up, making sure to get the entire wound.

“Thank god you can do this, or I would be giving Aunt May a heart attack.” He chuckled as you opened your eyes to glare at him, “Do you mind doing my face, too.”

You rolled your eyes, moving your hands to his cheeks, “If you promise me that you are going to be more aware of your surroundings, next time.” You used up less energy as you fixed the cuts and bruises on his face, “’There is no greater danger than underestimating your opponent’. Lao Tzu.”

“’My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me’. Henry Ford.” He quoted back, a smirk on his face as you used a wet rag to wipe the blood from his face and side.

“Sucking up is not going to make me any less mad at you for getting yourself stabbed, dumbass.” You glared, slapping him in the chest with the bloody towel. “You get to make dinner, now.”

“But Y/n-”

“Don’t you ‘but y/n’ me, right now!” You growled, crossing your arms over your chest, “You could have gotten killed! Don’t you understand that?” You turned to the side, placing your hands on the edge of the sink, taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he hopped down from the sink. “Hey,” He laid his hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him, “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful.” He pulled you into his – still bare – chest, wrapping his arms around you, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Your mouth turned up into a small smile, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, forehead resting against the hollow of this throat, “Who else would make me amazing grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“You just like me for my mediocre cooking skills.”

“You guessed it.” You giggled, pulling him to you, tighter. “Seriously, though. Be careful. Please.”

He pulled back a little, staring down at you with a small smile and serious eyes, “I promise.”

The longer you two stood there – wrapped in each other’s arms – the more the energy in the air changed. It was charged with something that you were unfamiliar with – what you both were unfamiliar with…

Sexual tension?

You had never experienced that feeling before, and your heart rate increased – as well as your breathing. This was your best friend. Why would the air be charged with that heat, if this was your best friend you were hugging?

Not that he wasn’t an attractive guy. That wasn’t it, at all. He was one of the most attractive guys you had ever laid eyes on, but you two had never seen each other any more than just best friends.


“Y/n?” He whispered, teeth pressing down on his lower lip, reddening it.

He leaned in slowly, giving you the option to back away, but your body had other plans. You met him half way, lips barely touching, at first. Your heart leapt to your throat, hands moving from around his bare middle, to around his neck. His hands moved down to your hips pulling you closer. You could feel the heat coming from his bare chest, making your flush worse. You felt like you were going to melt from the heat.

His lips grew more urgent the more you responded to him – lips parting to deepen the kiss. You could taste his chapstick on his lips, and you were beginning to crave more. Feeling bold, you gently took his lips between your teeth, pulling back slowly.

His response was immediate, as you suddenly found yourself pinned against the bathroom wall. The wall was cold against your back, sending a shiver throughout your whole body. His hands went to your thighs, and pulled you up – pressing his hips into yours. You gasped as you felt his arousal pressing into your clothed core, and wrapped your legs around him.

He pulled back a little, burying his face into your neck and pressing hot kisses from under your ear to your shoulder. Your head tilted as you let out a small moan, giving him more access to your skin. Holding you up with one arm, his other came up and moved the strap of your tank top down – pressing sloppy kisses along your shoulder.

“T-take it off.” You stammered out, burying your hands into his hair.

He paused, causing a stab of anxiety in your chest.

Did you go too far?

“Are you s-sure?” He whispered against your collarbone, fingers gently gliding up and down your arm.

Were you? Were you ready for this? You had never done anything like this before. You had only ever kissed a boy - one time - during a game of spin the bottle. You never thought any guy would even want to do anything like this with you. You never thought about what to do in this situation. You wanted to, you really wanted to, but was that just your hormones? How was this going to pan out? This was Peter. Your best friend.

You tried not to get into your head too much as you leaned back, grabbing the bottom of your tank top and pulling it over your head – exposing yourself more than Peter had ever seen you.

His eyes went down to your chest, and you bit your lip – hoping you didn’t cross a line. His darkened eyes lifted back to yours, and he visibly gulped, “I-I’ve never-”

“Neither have I.” You ran your hand through his disheveled hair, “’The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.’ Emily Dickinson.”

He snorted, “You’re throwing quotes at me when your naked chest is literally in my face?”

You shrugged, grinning, “It’s not in your face, yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You’re sure you want to?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You two had done the deed, that night.


Without remembering any form of birth control.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” You muttered, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

You had to tell Peter, eventually. He was going to know that something was up. He wasn’t stupid. He could tell when you were going through something, especially now that you two were dating and spending more time together.

You turned your phone back on, getting up from the bench and walking towards your mom’s apartment.

6 missed calls.

Four were from Peter and two were from Michelle.

Your phone started buzzing again as you walked through the door to your apartment.

“Hey, Peter.” You answered with fake enthusiasm, swallowing down the anxiety building in your throat, “What’s up?”

“What’s going on with you?” He asked, hearing through the fake chipper voice you had tried to use, “Why weren’t you at school? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You sighed, setting your bag down in your bare room and sitting on the bed, “I just had a doctor’s appointment, no big deal.”

“Oh… You sound weird. Are you sick?” He sounded like he was on the subway, “I’m headed over to the tower, but I could bring you something to eat when I’m done.”

“Actually,” You stood up, transferring your things to your purse, “I’m going to swing by the tower. I have to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” He sounded confused, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I’ll see you in a little bit.” You hung up before he could reply.

The journey to the Avengers tower was long. You were so anxious, you were shaking – the folder containing the ultrasound photos and the pamphlets were sitting in your purse, not making you feel any better.

How was Peter going to react? Should you really tell him while he was surrounded by the Avengers? How were they going to react? You’re sixteen for fucks sake. Could you two really take care of a baby? What if he dumps you? What if you’re stuck trying to figure this out by yourself? What if he wants to keep the baby? What if he wants you to get an abortion? What about adoption? Is the baby going to be affected by his abilities?

Too many thoughts were going through your head as you walked through the front doors of the shiny tower.

“Miss Y/L/N, you can head on through. Peter told me you were coming to see him.” The security guard smiled, scanning your pass, “FRIDAY will direct you to the floor.”

“Thanks, Ed!” You smiled, trying to act cheerier than you felt.

Luckily, you were alone in the elevator. You were about to have an anxiety attack, if you didn’t calm down.

“Miss Y/L/N,” The AI’s voice rang through the elevator, “Your heart rate seems to be escalating at an alarming rate, which is not good in your current state of health. Should I inform Med Bay?”

“No, FRIDAY, I’m just really nervous.” You replied, “I’m okay.”

FIRDAY didn’t reply, but the elevator doors opened to the communal kitchen and lounge that the avengers shared. You could hear Peter talking to someone, so you followed his voice into the lounge, to see him showing Steve Rogers how to use his laptop.

“Hey, Y/n.” Steve grinned from behind the laptop, “How are you, today?”

“Fine, fine.” You walked over with a fake smile, feeling like you were going to vomit from the anxiety. Or maybe the hormones? “What are you guys doing?”

“Peter is showing me how to use something called a tweeter.” He scratched his head, “Wait, no. It is called Twitter, right?”

“Correct.” You chuckled, laying your hand on Peter’s shoulder in greeting while he helped Cap with his profile picture, “Nice superhero shot. People are going to go nuts.”

Peter looked up from the computer, grabbing your hand from his shoulder and kissing your knuckles, “Hey, babe. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” You felt better now that he was holding your hand, at least. “Can we go discuss something, quick?”

“Yeah, I am just about finished.” He turned to the computer and clicked a few more things, before passing the laptop back to Steve, “Do you remember how to tweet?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You’re dismissed from your duties.” Steve waved his hand, jokingly. When Peter got up, Steve shot you a funny look. It was a mixture of confusion and suspicion.

Don’t say a fucking word, Cap.

Peter wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back over to the elevators to go to the room Stark provided for him as a ‘just in case’. “You’re really tense, what’s going on?”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. Am I going to be able to say this to him? How does one tell their superhero, stressed-out, teenage boyfriend that they are pregnant? Was there a manual on this? You leaned into him, trying to calm down. It seemed to help a little. “N-not here. Al-lone.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you along to the bedroom, faster. He typed in the code to his bedroom, and the door opened to the large suite. He shut the door behind you with his foot, crossing the room to sit on the bench along the end of the bed. He pulled you down next to him, taking your hands in one of his, and using the other to lift your face, “Y/n, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

Tears pricked your eyes, again. “I… we… Something bad happened.” Your heart was in your throat, hands shaking in his. “We fucked up.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “What are you talking about?” He looked down to your hands, “Do you not want to date? I know it was a b-big step, but you said you wanted to just as much as I d-do, and-”

“Peter.” You cut him off, removing one of your hands to wipe your face, “That isn’t it. You know how I feel about you.” You took a deep breath, trying to control the burn of anxiety in your chest. “Th-this is something else.”

“Just tell me what’s going on, Y/n.”

You barely even breathed it out. You barely said the words.

I’m pregnant.”


TAGS: (If you want to join the party, all you have to do is ask! Xoxo!)

@luckynumber1213 @castellandiangelo @sassyandclassyx @mrsnegan25  @impossiblepizzapeace@glitterquadricorn

anonymous asked:

stop thinking about writing fanfictions as just getting notes or recognition. if you really like writing, then every single thing you put out is you improving at what you're doing and the responses you get from them are just nice bonuses. dont think about writing as a result of a product but more like a journey. in the end, notes and messages dont mean anything, but your own skill does.

how about… you keep this opinion to yourself next time. If I didn’t care about writing itself outside of getting feedback, I wouldn’t have been writing off and on for 13 years, on platforms that don’t even have a way to get feedback.

You can say notes and messages don’t mean anything, but to me, it sounds like you aren’t a writer yourself, or not one that wants to share it on the internet. If you are a writer that posts on tumblr and you genuinely don’t care if something you worked on for three months gets 500 notes or 5 notes, that’s great for you, but of fucking course I want feedback on something I put out into the world. tbh every single possible creative work field wants feedback. From all types of gaming to fashion, to art, writing, etc etc. People want feedback on what they do, people want to know whether or not they are doing something right. Even fucking clerical work, people want to know that they’re doing a good job and their hard work is being recognized. Saying that stuff doesn’t matter is bullshit. It’s like saying something that matters deeply to you to a group of people and they completely ignore you, don’t even look at you, don’t acknowledge what you said or that you’re there. And no I don’t get paid for this, but that doesn’t mean feedback is worth any less. Wouldn’t you want feedback on something you’re passionate about?

So yeah, I want recognition for my hard work. I want feedback on my writing, I wanna know what people liked, and on tumblr, that comes as notes–reblogs with tags especially and messages.

Maybe, if readers want content they think is worth reading, they should also consider encouraging people that are putting out work for free.

Missed Calls

Originally posted by dailyteamcap

Request: Can I get a one shot where Bucky goes missing for a while and when he comes back, the reader and him have a moment?? 

Word Count: 1,185

(A/N: This is my first Bucky fic, but he’s one of my favorite characters so I hope this does him justice!) 

Y/n paced the apartment once more, certain that if she had to wait one more minute, she’d die from worry. She glanced at her watch. The hour hand just passed one A.M. Bucky had officially been missing for 72 hours. He wasn’t answering his phone, and neither was Steve or Sam. Even Wanda, her best girl friend, wasn’t answering her calls.

“Something’s happened in Wakanda. We have to go.” Steve said when he came to get Bucky late on Wednesday night. Bucky scrambled to get his stuff together, and on his way out and through hurried goodbyes, he promised to text her later.

Now it was Saturday. Y/n had worked a double at the hospital and she was exhausted, but couldn’t think past her worry for her friends. She was worried about Bucky more than anyone though. She told herself it was because he had just finished with his treatment to basically de-Winter Soldier himself, and she was scared what a mission like this would do to him. While it was partially that, the anxiety was mostly because she liked him more than just friends, and she hadn’t gotten to tell him yet. She’d been trying to work up the courage to tell him ever since he moved in.

She laughed at the memory of that day. She and her best friend, Sam, were having their weekly ‘friend’s night’ when Sam asked her if she’d be willing to let a friend of his crash at her place for a while. What he failed to mention was that the friend was Winter Soldier James Buchanan Barnes and that the needed to stay there because the FBI were after him for some reason that Sam couldn’t say. He said he’d only need to stay until the Accords were said and done with, but the Accords were signed months ago. Y/n reluctantly said yes, because she knew that’s what Sam would do if their places were flipped. She didn’t expect to hit it off with Bucky as well as she did. They became best friends extremely fast, and Y//n began to get feelings even faster.

And here she was now: panic pacing around her apartment, a few minutes away from calling the FBI to start a man hunt for her friends. She walked to the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. She checked her phone once more. Nothing. She called Sam’s phone, again. She called Natasha’s phone, again. She called Bucky’s phone, again. Still nothing.

“If those assholes aren’t dead, I’ll kill them myself.” She said to the air, when she heard the sound of the front door click open. She sat her coffee down and ran to the door to see a beaten and bruised Bucky enter, followed by an equally worse-for-wear Sam.

They didn’t even have time to close the door before Y/n was yelling at them. “Seriously?! You didn’t call. You didn’t text. Nothing! And you just-”

“Okay Molly Weasley, we get it.” Sam said sarcastically. Y/n rolled her eyes at the reference. She didn’t care if she sounded like a nagging mother; she was pissed.

“You guys were gone for 72 hours! Not a single one of you answered my phone calls. I saw the news, assholes. I thought you were dead!” Tears of frustration threatened to roll down her cheeks, but she wouldn’t let them. “I may not have super powers or amazing tech that lets me fly, but I’m a part of this family now too.”

Sam walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. She relaxed slightly at his touch, but she didn’t hug him back. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am. I promise it won’t happen again.” He let go of her and kissed her forehead. “I’m gonna crash here if that’s okay.”

“Of course it is you jerk. Go. But this conversation isn’t over.” She said, much quieter this time. Sam trudged out of the foyer and toward the guest room. When the door was closed shut, Bucky tried to walk past Y/n. He was avoiding eye contact and looked like a dog with its tail between its legs.

“Oh no. You can’t get out of this one.” She hissed as she held him back by his metal arm. He turned to face her, and Y/n couldn’t help but notice how tired his eyes were. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his right eye was blackened. Y/n almost felt bad for yelling. Almost.

“I was worried sick about you. I haven’t slept since Thursday night- replaying the images I saw on the news over and over until I had convinced myself that you and Sam and the rest of the Avengers were among those dead bodies.” Bucky stared into Y/n’s equally tired eyes. He noticed she was still in her scrubs and smelled like antiseptic, coffee, and worry. Bucky didn’t know what to do or say to make the situation better.

He grabbed Y/n’s hand with his flesh one and squeezed. She dropped her head and felt the tears escape. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Things just got out of hand.” He pulled her into a hug, but this time she returned the gesture. “You know I wouldn’t do that intentionally, Doll. I promise it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, well, it better not.” She tried to joke, ignoring the way her stomach turned to butterflies at him calling her ‘doll’. He chuckled and buried his face into her neck. They stood there for some time, simply enjoying the closeness and quietness. Bucky pulled away after Y/n seemed to be calmer. She took the sleeve of her scrub top and wiped the tears from her eyes.

He smiled, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have feelings for me.”

He laughed, but Y/n didn’t. She swallowed her anxiety, and decided to do the thing she promised herself she’d never do. Before she could overanalyze it, she grabbed Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it was passionate. Bucky kissed her back, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/n tilted her head to deepen the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. When they parted to breathe, their lips tingled and their cheeks blushed.

“I-I’m sorry.” Y/n stammered as she untangled herself from him.

“Don’t be.” Bucky whispered. He blushed again and pulled her into another kiss. When they parted, he added, “I’ve been trying to find the right time to do that for a while.”

Y/n giggled lightly, “Well, I can tell you right now was not the right time.”

Bucky laughed loudly and smiled brightly. “It never is, is it?” Y/n and Bucky exchanged one more kiss before saying goodbye for the night. They were exhausted and knew that whatever conversations were to follow could wait until the morning.

Bucky walked out of the foyer and toward his bedroom. Y/n called after him before he could retire to his room. “This doesn’t make me any less mad at you!”

“Yeah, I know. But it definitely helped.”

If you’d like to request a fic, send it here!

Goon- Andre Burakovsky

Originally posted by th3littlemermaid14

Ok so lately the Caps have turned into an angry bunch of fighting loons… I love it! (Most of the time. Ovi needs to stay away from Mitch though XD) So this fits well right now! Enjoy guys!

Warning: fight, cuss word

@laura-smith9 Request: I had a weird day so I will drop a request hehe 😉 About Andre ofc haha ehm and it’s that the girl doesn’t like when he gets into fights on the ice (but ofc that’s hockey). And so at a game he fights and she is scared because she doesn’t want him to get hurt but she shows that she is worried through angriness and so she is mad and idk what else but it’s all fluffy and cute 🙈


              You were going to kill him.

Keep reading

Zammie Oneshot

@tylerrism so after months of putting this off I finally sat down and did it. I’m not too proud of it but I wanted you to have it, so I just wrote it and here you go. Hope you like it!

There is one thing that Cameron Anne Morgan was more certain of than anything else in her life, and despite six years of education at the most prestigious spy school in the world, it has nothing to do with taking down a three hundred year old terrorist organisation, speaking fourteen languages, or disarming a man using nothing but a Q-tip and a business card.

 Yes, all of these skills are useful for a twenty-year-old CIA agent to know, but Cammie isn’t thinking of that at all. She sets the empty flute of champagne down on a passing tray and claps politely as the orchestra finishes their song. No, the thing Cammie is most sure of is that her cocky spy fiancé wore her favorite suit of his tonight so she’d forget why she was mad at him.

 The most frustrating part is that it’s almost working.

Keep reading


“I love you.” 

 Clint froze for a second. Maybe even stopped breathing. Then the tension in his hunched shoulders deliberately uncoiled and he went back to stirring the pot on the stove, letting out a breath. 

“Nope,” he said. “Try again.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said, “I just - that one seemed kinda more important to say.” 

“Because you figured it’d make me less mad at you?” Clint asked, and his voice was sharp. Bucky risked taking a step closer. 

“Because I meant it. Because that whole thing, with the -”

“Falling to your death?” Clint said. “Because you’re too much of an asshole to prioritize your own goddamn safety?” 

“With the quinjet, and the parachute, it brought some stuff into focus.” 

“Was it the ground?” Clint asked, sting of sweetness, “what with you getting a close up and all.” 

“Clint,” Bucky said. He took another step closer, almost close enough to touch, and he didn’t miss the way Clint swayed just the barest fraction backwards. 

“Fuck you,” Clint said. 

“I love you,” Bucky told him, hand hovering just an inch away from his side. 

Fuck you,” Clint said, and spun around to haul him into a tight hug, pulled him in until it felt like his ribs creaked. 

anonymous asked:

You've been getting on each other's nerves all day and eventually you just go up to your room to take a break from arguing, but neither of you can stay mad long because you just don't have enough time with each other and as soon as you get up to apologize he's bursting into the room to apologize and all the while you're talking he pulls you to him and won't stop kissing your face and neck, 'H, I'm trying to have a conversation' , 'And I'm trying to have a little less conversation' lame I know

“Don’t try and make me all mad again.”

“Yeh won’t be mad, angel. Jus’ let me love on yeh, like I always do.” His hand slides in your hair, as he nibbles and suckles on your lower lip, making you moan softly into his mouth. 

Harry is mumbling something in between kisses, getting a little bit breathless, and he whimpers, when you pull away from him.

“What are you saying?” You ask, and look down at his fallen lips, all plump and raspberry red.

“I-I’m,” he swallows loudly, still breathing heavily. 

“I’m so sorry.”