To Tired Writers. To The People Out There Whose Hearts Very, Very Much Want To Write And Work On WIPs,

To Tired Writers. To the people out there whose hearts very, very much want to write and work on WIPs, but who are just mentally and physically exhausted right now. It’s okay. It is okay to rest sometimes. Allow yourself time to rest. 

uh not allowed

Nightingale

A/N: For @wxntersoldiers 3k challenge! My prompt was the song All I Want by Kodaline which happens to be one of my favorite songs and this fic is EXTREMELY LONG. Anyway, sorry this is so late, but I just sat down and told myself I’ll write it in one day. So I did and now I am very Tired. Congratulations to Layla for 3k followers - lots of love to you!!

As per usual, thanks to @teawithbucky because I nearly killed her in chem today. The skeletal army is coming to get your ass js

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Summary: After the Battle of Sokovia, you meet the one man who makes you bend and break for the first time in your life. AU Post-Age of Ultron until Post-Infinity War

Characters: Thor, Tony Stark, other characters to be revealed

Wordcount: 11k

Warnings: Swearing (as usual), blood, ANGST, medical jargon

Rating: H (for heartbreak)

All I want is nothing more To hear you knocking at my door

Your leg cramps as you get out of bed and grab the cane resting on your nightstand.

Which, in itself, is a omen. It is a terrible, terrible omen for what will be a terrible, terrible day. Still, a scowl graces your face as you freshen up as best as you can and then out to the hall. You manage to get down the stairs, which, in itself is a miracle that you didn’t fall flat on your face, but also, the aching in your leg softens when you sit down on the couch.

You rest your leg up on the couch, too tired to get up. You stare into the kitchen, wondering where your sister is. Normally, she’d be the one to wake you up by jumping on your bed and snuggling up to you. For a minute, panic seizes your throat, making you shoot up to call her name, but then you hear her obnoxious shouting out back and you lie down.

‘She’s fine.’ You grab the remote, thumb pausing over the power button. ‘But… I should check if she’s wearing her boots. Motherfucker.’ Grabbing your cane, you swing your legs to the edge and push yourself up, limping to the back door. If she gets sick, then it’ll most definitely be more crying, more whining, more work for you. Opening the door, the scent of petrichor immediately wafts to your nose and you smile slightly despite the intensifying cramp in your leg.

“Yo! Parasite!” you yell, walking to the porch in your slippers and glaring distastefully at the drops that pour from the overhang of the roof. Immediately, your sister in her bright yellow boots and pink-as-hell jacket comes running into your view. She’s soaked to the skin but at least she’s wearing her hood. “Get in here!”

“Morning!” she exclaims, running to hug you but you immediately take a half-step back on your good leg. She pouts and you arch an eyebrow.

“You’re wet and disgusting. Go dry up and I’ll make breakfast, okay?” She smiles toothily and you pull her hood off, pushing her into the home. Turning to the yard again, you groan internally when you see her dinosaur stuffy out there covered in mud. Since you got it for her last birthday, she’d been attached to the hip with it. You’re half-surprised to see her go in without it, but that means that it’s now dirtier than a sack of shit with stains you’re not sure you can hand wash out.

Who needs a quarter anyway? You make a mental note to visit the laundromat after work and gather your resolve to get it. Going back in to stuff your feet into boots, you trudge outside, the cane squelching in the dirt. The rain thunders around you but none touch your hair or your skin, which you expected it to. Suddenly, the motive to nearly run from your porch to the dinosaur and back leaves because your leg feels like it’s about to need an amputation. Taking your time, you reach down and take it, pinching it between your fingers and getting back to the porch.

Looking up miraculously, you frown at how the rain seems to hit an invisible barrier high above you, sliding off and around you like a glass cylinder.

In a split second, you know exactly who’s doing this.

Getting back inside, you throw the dino into the sink and run it under a stream of water, getting what you can off with a quick rinse. Sitting it on the counter to dry, you hear the door knock.

“I’ll get it!” your sister yells, thundering down the stairs.

“No!” You walk over, eyes narrowed. “What’d I say about answering doors when I’m here?”

“Don’t do it.”

“Exactly.” Pushing her behind you, you open the door to see him.

He’s trying his best not to stare, which you appreciate, but you hate him seeing you like this.

“What are you doing here, Thor?” you ask quietly, letting him in. His blond hair tied up in a bun, he’s trying his best to look like a normal human.

“I wanted to see if you are okay.” Although his words are caring, you can’t help the anger that rises up within you, at your situation, at this man who has shown up at your door time and time again. Those code words. Every single time - it’s never just a visit.

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i keep telling everybody they should move on. some do.

so i was thinking, what if in Mile’s universe, MJ was actually just Zendaya 

#JUSTICEFORMARIAHILL