no matter where i go i know where i came from

Rick Riordan won a Stonewall award today

for his second Magnus Chase book, due to the inclusion of the character Alex Fierro who is gender fluid. This was the speech he gave, and it really distills why I love this author and his works so much, and why I will always recommend his works to anyone and everyone.

“Thank you for inviting me here today. As I told the Stonewall Award Committee, this is an honor both humbling and unexpected.

So, what is an old cis straight white male doing up here? Where did I get the nerve to write Alex Fierro, a transgender, gender fluid child of Loki in The Hammer of Thor, and why should I get cookies for that?

These are all fair and valid questions, which I have been asking myself a lot.

I think, to support young LGBTQ readers, the most important thing publishing can do is to publish and promote more stories by LGBTQ authors, authentic experiences by authentic voices. We have to keep pushing for this. The Stonewall committee’s work is a critical part of that effort. I can only accept the Stonewall Award in the sense that I accept a call to action – firstly, to do more myself to read and promote books by LGBTQ authors.

But also, it’s a call to do better in my own writing. As one of my genderqueer readers told me recently, “Hey, thanks for Alex. You didn’t do a terrible job!” I thought: Yes! Not doing a terrible job was my goal!

As important as it is to offer authentic voices and empower authors and role models from within LGBTQ community, it’s is also important that LGBTQ kids see themselves reflected and valued in the larger world of mass media, including my books. I know this because my non-heteronormative readers tell me so. They actively lobby to see characters like themselves in my books. They like the universe I’ve created. They want to be part of it. They deserve that opportunity. It’s important that I, as a mainstream author, say, “I see you. You matter. Your life experience may not be like mine, but it is no less valid and no less real. I will do whatever I can to understand and accurately include you in my stories, in my world. I will not erase you.”

People all over the political spectrum often ask me, “Why can’t you just stay silent on these issues? Just don’t include LGBTQ material and everybody will be happy.” This assumes that silence is the natural neutral position. But silence is not neutral. It’s an active choice. Silence is great when you are listening. Silence is not so great when you are using it to ignore or exclude.

But that’s all macro, ‘big picture’ stuff. Yes, I think the principles are important. Yes, in the abstract, I feel an obligation to write the world as I see it: beautiful because of its variations. Where I can’t draw on personal experience, I listen, I read a lot – in particular I want to credit Beyond Magenta and Gender Outlaws for helping me understand more about the perspective of my character Alex Fierro – and I trust that much of the human experience is universal. You can’t go too far wrong if you use empathy as your lens. But the reason I wrote Alex Fierro, or Nico di Angelo, or any of my characters, is much more personal.

I was a teacher for many years, in public and private school, California and Texas. During those years, I taught all kinds of kids. I want them all to know that I see them. They matter. I write characters to honor my students, and to make up for what I wished I could have done for them in the classroom.

I think about my former student Adrian (a pseudonym), back in the 90s in San Francisco. Adrian used the pronouns he and him, so I will call him that, but I suspect Adrian might have had more freedom and more options as to how he self-identified in school were he growing up today. His peers, his teachers, his family all understood that Adrian was female, despite his birth designation. Since kindergarten, he had self-selected to be among the girls – socially, athletically, academically. He was one of our girls. And although he got support and acceptance at the school, I don’t know that I helped him as much as I could, or that I tried to understand his needs and his journey. At that time in my life, I didn’t have the experience, the vocabulary, or frankly the emotional capacity to have that conversation. When we broke into social skills groups, for instance, boys apart from girls, he came into my group with the boys, I think because he felt it was required, but I feel like I missed the opportunity to sit with him and ask him what he wanted. And to assure him it was okay, whichever choice he made. I learned more from Adrian than I taught him. Twenty years later, Alex Fierro is for Adrian.

I think about Jane (pseudonym), another one of my students who was a straight cis-female with two fantastic moms. Again, for LGBTQ families, San Francisco was a pretty good place to live in the 90s, but as we know, prejudice has no geographical border. You cannot build a wall high enough to keep it out. I know Jane got flack about her family. I did what I could to support her, but I don’t think I did enough. I remember the day Jane’s drama class was happening in my classroom. The teacher was new – our first African American male teacher, which we were all really excited about – and this was only his third week. I was sitting at my desk, grading papers, while the teacher did a free association exercise. One of his examples was ‘fruit – gay.’ I think he did it because he thought it would be funny to middle schoolers. After the class, I asked to see the teacher one on one. I asked him to be aware of what he was saying and how that might be hurtful. I know. Me, a white guy, lecturing this Black teacher about hurtful words. He got defensive and quit, because he said he could not promise to not use that language again. At the time, I felt like I needed to do something, to stand up especially for Jane and her family. But did I make things better handling it as I did? I think I missed an opportunity to open a dialogue about how different people experience hurtful labels. Emmie and Josephine and their daughter Georgina, the family I introduce in The Dark Prophecy, are for Jane.

I think about Amy, and Mark, and Nicholas … All former students who have come out as gay since I taught them in middle school. All have gone on to have successful careers and happy families. When I taught them, I knew they were different. Their struggles were greater, their perspectives more divergent than some of my other students. I tried to provide a safe space for them, to model respect, but in retrospect I don’t think I supported them as well as I could have, or reached out as much as they might have needed. I was too busy preparing lessons on Shakespeare or adjectives, and not focusing enough on my students’ emotional health. Adjectives were a lot easier for me to reconcile than feelings. Would they have felt comfortable coming out earlier than college or high school if they had found more support in middle school? Would they have wanted to? I don’t know. But I don’t think they felt it was a safe option, which leaves me thinking that I did not do enough for them at that critical middle school time. I do not want any kid to feel alone, invisible, misunderstood. Nico di Angelo is for Amy, and Mark and Nicholas.

I am trying to do more. Percy Jackson started as a way to empower kids, in particular my son, who had learning differences. As my platform grew, I felt obliged to use it to empower all kids who are struggling through middle school for whatever reason. I don’t always do enough. I don’t always get it right. Good intentions are wonderful things, but at the end of a manuscript, the text has to stand on its own. What I meant ceases to matter. Kids just see what I wrote. But I have to keep trying. My kids are counting on me.

So thank you, above all, to my former students who taught me. Alex Fierro is for you.

To you, I pledge myself to do better – to apologize when I screw up, to learn from my mistakes, to be there for LGBTQ youth and make sure they know that in my books, they are included. They matter. I am going to stop talking now, but I promise you I won’t stop listening.”

how sad to be a gay girl in this the year of our lord 2017. i’ve never been to pride before. i tell my mother i’m thinking of going and she says; please be smart and stay home. most of me thinks she’s right about this, even though i live in a city where gay pride flags fly on every other building.

they’ve done a good job scaring us into the corners we came out of. i tremble at the idea of crowds full of other people, my body in rainbow paint. i will be meeting friends from high school and none of them know i’m gay. it terrifies me. i have no idea what they’d say. what if they ignore it. what if they make a big deal about it. what if they ask me how long i’ve been this way.

straight people tell me all the time that maybe it used to be dangerous to be in love with a girl, but i should stop complaining because marriage is legal. i think of how i still hear “gay” used as a slur, how every word i have for myself has been used as a curse word against me, how i have no identity that comes unsullied. i think of how every time i hold her hand in public i find my ears become satellite dishes, waiting to pick up on any incoming danger, always mid-flinch. i think about how their opinion of me changes when i tell them. i think about the cans thrown and the threats made and the fights that bloodied my teeth. i think about the arguments with my parents and the silence in churches and the shuffling of embarrassed feet. 

i’m telling myself i’ll go to pride and i’ll smile and i’ll have a good time. i’m telling myself i’ll be strong for those who can’t be. i’m telling myself thank god it’s 2017 and i live in the united states in a commonwealth that protects me. but the fact i have to rally just to walk in the streets says something. i feel sick when i think about where i’m going but proud about what i’m doing.

the closet was the worst place, i whisper to myself. darkness and spiders. but the closet is the safer place. and sometimes that matters.

“can we, like, chill with the gay pride?” i hear a girl on the bus say to her friend, “like… every june this happens and i’m tired of it.”

i’m gay every day of the week, even when i’m not proud of it. 

i sit lower in my seat. i text the people i’m going to pride with. “i might come,” i write, “still working on it.”

Side to Side

Pairing: Tom Holland!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Prompts: None

Word Count: 2465

Warning(s): Some swear words, slight smut (Nothing crazy but it goes there)

Requests: I have like 10 followers so like none of you pay attention to me (jk jk you guys are cool)

Song: Side to Side  (duh) by Ariana Grande

Author’s Note: This is kinda crap but I’m totally obsessed with Tom Holland and Spider-Man Homecoming so come on this wild ride and be trash with me! Give me feedback please I promise I’ll get to it in like 10 years

Summary: Reader and Peter (slant rhyme woo) are friends and both on the Avengers. They’re training in the gym and things get s t e a m y…

Keep reading

Liz’s Party l Peter Parker

Summary: Spiderman shows up at Liz’s party to impress everyone, mostly the reader.

Warning: some spoilers

Pairing: Peter Parker (Spiderman) x reader

Type: Alternative scene (what would have happened if Peter showed up at Liz’s party as Spiderman to impress the reader…)

Part Two Here / Part Three Here / Part Four Here / Part Five Here / Part Six Here


It was gym class and Ned was currently holding down Peter’s feet as he did sit ups. Ned had recently found out that Peter was Spiderman and was constantly asking his best friend questions about being an Avenger.

“Hey,” Ned piped up. “Can I be your guy in the chair?”

“What?” Peter whispered, not wanting to be too loud.

“You know there is a guy with a headset telling the other guy where to go. Like if you were stuck or lost somewhere, I could tell you where to go because there would be screens and monitors around me. And I could be your guy in the chair,” Ned pleaded.

“Ned, I don’t need a guy in the chair,” Peter insisted.

“Looking good, Parker,” the gym teacher said. Peter paused momentarily before continuing with his sit ups.

“You see for me it would be…f*ck Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk,” Betty Brant said from the bleachers.

“What about the Spiderman,” Y/N voice piped up, making all her friends on the bleachers look at her.

“It’s just Spiderman,” Liz shrugged.

“Did you guys see that big security cam on youtube? He fought off four guys!” Peter and Ned watched Y/N as she practically praised the Spiderman.

“Oh my gosh. She’s crushing on Spiderman,” Betty joked.

“No way!”

“Kinda,” Y/N shrugged, a blush creeping up onto her face. Peter glance at Ned then turned his attention back to the group.

“Ugh. Gross. He’s probably like thirty,” Betty said.

“You don’t even know what he looks like. What if he is like seriously burned?” Liz suggested.

“I wouldn’t care. I would still love him for the person he is on the inside,” Y/N replied. “He’s a good man and its obvious he really cares about this city. That is something I really admire about him.”

“Peter knows Spiderman,” Ned blurted. Peter’s mouth dropped open and he turned towards Ned. Everyone in the room went silent and all their eyes were on Peter, even Y/N’s.

“Uh, no I don’t,” Peter said, scrambling to his feet. “No. I-I mean.” He turned and faced Y/N and her friends.

“They’re friends,” Ned added with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, like coach Wilson and Captain America are friends,” Flash teased, now walking over to his rival.

“I-I’ve met him. Yeah, a couple times but its uh…through the Stark internship,” Peter clarified, briefly looking at Y/N. Flash seemed to be enjoying this for a smirk was evident on his face. “Mhmm. Yeah but I am not really suppose to talk about it,” Peter turned around, glaring at Ned.

“Well, that’s awesome,” Flash replied. “Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party.”

“Yeah, I am having people over tonight. You are more than welcome to come,” she smiled.

“You’re having a party,” Ned asked.

“W-Will you be there Y/N?” Peter stuttered. Y/N looked up and nodded her head.

“Y-Yeah. I’m going.” Peter smiled shyly at her.

“Yeah, its gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend Spiderman,” Flash insisted.

“Flash,” Y/N warned. “Leave him alone.”

“Ah come on. He’ll be there,” Flash spat. The bell rang and everyone stood to their feet and made their way towards the door. Peter watched Y/N stand, the two of them briefly met each other’s gaze before she broke it. She walked with her friends out of the gym, Peter’s eyes following her form.

Peter groaned in annoyance and look at Ned. “What are you doing?!?”

“Helping you out,” Ned said. “Did you not hear her? Y/N has a crush on you!” Peter opened his mouth to say something but nothing came. He couldn’t believe his childhood crush had a crush on him…well Spiderman. “Dude, you are an avenger!” Ned said, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. “If any one of us has a chance with Y/N, its you.” 

Y/N and Peter had known each other since grade school and had become pretty close friends. Peter developed his first crush on her but never had the guts to tell her. And here she was, years later, having a crush on Peter’s alter ego. It almost didn’t feel real to Peter. Was he hearing this right? Was she really in love with Spiderman?


That night, May drove Peter and Ned over to Liz’s house. May stopped the car in front of the house and nodded her head. “A house party in the suburbs! Oh, I remember these. I’m kinda jealous.”

“It will be a night to remember,” Ned said with excitement.

“Ned, some hats wear men. You wear that hat!”

“Yeah, it gives me confidence,” Ned grinned.

“This is a mistake,” Peter said, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Hey, let’s just go home.”

“Oh Peter. I know. I know its really hard trying to fit in with all the changes your body is going through,” Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s flowering you.” Peter bit his lip and laughed slightly. 

“Okay, yeah. I’m gonna go,” Peter said, unbuckling his seatbelt. He exited the car, Ned following his actions.

“Peter,” May called. “Have fun.”

“I will,” Peter smiled.

“Bye May,” Ned waved as the car drove away. The two of them turned around and began walking up the sidewalk, towards the house. “Dude, you have the suit, right?” Peter lifted up his arm sleeve and showed him the web shooters and red costume. “This is going to change our lives!”

They entered the house, music blasting in the background and kids walking around with drinks in their hands. “DJ Flash,” the announcer said, making both the boys look over at the Flash operating the music.

“Okay, we are gonna have Spiderman swing in, say you guys are tight and then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro hugs,” Ned whispered to his best friend.

“Can’t believe you guys are at this lame party,” Michelle said, standing next to them.

“But…you’re here too,” Ned insisted.

“Am I?” Michelle walked off.

“Oh my–. Hey guys,” Y/N said. “Cool hat, Ned.”

“Hey Y/N,” Ned said with a silly grin on his face.

“Hey Y/N,” Peter’s voice squeaked.

“I’m glad you guys came,” she smiled. “There is pizza and drinks so go and help yourself.”

“Wow, what a great party,” Peter added with a smile.

“I barely did anything. It was all Liz.” Someone called her name and she turned her head. “Oh, I should go.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. She walked away and Ned said goodbye to her.

“Dude! What are you doing? She’s here, spider it up!”

“No. No. No. I can’t. I cannot do this. Spiderman is not a party trick,” Peter said. “Look, I am just gonna…be myself.”

“Peter, no one wants that.”

“Dude,” Peter said hurtfully. He turned to walk away when Flash called out his name on the microphone.

“Parker! What’s up? Hey, where is your pal, Spiderman? Let me guess, in Canada with your imaginary girlfriend?” The crowd laughed and Peter clenched his fists in anger. “That’s not Spiderman. That’s just Ned in a red shirt.”


Somehow, through peer pressure, Peter found himself outside. He disregarded his regular clothing and underneath it was his red and blue Spiderman outfit. He knelt down on the rooftop and gazed down at Liz’s house.

“Hey! What’s up? I am Spiderman,” he whispered to himself as he took off his shirt. “Just thought I would swing by, say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh hey, what’s up Ned? Where is Peter anyways?”

He sighed, looking down at Ned who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Peter shook his head.

“I can’t do this.” Peter noticed Y/N walk up to Ned and ask him a question. In response, Ned shrugged and she nodded her head before walking away. As soon as she was out of sight, Ned yanked out his phone and dialed Peter’s number. Peter answered it immediately.

“Peter! Where are you? Y/N’s asking for you,” Ned said, desperately.

“I will be there in a second.”

Originally posted by over-et

Peter hung up and gazed down at Y/N’s concerned face. She fiddled with her fingers and her eyes continued to wander around the room. Peter put his mask on and stood to his feet before swinging down.

“Oh sorry,” he apologized to some people. Everyone turned around to look at him and all mouth’s dropped open. He maneuvered his way through the crowd of people until he made it inside. “Sorry, I just gotta…find my friend Peter.”

“Spiderman?” He turned around at the sound of Y/N’s voice. His robotic eyes dilated and his head moved up and down her body. His actions did not go unnoticed by Y/N. “W-What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know. Peter called me and asked if I could show.”

“No way,” Flash said in disbelief. He pushed past the crowd and soon came face to face with the superhero himself. “You’re really him? Are you really friends with Peter Parker?”

Peter turned his eyes towards Y/N who stood behind Flash. He pushed past his rival and approached her. “Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“What’s your name? Wait. No. Let me guess. Y/N, right?”

“Y-Yeah, how did you know?”

“Peter talks a lot about you,” Spiderman said.

“H-He does?” 

“Spiderman!” He turned around and faced Ned. “Hi! It’s Ned. Remember me?”

“Yeah I do. How are you doing?” He gave Ned his fist bump and the boy nearly collapsed when realizing he was going to be popular for the rest of his life.

“Fine. I’ll let you get back to Y/N. She’s a big fan,” Ned laughed. Peter turned his head and eyed Y/N.

“Really?” He teased and she looked down at her feet. 

“Well, kinda,” she replied, blushing like crazy. 

“Well, I should get going. New York isn’t going to save itself,” Spiderman said.

“Yeah,” Y/N added, dreamily admiring the superhero.

“It was nice to finally meet you. Oh and tell Peter that Mr Stark needs him at the internship at four thirty tomorrow,” Spiderman added. “Can you do that for me?”

Y/N nodded and Spiderman winked at her with his big eyes, making her smile. Spiderman used his web shooters and swung away from the party. He made his way back up to the rooftop when everyone had lost interest and began to change back into his normal clothes.

“I can’t believe he actually showed,” Flash said to Y/N.

“What’s the matter, Flash? Jealous of Peter or of Spiderman?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

A sampling of some of the many, many universes in which Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki didn’t somehow manage to avoid each other for TEN+ YEARS and are already happily married (Inspired in part by the musings of @kiaronna and @pearlo on this topic from this post):

  • In 2010, Viktor is leaving an Olympic after party because it has just more or less dissolved into an orgy and that’s not Really his scene. In this universe, he decides not to go back to his room and instead finds his way to an outdoor seating area, which is not very heavily utilized given the fact that it’s February. There is only one other person out there–an athlete with his back turned, curled up onto a bench. The lettering on his jacket says Japan.
    “Mind if I join?” he asks, and the other man turns to reveal dark hair and the deepest eyes Viktor has ever seen.
    “Oh,” he squeaks. “No. Go ahead.”
    They sit, and talk, and three hours later exchange phone numbers. Instead of going to America to train, Yuuri Katsuki goes to Russia to train under Yakov Feltsman. He takes National gold in 2011 and marries Viktor in 2012.
  • Phichit accidentally posts a video of Yuuri doing a bit of Viktor’s 2013 free skate to Instagram, instead of the hamster video he meant to post. The video makes its way through the figure skating grapevine until, obviously, reaching Viktor. Viktor immediately DM’s Phichit, begging to know who the man in the video is.
    Yuuri wakes up to six missed calls, 609 Instagram notifications, 49 texts and a DM from Viktor Nikiforov.
    “I WAS ASLEEP FOR AN HOUR,” he shrieks.
    Phichit takes complete credit for their marriage in his speech at their wedding less than a year later.
  • Through the careful and judicious saving of money for several years, and because in at least one timeline the main waterline in the onsen and the transmission on the family car don’t go kaput in the same year, Yuuri’s family is able to send him to one of Yakov Feltsman’s ice skating boot camps when he is fourteen years old.
    Viktor is there, all shining hair and huge smile and new celebrity. He has just placed at the Turin Olympics and is on his way to becoming a Russian household name, and Yuuri has been in love with him for two years already.
    “Yuuri!” Viktor coos across the ice, over the heads of the fifteen other skaters in the bootcamp. “Keep your hips even! It won’t make it so hard to turn into your Axel!”
    “Yuuri! Don’t hunch your shoulders on the spread eagle!”
    “Yuuri! Your thigh should be parallel to the ice on that sitspin!”
    “He’s incredibly skilled for his age,” Lilia tells Yakov in the back of the rink one day. “And Vitya has been behaving remarkably well, since he came here.” She fixes her eyes on Yakov, deep and determined. “He’ll be old enough to make his senior debut next year. If we groom him through his last year of juniors, he could bronze in his first GPF, or better. I want him, Yasha.”
    Yakov Feltsman is not in the habit of denying his wife those few things she asks of him.
    Yuuri Katsuki returns home after that bootcamp to pack his things and collect his dog and hug his parents goodbye.
    “I’ll take good care of him, Mr. and Mrs. Katsuki,” Viktor assures from a Skype call. “He’ll be getting the best training in the world. I even have a poodle, so Vicchan won’t be lonely during the day!”
    Hiroko and Toshiya just smile knowingly.
    Yuuri Katsuki is newly fifteen when he moves to Russia and begins sharing a condo with Viktor Nikiforov. He is sixteen when he wins his first GPF silver, and eighteen when the Vancouver Olympics roll around and he stands below his best friend on the podium and accepts silver for Japan as Viktor accepts gold.
    He is nineteen when, after five years of glances and touches and shared secrets and tears and laughter, Viktor pulls him into bed.
    “About time,” is the general consensus to that.
    They have only been dating, dating-dating, for five months when Viktor asks him to marry him.
    “I know it’s quick,” Viktor says, “but I feel like–I feel like we’ve known each other all our lives, anywa, so what’s the point in waiting?”
    Yuuri, of course, feels the same way.
  • Viktor makes a split-second decision to touch up his make-up before a press conference at the Trophee de France 2011, and as he’s patting the sweat marks off his temples hears the definite sound of someone crying.
    “Um,” he announces to the otherwise silence bathroom. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah!” comes the answer, shrill. “I’m totally fine!”
    “You don’t sound fine,” Viktor says, and ducks his head to see which stall has feet under it. In the last stall, he sees a pair of badly-abused sneakers. He straightens up and knocks on the door. “I’ll leave you alone if you want me to, but I can–if you want, I can show you a better place to cry. Than here.”
    It takes a moment, but the door opens. The man in front of him has watery eyes and puffy red cheeks and Viktor isn’t sure he has ever found someone so beautiful.
    “Okay,” he whispers, and Viktor leads him onto the roof where instead of crying, he stares out over the skyline and tells Viktor about his home town.
    Viktor never does discover why Yuuri was crying, but he does get his phone number–and he does visit his hometown with him, a year later, to tell Yuuri’s family that they’ve decided to get married.
  • Yuuri is somehow convinced by Phichit to go out with a group after Skate America in 2013–Phichit is in his element, leading people around the city with expansive gestures and the effortless social confidence Yuuri has come to know of his best friend. 
    “You’re from this city too, aren’t you?” asks someone at Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri turns from Phichit’s monologue to see Viktor Nikiforov of all people. Yuuri, distantly in the back of his mind, realizes that he didn’t see Viktor before because he is wearing a hat, scarf, and enormous sunglasses.
    “Um, not from here,” Yuuri says, trying not to squeak, “but I–we both live here, Phichit and I.”
    “But you know the city,” Viktor says, “so that means you would know a place where I can get the most disgustingly greasy food imaginable and you and I can go there and my coach never needs to know?”
    “Yes,” Yuuri says immediately, because he may be timid around most people, and especially around his idol, but he has more than enough sense to realize that His Time Has Come. “I can absolutely do that.”
    Yuuri takes Viktor to American Coney Island, where they eat loose burgers and chili fries and drink diet coke, which is the only cession to their diets.
    “Oh Yuuri,” Viktor laughs at the end of the night, a speck of chili cheese still at the corner of his mouth, “I could fall in love with a man like you.”
    And he does.
  • Celestino wins a radio lottery and receives tickets to Champions on Ice in Las Vegas–he decides to take Yuuri and a rinkmate. Yuuri’s rinkmate is nice, but he doesn’t know her very well, and he’s several years younger. She also has friends in Nevada who she wants to meet up with, and Yuuri doesn’t know anybody in the state for obvious reasons. On the first day they are there, Yuuri’s rinkmate disappears with her friends and Celestino takes his wife and goes exploring on the strip. Yuuri stays in his room and plays Pokemon and Skypes his mother.
    On the second day, Yuuri goes shopping for souvenirs for Yuuko and his family, and stares far too long at the billboard of Viktor Nikiforov’s face that is advertising the ice show. That night, he debates which of the three posters he brought with him he should bring to have Viktor sign, before deciding on none–the odds that he will meet Viktor Nikiforov tonight are practically not any higher than they were when the were on opposite sides of the world, and Celestino won’t want to wait in the long autograph lines.
    “Don’t you want an autograph, Yuuri?” Celestino asks after the show, and Yuuri thinks it’s nice of him even though they both know that the polite thing to do is say no.
    “No,” Yuuri says, staring at the long line, and continues out of the building. 
    They branch off then–Celestino has dinner plans with his wife, and Yuuri’s rinkmate is meeting back up with her friends for some clubbing.
    Yuuri is walking back to the hotel when he bumps headlong into somebody’s solid chest.
    “Oh, sorry,” they say, and steady him with hands on his shoulders. Yuuri looks up and finds the same icey blue eyes frm that billboard yesterday staring back at him.
    “Oh,” Yuuri whispers, wide-eyed. “You’re–”
    “Shhh,” whispers Viktor Nikiforov, pressing a finger to his own lips. “Don’t give it away, I’m hiding. 
    “VITYA,” someone from the alley leading back towards the ice center screams.
    “Come on,” Viktor laughs, and tugs Yuuri away by the hand. 
    It’s the spring before Viktor will cut his hair, and it flies out behind him in a magnificent cascade as they run.
    They find their way into a club, where Viktor buys them drinks and laughs and laughs no matter what Yuuri is saying, and then drags him out onto the dance floor. Yuuri has not yet met Phichit Chulanont, who will drag him to pole dancing classes and teach him how to move his hips like a weapon, but he and Viktor get by in the crush of bodies, pushing against each other.
    “I think I love you,” Viktor breaths against his neck, and they’re both three sheets to the wind, but Viktor is Russian and Yuuri is a college student and their tolerance is astronomical. They aren’t even stumbling. “I know we only just met, but I think I love you.”
    “Then let’s get married,” Yuuri blurts before he can help it, and Viktor beams.
    “Yes!” he cries. “Yes, let’s do that!”
    It isn’t hard to find a place that will marry them–even though Viktor’s signature on the certificate looks more like a drawing of a tree, and even though Yuuri’s tie ends up around his forehead halfway through the ceremony.
    In the morning, Yuuri wakes up with the worst hangover of his life, fully-clothed next to Viktor Nikiforov, and says, “We can–this happens all the time, we can have it annulled.”
    Viktor stares down at the ring on his finger, tangled hair all over one shoulder. Yuuri realizes that he doesn’t even rememer where the rings came from. How much did they cost? 
    “I would rather not, if that’s okay,” Viktor murmurs, and so they don’t.
    Yuuri carries out the rest of the year in Detroit, wearing the ring around his neck on a chain and thinking about his husband, half a world away, waiting for him.
Lockers - Peter Parker

request -  hey, welcome to tumblr ! great username XD i was wondering if you could do a scenario where the reader was in the elevator then as spiderman pulls her up, she recognizes his voice then the next day, she confronts peter in at school, in an empty classroom and says she knows who he is and then hugs him out of nowhere and so much fluff ugh. thank you and i wish you the best with the blog !

a/n - i went through many different plots/settings with this fic so it took a while but, writing this was really fun. it sort of become rly super duper long so i apologize for that LOL and hopefully the fluff isn’t a flop like me but don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you’d like and follow!

The elevator began to shake even more, dropping one more time before I felt as if our fate was waiting for us down at the bottom floor. The broken glass made it hard to stand up, but what was even worse was that I was the only one left in the doomed elevator.

“Grab onto my hand!” The officer shouted at me, extending his arm to be the best way he could. I tried to desperately to reach it, but I couldn’t. The mix of adrenaline and fear had struck my body to the max.

“Sir, I-I can’t.” I cried, my heart breaking even more. Just then, the elevator went down another foot, and I felt my back press up against the tarnished wall. All I could hear was the harsh beat of my heart and the yells for help from the people up top.

“(Y/N) please! Try again!” I heard Liz yell from above. The situation had become to surreal to me that I almost became numb to it, with what could happen in a matter of seconds not scaring me as much as it should be.

Before I could register anything else, the sound of glass breaking snapped me back into reality. But surprisingly, it wasn’t from the elevator.

Keep reading

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist linked in bio


If she closes her eyes hard enough, and just at the right moments, Y/n can feel Harry in Dan.

It’s quite peculiar, how she finds Harry in almost anything. It’s something she finds so riveting yet so dangerous at the same time. He’s everywhere, he’s in every breath she takes and in every move she makes, and it’s something that brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort yet an overbearing sense of instability.

Dan—an individual full of insecurities and excitement—who varies oh, so differently from Harry, can feel like him if she really tries hard enough. His arms don’t hold her quite the same, and his lips aren’t as soft and flavorful, but if she squeezes her eyes shut, and she loses herself in the memories of Harry, it’s like he’s almost back again—only in the most minuscule of ways.

Which is why, now, in this moment in time, Y/n can barely keep her eyes open.

It’s the first time Y/n brought Dan to the house, letting him stop by to watch a film after his shift. It’s a little something he’s wanted to do for a while, and after many coffee dates and many pleads from Dan, she finally took the step of being completely alone with him.

Gabby decided to go to a friends house and insisted they take their time together. It started off wonderfully; a bottle of red wine, a box of chocolates, and a bag of popcorn while they watched Jaws.

It was all wonderful, until Dan decided to make the move.

Dan is on top of her, lips connecting to hers in a lustful motion. It isn’t that Y/n doesn’t want to be in this position, but more of her being hesitant to do so. She hasn’t kissed anybody since Harry, and although Dan is one of the nicest people she’s ever met, she can’t find it within herself to keep moving any more forward.

And everything about it feels wrong.

Between all the touching, all the kissing, all the feelings within her, she can’t stop thinking about Harry. She can’t stop thinking about how much she misses him and how much she wants him back. She’s still in love with him, so much so that doing this with someone else makes her feel dirty—makes her feel like she’s betraying him.

And it’s all too much, because no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to feel him, he’s not there, and she can’t help but seem to think that he never will be—not anymore.

“No, no, stop.” She whimpers, shaking her head in an attempt to reject Dan’s restless lips.

He doesn’t stop, however, too engaged in the moment to really understand the words stuttering from her mouth. He continues kissing her, instead, moving down to her collarbones.

At this point, Y/n starts to hyperventilate. Between the sobs daring to escape her chest and the lack of air from her previous activities, everything is straining against her. She doesn’t fully understand how she was able to get this far without it being with Harry.

“Stop!”

Her arms push Dan off of her until she’s alone on the couch as he’s panting on the floor. She can’t breathe. Her chest is tightening and her cries are so harsh that her lungs are collapsing inside of her.

She reaches her hands up to the roots of her hair, pulling back on them as she tries to gather all the oxygen she can. At this point, her head feels light and her sight is completely blurred by the tears flowing out of them—ones that she doesn’t even try to stop.

“I’m s—so sor—ry.” She hiccups, her head falling to her hands.

Dan gulps as he tentatively stands from his spot on the floor, his hands up in front of him as if in a panic—trying desperately to figure out how to fix the mess being made in front of him.

He looks around the room, as if in search for something to guide him through this situation, but there’s nothing. All the room occupies is a broken woman, sobbing breathlessly on a couch in front of him, muttering incoherent phrases under her breath.

“Okay,” he huffs out, nodding his head to himself, “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?”

He occupies the empty spot next to her, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. In all honesty, Dan is complete shit at helping people during emotional breakdowns, and considering this one had happened so suddenly, he had absolutely no warning that he would be put in this position.

Y/n feels bad, she does, considering Dan doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s given him and surely doesn’t deserve what was once an innocent date to end up a complete disaster. But she can’t help it, and she can’t stop now, no matter how hard she tries.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

His voice is nothing but a whisper, and the words that spoke out from his lips nearly brings every movement in Y/n’s body to a halt. She never told him that it was Harry who broke her heart, and to be honest, she doesn’t even find the strength within her to begin to question how he even knows of Harry—especially his relationship with her.

Of course, their relationship has been publicized for years, but Dan is a very closed-off type of person. He’s not much into music, either—another part of him that differs so drastically from Harry—and spends a majority of his time working or spending time outside rather than succumbing himself in social media.

He looks down at the rose ring wrapped around his pointer finger, twirling it around with the hand that was once wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders.

He knew the moment he saw Harry’s reaction that this ring very much belonged to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she sacrificed it so mindlessly—why it seemed to have no story behind it. But between everything Gabby’s told him and everything he’s gathered from her previous relationship, she wanted nothing more than to get rid of every reminder she had of him.

He doesn’t feel worthy enough for it, though. If Y/n and Harry don’t find their way back to each other, he feels she should at least give it to somebody that she loves, not somebody she needs to help her get over her heartbreak.

He slides it off his finger, placing it gently on the palm of his hand before closing his fingers into a fist.

“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n. Not if you can’t talk to me.” He mutters softly, “Not if you’re still in love with him, we’ll be getting nowhere.”

This makes her cry harder. She still doesn’t have the audacity to look up at him, no, how could she? After everything she’s done?

This is why she always ends up alone. No matter how in love she is, no matter how much effort she puts into a relationship, they always end up leaving her. It’s happened long before Harry, and she was so convinced he’d stay when he came around. She was so dead set on him being her forever, but the same thing happened again. He left, just like everyone else.

And now, Dan is leaving her, and although she can’t exactly blame him for doing so, it’s another wound to her heart—it’s another pain in her chest that only seems to increase with pain.

He sighs sadly at the sight in front of him, upset with himself that he’s probably a partial reason for her soul-shaking sobs and lack of air, but he has no other choice. If he stays with her, he’d be forcing her to love someone she doesn’t. He has to let her go if it means to possibly make amends with her happiness again.

He takes one of her shaking hands away from her face and bringing it towards his lap, spreading her fingers away from her palm so that he can set the ring softly against it.

She sobs at the sight, bringing her opposite hand to her mouth as she tries to quiet herself down.

“This was Harry’s, it always was. This belongs to you, Y/n, not me.”

She nods, trying her best to smile at him as a form of appreciation, but it fails miserably. He understands, though, that she cares, and doesn’t ask her any questions.

“I’ll let Gabby know to come home now, okay?”

He kisses the top of her head, the way he always does, before removing himself from the couch and toward the front door.

“Take care of yourself, Y/n. I mean it.”

And then, he’s gone, leaving Y/n alone in an empty house and her haunting thoughts. She feels the world is closing in on her, only giving her a restricted amount of air and a limited amount of light to see what’s in front of her.

She’s alone—she’s left by herself in a dark room that’s only being illuminated by the television light, where nobody can hear her, where nobody can touch her, where nobody can see her; in a place where she just can’t trust herself.

She’s left alone, as she’s always left, and she just can’t take it anymore.

Her emotions become so strong that her body collapses onto the floor, her head throbbing and throat burning from all the tears and cries. She can’t breathe, her lungs failing to take in oxygen and her chest is pounding.

It’s so bad that if Gabby doesn’t come home soon, she actually believes she’s going to die. She feels the tug on her heart and feels how hard it is for it to do its job properly—she practically feels it overworking itself.

“Oh, God.”

Gabby finds her on the floor, making her immediately drop her purse and run to her collapsed body. Y/n is a withering mess underneath her, completely drenched in sweat as violent sobs erupt from her body.

She’s quick to sit her up properly onto the floor before lifting her back onto the couch, running a comforting hand down the side of her neck as she begins to shush her down to a calm state. However, her attempt falters when Y/n shakes her head to remove Gabby’s touch from her neck.

“I can’t—I can’t—“

She tries to find words to explain what’s happening to her right now. Between the pain in her body and the feeling in her head, her brain is scrambling with so many fearful thoughts that the only thing she can truly comprehend is being saved from this horrifying feeling.

“Hospital.”

Gabby is taken aback when she says it, completely astonished by just how serious this all is. She realizes this isn’t a situation that she can fix on her own, and it makes her feel like such a bad friend that she can’t give her what she needs.

Tears fall from her eyes in panic, well aware that her friend is undergoing something far worse than a mental breakdown, but also knows that the hospital won’t be able to help her.

Only Harry can.

“Let me call for help, okay?“ She asks softly. “I’m gonna send help.”

When Harry sees Gabby’s contact light up his phone, something inside of him instantly fills with worry. He knows, without a doubt, that Gabby hates him more than anybody ever since what happened. And knowing her so well, she would never reach out to him, especially when her negative feelings toward him were so strong, unless it’s serious.

“Gabby?”

“You have to do something, Harry.” She cries through the phone, peaking over her shoulder to look over Y/n from her location in the kitchen.

She’s still a mess, holding her hand over her heart as if it were going to mend the pain. Her head is thrown over the back of the couch, her other hand running over her face continuously. Her sobs haven’t settled, only seeming to increase with panic over the unfamiliar reaction occurring over her body.

“She thinks you don’t want her and—Harry she thinks she’s dying. Her heart is so broken. She keeps saying her heart is going to fail her and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. She—she was trying so hard. Harry, please, you have to—you have to—“

Harry leans on his elbows over the kitchen counter, huffing out a shaky breath when he hears both Gabby and Y/n’s cries through the phone. He rubs his hand over his face, doing anything to prevent the tears nearly pooling out from his eyes.

He’d be lying if he said that guilt isn’t eating him alive in this moment. And it’s not that he hasn’t felt any remorse or any guilt since he’d broken Y/n’s heart, but he’s now fully aware that he has to look at the damage he’s done. He’ll have to witness all the pain, all the heartbreak he’s put her through, and nothing makes him feel worse.

“I’ll do anything.” He whimpers. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I promise, I won’t keep doing this to her, you have to believe me. Just—“ he lets out a broken breath, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping, “just tell me what to do.”

Gabby wipes the tears from her cheeks, yet again peering over to watch over Y/n on the couch. To her dismay, there is absolutely no improvement.

“Come here, pick her up, and bring her home. Just talk to her, please. Nothing makes her feel worse than believing you don’t want her anymore. Hell, even if you don’t—I don’t know with you anymore—just give her something. You’re the only one that can fix this.”

He sighs, nodding his head before making his way out of his house without much of a response to her. He’s only concerned for Y/n, and is so focused on getting to her so that he can prove to her that he’s changed—that he’s not the same Harry he was and is going to be there for her for as long as his life lasts, even if she doesn’t allow it.

But it’s upon arrival he realizes how much more serious this is than he thought. She’s completely breaking down, every inch of her shaking and fear written on her face. She’s a complete and utter mess, a completely wrecked version of such a beautiful, unbroken woman who had so much love in her heart and surrounded by so much love in the air.

And even though Harry knows she believes she’s going to die, apart of him believes she’s already dead. The life inside of her has burned out and is now just a product of what once was. The Y/n he always known is long gone—so far gone he almost doesn’t believe it’s her.

He looks at her with the most distraught and sympathetic look Gabby has ever seen. She has never seen so much guilt in somebody before that—no matter how much she hates him—she can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.

“Baby, hey. Hey now, it’s alright.” He whispers, kneeling in front of Y/n’s shaking figure and tentatively reaching for her hair so that he can attempt to calm her down. “I’m here now, I’m right here.”

A pitiful sound leaves her lips when she looks up at him; something between a whine, a sob, and a groan. It’s messy from her throat being raw from all the screaming and cries, and it leaves an indescribable pain that only makes her cries stronger.

She can’t even think properly, everything in her body overworking itself. It’s something she’s never experienced before, and all the fears of it being permanent rush through her veins—leaving her with an overwhelming amount of anxiety.

“She’s having a panic attack.” Harry mumbles to Gabby, making sure to rub gently over the back of Y/n’s neck. Although panic attacks weren’t common for her, whenever she was overwhelmed and stressed, this gesture always seemed calmed her down.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive with her like this I—Gabby, how do I focus with her like this?” He cries, the situation in front of him making his body turn to shambles, “Especially when it’s my fault? How do I—do I keep her here until she’s calm? I don’t—I don’t know—”

Gabby shakes her head, reaching her hand over to graze his tense shoulder. She squeezes the muscle softly, almost as a sort of reassurance.

“She needs home, Harry—” she whispers, “she needs you.

He nods, choking back sobs as he brushes the hair out of Y/n’s face. The skin of her face is red and completely soaked, but this is the first time he’s seen her since the morning in the grocery store, and she’s never looked so beautiful.

“I’m going to take you home with me, Y/n. But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” He asks, holding her face delicately between his hands, “Breathe with me.”

Y/n sucks in a deep breath when Harry inhales deeply, attempting to rid all the anxiety and pain settling inside of her. Her inhale is broken between hiccups and cries, but as she keeps eye contact with him as she tries to calm down, a little part of her feels revived.

“It hurts.” She whimpers between sobs, referring to the pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head that just can’t seem to heal.

She watches as Harry’s face scrunches with an agonizing cry, and she knows he’s aware of exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been brokenhearted for so long, she doesn’t even think he’s the least bit shocked when she tells him her heart is hurting.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he kisses her forehead gently. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Make you feel better?”

And as much as she wants to hate him, or yell at him for everything he’s done to her and make him understand just how much of her life he’s ruined, she genuinely feels like her body is going to collapse at any given moment. She needs him, even if it’s just for right now, she has to just focus on everything happening in the now. Harry’s come back to her and she’s about to go back home.

Because if she doesn’t think about the present moment—Harry holding her, Harry kissing her, Harry about to take the both of them back to their house—she’ll never find a way to fix herself. She’ll be stuck in this anxiety and pain for far too long—so long that it could actually kill her.

So she closes her eyes, only focusing on his touch and his breath fanning over her wet face. She forgets the t-shirt, she forgets all the times he’s ignored her after declaring them to take a break, and she forgets about Jessica. At least for right now, she can focus on all that tomorrow.

She nods, and it’s then Harry notices how much more calm she is. Although she’s still crying and still incapable of speaking much from the aching in her throat, she’s breathing properly again and her once undying sobs have turned into soft whimpers.

He leans in so that he can properly wrap his arms around her, hooking one hand on her back and the other under her knees. There’s no way in hell she’s capable of walking—not like this, and in all honesty, he would much rather hold her now than leave her side for another second.

It’s when Y/n is being held so close to him again that the aching in her chest seems to almost vanish completely. And although there is still a weight on top of her lungs, and still a slight uncomfortableness in her heart, she’s finally able to breathe again.

“I’m gonna make this all better, okay? I promise you, gonna fix you.” He mumbles with his lips against her hairline, making sure to keep rubbing the back of her neck softly.

It’s a promise he intends on keeping—a promise he never plans on breaking again. He could never live with himself if he were to keep putting her through all of this pain. She’s the most undeserving person—he knows that—and he knows she’s too pure to go through all that she’s been through the past couple of months.

The car ride is completely silent, only Y/n’s cries and small sniffles filling the empty space. Although she still isn’t completely calm, she’s improved so much since he first came to pick her up and it is able to keep his mind at ease. At least while he drives.

And he doesn’t miss her hand sneaking over the console to intertwine her fingers with his. He doesn’t expect it but he also doesn’t mind it. If anything, it makes him feel better just as much as it does her.

When they pull up to the driveway of their once shared house, every bit of composure she’s withheld in her body is breaking down by the second. Her strength is wearing thin, and knowing she’ll be reuniting in the house where Y/n and Harry once had everything makes her more afraid than ever.

Harry notices her sudden shift in mood and doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle himself from his seat and walk around the car to where her exhausted figure is sobbing, slumped against the passenger seat. He sighs meekly before unbuckling her, as well, and lifting her against him the way he had before.

“Hey there, s’alright, I’m here. We’ll work this out, but you need to sleep first, yeah? Looking very pale and I know you well enough to see you’ve been lacking sleep.”

Although they both know Y/n isn’t going to respond, she wants to continue listening to him speak. It’s something she hasn’t heard in so long, and she wouldn’t even care if he was talking about the goddamn weather, she just wants to hear him again.

He keeps talking, too, because he notices the effects of his voice on her anxiety and how the muscles in her body relax under his words. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure she’s okay again, even if it means having a one-sided conversation.

“You know how you are, too—grumpy and sensitive when you’re tired. Almost take my head off if you don’t get more than seven hours. Remember that one time at my mum’s Christmas dinner party? Barely slept the night before from wrapping so many gifts that you genuinely got upset with me for not knowing your favorite alcoholic beverage.” He chuckles softly. “Funny lil thing.“

Through the nonstop crying and the frown that hasn’t left Y/n’s lips in what feels like an eternity, the first smile stretches from her lips. It’s the smallest closed mouth smile he’s ever seen, but it’s there, and it’s the most genuine feeling of happiness she’s had in so long.

When Harry unlocks the door, he wastes no time making his way over to their couch. He knows very well that she wouldn’t want to sleep on their bed, considering she’s well aware of what he did with Jessica on that bed and he wants no reason to upset her any further.

He sets her down in front of the couch, petting the top of her head softly before gathering a blanket and a pillow for her to sleep on.

He sets it up like a bed, almost, before turning to leave so that she can have her privacy. He doesn’t think she’d want to sleep with him, so he decides to sleep in the guest bedroom since he knows she’d always pick the living room couch over that room.

But before he gets too far, Y/n weakly captures his fingers in hers, pulling him back towards her.

His head snaps down to her finger, noticing the rose ring being worn beautifully on her middle finger. He almost chokes when he sees it on her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in half confusion and half in awe.

“Please,” she whimpers, “stay.”

He snaps out of his trance at her words, slowly nodding his head as a small “of course” falls from his lips.

He lays comfortably on the couch, looking up at her when he finds a position where she can lay beside him.

“If you want you can take the—alright” he huffs.

His eyes narrow as he watches her lay on top of him—fully on top of him; her cheek nesting right where his shoulder meets his neck as her arms slither around his sides until her hands meet under his back. Her legs tangle perfectly in between his, and in any other circumstance, this probably wouldn’t have been an ideal sleeping position for the either of them. But Y/n is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she feels this is the only position she can sleep.

Harry doesn’t mind, and easily ignores the subtle uncomfortableness in his back as he wraps his arms securely around her frame.

Although Y/n is already fast asleep on top of it, he’s unsure how he can close his eyes for longer than a blink. This could be the last chance he has to be with her in this way. He’s unsure what tomorrow holds for the both of them and their relationship—it could end entirely or create an entirely new beginning.

With the possibilities almost endless against their favor, he doesn’t want to miss a second of what could be the last of her in his life. So, he embraces the feeling of her tight hold, the little puddle of drool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and the tickle on his chin from her loose strands of hair, because this could be the last time he feels all of that.

But he also can’t help but feel that small bit of hope still latching onto him. That somewhere—deep down—he knows they belong to each other for the rest of their lives. And that, maybe, if the universe decides that their relationship should end tomorrow, he knows destiny will find a way for the both of them again.

So, he holds her a little tighter, breathes her in a little harsher, and soaks up all the extra warmth in her body, and prays that everything will be okay.

Trust Fall

Langst/Klance short fic

Trust is a weird thing, isn’t it? It’s something people take so seriously, yet they also turned it into a game. Lance just falls, and sees what happens.

-

“Oof!”

Lance made a grunt sound as he hit the ground in front of Pidge. Pidge shook her head slowly, gripping her laptop closer to her body.

“I trusted you.” Lance narrowed his eyes up to her. He laid there, arms splayed on his sides, a pout playing on his face. “I even gave you a warning.”

Pidge rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Do you think I’m just gonna drop my laptop to catch you for your dumb game? I’m sorry, Lance, but I’m really busy right now.”

Lance pout deepens, but nodded his head in understanding as Pidge lowered her face to give him a smile.

“Next time buddy, okay?”

-

Lance wanted to try it again, but this time it was with Hunk.

Lance walked a slow pace towards Hunk, humming innocently and tunefully, his arms at his sides until he was a close enough to Hunk for him to make the catch.

“Trust fall!” Lance shouted, turning his back and letting gravity take him down, falling, hoping a pair of arms would catch him.

Sadly, there weren’t.

“Oh, Lance!!” Hunk shouted in surprise, almost dropping, his plates, “Stop doing that! I can’t catch you with my hands full!!”

Hunk set the plates he was going to use for the food later down, holding out his hand for Lance to take, which he does.

“I trusted you.” Lance chuckled jokingly, narrowing his eyes as he did with Pidge. He grabbed the plates down and handed them back to Hunk.

“Sorry, dude,” Hunk frowned as soon as his hands was full of the plates again. He shifted his arms for a better position for the plates, and smiled. “Just kinda caught me off guard.”

“Ahh, don’t worry, it’s just fun and games,” Lance shrugged, “Don’t drop me next time, butterfingers.” He chuckled, and Hunk gave him a smile and shook his head, nudging Lance’s arm with his own.

“Next time, buddy, okay?”

-

Keith was next on his list.

It was after training of course. Lance had waited for Keith to be done with the bot, as it fell hard to the ground in pieces, Keith ended the session and moved out of the training area, where Lance waits for him near the entrance.

Lance was a little nervous for this one, considering that he would expect Keith to be the last person to catch him. But reality is, Lance doesn’t care if Keith catched him or not.

Because he already trusts Keith with his life.

Lance cracked a smirk, his arms ready to be stretched out, falling back on either against the cold floor of the castle, or the warmth of Keith’s arms and body.

He popped out, seeing the surprise in Keith’s purple eyes, and fell back.

“Trust fall!!!” He yelled.

Gravity took him, but instead of a pair of arms catching him, it was the whole body instead, taking both Keith and himself to the ground.

Whoops.

“Agh, LANCE!!” Keith groaned, “Get your dead weight off of me!!”

Lance laughed playfully, like a puppy looking for attention.

“Keeeeeith,” he pouted, sitting up and straddling his hips purposely, “I trusted you!”

Lance could’ve sworn he saw a quick pink flush on Keith’s cheeks, but he let that thought out of his mind.

Keith pursed his lips, not knowing what to do as if Lance straddling his hips was a once in a life kind of thing.

Keith gritted his teeth. “Get. Off.”

Lance would be hurt by this, but he caught the flicker of a smile on the corner of Keith’s mouth, knowing he was enjoying this as much as he was.

“I swear to God, LANCE!!” Keith whined, “You’re crushing me!!”

Lance grinned widely, and crossed his arms, a thought running across his mind.

“Promise me you’ll catch me next time, then.” Lance smirked.

“Lance-”

Lance smiled again, taking his hands and tickling Keith’s sides, causing him to laugh uncontrollably. A laugh that could save his life, a sound that he finds the most comfort in when the days were dark.

Lance laughed wildly too. “Promise me!”

“I-haha!!-I-sTOP IT!!” Lance caught tears in Keith’s eyes from laughing too hard, clutching his sides and wiggling underneath Lance, his body warm from the contact.

“I PROMISE!!”

-

Lance decided that his next target shall be Shiro.

But hey, what other ways can he spend his time around the castle without having a little fun for himself?

He peered around the corridor wher he saw Shiro talking to Allura about what move they shall proceed next with Zarkon and his army at hand on one of the screens, dragging their hands across it as they make the plans.

Lance wonders if even Shiro would drop everything just to catch him.

Lance made a small smile to himself, and walked in unnoticed, not listening to the talk exchanges between Shiro and Allura.

“Trust fall!!” Lance smiled widely, confident that maybe he would be caught.

Instead, he had his trust back on the floor.

Allura yelped in surprise and confusion, and Shiro just groaned with frustration.

“Ahh, Lance!” He raised his voice, “Not now!!”

Lance felt his heart break just a little, but it was alright. It was only fun and games, anyways.

“I trusted you.” Lance pouted, chuckling again. His arms at his sides, his head tilted up to look at Shiro and Allura, who both towered over him like his parents would when he was about to get -dun dun dun- la chancla.

Lance’s chuckle turned more into a light hearted laugh. It was enough for Shiro to lower his gaze to a more calm expression, cracking a small smile as he helped Lance back up.

Allura raised an eyebrow, still confused. “Is this ‘trust fall’ an earth thing?”

“Kind of,” Shiro chucked, “Hey, Lance, maybe you should stop doing this to everyone. We’re not always gonna be prepared, you’re always catching us off guard.”

Lance felt a small frown forming on his mouth when looked down, staring the ground where he was just laying. He felt a little guilty annoying everyone.

That “trust fall” thing was only something that he would do with his siblings, who no matter what they were doing or how annoyed they were, they would drop everything just to catch the boy in their arms.

It was all just fun and games, right?

“Sorry, Shiro,” Lance chuckled sheepishly, “I was just trying to pass the time.”

Allura grinned, “Well, you’re in luck Lance. Shiro and I have just finished our plan for when we infiltrate the Galra. Get the others, too. Are you ready?”

Lance’s eyes went up, a small smile finding its way back on his face.

-

He decided to do it just one last time.

-Run.-

-Run.-

-Run.-

That’s all that came to his mind. That’s all he wanted to do. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Lance was the one who drew the attention. He drew the attention away from Shiro and Pidge, so that they could get closer to what they needed.

Lance felt himself cornered, surrounded by the Galra.

He lifted his gun, ready to fire when they did.

And when they did, he just wasn’t quick enough to avoid all four guns aiming and firing him.

He remembers hearing the blast ricochet from all four.

He remembers their taunting words, how -useless- he was and how -irritating- he must be for his teammates to leave him all alone.

He remembers the aching pain from his chest to his leg, a burning sensation that his grandchildren could’ve felt.

He remembers seeing the Galra fall back, leading themselves to believe that they have killed one.

He remembers standing on his two, thinking of the first time he walked his first steps towards his older brother, now thinking of how these were him possibly taking his last few steps.

He remembers hearing echoes of voices and blasts coming from the end of the corridor of the Galra ship.

He remembers hearing Keith’s shouts stand out from the rest.

He remembers Keith’s laugh and his smile, which urges him forward.

Holding his sides, cracking his smile possibly for the last time, he takes bigger steps to get closer to Keith, who was crouching down behind a busted machine, a good hideaway from the Galra’s blasts.

As Lance got closer, he took smaller steps, croaking out his next words.

“Trust fall.”

Although, instead of falling back, he fell forward, gravity pulling him down, expecting to feel the cold ground of the Galra ship.

Instead he felt a pair of arms in front of him, and when he looked up, he saw a sight of someone, an expression he hopes to never see on his face again. The expression of pain and concern, eyes wide in panic. Brows furrowed worriedly, and mouth tightened as if trying to hold in the sobs. He saw the tears prickling his face.

Lance didn’t want to see that. He didn’t want to see Keith like that ever again.

“I trust you,” Lance chuckled, feeling Keith adjusting him in his arms, cradling him close to his own body, despite the fact that he was being drenched in Lance’s blood.

“S-Shut up, Lance, j-just-shut-,” Keith choked, trying to get a hold of himself. “You’re gonna be alright, you’re gonna-you have to-”

Lance lifted his hand and tangled it in Keith’s hair. He just wanted to see Keith smile one more time. He saw Keith shout something into his intercom of his helmet frantically.

Lance felt Keith tighten his grip on him when he felt himself drift away, as if he believes that the tighter he held on, the longer Lance will stay.

“I’m..not going a-anywhere Keith, but you..don’t n-need me,” Lance just laughed, “I’m just the s-seventh wheel.”

Lance was so close to Keith that he could hear the breath caught in Keith’s mouth.

“No, y-you’re not, you idiot,” Keith’s tears rolled down his cheeks, “Y-You weren’t supposed to go out like this. You -aren’t- supposed to–We were just getting-,” he sniffled, laughing like him crying was so stupid, “getting started.”

Lance laughed, and hugged himself closer to Keith, taking in his scent, even if his blood spilled over him.

Finally, he heard other voices, other hands trying to help him up. But all he did was held onto Keith tighter.

All Lance wanted to do was just lay there, knowing that his silly little trust fall wasn’t all stupid. He wanted to lay there, with Keith holding him close as if he was precious cargo. The longer Keith held on, the longer Lance will hold on.

Trust is a precious cargo that Lance likes to hold on. It’s funny, you know. The way it’s been made into a kind of game he held on as a kid? The way he trusts Keith with his own life. The kind of trust that turns a certain bond into something more than one person hoping the other will catch them.

It’s funny, the way he believes that falling is just like flying, except there’s a more permanent destination. Whether it’s the cold floor of a castle or a ship, or the warmth of someone who cares about him.

It all was just fun and games, right?

Writing Antagonists: (Aka, Your Villains and Bad Guys)

The antagonist is often either one of the most fun things to write, or the most dreaded. But either way, they are a key element of the story, and that cannot be ignored. So, let’s talk about how to make a really great antagonist.

You may have in the past met a writer or teacher or whomever who insists on using the words “protagonist and antagonist” over words like “hero and villain.” Personally, I am not so stingy about it, I feel that I know what you mean anyway so it doesn’t really matter- what there is a legitimate reason as to why you should at least try to think of your villain as your antagonist instead.

And that reason is connotation. Well, denotation too, really- villain and antagonist aren’t completely the same thing, but I’m bringing it down to connotation. 

Simply said, when you think of the word “villain”, you’ll think something like “that’s the bad guy in the story.” And when you think of the “antagonist”, you probably think “that’s a fancy word for villain, aka the bad guy in the story.”

But antagonist isn’t just a fancy word. It’s a fancy concept. It means “the guy that opposes the good guy.” That can be on any argument or view. When writing your antagonist is to remember that nothing is black/white, good/bad thinking, and that includes your antagonist.

Let’s map out the steps to making a complex villain- aka, an antagonist.

First, remember that your antagonist (usually) is a person, just like your protagonist. It might help to develop them outside of their intentions first, and put a person to the upcoming reputation.

Background:

Chances are, your antagonist didn’t just rise up out of the ground ready to kill. They came from somewhere. Your readers don’t even have to know everything about your antag’s backstory, but you do, if you want to really understand them. It often holds the key reason as to why your antagonist is where they are. The drive behind anger, revenge, change, or pleasing someone else can come from the events in their background.

Why do they hold the beliefs they hold? Were they raised that way? Were they taught by some mentor figure? Were they cover from a reality they couldn’t bear? Are they trying to please someone, or get revenge on someone who displeased them? The answer should be in their background.

Motives/Beliefs:

Remember, every villain is a hero in their own mind. They believe that what they are doing is necessary, even if they recognize that it is unpleasant. What are they fighting for? Why does it matter to them so much, that they are willing to overlook all the harm they do?

“The Greater Good”: This is one of the more common and understandable villain motives. They believe that what they are doing now is paving the way to a better future. But keep in mind that what your antag views as a “better future” may be very, very different than the average opinion. Maybe a “better future” for them is a genocidal purge or the world ending in flames. Who knows.

That’s not the only type of motive. Be creative. Work with the information you established in your character’s background to find the most reasonable motive.

Tipping Point:

This is going to be related to your background and motive in an interesting way. Think of your antagonist as a character who has already completed their Character Arc and reached a negative end. Look at the points of change on the character arc- the ones that push your character farther down their path. What are those events? Those are the tipping points that prompted your character towards becoming they way they are now- those key moments where your character had a choice, and they chose to become bitter, hateful, vengeful, cold, or other negative things.

These could be the deaths of loved ones, the promptings of a mentor, or a moment of injustice that made them realize that the world isn’t always kind.

Personality/Actions:

This is the part where you develop them outside of their intentions. How do they behave? 

It’s tempting to just say that your villain is a villain because they torture and kill people. But those are not the only things that make a villain a scary or serious threat. Some characters might jump to violence easier than others. Some might be more into psychological torment. Some might actually seem really charming or persuasive, which is frightening in it’s own way- they might actually be tricky enough to confuse you into making bad decisions on your own. Think about your character’s background again. What makes the most sense for them as a person?

Presentation:

This is how your antagonist comes across to others. Keep in mind that your reader and your other characters don’t know your antagonist like you do. How does this person present to the world? 

-Are they open to discussion/negotiation?

-Are they open about their intentions?

-How quick are they to violence?

-What are their methods of war?

-When you meet them, are they charismatic, quiet, charming, vulgar? Do they have a sense of humor, or are they stoic?

-Do they seem to enjoy what they are doing, or do they express regrets even as they do it?

Moral Complexity:

What are they willing to do to achieve their goals? Do they have weaknesses in their personal lives?

1. Do they have noble ends behind their controversial means?

2. Is there a line even they won’t cross?

3. Do they have someone/something that they care about?

4. Do they prefer to do the killing/torturing etc themselves or do they just give the order?

Remember that if your antagonist does have any of these moral weaknesses, they are not going to want to show it. One has to keep up intimidating appearances, after all. 

Speaking of appearances…

Appearance:

This part is here to tell you what not to do. There are certain appearances that are getting really old with villains.

1. Dressing in all black. Why do they even do that? It’s time to stop associating black with “bad” and white with “good”. It just isn’t like that, so stop making villains all dark and stuff.

2. Scars. I think scars are pretty cool, don’t get me wrong. But if there is no relevant reason for it to be there, don’t talk about it all the time. That goes for all characters, not just villains. Like the color black, scars are not just a villain thing. Everyone has them. Don’t associate them with “bad.”

3. Sexy. I get the idea that making a villain attractive makes them harder to hate, but that can be kind of a cop out of actual complexity. Again, if there is no legitimate reason to make your villain sexy, then don’t. It’s not necessary.

4. Ugly. I hesitate to call any traits inherently ugly, but if you’re striving to make your character unpleasant looking just because they’re bad, then once again, you are associating feature=evil, which is not creative at best and seriously socially harmful at worst. 

Basically, your villains should be just as diverse as anyone else. You don’t need stereotypes to make them scary. Sometimes it’s scarier than anything else to just have an average person. It sort of adds to the idea that anyone could be a villain. And that’s pretty frightening.

Key Point:

- Complicate your villains. They’re not just Evil McEvilpants. 

That’s it for now, but like anything else in writing, antagonists have a lot of possibility and exceptions. But that was your basic rundown on the things to consider when making a complicated antagonist. 

~Penemue

Abandoned

“No, sorry Lance I can’t hang. I’m out of town for the week. Sorry dude.” Pidge sounded far away on the phone. That was alright, she was always busy anyway. He’d called Shiro then.

“Nope. Sorry Lance. Keith and I are out of town.”

“For how long?”

“About a week?” That was cool. They were probably sucking face anyway, he didn’t need to be there for that.

“Allura do you wanna go to-”

“Lance, stop calling everyone. They told you, we’re out of town.” She cut him off rather harshly. Lance could hear someone say her name in the background to which she responded with a “what?”

“Wait, where are you guys?”

Allura came back to the phone and answered him as if he should have already known. “On a cruise. We’ll be back in a week. Lance we’ve been planning this for a month so if you could–”

“WAIT YOU LEFT ME OUT OF A CRUISE?! WHAT THE HELL ALLURA?!” Lance yelled into his phone. “Put me on speaker.” His mind ran in circles over all the reasons they left him out of a trip.

“Lance, can you chill? We didn’t think you’d want to come.” He could practically hear Keith roll his eyes.

“What gave you that impression?” Lance caught his voice wavering with each word he spoke. He was upset they left him out of a cruise and didn’t even tell him they were going in the first place. They purposely did this to him.

“Well we’re going to Cuba and we know how much you complain about the heat and bugs so we just thought you wouldn’t want to go.” Keith answered.

Lance nearly dropped the phone. He was in complete and utter shock.

He put the phone back to his ear and started cursing them out in Spanish feeling his fingers cramp from clutching the phone so hard now.

“Woah- Lance slow down what are you saying?!” Shiro’s voice was clear.

“I WAS BORN IN CUBA YOU DICKS.” He finally said with the tears choking him. He wheezed and coughed. “I have family in Cuba! And you’re going on a fucking cruise?! You didn’t ask me!”

“Lance we didn’t know-”

“BECAUSE YOU NEVER ASKED. Hunk knew– Wait where’s Hunk?” Lance had realized Hunk was the only one who hadn’t spoken to him.

“I’m right here Lance. I asked them why you weren’t coming and they told me you didn’t want to. It was odd but I didn’t call you. I’m sorry.” Hunk tried to explain but everyone knew he was just as guilty as the rest of them.

“Some fucking friends you are.” He almost hung up before he heard Keith one last time.

“Why the fuck are you so upset? Look, we’re sorry, we didn’t know. You can’t blame us–.” Lance never hung up the phone so fast before in his life.

He was angry, he was sad, and most of all he felt abandoned. They didn’t know where he was from despite him always talking about it, they didn’t think he’d want to come because he’d complain?

It doesn’t matter. He’s got other friends he doesn’t need them anyway. He doesn’t…

Where Is He?

Request: I saw you wanted some angsty tom holland spider man requests >:3 you should write something where the reader gets kidnapped by someone who found out she is dating Peter, and they try to get her to reveal his location and secrets about him but she refuses to and they torture her. You can make an extra angsty ending or a fluffy one! Love you!

Requested by: anonymous.

A/N: Ooooh! Thank you for the request, love. I love you too ;) 

Pairing: Peter x Reader

Warnings: angst. torturing of the sort, a bit of sexual implications but not much.


Originally posted by j-murphy

“We know you’re dating him. There’s no point trying to fake it.” You felt your breath stuck in your throat as your eyes warily watch the knife tracing your arm. You fought your wrist restraints, trying to break free but it was helpless. Whoever had kidnapped you had used tough rope and wound it around your wrists tightly. It didn’t help that they’d strung your wrists so high that you could barely stand on your own feet. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spat at the man before you, holding your head out before you defiantly. “And even if I did, there’s no way i’d tell you.” You watched with terror as the man before you tightened his grip on the knife, pressing it lightly into your arm. You bit your lip, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

You’d expected him to continue, continue cutting until he finally managed to hear you cry. But instead the man stopped, pausing in his efforts. You watched him step closer to you, so that his face was only a mere inches from your own. You held your breath, backing your head as far as you could against the wall. You hated being the damsel in distress and you hated it more that you were being used for information, but there was no way in hell you give Peter up so you wouldn’t be hurt. Speaking of, it’d be really nice if he showed up around now…

“You know…” The man started, tilting the long knife threateningly in front of your face. “I’ve been watching you, well you and Spider-Man. I see the way he cares for you, which is exactly why I went after you. Even if you don’t tell me anything, he’ll fall for my trap to come save you and i’ll have him right where I want him.” You bit your lip, kicking out your lip in frustration knowing that the man in front of you was exactly right. Peter would come save you and there was nothing you could do to warn him that it’d only be a trap. “I’ll enjoy killing him in front of you.” 

“He’s stronger than you think.” You argued, shaking your head at his threats. The man only chuckled at your defiance, biting his lip in thought as he stared at you. You watched him warily, unsure of what he’d do before he shocked you, reaching his arms out and grabbing ahold of your top. You immediately knew of what he’d do and you opened your mouth to plead but was a second late as you heard the sound of fabric rip. 

You flushed in embarrassment as your bare stomach and bra came into view. You tried to press your elbows together, a feeble attempt at covering yourself.

“You’re very beautiful. I can see why Peter likes you.” The man commented, allowing his eyes to roam your shape. For a moment you feared of what he’d do, something that would be way worse the slicing your skin. But you allowed yourself to breath again when he grabbed the knife again, shaking his head; “i’m not gonna hurt you. Not in that way at least.” He confirmed, and despite the impending doom you knew faced you, you felt relief at the fact that he wasn’t going to touch you like that.

“Fuck you.” You spat, eyes crinkling in disgust.

“Feisty.” The man stepped towards you and you sucked in a deep breath, leaning up on your wrists and pressing your back against the wall. It did nothing to stop the man as he effortlessly stepped forward, making sure you were looking at him as he pressed the knife against your bare stomach, sliding it down your stomach. You could feel the blood drip down your stomach as pain shot through you.

You clenched your hands together, pressing your lips together in last hopes of keeping whatever yell of pain you’d have in. It only seemed to please the psychopath more, to see you struggle not to cry out. He laughed cruelly, a smirk on his lips as he placed his knife at your hip, pressing into it. There was nothing you could do as a scream burst through your lips, your ankles wobbling as you slumped, falling against the man. He did nothing but pushed you back up, “that’s it. Scream.” 

He sliced down your arm again, across your stomach, by your ribs. And all throughout you screamed in pain. No matter how much you pleaded he only continued, repeating the same question; “where is he?” Still you refused to answer, bit your tongue, and suffered through the pain.

It wasn’t until this had been going on far too long did the man show signs of frustration. He screamed in your face, calling you every name in the book as he slammed every bit of anger at you. “Damnit! Where is here?!”

“Right here.” You snapped your head to our left, finding Peter Parker in his Spider-Man suit standing above some rumble. Your heart fell at the sight of him, shaking your head in a desperate plea to go. You watched as your capturer turned towards you with a sick smile; “told you.” And then he was gone from your side, running towards Spider-Man who almost immediately fell into battle.

You tried your best to fight your restraints, your voice coming in a raw scream if Peter was knocked to the ground. He’d only nod your way, sending a reassuring smile as jump back into action. You watch him be beat on, fall and be thrown to the ground. But you watched him get back up from the ground, with renowned strength. You watched as the man finally fell to the ground and Peter delivered one final blow, knowing him out. 

He ripped his mask off his face, immediately running to your side. Peter said nothing as he scrambled to untie your restraints, you falling onto him almost immediately. He repeated your name in alarm, repeating you’d be okay and you didn’t know if it was for you or for himself. It didn’t matter, all that mattered is that you told him the truth. “I didn’t tell him anything.” You whispered, and he set you on the ground, brushing stray hair from your face.

“I know. I know.” Peter nodded down at you. “Oh, god. Y/N, this is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” You repeated sternly, finding whatever last strength you could. “No it’s not. I knew what I was signing up for.”

“Bu-”

“But nothing, Peter. I love you, and that will not change.” He shook his head at your stubbornness, smiling lightly down at you. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Let’s get you to a hospital.”

Soulmates

Pairing: Harry and Y/N

Word Count: 1600

Prompt (AU) : Harry took his anger out in sex-and you weren’t supposed to do that. He would go to the bar and find others just as terrible and lonely as him, drink, and then sink his sorrows into anything with breast and a hole were to put it. Niall always rolled his eyes the next morning and say to Harry “you’re a proper dick, yeh know that right?”, to which Harry would lift his middle finger up and respond with, “if soulmates are real she would love me anyhow.”

“Harry when you meet her your life will change,” Anne says, handing him a cup of tea.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I don’t care to meet her. It’s all bullshit,” Harry grumbles.


Y/N was never much of a talker; she had maybe said eight sentences in her whole life time. She wasn’t sure where the fear really came from, the fear of saying the wrong thing, of being too loud, of not being heard, so she kept to herself. People didn’t seem to understand though, they couldn’t comprehend why she chose to not talk, so she was labeled as weird, freak, stupid etc. Then they labeled her as mute (and she was) but she hated that term, she really did, Y/N just hated being labeled. At first it hurt, it really did, but Y/N soon learned to ignore them, she could only really care about what her Soulmate would have to say, and deep down a part of her wished that they were like her, quiet.

Soulmates, Y/N had been waiting for hers for a long time. She could remember sitting in class in fifth grade, when the teacher explained the process. She explained how everyone was born with a mark, a mark that only their other half had and she made them find that mark. Y/N’s was on her wrist, it was small, and lighter than her regular skin color, she wasn’t sure what it was at first, it just looked like a stick. But the teacher explained how the mark gets more detailed as they get older and closer to finding their person, and Y/N had noticed how that mark slowly grew into a small flower, a petal or two still missing.

Her teacher explained how every person was made for the other, and that they would feel their soulmates emotions, pain, negative thoughts, happy thoughts. They were connected and no matter what the other would always feel what their person was feeling. Y/N had learned that her person always seemed to be grumpy.

Keep reading

Promises (Part One)

Requested by Anonymous

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter Parker is your best friend (and crush), although you don’t know he’s Spider-Man yet. One day, you’re attacked by The Vulture and badly hurt.

Word count: 1,472

Warnings: Some violence and mention of blood.

Tags: @thisisthelilith @idroppedthefries @avengers-earths-mightiest-heroes

A/N: I’m still shook about spiderman: homecoming, the avengers: infinity war trailer (that i didn’t even get to see smh), and I recently found out that infinity wars was being filmed in Queens A WEEK before I was planning to visit NYC…so I’ve been working on this request to calm me down lol. I have way too many feelings about Marvel atm. Someone please help me 🙃 (Also, I’m turning this request into multiple parts because I had way too many ideas for it and it was about to be way too long)

(Part Two)


“Hey, you,” You heard from behind your locker door.              

The voice scared you so much that you slammed your locker shut in panic. When you saw who it was, your cheeks turned bright crimson.

“Jesus, Peter. You scared the shit out of me.”

Peter just grinned, amused that he was able to fluster you without even trying.

“Sorry. Why so jumpy today?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t know. I just woke up feeling kind of weird today. It’s no big deal. What are you doing after school today? Ned told me he got the Lego Deathstar set.”

Peter raised an eyebrow and leaned against the locker beside you. Your quick change of subject and flustered rambling couldn’t trick him. He knew something was wrong with you, but he decided to bypass it for now. He didn’t want to make you talk about something you didn’t want to talk about, so he just shook his head and carried on with the conversation as if everything was normal.

“I heard. I wish I could help you guys build it, but I got the Stark internship after school.”

You rolled your eyes and copied his pose, your shoulder falling hard against your locker.

“You always have the Stark internship. Doesn’t he ever let you take a break?”

Peter chuckled again.

“Uh, not really. No. It’s okay though, I like it.”

You were still annoyed, but you didn’t want to crap all over something Peter loved. So you just gave him a little fake smile instead.

“I’m glad you enjoy it. Ned and I will miss you though.”

Peter gave you one of his little appreciative half-smiles.

“I’ll miss you, too. Uh, both of you… I mean,” He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Anyways, can I walk you out?”

You nodded and the both of you headed towards the front entrance of Midtown High.

You and Peter had parted ways a while back on your journey home. You felt a little antsy walking alone in Queens, and Peter was reluctant to leave you alone, but you convinced him that you would be fine. You kept checking your phone nervously, waiting for Ned to text you back about the plan for that night. When you looked up, you realized that you didn’t even know where you were walking anymore. You stopped and looked around. There was an ominous feeling in the air – the same creepy feeling you got when you woke up this morning. Something bad was about to happen. You could feel it.

You spun around, and just as you did, you saw a winged creature swooping down to grab you. The last thing you saw before you blacked out was a pair of mechanical talons gripping your shoulders.

When you woke up, your vision was blurry. You tried to sit up, but when you did, your body was wracked with pain. You fell back to the ground and hit your head on the pavement, worsening your anguish. When you reached back to cradle it, you felt something warm and sticky on your hands. You tried to lift your other arm, but couldn’t. You tried and failed to move your legs as well. You didn’t know what happened to you, but you knew that it was bad. You lay still, waiting for the pain to stop when you saw a blurry figure running to you.

“Y/N!” You heard the figure scream, and you knew at once that it was Peter.

But you were out before you could even say his name.

… 

Beep…Beep…Beep.

The first thing you heard before you opened your eyes was the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to you. The next thing was worried voices speaking next to you.

“She’s going to be alright, kid. It’ll take her a while to get there, but she’s going to be alright.”

“You don’t get it, Tony. I let this happen. Me. This whole thing is my fault.”

As soon as you recognized the second voice as Peter’s, you knew you had to open your eyes for him. It took all of the strength in your body, but finally your eyes fluttered open. You tried to say something comforting to him, but nothing came out. Instead, you made a grunting noise and tried to reach out for him.

Peter immediately kneeled down next to you and put an arm on your shoulder.

“Y/N? Are you okay? Wait, no, don’t try to talk. Or move. Just…thank god you’re okay.”

“P…Peter. W-what…happened?” You struggled to ask.

Peter just stared at you with a pained expression.

“It’s…complicated. You got hurt. But you’re going to be okay now.”

You turned your gaze to Tony Stark, who was standing sullenly in the corner of the room.

“Why is he here? Where am I?”

Tony stepped forward and gripped the footboard of your hospital bed.

“You’re in Avengers Tower. In the medical bay.”

“What? Why aren’t I in a real hospital? Where’s my parents…?”

You shifted uncomfortably under your sheets, trying to sit up, but stopped abruptly and groaned when you felt a sharp pain in your ribs. Peter pressed gently on your shoulder to keep you from moving.

“I wouldn’t do that, Y/N.”

“Why am I here? And where are my parents?” You asked again sharply, starting to fully regain your voice.

“Your parents are on their way here. And, uh, you’re here because… well, because…”

“Because Peter reached out to me for help when he found you. We’ve got the best and brightest working here. You’re in very good hands,” Tony interrupted.

“Yeah, exactly. Plus he offered to keep you here for free so your parents won’t have to pay any medical bills. He’s been really helpful with all of this.”

You relaxed back into your pillows, staring at Tony with a questioning look.

“Thank you, Tony,” you mumbled, not buying that that was the whole story.

“No problem. Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine. I should go, but Peter here will take excellent care of you. It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

With that, he patted Peter roughly on the shoulder, gave him a look over the rim of his glasses, and walked out the door.

“What was that about?” You questioned Peter.

“Nothing. It’s fine.”

He put both of his elbows on the edge of your bed, balling his fists together and resting them against his lips. He was thinking very hard about something.

“Peter… don’t think for one second that I’m going to give up asking about what’s going on. I’m not stupid. I know something bad happened, and I need to know what it was,” You croaked.

Peter looked into your eyes, and you could tell he knew you were right. He had to tell you, no matter how hard it was for him. He sighed loudly and got up to pull up a chair beside you.

“Okay. Uh, I don’t really know how to say this…but, uh, you were attacked. By The Vulture. Do you know who that is?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, searching your brain for any prior knowledge you had of who that could be. When you finally remembered seeing him on the news a few times, you nodded slowly.

“Spider-Man fought him a couple of times, right?”

Peter nodded at the floor, not able to look you in the eyes.

“Ned called me and said you never texted him back. He seemed really worried, so I started walking to your house to see if you were there. And then on the way I saw him… and I found you. Just laying there in an alley. I was so scared. I thought that I was too late. I thought I lost you, Y/N.”

He looked so upset that it took everything in your power not to sit up and wrap your arms around him. Instead, you rested your hand on top of his. It was all you could muster. Peter sniffled a little bit and gave you a weak smile.

“I don’t understand, Peter. What would The Vulture want with me?”

Peter looked up at you and shook his head slowly.

“I…don’t know, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

He looked like he was almost in as much pain as you, so you intertwined your fingers with his in an attempt to comfort him further.

“Why are you sorry? This isn’t your fault, Peter.”

He smiled again, but he still looked tormented.

“I’m never going to let anything bad happen to you again,” he whispered, tightening his grip on your hand. “I promise.”

You smiled at him sleepily. Feeling your cheeks beginning to burn, you cleared your throat and released his hand.

“So…Avengers Tower, huh? Do you think you could get Black Widow to pay me a visit?”

I Miss You (One Shot)

I Miss You: After weeks of being apart from your boyfriend, Bucky, the distance become a bit too much for you to handle.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Phone sex. Dirty talk. Mentions of past injuries. Graphic details of sex. Porn gifs are used. Super NSFW. (If you’re not comfy with phone sex or anything else listed, keep scrolling.)

A/N: I have no idea where this idea came from, but just know that it’s for a good cause! ;)

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36″ x 48″ (M)

word count: 3.6k

genre: smut; idol!verse

pairing: reader/taehyung

warning(s)/kink(s): intercrural sex (thigh fucking) + dirty talk + come play + size kink (?)

a/n: the title is a joke about canvas size, that of which is a large size for one lmao

masterlist

Originally posted by taehyungsource

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Favorite Adam moments

It’s Adam Parrish’s birthday and since he’s a character that has made me bite my fingernails and yell at the page and grin like an idiot and maybe even get a moist eye or two (this despite being spoiled to his ending), here are some of my favorite Adam moments in (I think) chronological order:

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Writing gay romance between Jewish characters with two differing levels of observance

I’m writing (or, right now, more planning/outlining, with occasional writing of small scenes that I can’t get out of my head) a novel about two Jewish men who fall in love in a very Xtian, conservative town. The older of the two (late thirties) is more closeted, reclusive, and is somewhat separated from his Jewish identity as a result of a combination of assimilation and intermarriage further back in his family. The main character (mid-late twenties) on the other hand is very involved with his synagogue, works at a Hebrew summer camp, keeps shabbos, etc.

My issue is that I’m very observant (conservaform) and so is my family; I know a few folks who go to my synagogue who are “high holy day Jews”, or might also come for a wedding or bris or bar/bas mitzvah, but not many who are non-observant to the degree of this character (hasn’t set foot in synagogue since being a child, didn’t have a bar mitzvah, has a pair of somewhat observant grandparents and some cousins/etc who are observant, but most of his immediate family isn’t observant). So I’m not sure how to portray the secondary character without someone going “why not just write a Jewish guy in love with an Xtian guy” or something, because even if his relationship to Judaism and Jewish culture are somewhat distant, they’re still there. I’m also afraid that someone is going to say “why are you bashing Xtianity” about some of the subject matter (as someone who has lived in a small town, I have a decent bit of material from personal experience on Xtian antisemitism), but really the main point is that I want to portray two Jewish men loving each other.

I want to write this but don’t want goyim in particular to try to argue that I should have just made my MC’s romantic interest Xtian in the first place, because one main theme I want to explore, which I haven’t seen explored much in fiction, is being gay and Jewish. Specifically, one concept I had for the second character is how his being closeted comes largely from a place of being raised in a Xtian-secular household in a very Xtian town, and homophobia being very religiously where he lives, and so him sort of being reluctant to explore religion at all; but then seeing how the MC is Very Jewish and somewhat-openly gay, and feeling both nostalgic for the parts of his grandparents he sees in the MC (speaking Yiddish, cooking traditional Ashkenazic food), as well as longing to be as comfortable with both his sexuality and to have a relationship with G-d as the MC does.

I don’t know if this is a weirdly specific character/plot concept, but it just came to me I guess and it’s been at me long enough that I’ve started to try to outline writing it. I just want to see more gay fiction with religious, specifically Jewish, characters. Thanks for any advice you can give.

Thank you for submitting a question so close to my heart! Looks like I need to break this down into several parts: 

1. How to portray secular Jews as something distinct from Christians, secular or otherwise - this may not be as hard as you think it is because you’re Jewish and your factory settings, your defaults, your unexamined ideas, may already be different from the Christians around you. Like, I was in my 30’s before I found out that gentiles don’t do the chair dance. I thought everyone did that. Give The Upside of Unrequired by Becky Albertalli (review here) a read – her main character tells the audience that “we’re the kind of Jewish family who eats bacon” and religion itself isn’t really a presence in her life, but she still finds it meaningful that the boy she’s working with at her new job turns out to be a fellow Jew.

Other possible markers of secular Jewishness:

  • Finding Jewish representation/acknowledgment of our existence in fiction (or the Jewishness of celebrities) meaningful
  • Casual use of the most common Yiddishisms (maybe not entire curse phrases, but, like, using the word ‘kvetch’ in ordinary conversation)
  • General feeling of alienation or otherness around super overt displays of Christianity
  • Foods like matzo ball soup or latkes (for your Ashkie characters, anyway; this might be different for other subgroups of us.) 

In my new release Knit One, Girl Two, the main character Clara is a secular Jew and one of the details I used to illustrate that is that her first kiss involved sneaking off with another girl during a friend’s bar mitzvah reception. She also refers to her grandparents as Bubby and Zayde and has strong opinions about which Jewish foods she does and doesn’t like. She’s slightly awkward around the love interest’s higher level of observance, which is something secular Jews might feel out of self-consciousness—if the character cared. A secular Jewish person and a gentile person don’t approach an observant Jewish person’s observance in the same way. The gentile may misunderstand or have misconceptions; the Jewish person might feel self-conscious for not participating. Or feel nostalgic for observant people in their past (like “oh, my grandma used to –!”) 

2. How to portray your own marginalization without sounding like you’re bashing the privileged group. Now, you’re not really obligated to watch out for the feelings of a group that has hurt you by having power over you… but at the same time I 100% understand not wanting to step on toes just to save your own peace of mind. Some suggestions for this:

  • Having some of the Christians in the town be nice, but powerless to stop the jackwagon ones.
  • Flat-out having your character say “I’m not mad at Christianity; these people don’t even seem like they’re following Jesus in the first place”
  • Cut down on the more painful elements and focus on your main characters’ reactions to their hurt rather than describing the bigotry itself. That will cut down on how much your bigoted characters hurt your RL readers, so they’ll be mad at them for your main characters’ sake but not for their own sake and it’ll give them a little distance. (Example: “OMG, I can’t believe how much of a jerk Todd was being, saying all that garbage about Jews and gay people.” Instead of “Todd walked into the room and shouted that Jews are X and gay people are Y!”)
  • Try to cut down on having the most bigoted characters belong to groups marginalized along another axis. You’re going to perpetuate fatphobia if your most bigoted character is also your only fat character, and if I were reading this story I’d be uncomfortable if the homophobic/antisemitic characters were Black unless a Black author was writing it because from a white pen this could easily be read as blaming those two -phobias on Black people instead of white supremacy where it belongs. 

3. I don’t think you’re going to get “you might as well have made him Christian” coming from outsiders because you’re a Jewish person writing Jewish characters. Just speaking from personal experience.. In any case, a secular Jewish character is not a Christian character. Sometimes they can come off that way when gentiles write them, because they won’t know what kind of details to add to make their being Jewish not seem arbitrarily pasted on, but I doubt that would happen from a Jewish writer. 

4. “One main theme I want to explore, which I haven’t seen explored much in fiction, is being gay and Jewish.” 

I have several recommendations for you! 

First of all, Jordan S. Brock’s just come out with a m/m novel called Change of Address based on her own experiences with PTSD and a service dog—it’s even dedicated to the service dog. Like her, the love interest is a Jewish adoptee, and the character’s observance mirrors her own – he and his father don’t allow bacon in the house but they’ll eat pepperoni as long as it’s somewhere else, for example. 

Out of print but easy to find in libraries through ILL is The Dyke and the Dybbuk, Ellen Galford’s paranormal f/f comedy about a demon who possesses a Jewish lesbian cab driver and makes her get a crush on an Orthodox woman as a prank. (Review)  

I also collected this list of free queer Jewish SFF short stories, which includes nonbinary representation. As far as my own works go, I really tried to infuse the Tales from Perach collection with all the joy and gratefulness both Judaism, Jewishness, and queerness have brought to my life – there’s a lesbian’s grateful prayer of thanks for her relationship with her wife, an elderly trans woman and her husband attending services, and a royal family with two moms and two dads putting on an exceptionally lavish Purimspiel that includes a scripted swordfight. 

I’m glad you’re writing something to add to this and expand the body of LGBT Jewish literature, especially something where both members of the couple are Jewish.

–Shira

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist linked in bio


Harry watches the wall clock as he waits patiently on his couch, counting the minutes until Y/n finally wakes up.

He’s barely slept all night, feeling a mix of anxiousness and misery as he thought of all the outcomes that could happen today. He also found himself looking at Y/n all night, watching her in her calmest state of mind and feeling a sense of tranquility as he sees her in her most beautiful form.

He could never get tired of it—admiring her in her sleep. But as the morning passed and the late afternoon started approaching, Harry didn’t know what the hell was going on.

She was still asleep, crashed on top of him as snores raided her mouth and the only movement being the slight rise and fall of her chest against his. He started to worry, solely for the fact that she slept at a completely reasonable time last night and was known to be an early riser. And since he barely got a blink of sleep, he knows she didn’t wake up for a second during the night.

At first, when it hit 12 hours since she’d fallen asleep, he tried to brush hair out of her face in an attempt to wake her from her slumber. Nothing came to his avail, however, when all he got was a slight shake of her head and a small smacking of her lips.

When the afternoon started to approach, he started to move his fingertips along her back and neck. But again, nothing; just a slight groan and a movement of her hips to get away from the sensation.

He gave up after that, helpless in disturbing her sleep and trying to get some sort of reassurance in the midst of his worrying. He really needed something, because his nerves were getting the best of him and he needed to rid the anxiety building inside of him.

That’s when he decided to call Gabby.

“She fell asleep at around 10:00 last night and it’s nearly 2:00 now. She’s barely moved, she’s still right on top of me and doesn’t even flinch when I turn. I’m really worried.”

Harry lifts his hand to her hair, softly brushing the knots out with his fingers, waiting to see if there’s any sudden movement. But there’s nothing, just the movements of her soft breath and the occasional repositioning of her neck.

“She’s barely slept in months, Harry. She’s not fully comfortable here, no matter how much she tries to tell me she is. There are nights she doesn’t sleep at all. She’s completely incapable of being alone anymore, she’s always thinking and it doesn’t let her calm down in the slightest, you know? And mixed with everything that happened last night, she’s probably extremely exhausted. Just let her get her sleep, yeah? She really needs it, trust me. Besides, you being there is helping her in the most.”

He looks down at Y/n, where her cheek is pressed against his chest as her eyes are closed in a dream. She looks most beautiful this way. It’s the peaceful, angelic side of her that he always remember her being.

She looks safe, too—away from any potential hurting and pressed so close against him as if he were the protector of her heart. He almost laughs at the irony of it all, how she’s the exact opposite of peaceful and nowhere near protected from any harm—especially in his arms.

And there’s a part of him that wishes he could stay in this moment forever, holding her to him as he watches her in her must vulnerable state. She doesn’t push him away, or tell him to stop staring at her, or cry because he still can’t figure out what to say. She’s oblivious to his admiration, and the second she regains consciousness in her reality, he knows this moment can’t last much longer, no matter how badly he wants it to.

“Yeah, of course I’ll let her sleep. You think I can move from underneath her without waking her? Might make her some food, can feel her stomach growl.”

“Yes, please make her something. She gets really upset sometimes and forgets to eat. They’ll be days I have to remind her. She really needs you to provide for her right now, more than anything. She shouldn’t wake up, though.”

It doesn’t take much convincing to get Harry up from the couch. Although it was a bit of a struggle to maneuver himself from underneath Y/n’s body and out of her tight hold on him—especially between her occasional whimpers and groans from the sudden movements—he managed to do so without waking her up too much.

He decides to make her her favorite breakfast, as well. He knows it won’t distract her from the problems they have to face, but it’s something—it’s something as opposed to all the nothingness he’s been giving her.

It doesn’t take much longer than half an hour before Y/n finally wakes up from her slumber. She’s confused upon her awakening, groggy and the remaining amount of exhaustion still present in her body.

She’s comforted, though, when she acknowledges that she’s back home with the aroma of breakfast filling the air. It reminds her of old times—mornings of her anniversaries with Harry and mornings of their birthdays or purposeful events. It’s everything that she’s missed and it brings a soft smile to her face. Only for a second, though.

“Afternoon.” He smiles softly, eyes watching her every movement as she leans against the doorway of the kitchen.

In any other circumstance, he would have greeted her with a proper kiss and held her against him for a while; but as he observes her red eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, and her overall broken down structure, he knows not to overstep his boundaries.

Y/n frowns, watching what would normally be the most heartwarming sight of her life—Harry cooking in the kitchen of their home, a smile on his face while the sun peeks through the windows—but is now only seeing it as something that could have been.

She wonders if this is how he spent his mornings with Jessica.

He frowns slightly, too, when he sees her in the way she is now. There’s absolutely no life to her. He can tell that the Y/n that he knew is long gone—now replaced by a much more miserable soul. It almost brings tears to his eyes, seeing how much damage and destruction he’s caused onto her. He feels as if he’s taken away Y/n’s heart entirely, only leaving her to suffer through the loss.

“I, uh—" he mutters softly, realizing that he’s been staring at her for longer than he’s probably supposed to, “I made you some chocolate chip pancakes. I know it’s a little after lunch time but Gabby told me you haven’t been eating as much and well, I kind of figured I’d make you something I know you can’t resist.”

She wants to appreciate the gesture, she does. She wishes that she could look past the gloomy side of the situation, and instead focus on the fact they’re together again. Even if it’s the bare minimum—where Harry does all the speaking while she just listens with a stupid pout on her face—there’s a reflection of what their relationship was like before their time apart, and she feels as if it should be making her feel something other than sick to her stomach.

But she just can’t, no matter how hard she tries. She can’t quite understand how he’s doing so well. Not a part of him resembles her ruined self. He’s so put together, even after everything that’s happened. He’s still alive, which is almost the exact opposite of how she feels; and she can’t help but to wonder if he ever felt the way she did—broken and helpless. She wonders if he even cared.

And if there’s anything that can make her feel worse than she already does, it’s if Harry continues to pity her—to treat her like a charity case when he was the reason for all of this. He should be the one sulking from his mistakes, on his knees begging for mercy, but it’s her. She’s suffering the pain for the both of them and she doesn’t know how much longer she can bare it.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” She whispers, tears flowing from her eyes and she’s genuinely surprised that there’s still some left to cry.

Harry’s heart stops as he watches her break again. He doesn’t want to witness her in that form again, he doesn’t even know if he can; and imagining the pain that must be bursting through her veins is only making this harder for him.

“You’re just going to pretend like everything is okay? While I stand here, practically begging you to say something to me about all this, you just continue to show off how perfectly fine you are?”

“What?” He asks, nearly dumbfounded by her accusations. “No, baby. That’s not—no.“

He doesn’t know exactly where all this came from, considering there isn’t any part of him that’s feeling any sort of sanity. He’s been suffering, too, no matter how much he tries to hide it for her sake. The masking his hurt has been hiding under has been wearing thin over the past couple of weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to show her how much this affected him.

He was always the one to stay strong for the both of them. No matter what came their way, he was always the one to bottle up all of his emotions and get them through whatever it was bringing them down. He couldn’t break, especially not in front of her. He has to be the one to mend them back together; he doesn’t have a choice, considering he was the one who broke it up in the first place.

“You think I’m fine? You actually think I’m okay with all this? You haven’t even—you haven’t even seen me before last night, and even then I was a wreck. Y/n, how could you even think like that?”

“Look at you!” She yells, eyes widened and teeth clenched as she speaks. Her hands are at her head, pressing at her temples in complete hysteria and despair. “All fucking pretty and perfect! I don’t see anything wrong with you, like there’s nothing gripping at your throat or feeding your insides with the guilt that should be eating you fucking alive right now!”

“Y/n—“

“And look at me! Just take a goddamn look at me and how fucked up I am! Do you see what the problem is? Do you see how none of this is fair to me? Fuck you and fuck your precious happiness, and fuck your selfish decisions and just fuck you, Harry! Fuck you!

Her voice is harsh and loud enough to nearly echo from the walls. The cries and whimpers haven’t stopped, either, and there’s a certain type of tension building between them that’s nearly sucking the air from their throats.

But she’s not stopping, not yet. She still has so much to say and nothing is getting in her way, not now.

“How did it feel, Harry?! How did it feel to love on some other woman while your ex-girlfriend was alone and breaking on her bed?! Was it nice?! How did it feel?!”

Harry’s jaw clenches once the words leave her mouth, and his hands are balling to fists at the side of his thighs. He’s frustrated—frustrated because she’s so blinded by her own pain that she hasn’t eve acknowledged his. And the way she’s making it sound—like he doesn’t love her, like he doesn’t care—almost makes him throw up.

As much as he fucked up, he never imagined to be perceived as such a villain. She’s looking down on him, digging into his insecurities and accusing him of being a man he knows he’ll never be capable of being, and he doesn’t like it one bit. As much as he had done wrong, he never found pleasure in her pain and he doesn’t even want to think about how that thought processed through her brain.

“Are you being serious right now? You really need to tell me this isn’t some sort of sick joke.”

Her eyes narrow up at him, and for the first time since he’s seen her, she starts to laugh.

It’s a habit she’s obtained whenever she tries to hold back all the anger boiling inside of her. It’s a rare occasion, considering she never really gets mad, especially at him. But she’s on the edge of complete rage, and she feels it building inside of her.

She still has tears falling from her eyes, and they’re both unsure whether it’s from the laughter, the pain, the anger, or all three of them.

“You think I’m joking? You want to hear a real joke, Harry? You saw me. You saw me at the grocery store, you saw me looking at Jessica wearing our shirt and you didn’t do anything! You did absolutely nothing, you just fucking stood there and watched me fall apart. What kind of twisted shit was that, Harry? Did it make you feel good about yourself? Or was it a nice image to look back on while you fucked Jessica the following night?”

All his frustration subsided when her voice started to crack and shake between her words. Her emotions are scattered, along with his, but he can’t help but feel an aching in his chest when he sees how helpless she looks.

Looking back at it, Y/n gets the same exact feeling she did that morning—betrayed, broken, and completely hated. There is no other explanation for it. He had to have hated her, for whatever reason it may be, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

The Harry that loved her would never leave her to fend for herself. He wasn’t the same man she remembered him being. The kindhearted, selfless, loving man she fell in love with was not the man she came to contact with—standing with a mysterious girl, showing her off in the t-shirt that meant everything to him and Y/n.

He had to have hated her.

“Is that—“ his voice cracks, and he has to swallow the lump building in his throat before he continues to speak, “Is that what you think? That I just watched because I’m heartless?”

She sighs, shaking her head softly. She crosses her arms at her chest, tucking her hands beneath them as her eyes drift away from his.

She never thought he was heartless, but there must have been something he had against her for him to not say anything to her. She deserved an explanation, or even a half-assed apology at the slightest. But she got nothing. All she got silence and heartbreak and everything inside of her knew that she didn’t deserve it.

There had to have been something.

“No, I just—I never felt so hated before. It was like—like you found some sort of comfort in watching me suffer. You never did that, Harry. You never did that to me, not in all the years that I’ve known you and knowing that you didn’t want me anymore was like all the life was sucked out of me all at once.”

She closes her eyes as she sobs, clutching the fabric of her shirt in her hands right where her heart is.

“Just imagine feeling your heart stop beating and your lungs collapsing all at once. I thought you hated me, Harry. Nothing was worse than feeling that, nothing.”

An inhumane sound emits from Harry’s chest—something between a sob and a growl—a sound she’s never heard before and it’s utterly pitiful.

He’s never thought of it in that way. The thought of Y/n thinking he’s hated her never crossed his mind, always just assuming that she was so upset because Jessica crept her way into his life. But the more he thinks about it, all the more it makes sense.

When he saw Dan wearing Harry’s ring, all the hope that Y/n was ever going to love him again was ripped away from him. The feeling of betrayal and heartbreak was so overwhelming because while he was suffering from the loss of her, she was finding comfort in somebody else and nothing brought him more pain than thinking she didn’t love him anymore.

And that’s exactly what he did to her. She was waiting for him—waiting for him to come back and fight for their relationship. She was alone and hurt all throughout the nights while he was finding pleasure in another woman to get him through the pain.

He’s put her through so much that she didn’t deserve, and he doesn’t know how he can live with himself for it.

He whimpers, tentatively reaching out for the hand that’s decorated with his rose ring, and slowly brings her against his chest. She buries her face in his t-shirt as she weeps out the rest of her tears, tugging at the back of his t-shirt in agony.

“No, baby. No. Please don’t ever think that. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say, and everything that I wanted to say was getting so scrambled inside of my brain that I couldn’t even understand what was happening. There were so many things, my love. There were so many things I wanted to say to you but I just couldn’t, and it’ll be something I have to live with for the rest of my life.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her a little tighter in his arms as he brushes out her hair between his fingers.

She feels his tears at the top of her head, but she doesn’t pay any attention to it. All she can wrap her head around is that Harry’s holding her again, shielding her from any other hurting that could get to her. And as much as she does want to push him away, she can’t, because she can finally fucking breathe again.

“And I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for all of this. I could never hate you, my love. I love you so goddamn much, you have to believe me. You don’t deserve this pain, sweetheart. I’ll do whatever it takes to mend you, okay? If you give me the chance, I’ll take the time to fix you. You just have to work with me.”

She nods against his chest, pushing him away from her a little bit so that she can look at him in the eyes. They’re red and soaked with tears, but she’s missed them all too much and they still make her weak in the knees.

“This will be a slow process, do you understand me? There’s a lot of lost trust and a lot of work that needs to be done when it comes to our relationship. I’m not risking this again, so we’re taking this slowly. I’ll stay at Gabby’s for another few weeks until I can fully trust you again. You’re not pulling that shit on me where you call Jessica when you’re lonely, you hear me? You call me. We’re in this together and we’re in this for a long time, but we have to do this my way.”

He nods feverishly, closing his eyes as he does so. His fingers dig into her back as he exhales strongly, almost as if releasing a breath he’s been holding in.

“We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart, I promise.”

She smiles softly—a true, heartwarming smile that Harry swears he could look at for the rest of his life. It somehow mends the ache in his chest and he starts to cry from happiness, this time, and he’s never been so relieved in his life.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” She giggles, running her fingertips along his back. “We’re really starting this all over again?“

He smiles down at her, admiring the woman he’s loved with every bit of his heart. She’s never looked so goddamn perfect, either, in this moment of complete serendipity.

“Yeah, we are.”

the heart moves forward/
it has no choice

and i was different then, i know
but the war got louder everyday and i found a new quiet in everything

and my mother kept trying to reach me
            but i was elsewhere

i kept looking and looking for what i thought was coming

i looked so long that what i already had
got up and left because
it was tired of waiting for me



and i know i planned to go back someday to where i was from
but it just wasn’t where i was from anymore,
not really

not in the ways that matter when
you wake up in the middle of the night,
wondering if you’re on the wrong side of the world
and if maybe that’s why you can’t sleep after all

                  and anyway it doesn’t matter

eventually,
i stopped looking altogether which i thought would help

but i got restless and my heart didn’t trust anything,
especially not the body it was in

and i wanted to give something to the world
to make up for everything i took

but my hands came up empty every single time

and in the end,
i realized that what i was waiting for  

                       was already arriving somewhere else
—  Y.Z, My Heart Stays Impossible or Else Impossibly Still