girls like us,
blue gatorade girls in nikes, running
miles and miles but unsure what we’re
trying to get away from [it’s the extra curves
and bumps and inches in our genes, I mean
jeans, I mean
girls like kohl-jacket-girls in black doc martens
that squeak just a little too loud, not metaphorically,
just a little too loud on tile, though the statement sure is a
statement; girls whose mommas work extra hard around
christmas to buy their daughters the name-brand combat boots
that squeak just a little too loud. girls who make statements
without thinking about making statements. girls like us, with
unruly hair since infancy, brown and coarse
and trailing down our spines like slithering snakes,
girls who were taught - through harsh words or
subliminal messages or subtle teen magazine advertising - to
hate the wild parts of them, before they could even begin
to understand what a beautiful thing it is to be uncontrollable,
they look at girls like us, with skin browner than theirs,
hair thicker than theirs, eyes darker than theirs, trauma
than theirs, because we’re different,
because we radiate a foresty-golden glow in the sun
instead of pale against it, because we
had our bumpy middle eastern childhoods
with nothing to relate to and no one to understand,
had their proud, sometimes by-the-book [and when it’s not, oh, the praise they get] american ones. girls like us, they
look at us different, smile at us different, eyes linger
just a second too long. i see the way
they look at me and they look at my momma, and wonder
about us. what makes us stand out around the people
who surround us, the men and women with criticism and
cynicism on their faces as they look
down on us, like they want to drain the life, the soul, the different,
out of us. girls like us, who grew up
admiring the lightness around us, the whiteness
around us, wanting it,
craving it like the rose water syrup and cardamom in
the pretty pastries my daddy and his family love that
no one that’s
not like us can pronounce. [we say “baklava” like
“buck-low-wuh” and i know the sound so good because
i used to hate it so much when my
mommy and daddy would speak their language
around other people and they would look at us funny,
look at us angrily, look at us nervously, i used to be
one of those girls that hated our language so much i could
never forget a single sound from it, a single
syllable] girls like us, who grew up envying the silky
flatness falling on the heads of the girls at school, girls like
us, who sent the moisture in our scalps to hell with
flat irons and
blow dryers, and “relaxing” treatments, but
I don’t want to relax, we don’t
WANT TO RELAX, momma, i wish they wouldn’t tell us
to relax momma, like me and you aren’t entitled to some
compassion just because we’re different, momma. i wish
i didn’t want to change my nose so bad, momma, daddy
probably feels really sad when i say that, since it’s just like his,
momma. girls like us who get to college and work full-time
at our dad’s stores to help them
make it on their own in a country, in a land that
fought against them since they stepped foot on the
pride-soaked soil; girls like us who count each penny in
each pay check with a guilt like maybe, just maybe, we should
do it for free, since momma and daddy did everything to make
sure that, when we knew this world and how to be, that we
free. girls like us that collect the coins to pay for our own expenses,
college loans, car payment, the inevitable rhinoplasty we wanted since childhood, braces our families couldn’t afford, for us or our brothers and sisters, clothes, make-up.
because diversity isn’t enough sometimes to get a
broke colored girl into college for less - straight As or not, because
our fathers and mothers were not raised with handouts, and they’ll
be damned if we don’t break a sweat for our wheels, too, because our noses are too long, just a little off the top…because metal on our teeth
and bronzer on our cheeks and black on our arms to thin out our
silhouettes, but it's
never been enough for
girls like us.
what did they do to
girls like us
who sprouted differently than the rest
to make us think that
just because our petals didn’t look like theirs,
that they were thorns and weeds
F A/N: Finals are finally over, and I’m procrastinating packing for my trip to Vietnam, which allows me to deliver some hastily written RivaMika to you. And also because gender-roles do not exist in their relationship, and I like exploring this facet of it. Slight language warning; un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine.
Mikasa proposes to Levi in the middle of the night. He’s not ready for it.
Coffee was nice. It felt…felt normal, felt right. Though you were a trained killer on a date with an enhanced human with super speed things felt more normal than you had dreamed. You shared more stories over your lattes, walking through the streets of Manhattan. You shared stories of your childhoods, comparing your training to his childhood games. He felt a little sorry for you for not having much of a childhood, but it by no means affected how he looked at you. You had seen the Pietro who was trying to impress you before, but today you saw the real Pietro, the sweet loyal goofball his sister reminded you was in there. Once or twice a fangirl of his came up to the two of you, but he politely declined their advances and informed them that he was with you, which left you with a nice smile.
“So after you left the military why come to New York? Seems like a pretty odd hiding spot.” He finally asked as you both sat on a bus stop bench to take a break from being on your feet for a minute.
You smiled up to him, your hands folded between your legs before looking out to the crowded streets. “8.406 billion people in this city. The perfect spot to hide in plain sight to me.” You answered as your eyes narrowed to the bright afternoon sun as the wind danced through your hair. “I could just live…no real special precautions…Put Noah in public school, let him have friends…Let the sheer volume of everyone else do the hiding for me.”
“Then why us? Coming to work for the Avengers surely draws attention.” He wasn’t accusing, nor complaining, just wanted to know all about you that you’ve kept hidden. The last 24 hours were a lot for him to process as well…even at his speed.
You chuckled lightly, dropping your head down with a nod, acknowledging that he was probably right. “Just my nature I guess. If I couldn’t be in the fight I could be close to it. Do some good and still get to come home every night in time for dinner.” Which reminded you that tonight Noah was going to have dinner with his heroes, you let out a laugh just picturing his face.
“What’s so funny?” Pietro asked, his silver strands falling into his perfectly blue orbs as he looked to you with a questioning expression.
You just shook your head before looking down at your watch, amazed that you let hours pass with him without even realizing it. “Nothing…just picturing the Avenger’s family all sitting down to dinner…Noah’s not going to know what to do with himself… But it’s about time I go pick him up.” You weren’t about to trust him on a bus after yesterday.
“Can I come with you? Give little Copil something to impress his friends with?” He offered with another adorably hopeful smile. You stood as you thought, very sure that Noah had told all his little friends that the Avengers saved him last night, and even more sure he’d need some proof of that to ‘the cool kids’.
“Yeah, sure.” You agreed as you held your hand out for him, which he took eagerly.
To say Noah was excited to see Pietro again was the understatement of the year. He begged Pietro for another piggy back ride, which he gladly agreed to after explaining to him that he could just call him Pietro instead of Quicksilver and kindly asked to be gentle with him as he was still healing. All the other kids were in awe to see an Avenger actually picking up their classmate. “Told you my mom knows the Avengers.” Noah gloated to a rather bratty looking child from his class before sticking out his tongue to him over Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro chuckled, looking to the child on his back then to you as you gave the boy a stern look, not liking when he sticks his tongue out, even if this kid did deserve it. The tongue quickly vanished back into his mouth, now even more afraid to get in trouble with you knowing that a timeout was you being nice after seeing mom truly pissed He just rested his head on Pietro’s shoulder, relaxing into his back. He found it safe there, comforting after what he’d been through. This guy after all, was his rescuer.
You smiled looking at the two of them as you walked down the streets, Noah’s hands gripping Piero’s shirt tightly as he cuddled into him. The sight melted away any residual anger left in your body. Was this what true happiness felt like? After a life of worry and doubt and looking over your shoulder you weren’t even sure if you knew anymore. Even when Noah was born you weren’t sure if you felt it due to the fact his birth came only hours after the news of his father’s death. It had always been just the two of you. But now you were no longer chained to the ghost of your past, you were free. Now there was no more hiding, you were open, vulnerable yet you felt perfectly safe.
The Sokovian could feel his heart swell with joy as he carried the boy for the second time, though this time he wasn’t being shot at. He understood that he was currently in possession of the most precious part of your life and the amount of trust you were showing him to allow this. He liked this feeling, and loved how you looked at him. This was a moment he wished he had the power to slow down, to make last forever. He watched the two of you as you walked, memorizing the perfect peaceful happy on your faces, wearing an expression to match. Today was perfectly beautiful, and well worth the wait.
~ ~ ~ ~
After Noah went to bed you made your way down to the training room. You never realized how much you missed fighting until last night. You were bred to be a soldier, a weapon. The fight was part of you and you were ready to embrace that once more, even if Avenging was off the table in your mind. Katanas had always been your specialty, when your hands were wrapped around the hilts your power and grace were unmatched. To wield them was like your body has been completed. Your mind was focused, your movements quick and sharp as you practiced on the air. As you moved you could feel eyes watching you, though you weren’t sure whose. Your head swiveled as you spun, slashing and cutting the air until you finally spotted your audience, Bucky. His arms were folded as he watched your movements, violent and beautiful. You heard him speak your name softly But you chose to ignore him, a little sore at him for the way he treated you. So he spoke it louder and this time you noticed a small white envelope in his flesh hand, still you ignored. “(Y/N)…I found this in your stuff while moving it into your room. It looked important.” He spoke, sounding a little annoyed at the silent treatment. After another moment or two of watching you continue he let out an angered huff, letting the envelope drop to the ground before walking out, grumbling about how much of a bitch you could be.
Once you were satisfied with your your workout, and sure Bucky had gone you put your weapons away, scooping up the letter sized envelope on your way back upstairs. You tossed the envelope onto your bed, not wanting to deal with it right now, besides, it would probably be a good idea to check on Noah.
Your feet padded softly down the hall, stopping just shy of Noah’s room hearing the sound of a voice from inside. Your eyes narrowed and your brow scrunched as you listened to off key singing. Your expression softened once you realized it was Sokovian you were hearing…Pietro. You peeked into the room seeing Pietro sitting on Noah’s bed singing a Sokovian lullaby before gently tucking him in and sneaking out of the room to find you on the other side of the door. “He had a nightmare. I wasn’t sure where you went to. I hope you don’t mind.” He explained scratching the back of his head slightly, looking just slightly embarrassed but that smile still played on his face. You just stood there, staring at him, your jaw open, not sure what to say. You were touched, amazed and in this moment you couldn’t be any more sure that letting Pietro into Noah’s life was the right choice. Pietro’s smile faded, misjudging your amazement for something worse. “I’m sorry…I was wrong…I’ll go.” He muttered as his eyes lowered, stepping away from you slowly.
Your hand reached up to grab his wrist as a smile began to tug at your lips as he turned looking back up to you. Your eyes were filled with pride, admiration and pure joy as you looked over him. “No..Don’t…Don’t go.” You pulled yourself close to him, looking up into his silvery blue eyes as the smile returned to his face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he looked down into your eyes, memorizing every fleck of color in your eyes before letting his hands drop down to your hips as your arms wrapped gently around his waist. “Stay.” You added in a whisper as his face lowered, letting his nose play against yours.
“Is this part of that start we talked about?” You could feel his breath against your lips as he spoke, causing your smile to widen just a bit and your heart to beat a bit faster.
“No…But this is.” You quipped back before pushing your lips against his. His eyes widened with surprise for half a second before closing, wrapping his arms around your hips to draw you in closer. His lips tasted sweet. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.” You teased as you pulled away letting your forehead rest against his.
“No…But I was hoping..” He chuckled before a playful smirk returned to his face as he folded his arms around you, embracing you in his safe comforting warmth. Your head came to rest on his muscular chest, letting the sound of his heart relax every muscle in you.
I'm making an OC and I wanted it to be Russian (I dont know why?) is the name Dominika or Elvira Volkov Russian and if not do you have any ideas of what I could use
hm, Nika seems more like the Russian version of the name because I honestly didn’t come across any Dominikas; and Elvira is quite a rare name, but there was a teacher in my school whose name was Elvira; though I am not completely sure if it’s a Russian name.