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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

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∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this.

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason.

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable.

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan.

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

“It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together.

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded.

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was.

“Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why.

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?”

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years.

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs.

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing.

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you.

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand.

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you.

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence.

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly.

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned.

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go.

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze.

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe.

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago.

The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat.

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline.

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is.

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way.

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out.

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday.

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala.

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you.

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time.

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least.

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting.

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time.

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips.

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love.

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days.

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken?

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it?

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain.

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t.

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane.

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that.

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face.

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself.

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features.

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

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buttonso · 3 years

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Scene from a Co-op: “Storytime”

Just a little blurb I wrote based on a drawing my friend did when I requested Shane and Sierra (my farmer in our co-op game) for her monthly Patreon Sketch Jam. She drew the pair of them sitting on the ground, reading a storybook to some chickens. ((I’m trying to get her to come on Tumblr and post the Stardew doodles I keep making her do, but she doesn’t have much time for social media. I’ll wear her down eventually!))

696 words, nothing objectionable except for a couple swears.

“Are you… reading to the chickens?” Sierra asked, taking a step back and trying to make sense of the scene before her. Shane, sitting on the ground with his back against the sun-warmed wood of the coop, surrounded by peacefully clucking chickens. His particular favorite, Charlie, was perched on his shoulder like an overgrown parakeet, looking happy as could be. Even Xanatos, the evil-tempered black chicken, seemed to be content to just… sit and chill, when normally she was hell-bent on pecking/scratching the hell out of any human who came near, and sometimes her fellow flock sisters as well. But right now, she sat within touching distance of Shane and seemed not bothered in the least.

Shane’s face reddened and he ducked his head, mumbling into the pages of the battered storybook. “You… were not supposed to see this. But yeah. It’s… just something I used to do with Jas… when I packed up to move here, she insisted I take the book with me.”

“I see. Well… I could use a break; can I join you?” She asked and he nodded. She sat in the grass beside him (careful to keep him between her and Xanatos), tucking herself up to his side. “You miss her? Jas?” She asked once she was settled.

“…Kinda…” The shade of red on his face deepened. “I mean… I still see her every day, but… it’s not the same, ya know? I feel guilty for leaving her behind to move here…”

“You and Marnie agreed it would be better for her to stay in her own room at the ranch for now,” Sierra reminded him. “And once the renovations are done on the cabin, she’ll have a room here.” None of this was new information. They’d discussed it at length before the wedding.

“I know, but… still feels lousy.” He idly traced the faded watercolor illustration of a speckled hen with his fingertip. “And… telling you all this just makes it worse because a sad-sack loser like me has no right to complain when I’ve got… a pretty fucking awesome lot in life right now…”

She bit back the urge to argue with him- it had taken so long to get him simply to trust her enough to speak his mind about his feelings. Much as she hated hearing the negative thoughts that he still harbored about himself, she did not want him censoring himself around her.

“It wouldn’t exactly speak well of you if you just left her behind and never looked back… anyone in your position would feel guilty,” She said after a beat of silence. “Why don’t you take some extra time with her today? I can finish up here. Dayanara already took care of the big barn animals and ever since we got the sprinklers working in the greenhouse, I actually have a little spare time in the afternoons.”

“You sure?” He frowned, looking doubtful. “I should pull my weight around here…”

“You do. The birds have never been happier. Even that evil bitch over there is content.” She pointed to Xanatos. The hen in question’s red eyes glinted as she shot Sierra a murderous glare.

“Evil? Voids are sweeties, you just have to know how to handle them.” He absently reached out and ran his fingers through the silky black breast feathers and the deadly gleam faded from the chicken’s gaze. Sierra knew damn well if she tried that, she’d receive a sharp peck on the hand.

“My point is…make all the time you want for Jas. Nothing is stopping you, least of all me. Daya and I never expected you or Elliott to be full time farmers like we are.”

“…Maybe I will go over there in a bit, then…” He shifted a bit, sliding his arm around her. She leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder.

“Will they be upset if you don’t finish the story?” She asked, unable to completely relax with the Void chicken in such close proximity.

“They’re chickens. They don’t actually care,” He answered.

“Finish it anyway. I wanna hear it.” She smiled as he shrugged and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up where he’d left off.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley fanfic #my fic #farmhand sierra #stardew shane #scenes from a co op

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crystalelemental · 3 years

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Since @patchun brought up Hugh as a rival, here’s my personal take on each rival character in Pokemon, because I’m bored.

Blue - I actually do like the guy, and I think that overall he’s a solid rival. Story-wise, he’s one of the few that is always one step ahead of you, and clears the entire league before you. His team is solid, and he makes adjustments based on the starter Pokemon he picks. I also think he’s just kinda fun. He’ll make excuses about why he lost (”I picked the wrong Pokemon!”) and gives you shit as someone he considered less than him, but there’s still some level at which he’s like “Oh hey, you’re improving!” He’s a solid rival character.

Silver - I kinda feel like Silver isn’t really your rival, he’s just someone that shows up a lot that you have to deal with. Like it’s never entirely established that the two of you are competing, he just wants to kick your ass for funsies in all his earlier encounters, and only comes to respect you at all at the end of his entire quest. Which is cool! I actually like Silver a lot, I think he’s got a ton going on and is a pretty unique change from Blue. Blue was super invested in the League and being the best, while Silver’s also about being the best, but seems to have little interest in the League itself. His motives are outside of the League, and frankly outside of your own. He grows into the role of rival to the player more as a result of Lance’s comments to him and his own soul-searching. I think that’s great.

Brendan/May - And then there’s these two. I’m not entirely sure what the plan was behind these two. I’ve heard they shifted off of the antagonistic rivals because bullying was a problem, and that’s why every rival since has been your friend rather than an opponent, but these two aren’t even that really. They barely exist. As characters, they rarely show up and don’t really do a whole lot at any point, and as a rival trainer, they’re so bad they never fully evolve their starter. Brendan and May are, to me at least, the worst rivals in the series. If it was because they thought early rivals were too mean and toned it down, they did so without accounting for any alternative traits to make them interesting, but at least they started getting it right soon after.

Barry - I actually really like Barry. Initially, he was a bit annoying with the whole “I’m fining you!” gimmick, and being supremely absent-minded half the time, but he grows on you a lot. Kinda like Blue, Barry spends most of the game ahead of you, and is a pretty competent trainer. But instead of being aggressive in his rivalry, he is your friend and acknowledges how good you are. He never seems to even acknowledge his defeat to any extreme degree, he’s just having fun and doing his own journey while using you as a point of comparison, while still taking this really seriously, in part because his father is a renowned trainer that he wants to live up to. Which is solid. Also I gotta admit, the situation with the lake guardians was really cute, how Rowan recognizes him and gives him the tougher mission, how into it he gets, and then how hurt he is that he wasn’t able to protect Uxie. Barry just a sweet kid and a solid rival.

Cheren - Cheren is much like Barry, in that his focus is on battling at its core. Contrary to Barry though, Cheren is actively irritated that he can’t seem to beat you. He keeps pace with you, but I don’t think actually gets ahead of you at any point in the story. If anything, he’s interesting because he’s someone driven by the same journey to be a great trainer that you are, but is coming face to face with the realization that he’s not making the same gains, and may not be able to achieve that initial dream. He has to adapt, and ultimately settles into the Gym Leader role, and is a bit of a mentor in BW2, which is really cool. That’s really what makes the BW rivals so good, is that instead of just being another super good trainer who’s ahead of you all the time, they explore the idea of someone who wants to be the best but isn’t, and how he handles that. I like it a lot.

Bianca - Best rival, fight me. What makes Bianca interesting is that she’s kinda like Brendan and May, in that she’s not...really here to be a spectacular trainer. She is but she isn’t. She starts out on her journey to become a trainer, but isn��t super motivated by competition like Cheren. In fact, Bianca doesn’t really know what she wants to do at all. What makes her interesting is that change from being just another trainer to battle, to finding her own path in life that doesn’t involve the competition. It’s not what she wants to do, and I always really liked that. She eventually settles on being a professor’s assistant, and I think it’s great seeing her settle into a role that makes her happy. The series has always posited this idea that people exist with Pokemon in different ways, but this is honestly the first time we really get a rival who comes to engage with Pokemon and battling in a different way from the usual.

Hugh - I don’t like Hugh. I get the attempt with him, and appreciate it. A lot of Gen 5 centers around Team Plasma, and in this case, Hugh is a character who was directly impacted by their actions when they stole his sister’s Purrloin. He was a child and couldn’t do anything, so he’s grown up resentful of Team Plasma and determined to become strong enough to protect his sister and those he cares about. He’s along on your journey to improve, but never once does he seem all that invested in the League itself. He’s more invested in taking down Team Plasma and getting his sister’s Purrloin back, and all of that should come together into a really cool rival for this generation’s thematic narrative. His problem is really just that he talks. “You’re about to feel my rage!” Hugh, please. You’re embarrassing me in front of Zinzolin. I can’t say I hate Hugh, but I feel like he’s a character who just missed the mark they were aiming for, largely by being more of an edgy nuisance than an interesting character study.

Serena/Calem - I am only talking about these two because fuck the XY friend group. Honestly, they’re...pretty forgettable. Like I honestly can’t remember any significant personality traits from them at all. They’re like Brendan and May, only slightly better because they keep at it even if they’re constantly behind you. I think by biggest problem is how they never feel like they amount to much thematically. A big focus in XY is meant to be on scarcity. Mega Bracelts are rare, and not everyone can own one or utilize mega evolution. You battle them to get one, which by default means they don’t. And that sets up some interesting ideas, right? Like, how does that impact things? When there’s legitimate scarcity and not everyone can make use of this, are you willing to crush the dream of your childhood friend to make your own come true? Well actually it doesn’t matter because it’s never really brought up. The great tragedy of XY was lost potential, and the rival’s a big source of that.

Hau - Hau is...a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, SuMo. On the other, USUM. In SuMo, I like Hau a lot. He feels a lot like Barry, if Barry didn’t give a shit about competition. Hau is very laid back as a rival, and challenges you while attempting to keep pace, but ultimately exists to have fun and enjoy his journey. This is the trait that makes him and Gladion such fun counterparts. But then USUM rolls around, and makes up this whole subplot about how he’s not actually trying and that this is a betrayal of his Pokemon? And then it leads to this whole crisis where suddenly he’s super invested in competition and being the best, and ends up as your Champion battle? And it just doesn’t feel as interesting. If anything it feels like USUM’s eternal Gen 1 dick sucking coming back to reference your rival as the champion, rather than actually focusing on the character’s development.

Gladion - Okay, I really like Gladion. He’s a bit more like Silver than anything else, in that I don’t think he ever like...expresses wanting to be your rival? He just shows up and challenges you because fuck you in particular. But through interactions, and your eventual assistance with stopping his mother and breaking down those emotional walls, Gladion grows into someone who still wants to be a great trainer, but is no longer driven by the need to be the best to protect his sister and stop his mother. Rather, he just learns to enjoy competition for its own sake. And I really like that! I feel like he’s Silver, but refined to be a more interesting character.

Hop - Okay stop me if you’ve heard this one. Hop’s a rival who’s invested in the competition, and is largely driven by living up to a family member’s legacy. He’s generally friendly, but expresses intense dissatisfaction with his performance because he can’t beat you or Bede. He’s been competitive, but ultimately very laid back until a sudden realization that he needs to try harder and is suddenly super driven to become the best. His post-game arc is entirely about finding out that maybe he doesn’t want to be a trainer all that much, and finding his own calling, which is a professor’s assistant. That’s Barry, Cheren, Hau, and Bianca, in that order. I do not love Hop. I don’t hate him. There are definitely worse rivals with less going on. But Hop feels like an amalgamation of previous rivals rather than his own being. He goes from laid-back but invested in your rivalry, to super serious and determined to be the best, and ending on maybe not even wanting to be a trainer that much. It’s a weird shift in his journey that I don’t think meshes as well. He takes the parts of these previous rivals that made them interesting, but it turns out slapping them all together makes a character that’s less than the sum of its parts. However, I will give points for one thing I actually love about Hop: when he keeps losing, he completely changes up his team. That’s something no rival has done. Minor adjustments, like Blue dropping Raticate, have happened, but we’ve never seen a complete shuffle in who they lead with or what the team composition is. So I do think there’s merit to Hop, even if he’s not my favorite. It could be worse. It could be...

Marnie - A literal nothing. She does announce that you are her rival, so I guess I have to talk about her. She’s nothing. Like, I kinda have to give more points to her than Brandan/May solely because she does at least try, but she never really has anything going for her. Her brother is more compelling than she is, being a gym leader in charge of an area that is really struggling, and trying to showcase that Dynamaxing isn’t required to be a good trainer. Marnie...has none of that. At all. She just has the freedom to be a challenger for the Champion title, and the town is insistent on her winning to prove...something. I honestly do not understand the plan. It wouldn’t change that their territory has no ability to Dynamax, and unlike Piers, Marnie has no qualms about using Dynamax to win. She has no real convictions, and if memory serves only battles you twice. And she’s not exactly that good either time. I never once felt like Marnie mattered. People just liked her design and decided she was great, but she...she doesn’t do anything.

Bede - I’m hesitant to count Bede, but you battle him more often than you battle Marnie, and he does eventually consider you an obstacle to overcome so I’ll count him. Honestly, don’t like him that much, but he’s better than nothing. Bede’s interesting in that he’s kind of a rival that’s ahead of you? At least implicitly. I don’t think we get hard confirmation that he’s beaten any of the challenges before you, but a lot of his battles involve him being in a location before you got there. I do kinda like his arc, in that he’s a bit of an inverted Cheren? In the sense that his ultimate endpoint is as a Gym Leader, but not because he’s looking at things in terms of adjusting his goal due to always losing, but adjusting his goal because it turns out that’s just really what he wants to do. At first he hates it, and his final challenge to you is a means of saying he’ll quit forever if he can’t win, but ultimately he settles into an appreciation for being a Gym Leader, and I really like that. While I dislike him more on a personal level, I will say I think he’s a better rival than Hop. Has more going on for himself, anyway.

#pokemon

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a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 4 years

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Cardassians aren’t Nazis (and also not quite the USSR, but I see where you’re coming from)

TW: for much discussions of Nazism, fascism, persecution, no details

So tottering around as a lover of DS9 and (disclaimer) as a major fan of the Cardassians as a not-yer-generic-villain type villain that then become less of a villain, because you can’t assign villainy to a whole species + also being German and hearing/watching/reading a lot of analyses that compare them to Nazis is inspiring me to write this (gasps for breath at the end of that sentence).

@tinsnip , @handsome-anne

1. Who were the Nazis that the Cardassians are specifically being compared to (versus neo-nazis/alt-rights, etc. that they’re not being compared to)

Short version: Post WWI the Versailles Treaty fucked over Germany in a way that left it wide open to the sort of megalomaniacal little bastard on a powertrip that fed on people’s fear and pushed them into a far-right disaster. The Nazi party itself didn’t have a ton of members, but it basically eroded any kind of democracy the country had and decided it would scapegoat Jews, Romani, communists, queer people, and other “intelligent elite”/political dissident and then spread those ideals across the world like a demented wannabe roman Caesar state. This didn’t last too long in the grand scale of world history, but left a body count of 6 million+ dead, mainly Jewish.

2. Germany and its relationship to this history

So Germany tries pretty hard to teach people this history in schools, through memorials, in film, etc. It’s not perfect by any means, there’re still discussions on how to make reparations, as well as neo-nazis and other far-right people around still, sadly just like in the rest of the world.

But it’s not covering up these atrocities, because there’s a belief that the way to make sure it doesn’t happen again is to be honest. Sadly, not everyone around the world gets as detailed a history surrounding its origins, happenings, and aftermaths, nor does every country engage with its own past like that.

3. Let’s get fictional (Cardassians, first impressions)

The Cardassians are a species that we mainly meet first through their subjugation of the Bajoran people, and then on DS9 following the immediate aftermath of the occupation on Bajor and everything that follows on from there. Throughout the story we discover various bits about what they had done - labour camps, mass executions, forced prostitution, and in that one Voyager episode I’m not a fan of because it didn’t have the range, experimentation.

On the surface, pretty comparable to the nazis, I get it. Hell, often that’s definitely “the source” of where the writers are getting their ideas.

4. So they’re... Nazis?

The problem comes when using one fascist regime as a go-to for these atrocities. It ignores the reality of fascism beyond this particular point in history and also it’s just not that simple.��

When looking at Nazi Germany we also have to look at the source of its making, the climate around it (countries like the UK having a nazi party, Italy and Spain having fascist dictators, hell, the list of dictators that were/are not German is disgustingly long, the worldwide anti-semitism making surrounding countries apathetic or even sympathetic to the Nazis, etcetc.) and the aftermaths of WWII.

The Cardassians are not Nazis. (As an aside the Federation are not the brave allies, but that’s another post for another day.) I’ve seen them compared to the USSR - both by official writers and fandom - which I won’t comment on seeing as I am not from anywhere that was affected by that (I’m not East German, but I do have East German friends), but at least this points out that one cannot compare Cardassians to a specific atrocity that happened at a specific time with specific connotations surrounding it.

Is the Obsidian Order the Gestapo or another secret police? Which secret police? Is Garak “the good Nazi” trope - but then how does that align with Cardassians living under a repressive regime for centuries, not a few years, and therefore take into account an indoctrination and climate of fear created over several generations? No child “born” into the nazi regime became an adult while it was still lasting, unlike the Cardassians (and many other real life dictatorships and fascist states - as well as "democratic” states that have similar kinds of surveillance, oppression, mass-imprisonment and disappearances, and camps).

Is every Cardassian soldier a “nazi”? How does one compare that to polish and french prisoners (see Pierre Seel for a particular harrowing account, all the trigger warnings apply) who were forced to fight for the Germans and put on the front lines?

Eugenics, labour camps, and every other atrocity has been practised by numerous regimes, both in history and now, can we shrug off every country that’s participated in them for the sake of making the metaphor “easier”?

How does the aftermath of the Cardassian Union - when they’re attacked by the Klingons and themselves occupied by the Dominion and then have their main planet bombed to the point of millions dead - align with Nazi Germany?

5. It doesn’t.

It doesn’t. It doesn’t neatly align with any other fascist or military dictator-led regime either. This is not saying that there aren’t aspects obviously borrowed from history (and can easily apply to now). This is saying that in trying to bend the Cardassians into Nazis specifically, people are ignoring every other aspect about them and in my opinion doing a disservice to those who suffered under the actual regime. This is a fictional world, with fictional people that is based on an oppressive society template. It is also a fictional world in which the people themselves are oppressed (especially if you align with what’s written in Andy Robinson’s book) - I’ll be getting back to that point in a bit.

I would argue that making it “about Nazis” is too easy. This isn’t about “us” this is about “them” those evil bastards from wwii. It strips the Cardassian story of any current-day relevance. One can look no further than one’s own society to see people struggling against acknowledging histories, being treated as second-class citizens, etc. No need to go back in time to do so.

It also strips the Cardassians of any three-dimensionality. If they’re just villains then why are we rooting for their uprising to succeed at the end of season 7? Why do we want their society to flourish, their people to no longer have a broken court system, and their secret police to stop training and recruiting children if they’re Nazis, the convenient shorthand for über-evil?

Cardassia isn’t about a past society, it’s about our society. If we empathise with the Cardassians and don’t cast them as villains, then it’s a discussion about our own oppression and privilege. And it’s a damned good scifi allegory (even if I sometimes don’t think the writers and showrunners quite understand it themselves - death of the author and all that).

6. To conclude

I didn’t mention Bajor as much in this, because I was very focused on Cardassians, but I would argue that while there is value in casting them as “space Jews” (as I’ve seen here and there) because I understand the value of representation and I am not taking that away from anyone (I hope), similarly if one reads this take as the only valid one it ignores the reality of religious oppression on a wider scale and also that the Bajorans’ oppression at the hands of the Cardassians didn’t happen for the same reasons as the Jewish genocide at the hands of the Nazis - I would also argue that in making Cardassians = Nazis / Bajor = Jews, we similarly ignore that the Nazis were and are not alone in perpetuating anti-semitism, which kinda again leans into the “Good Federation (the Allies) Versus Evil Cardassians (Nazis) - because none of the Good Allied Countries have ever/are currently involved in persecution or dehumanisation *stares into the void*

And lastly - bringing back a point I made earlier about Cardassians themselves being oppressed by their own government - something that is often forgotten when people talk “Nazi tropes in genre fiction” is that the first country the Nazis occupied was Germany. I’m mentioning this, because it’s interesting in the metaphor, but it’s also conspicuously is absent in the simplification of how these reads are applied. It’s easy to cast the Cardassians as a whole as Bad People, but it makes for worse story-telling and has uncomfortable undertones of how the world reads Germany’s people as being at fault as a whole as well, without taking into account the specific events that we were globally complicit in - and once again the metaphor falls apart, because allegory doesn’t work so easily, and it shouldn’t.

TL; DR In general I am uncomfortable by “Nazi’s used as tropes” in any fictional world. One shouldn’t sacrifice analysis nor simplify history for the sake of making it easier to make a quick point about “bad guys” and forcing allegories into one shape makes them lose their power.

Also watch German films on Nazism and European ones on WWII if you’re looking for some better takes (also Cabaret, one of the best movies ever made).

#ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #cardassia #bajor #cardassians #bajorans #ds9 meta #star trek meta #tw: nazi mention #tw: discussions about genocide #this is a looong breakdown basically summed up as *stop simplifying allegories*#but I've seen *nazi tropes' thrown around so casually not just here but in so much fiction that I kinda *nope*#so it feels like a post that I needed to get off my chest

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

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hiii! I really hope I'm not bothering you but... are you taking prompts? 👀 cause I love your fics and this is kinda your fault because I read your post about 9x06 lol but now I can't stop thinking about I&M having a *real talk* like... "I'm sorry I let you go" 🥺?

Sorry it took me a while to get to this - my ao3 fics kept me quite busy the past few weeks! okay so i’ve written about the aftermath of 9x06 quite a few times but never an actual, full “talk about everything” conversation in its entirety so i decided to give it a whirl here!

for the record i 100% believe they had a conversation like this within the first week, if not 24 hours, of being in the cell together and find it absolutely preposterous john wells tried to act like they hadn’t in 10x03 and then again in 10x08 bc all ian wanted to do legit all season was talk things through and that didn’t come from nowhere but ANYWAY, they’ve got a lot of things to sort through but i did my best to cover as much as i could!

I hope you like it <3

The lights have been out for five minutes and Ian just about manages to stay in his bunk long enough for the guard to do his final check of their cell before he’s swinging himself down from his bed to crawl in next to Mickey.

He’s met with kisses and a muffled laugh into his mouth and fuck, he never thought he’d get to do this again. He allows himself to get lost in Mickey’s body for a few minutes, trading hungry kisses while their hands roam wherever either of them can reach, like they’re trying to commit one another’s skin to memory again – not that Ian has any intention of letting Mickey go this time.

He’s been itching to touch Mickey like this all day – they’d managed a hurried, flustered mutual reunion handjob before but they couldn’t risk anything more. Even that had been reckless but he’s pretty sure he lost any and all sense the second Mickey walked through the door of his cell.

He wants more now, wants Mickey whatever way he can have him, but a thought makes him pause and as soon as he thinks it he can’t stop thinking about it.

Is this supposed to be reunion sex or make-up sex?

Ian had done a lot of soul-searching and self-reflection after he’d left Mickey at the border and he just- he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want them to jump straight into everything again and let their issues fester like they used to. Sex has never been a problem for them, communication on the other hand…

Mickey must notice he’s slowed down because he leans back, a confused smile on his face. “What?”

Ian looks at him and feels nothing but an all-consuming, addictive kind of love envelope him. He loves Mickey so fucking much – he hadn’t been able to stop even when he wanted to – he’s not going to hurt him again. But that means he needs to do this right. “Do you think we should talk first?” he asks uncertainly.

They’d both sort of agreed earlier that they would talk eventually when they’d been catching up and found themselves naturally slipping into deeper territory. They’d said they could worry about it later. But well, it’s later now.

Mickey appraises him for a moment and Ian tries not to panic when he notices his expression shutter the tiniest bit. Cradling Mickey’s jaw, he runs a thumb across his cheek. “Mick, I wanna do this right this time. We should talk about it.”

Mickey’s expression softens somewhat at that. “Talk about what?”

Ian blows out a breath. “Everything, I guess?”

He’s not sure they ever really talked out their issues in the past. He thinks they would’ve when Mickey brought him back home after he took off for the army. But Ian had already been halfway to manic by then and hadn’t exactly been in the most rational frame of mind to discuss the deep shit.

Mickey shifts onto his back, still keeping one arm around Ian, and Ian fits himself against Mickey’s side, head half on the pillow, half on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Well, if we’re talking about everything,” Mickey starts, rolling his head to the side and meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s- what?

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Ian asks with a frown – he’s pretty sure he’s the one with a laundry list of apologies to make here.

Mickey huffs out a laugh but it sounds sad. “Jesus, Ian. Did you just block out the first year and a half of our relationship?” He averts his gaze for a second before looking back to Ian with renewed determination. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away or pretended this didn’t mean anything or ended it because I got scared or hit you- fuck-“

“Mickey,” Ian says, cutting him off with a hand on Mickey’s chest. “You think I resent you for any of that?” he says, words quietly disbelieving. “Or that I don’t get why you acted the way you did? Yeah, sure, it fucking hurt at the time but I’m pretty sure you made up for it a thousand times over with everything that came afterwards.”

When I almost burned our relationship to the ground, he thinks, and all you did was try to love me.

Mickey glances away again, looking more bashful this time. “It still doesn’t make it okay.”

“Yeah, well if it wasn’t already clear, I forgive you,” Ian tells him, feeling his mouth tick up at the edges when Mickey starts to smile at him. And he can’t help leaning to brush their lips together – just once before he allows himself to get side-tracked.

It’s his turn now.

“While we’re doling out apologies,” he starts, feeling shame burn through him. Even thinking about half the shit he’s done makes him question how the fuck Mickey’s still here. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick. Jesus. For all of it.”

Mickey stares at him with something vulnerable in his eyes and Ian wonders if anyone’s ever actually apologised to Mickey for hurting him before. That thought alone is enough for him to keep going.

“I’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum after the wedding. I was just- fuck, I was at breaking point, y’know? I know what happened that day with Terry was a million times worse for you-“

Mickey tenses at that and Ian thinks they’re going to talk about a lot tonight but they probably won’t talk about that. Some scars just run too fucking deep.

“I always wondered,” Mickey interrupts quietly, staring at Ian’s hand on his chest instead of Ian himself. “If that day was your trigger or whatever.”

Ian’s wondered it too, has considered bringing it up whenever he does go to therapy countless times, but he can never make himself say it out loud.

“It might’ve been,” he says slowly. “But if it was that’s Terry’s fault, not yours.”

Mickey nods absently and Ian shifts forward until he can press his forehead to Mickey’s temple. “None of it was our fault, Mick.”

Neither of them speaks for a beat – everything they’ve left unsaid hanging heavy in the air between them until Ian eventually decides to carry on.

“And I know I said sorry for this one before,” he continues. “But I’m sorry for trying to make you come out.”

Mickey shakes his head as if to tell him it doesn’t matter. But it does.

“And for all the fucking bullshit I pulled with you while I was manic. Not even just the big stuff – the cheating, the porno, Yevgeny – but all of it. I didn’t treat you how I wanted to back then.” Ian feels tears burn behind his eyes just thinking about it and his pulse is ragged by the time Mickey finally turns his head to look at him.

His eyes are shining and Ian’s heart is fucking broken. “You were sick, Ian.”

“Doesn’t make any of it okay,” Ian mumbles, closing his eyes when he feels Mickey’s fingers graze against the back of his neck. “Just- I really need you to know that the only reason I broke up with you was because Monica fucking got in my head and I could see how much I was killing you and I didn’t want that for you, Mick,” he says, voice low and desperate, begging Mickey to understand. “The thought of you just staying with me and letting me hurt you over and over again was too fucking much. Especially back then when I felt like I’d never feel normal again.”

Mickey is quiet for a moment before he squeezes the back of Ian’s neck. “I’m not excusin’ shit, Ian. Losing you back then- it nearly fucking broke me. But it’s like what you said about the stuff I did. It’s not okay. But I know why you did it.”

Ian nods, sniffling back the tears threatening to fall and burying his face in Mickey’s neck to press an apologetic kiss against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Mickey’s arm tightens around him in response and it’s enough to give Ian courage to deliver the final part of his apology.

He leans back, pushing up on his elbow so he can look down at Mickey and meets his gaze while he talks. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to Mexico,” he whispers, breath hitching. “I’m so fucking sorry but I wanted to believe so badly that I actually had my shit together and-“

Mickey cuts him off before he can say anymore, lips upturned in a rueful smile. “I’m not mad about that,” he murmurs.

Ian frowns in confusion. “You’re not?”

Mickey nods, blowing out a resigned breath. “You were fucking right, Ian. Where were we supposed to get your meds? I spent two years working for a fucking cartel, that’s not exactly the kinda stress-free, routine life you needed to be living.” Mickey shakes his head, shrugging half-heartedly. “I didn’t think it through, I just wanted to be with you again – couldn’t see past that, y’know?”

And Ian is so fucking in love with him. He can’t believe Mickey still has so much goddamn faith in him.

“Fat lotta good it did anyway,” he huffs bitterly. “Goin’ home. Look where I ended up.”

He’d given Mickey the basics of what’d happened with the whole Gay Jesus thing earlier. But it’s still hard to believe how quickly things spiralled after he came home from the border.

Mickey doesn’t say anything because there’s not much to say really but he links his fingers together with the hand Ian’s still got resting on his chest which is an answer in and of itself.

“Listen,” Ian murmurs, meeting Mickey’s gaze and hoping he can see the sincerity there. “I know- I don’t expect you to just give me blanket forgiveness right now, okay? I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” he says, voice feeling thick with emotion. “But let me make it up to you, alright? Let me prove that I’m in this this time. I’m not fuckin’ around again, Mick. I’m not- I can’t let you go again.”

Mickey doesn’t reply right away and Ian watches as a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. Eventually though, his throat bobs and he offers Ian a hint of a smile. “You let me make my shit up to you. It’d be pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if I didn’t let you do the same.”

Ian huffs out a relieved laugh, resting his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder. “Or smart, maybe.”

“When have I ever fuckin’ been smart around you, Gallagher?” Mickey says amusedly and Ian raises his head again, leaning in until there’s the barest inch of space between them.

“I mean it,” he whispers steadfastly. “If it takes a week or a year to make you trust me again, I’ll do it. I promise.”

Mickey’s expression is calm and open as he watches him and Ian revels at being allowed to see the vulnerability behind his eyes – more as a sign of trust than because Mickey can’t conceal it for once. He closes the distance between them and tries to pour every bit of love and devotion he possesses into the kiss, hoping Mickey can feel it.

When their lips dislodge after a minute or so Ian rearranges them until he’s the one lying on his back and Mickey’s head is resting on his chest.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Mickey admits into the cotton of Ian’s tank top and Ian closes his eyes, feeling a lump swell in his throat as his eyes begin to water.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs hoarsely, tightening his arms around Mickey like he could fuse their bones together and pressing a firm kiss to Mickey’s hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mickey mumbles and it’s just three words but it feels like fucking salvation to Ian’s ears.

They’re gonna be alright.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #mickeys gonnagetrealbitchy #asks #long post #i have NO idea what's wrong with the read more i'm so sorry #i've tried to fix it a million times

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kieraelieson · 4 years

Text

Loyalty Chapter Two

(The last bit I just posted finished up the chapter)

Logan was staying in the inn Patton worked at, and Patton almost couldn’t handle the gossip anymore.

‘It’s the wizard Logan!’ ‘Since he’s here, does that mean the king is coming?’ ‘What do you think he’s here for?’ ‘So you think he’s come to take a wife?’ ‘Or maybe he’s come to help the dragons.’ ‘Idiot, the king hates our dragons.’

Patton tried to block it all out, but it was everywhere! And people kept asking him questions too, since he was the one Logan dragged away to help him.

Patton went into the kitchen and set down the huge basket of bread he’d gotten from the baker.

“Oh, thank you, Patton, you’re right on time. Grab one of those rolls and take this stew up to the wizard Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Patton said brightly, even though he’d rather not.

Every time he went up to Logan’s room he had to see what Logan was doing, and wonder if it was going to be used to hurt Janus and Virgil. And then everyone would ask him what Logan was doing too.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Patton’s heart sank down to his toes as he saw Logan polishing a dagger with something that glimmered magic. “I… brought food.”

“Thank you. You can set it down, I’ll be fine.”

“You….” Patton paused for a long time. “You’re still going to try to hurt them?”

Logan looked up at him over his glasses. “Unless you’ve thought of an alternative.”

Patton frowned. “But I don’t even know half of the rules! You just kept saying no, no, no, without telling me why!”

“I realize that most people trust you, Patton, and this may come as a bit of a shock, but I do not know you. I do not trust you with my life’s story. You are still welcome to suggest alternate solutions with the information you have already been given.”

Patton frowned. “If I come up with something, do you promise you won’t try to hurt them?”

Logan looked up again, his eyes sharp. “I do not promise anything if I don’t have to.”

Patton sighed, but nodded. “Yeah, ok. Well, I’ll come up with something!”

Logan nodded absently, still bent over the dagger. “I’ll look forward to the day that you do.”

Patton left the room, frowning in concentration.

“He has to obey the king, and the king said to get rid of the dragons,” Patton said under his breath. “But he doesn’t have a time limit, he just can’t go back until it’s done or the king calls him back.”

Patton was concentrating so hard he nearly ran into the wall instead of going out the inn door.

“He’ll probably be in a lot of trouble if he just stalls,” Patton mused. “And I think he wants to go back home soon.”

Patton kept walking, trying very intently to think, and when he stopped for a break he found himself halfway up the mountain. “Oh! Oh, no I didn’t mean to come up here.”

And then he clapped a hand over his voice. Virgil had very good hearing, and probably was already headed his way. He’d been awfully lucky, leading Logan on a whole lot of detours and making a hike of a few hours take several days, but if Logan has seen him leave, and followed him, he’d know how very close the dragons were to the village.

And then there was a happy squeak, and Patton had a double armful of baby dragon.

“Ohh, sweetheart, I’m happy to see you too!” Patton cooed as Virgil rubbed his face on his.

Thankfully, Virgil’s baby scales weren’t sharp and hard yet, so it didn’t hurt, even if he was just a bit too rough.

There was a distant sound of wingbeats, and Virgil let out a long, piteous squeak.

“Were you supposed to stay at home, Virgey?” Patton asked.

Virgil looked at him with the very best puppy eyes Patton had ever seen as he squeaked again, pleading for Patton to shield him from Janus.

“If you left home without asking, there’s not much I can do, sweet pea.”

Virgil somehow managed to get even cuter as he pleaded, and as Janus landed near them he hid his face in Patton’s chest.

“Sorry, Jan, I was too loud and he heard me.”

Janus let out a rumble that Patton knew well, the ‘it's all Virgil’s fault, cause he was the one who was supposed to stay home’ rumble.

Virgil let out a pitiful whine. Patton smiled and shook his head. For all Virgil cried about it, the worst that would happen is that Janus would physically hold him in their cave.

Still Virgil squirmed in his arms, as if he was trying to burrow into his chest, whining the whole time.

Janus leaned his head down, and Patton carefully lifted the squirmy baby so he could hand him off to Janus. The piteous cries turned angry as Virgil fought against being taken back home.

“Can I come with you guys for tonight?” Patton asked.

Janus gave a short rumble and tilt of his head toward the village.

Patton chuckled, a bit embarrassed. “Well, I already kinda just left, so it wouldn’t be much worse if I stayed away the rest of the day.”

Janus nodded, and dipped his head down low enough that Patton could climb onto his neck and hold tightly to his scales.

The rush of going up into the air was always a bit scary, and very exciting, and Patton hunkered over Janus’s neck, holding on for dear life until they landed.

The cave was truly massive. The opening was only just big enough for Janus to crawl through, but once inside it was the largest place Patton had ever seen in his life, and there was gold and treasure glittering on almost every surface.

Most of the gold Janus said that he’d dug or made himself. (And Patton had never pressed to know how exactly one would make gold) And it was reddish, streaked and speckled in very interesting patterns. Janus had told him that the gold, and especially its imperfections, were very important to the health of a young dragon.

In the middle of the cave Janus dropped Virgil into a little basin. The gold in there was squishy, almost molten looking, and very warm, too warm for Patton to touch for more than half a second, but not nearly as hot as he would’ve thought it needed to be to be as soft as it was.

Virgil squeaked and scrambled, but the basin was hard for him to get out of with as small as he was, and Janus kept knocking him back inside, where he’d tumble down in a cute little ball and make these adorable little baby growls and roars.

“You’re such an angry boy, aren’t you, Virge?” Patton said, more than a little teasing. He was still seated at the base of Janus’s neck, rubbing his hands around his scales. Janus liked it a lot, which was proved by the very soft rumbling he always made when Patton did it.

It was just calm and relaxing, and even if they couldn’t talk, Patton could feel the love coming from Janus and Virgil, and hoped that they could feel just as much love from him!

He just had to think now about how to stop Logan. He didn’t know for sure that Logan would win, but more than anything he just wanted them not to fight.

“Do you think you could fly away and just stay away for a while? Until Logan leaves?” Patton asked.

Janus let out a long, heavy grumble. And the more Patton thought about it, the less he liked the idea. They’d have to leave their home, and go somewhere where it would be cold and strange. And maybe Logan would follow them still. Or maybe he’d just stay in the village till they came back. Or they could go somewhere that people hated dragons, and then they’d get hurt there too.

Patton patted Janus’s scales gently. “I don’t know what to do.”

Janus rumbled, turning his head to look at Patton, and Patton got the message. You don’t have to do anything. But he still felt like he did!

Patton just kept petting Janus’s scales, and thinking, and gradually a frown grew on his face.

Suddenly, Janus was picking him up, and setting him on the floor.

“Janus? What’s going on?” Patton asked, trying to stand up, but Janus just pushed him gently back down.

Virgil finally scrambled out, and went right for Patton. He growled and head butted him in the chest, similar to how Janus had, but with a lot more energy, and less force, since he was so little.

Patton let out a giggle as he realized that they were now wrestling.

He’d never once won a wrestle against Janus, but with how much fun he had, he didn’t feel like he ever really lost either.

Patton stood back, or tried to, as Janus bowled him right back over. He giggled as Virgil climbed onto him and growled in his face in a way that would’ve been intimidating if he wasn’t so small and cute.

Patton just picked him up and tossed him. Virgil squawked indignantly as he flapped his little baby wings and landed in a heap.

Patton tried again sitting up, but Janus just pushed him down and blew warm air in his face, which made him giggle again and shove hard against Janus’s big face, with no luck.

Janus growled playfully, and his face was all soft in a dragon-smile.

Patton tried squirming away, but Janus rested his whole head on top of him.

“Jaaanus!” Patton giggled. “I can’t move!”

Janus huffed, and moved his head, nudging Patton until he got up, only to knock him over again.

Virgil grabbed onto his pants leg, tugging and growling. It was going to leave little teeth holes, but Patton didn’t mind.

“Agh! You’ve caught me, Virgil!”

Virgil let out a happy squeak, still holding tight to Patton’s pants leg.

Patton went limp on the ground, trying to hold back his smile. “I’ve been defeated by the mighty and fearsome Virgil.” He closed his eyes, letting his head loll to the side.

It was only a few seconds before Virgil was letting out worried little chirps and nosing at Patton’s face.

Patton opened his eyes and smiled again. “Aw, I’m alright, sweetheart.”

Virgil wriggled into his arms, still bopping his little snout on Patton’s face.

Janus let out the dragon version of an ‘awww’, a long crooning type of noise, and Patton felt like he was just filled to bursting with love for the two of them.

Patton just didn’t understand how Logan could stand the thought of hurting them. He just didn’t. Just considering it again made him sad, and before he knew it the dragons had picked up on it, Virgil in particular chirping sympathetically at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Virgil. I went and made it sad during playtime.”

Janus snorted, a clear reprimand.

Patton tried to chuckle, but just teared up. “I’m just… I just don’t get it! What does the king have against you anyway?!”

Patton could see that Janus did have an answer, it was just too complicated for growls and rumbles and facial expressions, and so instead he just pushed his nose into Patton’s belly, rocking him back and forth in a way that usually made Patton laugh. But not this time.

“I’m gonna find a way to keep you safe. I don’t know how, but I’ll find it.” Patton promised, scratching underneath Virgil’s chin. Virgil made a happy warbling sound, which was very cute, and just made Patton more determined to protect him.

Patton ended up staying with them all night, which they all enjoyed, though it was a bit dampened by dismal, difficult thoughts.

“I have to figure something out!” Patton said to himself. “It doesn’t have to help get Logan out of this, but at least getting Janus and Virgil away. But I want to help Logan too. I don’t think he does want to do the job he’s doing, he just needs a way out.”

Just then Virgil let out an adorable little baby snore, and distracted Patton entirely from thinking of solutions.

And by the time he got back to thinking of it, just before he fell asleep, a new idea had formed. “If it’s the king that doesn’t like them, I’ll just have to talk to the king.”

#my own work #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #loyalty #dragons

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rhydium · 4 years

Note

Info dumbo about the StarFinite story?

aright u asked for it anon GET READY [cracks knuckles] this is gonna be long so obligatory cut in 3, 2........

...1!

so the uh, the au! the story!! w/e yall wanna call it! full disclaimer, i only began working on this whole thing a while ago, but it's totally taken over my fukn brain. like, we're talking big hyperfixation hrs. am i cringe for being this invested in my own content? yes? cool i do not Care >:3€

i should also throw it out there real quick that i am kin w/ infinite, n this is actually one of my two canons (both of which are my own aus lmfao wow). i didn't go into it expecting it to be but sfsfsgdfs here we are ig!! for that reason it's got extra importance to me n this definitely contributes to the euphoria i get from it!! it's a lil odd writing ur own canon,,? but i kinda just go w/ the flow!

the au n, the story that i will start Eventually, revolves around infinite n starline (obvi) n it's honestly just ... the tl;dr is big healing momence n, what's this? uh oh sisters !!! they are falling in love 😳😳😳

uhhhh so infinite is an android, made by eggman. that's like, the most notable canon divergence here! super important context to have. i've got a whole big theory on the possibility of sega originally intending infinite to be an artificial being (which i explored in the works for my Other canon too), stemming from not only the scene in forces wherein infinite comments on sonic's "data", but a line of dialogue from tails in one of the last stages of the game where he Literally Says "so this is where eggman built infinite". that ... i mean. that contrasts w/ episode shadow pretty hard don't it?? would explain why that dlc was so rushed, n the comic too. ANYWAY adsfsfs um that's a seperate ramblepost. yeah!!!

they are also agender n use they/them (primarily) as well as he/him!! so i'll be refering to them w/ those pronouns!

after the war, infinite is taken in by the resistance n, instead of being dismantled, they're basically given a chance to rehabilitate themselves. it's agreed that they won't be reprogrammed, as despite the potential risks, it feels wrong to do so; like a violation of their free will, individuality n thinking. if infinite is to be a good person, it's not gonna be bc other ppl recreated their entire personality, it's gonna be bc it's what they themselves truly want. robot ethics idk man!! u can't tell me that sonic n co wouldn't offer this to infinite if they offered it to metal in IDW,,,, i am Standing By This!!!

it's, yknow, a bit rocky, at first. infinite has to really fight the urge to return to eggman (something they already tried once, before the resistance found them; they were cast out). it's a struggle against what they were built to do, against giving into unhealthy familiarity over facing a, while healthier, unfamiliarity. new faces, a new life, turning their back on their mission n creator, it's like, a lot.

they work for/with the sonic crew, rebuilding the world they tore down as deemed fitting justice, being closely monitored for a bit as a natural precaution. as it becomes apparent infinite truly no longer has any ambition to harm others (they don't have much ambition for anything, really), they're then granted more freedom, n start taking on more important missions!! it at least gives them something to do, keeps them occupied. they have issues with dissociation, unreality, whether they're truly a real person bc, well, android. feeling purposeless, n a lack of worth, especially. a need to prove themselves. heavy stuff. i'll kinda go into that a bit more in a sec. their work grounds them, if only temporarily.

n soooooo... IDW comic stuff happens. metal virus time. starline gets kicked out of the empire.

now, as the comics are ongoing, n as this is already an au, there's gonna be divergence, n i must admit i haven't planned out all that yet. there's a lot i have to consider!! infinite being w the resistance/restoration is a big game changer ... tho i Do believe that they were absent, likely on a far out mission during most of the chaos. eggman doesn't know abt them, nor does starline or anyone else other than the sonic crew; n some civilians that recognise them.

i'm not 100% sure of Exactly when it happens, but i think it's just after bad guys, that infinite is sent to locate n bring in starline. it doesn't prove too difficult. there's a whole, starline realising "oh fuck it's you???", some bickering n, the two don't hit it off right away. they're both kinda like. not mentally stable ddgddgdds,,,

so uh. starline ends up essentially going thru the same sorta shit as infinite. careful watch, rebuilding, all that jazz, making sure he can be trusted. he's like... very very lost, quite like infinite is. the world has kinda calmed down, in the meanwhile.

it's at this point i'm gonna go ahead n drop a bit of a ramble i subjected my friends to a while ago, to articulate the way i see the two, n their dynamic together!! i was considering making this it's own post a while ago!

analysing their characters a bit... let's look at starline. Like. so we have this, in bad guys, which SENT ME tbfh;

i feel like it's the moment that triggers starline onto the path he is rn canonically,,, he's clearly like. rly mad n bitter. the core of this?? he wants his work n his efforts to be acknowledged.

he's big angry. still kind of in denial at this stage. he has himself obsessed w/ the idea of making eggman see him as Worthy, that if he just tries hard enough, that'll happen. he's dependent on eggman's validation, n i mean, it's no surprise; he's followed him a Long Time by the sounds of it.

then in the recent issue, hold the fuck up, bc we got, This;

god. my god it's all comin together now homies. this???? this right here??? it is the CLASSIC "i have to do this to prove i'm strong n powerful n smart n worthy n should be respected please Give Me Acknowledgement" ..... n who else is Like That? can u see where im going w/ this?

i think most ppl are aware of infinite's character being extremely indicative of self worth/esteem issues n the need to prove themself, right?? the extreme adversity, repulsion, perhaps even fear toward the idea of being weak. the compulsion to prove otherwise, to show their strength, to become powerful, to conquer to make a point. their theme exudes this same energy as their behaviour in-game; an aggressive attitude, trying to assert themself, while if u rly listen...? the lyrics are actually really sad in places. it reeks of cover up, although composition wise, a v interesting thing to note is a lot of the more telling lyrics are prominent while some of the affirming ones are in the background. indicative of a desire to have their true feelings be heard but caught in a vicious loop?

okay okay that's yet Another different analysis. AHEM.

not to get deep on main (oh who the hell am i kidding that's the point of this entire thing) but i think starline has issues w/ his worth in a similar way to infinite. they both seem to have this need to Prove something, whether it's to others or themselves, n get caught in a toxic spiral of doing worse n worse things for Some kind of validation or acknowledgement. they'll go to really big lengths chasing that, n both of them ultimately sought validation in the wrong place n wrong way.

this is a big part of my starfinite dynamic,, n so, what happens, as they get closer n open up??? we have them BOTH realising together that they don't have to do fuck all to prove anything to anyone. they don't need to do all this to show they're strong n smart n worth something, not to anyone else OR themselves. they're enough as they are. they bond over that shared feeling that they have to do xyz, to prove themselves, n that desire to just finally be acknowledged n appreciated n help each other thru it. to help each other understand that other ppls approval, or lack thereof, doesn't define them, their strength, intelligence, and worthiness.

i feel like they have an interesting parallel between them in like... the above could be taken as a general analysis, but to go more in depth on this au specifically?? ...

starline followed eggman for presumably a long time n it no doubt left him feeling a heavy and deep regret for all that time wasted n spent on an unhealthy path. infinite kinda teaches him that what matters is what he's doing Now n also reminds him that if none of it happened, starline wouldn't have learnt a lot of the serious skills he has. n while starline still feels bad, he also realises himself that, he likely never would have crossed infinite's path if none of it happened. for that reason, he wouldn't take it back.

infinite has only been recently made, on the other hand. they haven't really existed long, yet, but so far their experiences haven't been very positive n it can be .... discouraging. starline sorta, shows infinite their limited experiences w/ the world are a very tiny fraction of what's out there, n things can absolutely change, yes, including for the better; that's the essence of life, a neverending, constant flow of change.

it's a big tale of moving on n letting go, honestly; made easier as they're doing it together. n as they heal n grow, well... these bitches gay. sfshshdgds like, ig that's putting it p bluntly but!! they start to trust each other, understand each other more. as they get to truly know who the other is, they both start developing The Feelings. they're both pretty oblivious n the reveal is totally unknown so far!! yeah, i know, bummer. i suck. boo. adafsfsds however i can say there will be lots of content in the making!! if that soothes the soul! i've got of ideas i hope to bring to life.

ofc there's still a lot of more specific things i haven't covered here so! if y'all want more juice hmu w/ more focused questions but !! this is the overview n i hope it was a decent read now that gave some uhhh! Cool Insight! yea!!! ✌

#jackal.txt #android infinite au #i need a proper name for this #infinite the jackal #dr starline #starfinite #long post #idw sonic spoilers

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harrylee94 · 4 years

Text

Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 5

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they’ve been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can’t help but feel he’s done this before…

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: The ending was heavily inspired by this post, which I loved so much I had to include it!

For those of you who don’t know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

Link to; Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 5: Log Entry #59

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:17 AM

Logan was tired. He’d lived the same six hours over fifty times now, give or take an hour or so each time, and not once had he been given a chance to rest. Though his body might have been able to handle the strain this time loop was creating due to its very nature, his mind could not. He had snapped at Remus for the first time today, had pushed him away before Remus pushed past his defences and held him close until he told him what was going on with the briefest of explanations.

Remus had become a Host to one of the parasites no more than five times, the lowest number of all the others barring himself, mostly because Logan had been with him almost all the time save for those four instances when they'd been separated, and yet, despite knowing that time had been reset, making the last run essentially non-existent, Logan still couldn’t bring himself to trust the man he loved most in the world until those arms were around him. He felt disgusted with himself for ever doing so, and the guilt still riddled him for being so frozen when it had happened that first time, but the experience took its toll.

The worst time had been when they had been forced to vent him, sending the feral creature in Remus’s form shooting into space. Logan had watched as he’d drifted slowly away, his body expanding, a small splatter of blood escaping his lips as the oxygen was pulled from his lungs, rupturing them, until he grew still. Waking up after that, despite knowing that the real Remus had been dead long before that moment, Logan had hovered over Remus as he recovered from falling out of his cryotube until, after that initial contact, he clung to his partner and sobbed into his shirt for a long time.

It was a similar situation to the one he was in now actually, sitting in Remus’s lap as the man hummed, swaying back and forth and rubbing at his back. He wanted to sleep here, to just drift off and forget all of this was happening. He needed to recharge, but he couldn't.

“I can tell them that the cryosleep messed you up,” Remus suggested softly, pressing a kiss to his hair. “We can say that you need time to recover and you can stay here and sleep.”

Logan shook his head. “But then everyone will die.”

“Sounds like we do anyway,” Remus said. It was supposed to be comforting, or at least reassuring that taking a break would be okay, but Logan couldn’t help but to flinch. “Okay, not the right thing to say, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re burning yourself out.”

“I can’t stop.”

“You have to.” Remus held his face softly in his hands. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? Rest. Recuperate. Even I know I have to stop every so often or I’ll crash worse than the Hindenburg.”

“I can’t leave you to face this alone,” Logan said, leaning into his hand.

“You’re not. You’ve told me what’s happening and where to find the information I need to prepare.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Well I’m not letting you leave this room.”

Logan scowled at his boyfriend. “They will kill you. They will pull you apart, shred you from within, vent you into space, turn you inside out-”

Remus stopped his words with his lips. Logan hated how he still couldn’t resist this, that he would still kiss him back with desperation when he knew it was a distraction, but he couldn’t resist. These moments were sometimes few and far between, and he clung to them like a man starved of affection.

“I would die for you a million times if I had to,” Remus said against his mouth as he pulled a little away, even as Logan followed him. “I can see how tired you are. Sleep.”

Logan shook his head. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“You have to, or you’ll collapse.”

“Then I’ll collapse.”

“Logan!”

He huffed. “I won’t be able to anyway. My body is well rested.”

“That’s what drugs are for,” Remus said with a roll of his eyes.

Drugs? “You mean sedatives?”

“That’s what I said.”

Even though Remus was giving him one of his many smirks, undoubtedly a little proud of himself, Logan could see the worry etched into the faint lines by his eyes and the edges of his mouth, even in the way his fingers were still holding onto his face a little harder than usual. Remus was scared for him and that was just about enough to convince him.

“Janus is in charge of the mission,” he said after deflating with a sigh. “Patton and Virgil are usually the targets of the parasites, though I haven’t been able to figure out why yet, just that they have been most frequently chosen as the hosts. Orange is usually the first victim, probably because he is the one with the most advanced knowledge of the reactor and the engines. And work with Roman when you can; I know you can be a formidable team when you get past your differences.”

Remus nodded to each point, even if he looked disappointed at not being chosen to be the new leader, and rubbed his thumb over Logan’s cheek. “You’re making the right decision.”

“The only right decision I’ve made since this started was telling you,” Logan said and turned his head to kiss Remus’s palm. “I could never regret you.”

“I love you too, Lo,” Remus said, pressing a kiss to his lips again. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I know,” Logan replied, unable to keep his sadness from tainting his words. “You always are.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan woke with the rising light of the fake dawn. The sting of the needle from the sedative had vanished, and the tingle of the cryosleep still sat in his muscles. He sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered his last conscious moments and smiled to himself when he heard the familiar thump of Remus falling out of the cryotube. The sound was more comforting than he thought could be possible, especially considering Remus was getting hurt every time, but it was a confirmation that Remus was there, that even though all these horrible things were happening, he was still able to have these moments with the love of his life.

He did feel more rested now, even if not recovered completely (though he doubted there would be much that would help him recover from what he was experiencing), and he heaved his still aching body up to look down at the one that was groaning on the floor with a fond smile.

“You’re supposed to wait for your blood flow to return to normal,” he said, voice gravelly as it always was just after waking.

Remus groaned again and looked up with a squint and a blink before he rolled over and grinned up at him. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice sending shivers up Logan’s spine. “Did they make a mistake at the gates of heaven, because I’m pretty sure I’m meant to be roasting with a spit up my butt right now and not looking at a beautiful angel.”

Logan grinned, blushing a little. “Are you sure I’m not some sort of demon here to trick you into Hell?”

“I’d follow you anywhere; heaven or hell” Remus said, and Logan hummed at the sound of awe the man made.

“I know you would,” Logan said, only for his smile to fall a fraction. “I’ve already led you to your death.”

Remus blinked at him again. “Huh?”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:06 AM

“How many of those notes have you made?” Remus asked as Logan walked with him towards the storage room, having decided to start his journey there this time.

“Fifty-two,” Logan replied, waiting for the bar to finish loading while absently picking up the empty fuel container to set Orange up for refuelling later. “I have, unfortunately, been unable to make notes in some instances, though I have made up for some of those delays in future loops.”

“And you’ve relived this day…?”

“This will be my fifty-ninth time,” Logan replied, setting his tablet aside so he could fill up the container.

Remus whistled. “And you don’t even know how many times we’d gone through the loop before!”

Before? Oh, he should have thought of that. It was entirely possible that the first time he could recall living through this ‘cursed’ day (if he was using the expression correctly) was not in fact the first time he had lived it. No one else could remember after all, and he had not made any notes the first time, so there would have been no proof left behind.

“It’s getting kinda full there, Logie.”

Logan flinched and quickly turned off the tap before the container could spill. “I… had not considered that.”

“Well it kinda makes sense, doesn’t it?” Remus said, screwing the cap onto the container and pulling Logan’s hand into his. “Do you think anyone else will remember? One of the aliens maybe!”

“Please, don’t even suggest that!”

“Sorry.”

Logan took a deep breath to calm himself and banish the thought of an even more challenging experience, and nodded. “It’s possible.”

Remus hummed and gave his hand a squeeze. “Can I look at the notes?”

“Of course.” He reached for his tablet and handed it over without looking at the screen, prying his fingers away so he could go in search of the next container.

“Um, how many notes did you say you’ve made?” Remus asked, the light of the screen reflecting on the surface of his visor.

“Fifty-two,” Logan replied, finding the container behind a box. “Why?”

“Because there’s fifty-three.”

Logan paused. “... What does the last one say?”

“It doesn’t say anything,” Remus said. “It’s a video, but it says I have to access it in Communications.”

A video? “You must have made it. I was asleep all of… yesterday.”

“Should we watch it?”

“I think we all should.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:18 AM

“I don’t see why you couldn’t have done this earlier,” Orange said as he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. “We’ve only been here for fifteen minutes. I haven’t had the chance to do anything yet.”

“Fifteen minutes is plenty of time to set up a deep space communications network,” Janus chipped in. “It’s not like we’ll need it or anything.”

“I am well aware that I am causing a great frustration to all of you, but I must insist on everyone watching this,” Logan said, still searching the system for the file.

“Haven’t we got more important things to be doing?” Virgil said. “Fixing the Station, maybe?”

“This is important,” Remus said, and Logan smiled. He’d stationed himself next to him, keeping watch on their team to make sure none of them would leave without making them feel trapped.

“Why?” Roman asked, suspicious.

“Because it is.”

His skills in defending this argument needed a little work though. At least now he’d found the file, and he opened it. A video file opened on the main screen as a black box, the play button waiting to be clicked.

“What’s the video about?” Patton asked as Logan stood up from his chair to allow everyone to see.

“I don’t know,” he replied softly and, taking Remus’s hand, pressed play.

For a few seconds the screen remained blank, only a timestamp in the corner counting the seconds giving any real indication of time passing as heavy breathing could be heard.

“Twelve thirty?” Janus said, looking at the numbers. “But the system-”

Whatever the man in yellow was about to say was lost as there was some rustling and the camera was uncovered. It was the Communications room from the perspective of the screen; the lights were off, but the screen was giving off enough light to reveal the mess the room had become. They couldn’t see the floor, but they could see that the door was closed, and there were streaks of what had to be blood across the wall.

And then there was the figure. Remus’s fingers tightened in Logan’s as they watched him haul Janus’s torso from the desk to set him down on the ground, the eyes already milking over. The body left a stain on his green suit, and when he looked back at the camera, it revealed that the visor on his helmet had been broken, a chunk of it missing entirely. He huffed and quickly removed it, tossing it aside.

He looked pale, his eyes holding an edge of mania, and his entire right ear and a section of his hair was missing dripping blood down his chin, which they saw with more clarity when Remus turned his head, his eyes on where the screen must have been. He laughed.

“Oh man, they got me good,” they said with a cracking voice, and Logan noticed a few side-glances towards them, but he was more focused on how the Remus on the screen was trembling ever so slightly. “Shit. I’m not going to have time to start this again, so uh, I’m sorry you had to see... “ He looked down at where he’d just put Janus’s body and swallowed. “They’ll be here any minute. I’ll be torn to shreds for sure.”

This laugh was broken and he sounded so close to snapping. “You told me! Patton and Virgil, you said. I kept an eye on them, but then Orange…” He shook his head. “Fuck. Fuck! Why did I let him leave?”

There was a bang on the door behind him and he spun around, but quickly turned back. “Rambling. Shit. They’ll get through-- I read all your notes. All of them. You’ve been through some fucked up shit, Logie! I mean, I believed you when you told me, but when I read it… This loop is fucked up.”

There was another bang.

“Oh Re~mus!” It was Patton’s voice, still so familiar and joyful, and yet punctuated with another hit to the door. “Come out and play!”

Remus had shut his eyes, leaning against the desk. “I watched them pull Roman’s heart out of his chest,” he said, a tear dripping from his cheek. “Janus is… Well, you saw that. Orange is scattered across one of the Engine rooms and they… they found you. They took you and they made me watch as they put you in the trash shoot and--” He cut himself off as another bang rattled the door and looked up into the camera, eyes filled with tears.

“You had to do that to me once. I don’t know how you survived. It felt like my soul was being torn out of my chest when I watched you die.” He wiped at his cheeks, wincing as he caught the torn flesh, but otherwise he didn’t seem to care. He looked down again, his face hidden by his hair. “I don’t know if this will even work, but I wanted to leave a note, like you do.” When he looked up again his face was scarily blank.

“Log Entry number fifty-three. The parasites have taken Patton and Virgil as hosts again. It was in the Medbay. They went after Janus first, as he was alone. There’s evidence they played with him before they pulled him in two.”

“Who are you talking to, Remus?” came Virgil’s voice from beyond the door. “We’re the only ones left.”

Remus stalwartly ignored them, eyes fixed on the camera. “Orange and I found the body. He left to fetch the fuel so we could try to burn whatever they are. I heard his screams when I found Virgil, or the thing he’d become, with Roman. My brother had been pinned to the wall by its tentacles, and it ripped his heart out as he begged for mercy.”

Another thud, this one louder than the others before it, and Remus flinched.

“They must have run out of energy or something, because they only captured me and dragged me into Storage. The Thing with Patton’s face had dragged your body off the shuttle. You were still asleep when they stuffed you in the trash shoot. I… I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I must have screamed myself hoarse.”

He looked over his shoulder as the metal of the door groaned with the next hit, then turned quickly back.

“I somehow managed to escape, though not before they did this.” He motioned to his missing ear. “I ran everywhere. I think I must have slipped in Orange’s blood when I found what was left of him in that Engine room, because I left footprints. This is the first room I could find without vents. You mentioned vents a lot.”

The door groaned again and bent a little behind Remus, but he didn’t look this time. He just smiled.

“I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have saved you, but… I know I’ll see you again. I’ll wake up and fall out of the cryotube and I’ll make you pesto pasta for breakfast just to try to make you smile. You’ll tell me about this fucking time loop and I’ll believe you, because I know you. I know you would never lie to me about this. And I will tell you I love you. I’ll tell you that you mean more to me than life itself. I’ll-”

The door behind him tore open, the metal shredding like cardboard, and the figures of Virgil and Patton stepped through. Remus tried desperately to reach something on the desk but he was pulled away by Patton, who had barely moved, before he was given the chance. Remus’s helmet flew at Patton before Janus’s followed, and the wheely chair started to move across the screen as Remus yelled profanities at the creatures.

Virgil and Patton, meanwhile, had begun to unfurl, their tentacles escaping and their bodies splitting into gaping maws.

“Now that wasn’t very nice,” Not-Patton said as he pulled a struggling Remus up into the air by his foot, even as he continued to try and fight. A second, third and fourth tentacle stretched out to hold him still, and still he struggled.

“Fuck you! Fuck both of you! You dickasses both deserve to-” Remus’s shouts became muffled as Not-Virgil covered his mouth and gave the struggling man a considering look.

“You know, you’ve always been so fond of medieval torture,” it said. “Why don’t we try that, what was it? Ah yes, being hung, drawn and quartered.”

“That sounds like fun!” Not-Patton said. “Let’s do it in the cafeteria. The tables are better there.”

Not-Virgil nodded with a double grin and helped drag the screaming Remus from the room.

It took Logan a few seconds to remember how to breathe, staring at the screen as the silence around him threatened to engulf him, but then Remus pulled him closer and gave him the best hug he could while they were still in their suits. Logan clutched back at him, turning away from the screen as Remus continued to stare at it over his shoulder, and his entire body flinched when his own agonised screams came from the speakers.

“So-someone turn it off,” Remus said, shaken but still standing strong somehow.

There was some shuffling and the screams suddenly cut off, making the silence somehow even more unbearable. Remus gave Logan another squeeze.

“That… that can’t be real,” Virgil said after a few more moments, the edges of panic staining his words. “I’m not… Patton and I…”

“Remus?” Roman said, and Logan pulled away from his partner enough so they could both turn towards the rest.

They were all in various states of shock or disbelief; Patton had tears streaming down his cheeks, Virgil was clutching at his body, Janus looked to be trying to figure out if it had been an elaborate joke or not, and Roman looked blank. Orange, however, was the only one to look somewhat angry, which Logan thought was fair considering the circumstances.

“It’s real,” Remus said, his eyes still on the screen as he spoke but they landed on his brother soon after. “Everything I… he said is true.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Orange said with a snort. “It’s very clever though. Did you set it up before we left Earth?”

“He can’t have.” Janus said hesitantly. “The plans for the Station were kept confidential, to be released to the public after we’d already left, and no one else would have helped him gain access.”

Orange frowned. “That… That can’t be right. If it was then…”

“Is everybody okay?” Patton asked beyond the tears.

“Oh yes,” Janus drawled. “I absolutely love watching one of my best friends get dragged away to be tortured and killed. It hasn’t affected me at all. Especially not the part where he had to drag my own lifeless body away from the camera.”

“... Yeah, me too,” Patton said softly, and he leaned into the hand Roman had set on his shoulder. “How is this possible?”

“Remus was talking to Logan in the video,” Roman pointed out.

“I don’t know,” Logan said. “I… I haven’t been able to find an answer. There must be some sort of… rift or something. A black hole near our orbit that’s distorting the flow of time. There is so much we don’t know about them after all, and it’s possible, but I haven’t seen any that would be close enough to cause any real changes to the environment. Perhaps it’s the parasites themselves, but that doesn’t make any sense or they would remember as well, and that hasn’t happened. Not yet at least, and I hope it never does.”

“It won’t,” Remus said, and Logan graced him with a brief smile.

“Believe us or not, this is still a problem,” he continued. “The parasites only take a host after 9:30am, though I cannot tell you the exact time as it changes depending on a variety of variables, but it is always near the Medbay or the Reactor. I suspect they might be found in the vents but I cannot be certain.”

“Oh. Great,” Virgil said, Orange having to step to his side to guide him into the chair, He immediately ducked his head between his knees and Logan could hear him trying to control his breathing. Patton was at his side a moment later to hold his hand and help guide him through his breathing techniques.

“Perhaps we should have a codeword!” Roman suggested with forced charm. “Something to say to each other so we know if anyone’s… you know.”

Logan shook his head. “It wouldn’t work. The parasite essentially becomes us once it’s in our system. The host knows that it’s a host, that it was once human, they just don’t care anymore.”

“And how would you know that?” Janus asked.

“I’ve… been one, once,” Logan replied quietly, looking away as Remus’s hand squeezed him in comfort. It was really a miracle that he hadn't been caught again, and it had been a close call on a few occasions, but somehow that first time had remained the only time.

“What do you propose we do then?” Orange asked.

“We stick together, get through as many tasks as we can to get the Station back to full operation before the creatures emerge, and find a way to get them off the Station.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:35 AM

There had been no sign of the aliens. It had been an hour since they should have appeared, and yet there had been nothing but a growing sense of dread and, in Orange's case, annoyance. It was becoming increasingly clear that the engineer was growing impatient, and that his belief in the credibility of the video was tenuous at best. The further notes on what Logan had been able to assess from his observation of the creatures had not helped either, though the others had been enough to keep him satisfied for a time. However, it seemed that his patience had finally run its course.

"Look, you guys can all huddle together like scared little bunnies," he said, as they waited for Virgil to finish sorting out the medical supplies, "but we have a job to do, and we can't do it if we're doing everything one bit at a time!"

"Kiddo, we're trying to-" Patton started, but Orange huffed and started walking towards the door.

"Spare me," he spat. "I'll be in the engine rooms if anyone needs me, doing my job."

With that he stormed out of the Medbay, heading out of sight around the corner. Logan, who had been taking notes about their situation on his pad on the bed nearest the door, looked after him and didn't even blink when the door shut immediately after. He wouldn't have been able to reach him in time either way. He turned back around and gave Remus a look.

"That… that was you, right, Sherlock?" Roman asked as his brother heaved the mattress he'd been lying on off the bed frame. The lights went out a moment later and Patton squeaked in alarm as the room plunged into a pitch darkness.

"No," Logan replied, glancing up at the fading glow in the bulbs. "No it wasn't." He turned back to his pad and started to hack into the door to open it again.

The mattress hit the floor.

"Shit, where's the vent?" Remus cursed, and Logan could hear him dragging the mattress around.

"Over here." Janus.

"Get away from it," Remus growled, even as he dragged the mattress closer.

"Be careful," Patton said from next to Virgil, the two of whom were the only people visible thanks to the faint light of the isolated test lab.

Remus grunted and, after some sounds of shuffling, the mattress flopped down heavily again, this time with a slight echo.

"Got it," Remus said after a little more shuffling. "How are the doors, Lo?"

Logan tapped a few more keys and had the door ready to open. "I'll open it when you get here. We don't know if they're waiting for us out there."

"You mean Orange might be-?" Roman asked, but couldn't bring himself to finish.

"I believe it is all but certain," Logan confirmed, and he heard someone -- probably Patton or Virgil -- whimper.

There was some more shuffling and Logan turned his screen around to shed some light on the room. From the shadows cast and the sight his suit could offer him, he could just about see Roman coming slowly closer, his arms outstretched so he wouldn't go into anything. Janus, Remus, Patton and Virgil were all clustered as a group, Remus keeping his hand on Janus's shoulder as he glanced back at where the mattress (and therefore the vent) must have been while Virgil seemed to twitch at every sound.

Once everyone had reached him Logan slid off the bed and joined the cluster. "Let's go."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:52 AM

Walking around so close together was not only cumbersome but also a little claustrophobic. Logan could hear every breath, every footstep, feel each unexpected touch and each slide of shoes against his own. Patton and Roman would occasionally whisper the breathing exercises to Virgil to keep him from panicking too much, but otherwise it was a slow walk in near silence.

They had walked through both engine rooms on their journey to Electrical, and while it was dark, there had been no sound of Orange on the entire journey. It was all but certain that he was now a Host. Now, however, they had all stopped to look into the ominous darkness of the room before.

"This doesn't feel like a trap at all," Janus said.

"Do you think Orange might be in there?" Patton asked.

"Either that, or the second parasite is lying in wait," Logan replied, squeezing Remus's hand. "Either way, something has to be in there."

"So someone's either going to end up becoming a big tentacle monster with a mouth that tears their body in two, or they're going to end up as a kebab," Remus said with a nod. "I think I'd prefer kebab myself."

"I would prefer it if neither situation happened," Roman said, Virgil making a noise of agreement.

There were a few seconds where nothing happened, but then Logan sighed and released Remus's hand to step forward; or at least he tried to.

"What are you doing?" he asked, Remus's hold having only grown stronger.

"I'm not letting you go in there alone."

"Who said I was doing that?"

"You did." Remus caught his shoulder and turned in to face him. "You're never silent in group projects."

Logan clenched his jaw. "You know me too well."

"You know me better," Remus said with a slow grin.

Logan huffed in annoyance but turned back to the others. "The fuse box is at the back, next to a vent," he said. "If we stick together and keep an eye on it then we should be able to get through this easily enough."

"And if Orange is in there?" Virgil asked.

Logan shared a look with Remus (as much as he could in the almost complete darkness anyway). "We will have to… take action."

"... Oh," Virgil said, sounding a little queasy.

In a way Logan envied their naivety. He envied their ability to hope for a better solution, their expectations of getting out of this alive, but his own experiences had worn that away. He had always been defined by the truths and facts that had become his life, but now even that was being worn away, and he knew he was becoming more jaded in each loop.

"Let's get this over with," Roman said, bringing Logan out from his thoughts.

The scientist nodded and pulled Remus after him into Electrical. "The fuse box is just around-"

The door slammed shut, cutting the couple off from everyone else.

“-... the corner.”

Remus stepped closer as a few bangs came from the door. “We’re dead, aren’t we.”

Logan swallowed. “Yes.”

Remus hummed. “These aliens; they take on our memories when they take us for a host?”

“I… yes, that’s right.”

“And we just want to kill everyone in sight.”

“Yes,” Logan replied, trying to block out the noises that were coming from outside the door. He needed all of his senses if he was going to get them both through this, though every calculation he was making was only leading them towards one bloody and awful end. “You’re just… angry, and there’s this hunger, and you crave it. Nothing from before matters. You simply loath humanity.”

Remus hummed again, and they both froze when they saw something moving in the dark. Logan was so focused on it that he barely registered the click-hiss that came from beside him, from Remus, and he only understood that he had removed his helmet when he was shoved back into the wall behind them.

“No!”

He could see it happening, the lights of the Medbay blinding in his memory as Remus threw himself forwards, but this time he would not be frozen. There was shouting coming from the other side of the door as he pushed himself off the wall, chasing Remus into the dark, but when the love of his stopped short and Logan crashed into his back, he knew he was too late.

“Remus,” he breathed, catching him as his knees gave out and holding him close as he choked on his own blood. “Oh God, what did you do?”

Remus grinned. “Saved… you.”

There was no time to argue, and the smile fell quickly to a cough as the parasite ravaged his body, making its home inside him. “Yes. You saved me, Remus,” he said, all but tearing his own helmet from his head. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

He kissed Remus’s blood spattered lips and carded his fingers through his hair as the door opened, ten seconds too late.

“L-Love… yo-you,” Remus stuttered, only to choke, his body stiffening as the shaking began.

“I love you too,” Logan said, vaguely aware that the others were talking, that someone was moving, and a second later the lights were on again.

There were tears streaming down Remus’s cheeks, and tears running down his own. He could see the patches of red where the parasite was chewing away at Remus’s body, seeping into the fibres of the suit, and Remus struggled with himself until he roared in pain. Logan watched as it clouded his eyes, his gaze only briefly leaving his partner’s when Roman tried to come to their side, but was mercifully held back by Virgil and Patton.

“It’s okay,” he muttered as Remus’s body slowly went limp in his arms. “I love you, Remus. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

The dark threads he had seen before started to seep from each blood-soaked spot, crawling out to start encompassing Remus’s body, and he choked on a sob, holding Remus closer. All too soon the body was completely encompassed, and the shape in his arms congealed with the pressure he was exerting with his arms. Someone tried to pull him away but he shook them off.

“I’ll distract him,” he said, though the tears threatened to choke him.

“Logan-”

“Go!”

There was only a brief hesitation before they left. He tried not to think of the anguish in Roman’s eyes.

As the mass in his arms solidified back into the shape of his lover, his strands of hair growing back between Logan’s fingers, he looked into those eyes that he had grown to love and saw the brief flash of recognition.

“Logan…” Remus said, the pain gone but the fear he had seen before still hanging onto its last threads, but then even that was snuffed out, and all that was left was a growing hunger. The grin that stretched Remus’s lips grew inhumanly wide as sharp tendrils extended out from him to puncture Logan in every way possible. He gasped as he clung to Remus’s form, vowing to never let this happen again.

“You smell delicious.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan woke with wet cheeks. The light of the cyrodeck had never felt so cold.

#fanfiction #sanders sides #among us #sanders sides among us au #sanders side fic #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange sanders #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #time loop #writing

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clumsyclifford · 4 years

Text

you and i are finally gonna get it right

seems like i should post this on tumblr as well because that seems to be the thing to do so here i am, doing that :) massive overwhelming shoutouts to @ashesonthefloor for reading this when it was even worse than it is now & helping me with it and also @cliiffords for letting me talk nonstop about how horrible it is <3 (fair warning: this fic is 5k so if youre on mobile...settle in lol)

here’s an ao3 link you can use if you prefer

If Michael has to pioneer the movement of normalizing being tattoo-free, then so be it. He and Calum will be the frontmen. - Neither Michael nor Calum have soulmates tattoos. (Apparently.)

November 20th, 2013

Michael wakes up in his bed with a hangover and a tight sting on his left upper arm. Before he even opens his eyes, he cycles through all five stages of grief. He’s not sure he’s properly landed on acceptance when curiosity gets the best of him, and he looks.

To The Moon.

Oh. Wait a minute.

That’s not a soulmate tattoo. That’s a genuine, god’s-honest tattoo that he’d gotten last night. It had been a slightly drunken (okay, very wasted) decision, encouraged by Calum, but looking at it in this light, he doesn’t regret it. And — he squints. Just underneath it, approximately the dimensions of his thumb, is a string of numbers. Michael stares at 250196 for many minutes, but his hungover brain feels fuzzy and bewildered. He doesn’t remember getting that one, but it’s not a long shot to assume it had been part of last night’s shenanigans. Michael remembers him and Calum stumbling into the tattoo parlor, giggling far too loudly for a tattoo shop at 11pm. It’s not like Michael has ever planned anything in advance, ever. Get a bunch of random numbers tattooed on him; why not?

He scrambles blindly for his phone. Checks the time: 1:10 in the afternoon. Nice day of sleep, then. Pretty good start to his eighteenth birthday.

He calls Calum.

“Morning,” Calum says when he picks up. “Happy birthday.”

“Hi,” Michael says, and at that exact moment he realizes what the numbers are. “Oh my God, you’re such an arse. Did you seriously make me get your birthday tattooed on me? The night before my birthday?”

“What? No,” Calum says, but he doesn’t sound very certain.

“Well, I wouldn’t have done it on my own,” Michael says. The unspoken I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t asked me to floats away. “I can’t believe you. I mean, I know we were wasted, but…I can’t believe I let you convince me, honestly.”

“I didn’t!” Calum protests. “...I think. Gotta admit, I was…very drunk.”

“Me too,” Michael says mournfully. “Out of childhood with a bang.”

“I think your childhood ended long ago,” Calum says.

“Your mum’s did,” Michael says, nonsensically. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“I thought you were getting To The Moon,” Calum says.

“I did. It’s here. And underneath it, your birthday. 250196.”

“That’s my birthday,” Calum agrees, as if Michael doesn’t know that. “Well, listen, it sounds to me like a blessing in disguise. Now I'll always be with you.”

“That's the opposite of what I want. I wish you'd leave me alone," Michael says. “I’ll get you back for this. I was already commemorating our friendship with to the moon. Why would I want your birthday on me?"

“'Cause I'm your favorite," Calum says.

Michael doesn’t answer, because it’s true enough. Not that Michael would choose to have anyone’s birthday tattooed on him, but if he had to choose, he’d choose Calum. He’ll always choose Calum.

“So,” Calum says, as if about to ask about the weather. Michael knows Calum’s nervous voice, though, and this is it. “Uh, got anything else new, then?”

Michael bites his lip. “I haven’t checked. Only just woke up.”

“Oh. That’s cool. Let me know if — when you find yours.”

“I’ll call you back,” Michael says, and hangs up. He sits in bed for too long, staring at his palms, thinking about how he doesn’t need any more tattoos. He got To The Moon, and he’s got Calum’s birthday, which, admittedly, is a weird thing for drunk Calum to convince him to get. But fair enough as a prank, he supposes; maybe he’ll make Calum get Michael’s birthday on him, as payback, on Calum’s eighteenth.

Finally, he gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror. The bathroom lights are blinding, achingly bright. The hangover is killing him. He strips down to his underwear and slowly does an inch-by-inch scan of his entire body. Three times.

There’s nothing. The knot that had built itself up in Michael’s stomach unravels, and Michael realizes he hadn’t been nervous that there wouldn’t be a soulmate tattoo; he’d been nervous that there would be.

And there’s not.

He calls Calum back.

“There’s — I don’t have one,” he says.

Calum is quiet. “What do you mean, you don’t have one? Everyone gets one.”

“Well, I haven’t,” Michael says. Hearing Calum’s voice, he can’t stop smiling.

“How is that possible?” Calum says. “Check again.”

“Calum, I checked like nine times. I haven’t got a soulmate tattoo.” He pauses. “I didn’t want one anyway.”

“You didn’t want one?”

Michael shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Fuck soulmates. I’ve already got you, haven’t I? It’s not like I need anyone else to cuddle or spend all my time with. They’d probably just be jealous.”

Calum laughs uneasily. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Michael says firmly. “Not everyone has a soulmate tattoo, not like anything's wrong. I don’t need some ink to tell me what’s important. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Wow,” Calum says. “Being eighteen has truly made you wise.”

“It sure has,” Michael says. “Do you wanna get Maccas and play Fifa?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the coffee shop?”

“Ah, Luke’ll cover me,” Michael says. He’ll do it for Luke’s birthday on the condition that Luke does it for his; that’s the agreement.

“In that case, I would love to,” Calum says.

January 25th, 2014

Michael wakes up in Calum’s bed. For one very brief, baffling second, he thinks, did Calum and I have sex?, but no, he’s fully clothed and definitely hasn’t had sex recently. So just good old-fashioned sleeping together, then.

“Morning,” Calum says from the general direction of the doorway. Michael twists himself around and immediately regrets it; his head is pounding.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles.

“You should be so lucky,” Calum says. “Hungover?” Michael nods, squinting. Calum comes over, Tylenol in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “Me too.”

“I fucking love you,” Michael says, and downs the Tylenol and water. “Happy birthday.”

“Yeah, about that,” Calum says, crossing his arms. “I know you said you were going to get me back, but I didn’t think you meant it like this.”

“Like what?”

Calum shakes his head. He’s got the ghost of a smile on his face, but he’s clearly trying very hard to hide it. “Mate, we have to stop drinking so much and blacking out.”

“I dunno,” Michael says. “I kinda like the mystery. It’s like, who was that Michael? What was he thinking? I’ll never know.”

“Mike, you don't even know what you're thinking when you're sober.”

“Hey, shut up. I think at least three things a day.”

“Not including wanking.”

“...I think at least one thing a day.”

“Thought so.” Calum tugs the collar of his t-shirt down, and Michael’s breath catches when he sees Calum’s new tattoo. It says MMXII across his collarbone, in big, blocky Roman numerals.

“Oh, it looks sick,” Michael says.

Calum raises his eyebrows and pulls it down a little further. Michael has to squint, because he’s not wearing his glasses.

“I can’t see that,” he confesses. Calum huffs and comes closer.

201195.

“You got my birthday tattooed on you?” Michael says. Calum stares at him. Michael connects the dots. “Oh my God. I so don’t remember last night at all. That’s incredible. I have nothing but respect for blackout-drunk Michael. He clearly knew what he was doing.”

“You know I’m going to have this forever, right?” Calum says, but despite his best efforts, he doesn’t sound mad, not even a little. “We’re both stuck with each others’ birthdays tattooed on each other forever. Because we’re drunk little shits.”

Michael shrugs. “Could be much worse,” he says. “You could’ve gotten it on your dick.”

Calum snorts.

“And, uh.” Michael swallows. “Nothing else? Apart from the two that you, like, actually went and got?”

Calum watches Michael, and Michael hates how unreadable his expression is. “Nope,” he finally says. “I checked. It’s just those.”

Michael feels badly for feeling so relieved. “I’m sorry,” he lies.

“No, I — I’m actually fine with it,” Calum says. “I mean, it’s like you said, right? Don’t need any new people in my life. I’m pretty happy where I am.”

Michael grins at him. He hadn’t realized how scared he’d been to learn about Calum’s new soulmate until finding out that Calum doesn’t have one. Maybe it’s selfish, but Michael is selfish. He wants Calum all to himself. He doesn’t want a soulmate. He doesn’t want Calum to have one. He just wants it to be MichaelandCalum forever.

“Nice,” he says. He looks up at Calum and his smile grows. “You learned from the wisest. Well, happy birthday. What do you want to do?”

“Sleep off this hangover,” Calum says honestly. Michael spreads his arms across the bed.

“Join me,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes.

“That’s my bed, you loser.”

“So that’s a no?”

Calum climbs into the bed and curls himself into Michael’s side. “Never said that,” he mumbles. “G’night.”

It’s nearly 11am, but they both fall asleep, secure and warm. Michael feels safer than he’s ever felt.

March 8th, 2014

“I just don’t understand how you can be so relaxed about it,” Luke says, absently strumming variations on the A chord.

“It’s literally the simplest thing in the world,” Michael says. “I don’t have a soulmate tattoo. Move on.”

“Yeah, but neither you nor Calum? And you’re not, like, a little bit curious about why not?” Luke presses.

“Leave him alone, Luke,” Ashton says, twirling a drumstick. “He’s obviously soulmates with someone he hates, and he just doesn’t want to say. Probably Ben or Jack.”

Luke gags. Michael reaches for something to throw at Ashton, but all he’s got is a guitar pick, so he throws that. Ashton catches it and starts tapping the snare drum with it.

“I just don’t really care,” Michael says, in response to Luke’s question. “Like. I don’t know. I don’t feel like having anyone else in my life would make it better at this point. I’ve got Cal, and I’ve got you guys — the band — and my family…” He shrugs. It makes undeniable sense to him; he’s happy where he is. If it ain’t broke, right?

Luke sighs. “I could never be like that. I’d be dying to know who my soulmate is.”

“Yeah, because you’re clingy as hell.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m not clingy!”

“I’ll just ask Calum when he gets here, then,” Luke says.

“Okay, fine. I’m a little clingy, but so are you,” Michael says. “At least I’m not harping on not having a soulmate tattoo. You haven’t even got yours yet and you’re obsessed with it.”

Luke sticks his tongue out. “I’m allowed to be curious,” he says. “Ash, aren’t you curious whose yours is?”

Ashton jolts when Luke addresses him. The pick drops from his hand onto the batter head of the snare. “Um, I dunno. Yeah. But, like, whoever it is, I’ll find them in due course. Might not even have gotten their tattoo yet, so I’m trying to take it easy, not worry.”

Michael casts a strange sideways glance at Ashton, who’s bouncing his leg up and down. Nervous. He looks at Luke, then looks back at Ashton.

“Wonder what yours will be,” Luke says, leaning over his guitar and twisting his fingers. “Like, what matches the moon?”

“The sun?” Ashton offers. “The tide?”

Luke nods like he’s deep in thought. “Sun would be nice,” he mumbles, as if talking to himself.

Michael wishes Calum were here. If Luke isn’t Ashton’s soulmate, he’s quitting the band and the coffee shop and taking Cal with him.

July 23rd, 2014 - 12:16 a.m.

“Hello?”

“Mike.” It’s Luke. He sounds nervous. No, he sounds scared. Michael can deal with nervous Luke while playing Portal, but not scared Luke. He pauses the game. Chats from Calum appear on the screen, but he ignores them for the moment.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, which is clearly a lie. “I’m just — it’s my eighteenth.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Michael says. Obviously he’d known that, and had remembered up until about two hours ago, when he’d started playing Portal with Calum and all thoughts had exited his mind. “Did you get your tattoo? Do you have one?”

“Yeah,” Luke says. “It’s, uh. It’s the sun.”

“The sun?” Michael repeats. “That’s a bit random.”

“Yeah, but,” Luke says, sounding desperate, “it’s the sun right on my forearm — looks exactly like —”

Oh. Michael knows. “Oh,” he says softly. “Holy fuck.”

“It can’t be him, right?” Luke says. “Like. There’s no way. The odds…”

“Well, that’s sort of the point of soulmates, isn’t it?” Michael points out. “Like, yeah, in a normal situation it would be a crazy coincidence, but soulmates aren’t supposed to be normal situations.”

Luke is silent for a long time.

“Luke?” Michael prompts after the quiet gets unbearable. “Do you want it to be him?”

“Yes,” Luke says, in the smallest voice ever. “So badly.”

Michael can’t help it; his heart skips a beat, and it’s not even his own love story. “Well, if you want it to be Ash and you’ve already got the sun where he’s got the moon, that sure does sound like it’s him.”

Luke exhales so hard it crackles on the phone. “No way.”

“If it helps,” Michael says, “I’m pretty sure Ashton’s been hoping you’re his soulmate since he met you.”

“You’re just saying that,” Luke says, but Michael’s not; he’s not blind. He can see the way Ashton looks at Luke like he’s a fucking planet, and Ashton’s content to just orbit. He’s heard some of the stuff Ashton writes and never presents to the band as a whole. If Michael had a nickel for every time Ashton mentioned blond hair and blue eyes in his lyrics, he’d have enough money to kick Ashton from the band and hire a better drummer who wasn’t constantly pining after their lead singer. He’d have enough money to quit the coffee shop and take Calum from the record shop and skip town completely.

“Call him,” Michael advises. “And leave me alone so I can finish playing Portal with Calum.”

“You could’ve done that while talking to me,” Luke says.

“And yet I paused it, just to take your call, because I’m just that nice and lovable,” Michael says. “Now fuck off.”

“Not so nice and lovable now,” Luke mutters.

Michael hangs up on him and unpauses the game.

January, 2015

Michael hasn’t done the research.

He doesn’t care. Or he does his level best pretending he doesn’t care. For a little while between his eighteenth birthday and Calum’s, he’d mostly been lying when he’d told people he didn’t care, but as soon as Calum had turned eighteen with no soulmate tattoo in sight, Michael had realized he actually doesn’t care.

And he doesn’t want to know what it means, not to have a soulmate tattoo. If Michael has to pioneer the movement of normalizing being tattoo-free, then so be it. He and Calum will be the frontmen. Besides, it’s not like anyone needs to know. It’s not like anyone should care.

Some people do care, though. Some people are invasive coffee shop customers who think they have the right to ask after Michael’s soulmate tattoo like it’s the sort of casual conversation you instigate while ordering a vanilla latte. Some people are wrong.

“Oh, I like your tattoo,” is what this woman says. She looks to be middle-aged, or maybe mid-sixties, and she’s talking about To The Moon, Michael reckons. Then the lady says: “Is it your soulmate one?”

Michael bites back a rude comment. “No,” he says.

“What’s your soulmate one look like?” the lady asks. Like she would have any right to know if Michael had one. Michael hates his day job.

He glances over at Luke, who’s halfway through making the latte, and grimaces, a desperate plea to be rescued from this conversation. He should have just lied and said To The Moon was his soulmate tattoo. But he’s sick of talking about it at all. And who’s this lady anyway, thinking she can just march in here, order a coffee, and then ask Michael about his soulmate tattoo like they’re acquainted?

Luke steps over. “Hi, ma’am, sorry, Mike’s much better with vanilla lattes than I am, you’ll want him on that,” he says. That’s a straight lie, but Michael gratefully slides away and goes to finish the latte. “Was there something else we can get for you?”

“Oh, I just wondered about your soulmate tattoos,” the woman says. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen people who have them so fresh, and — oh, I don’t know. I wondered.”

“Well, I can tell you I’ve got mine,” Luke says, and proudly displays the sun tattoo on his forearm. “My soulmate and I are together going on six months.”

“How lovely!” the lady squeals. “The sun, that’s beautiful. What does she have?”

“He,” Luke corrects uncomfortably, “has the moon.”

Michael tunes them out and finishes the latte. He puts less vanilla than he should, but the woman deserves something a little more bitter. Maybe it’ll wake her from whatever dreamland she’s in where nosy questions about personal topics are considered fair game.

At least Calum lets him complain. Michael’s been bitching about the old lady for about twenty minutes, but Calum, ever the patient and loyal best friend, has let him carry on.

“I just don’t get why everyone is so obsessed with knowing,” Michael finishes, and sighs deeply, feeling the weight lift from his chest. “God, I’m tired.”

“You just talked for nearly half an hour,” Calum points out.

“And I could go longer!” Michael says. “I’m irritated, Cal. Maybe I’ll ask the manager to blacklist her from the store.”

“Complaining will get you nowhere,” Calum reminds him. “And it sounds like she wasn’t trying to be invasive. Old people are just like that.”

“But she was,” Michael whines. He falls finally onto the couch, where Calum has sat watching him pace since he got home, and cuddles into Calum’s side. “See if I make her coffee again. I’ll throw a diva fit.”

“You do that every day, anyway. You threw a diva fit when I asked if your shampoo was two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.”

“Because who uses two-in-one, Cal? Animals, that’s who.”

“See? Diva.”

“Well, if she comes back, I’ll just bitch at her about shampoo and conditioner until she gives up and goes someplace else.��

“Just pretend you’ve become violently ill,” Calum suggests. “Or that you’ve gotten a very urgent call.”

“I’m awful at pretending I have calls,” Michael says. Calum starts carding through Michael’s hair. Michael knows it’s a trick to calm him down, and he hates that it’s working. Calum’s gentle, methodical gestures are soothing.

“Then just text me, and I’ll ring you, and I’ll make up a horrible emergency,” Calum says.

Michael sighs. “That’s why you’re my favorite, Cal.”

Calum brings his free hand up to pat Michael’s cheek. His hand is warm and soft and the touch feels familiar. “No problem. It’s what I’m here for.”

“To get me out of talking to annoying customers?”

Calum leans his head on Michael’s and presses a light kiss to his head. “Yup.”

“Can’t wait for our band to be famous so I can quit,” Michael mumbles. Calum laughs.

Michael closes his eyes. Calum is safe and comfortable, and it’s been a long day. He falls asleep, breathing in sync with the rise and fall of Calum’s chest.

four years and three albums later

It’s been a surprisingly long time since Michael’s been back down this street, since he’s seen this strip mall. Touring practically non-stop will do that to a person. Almost every shop he remembers being here has been replaced. Michael wishes Calum were here to do this walk with him, but Calum is a little bitch who’s been dragged into the studio for writing. Michael’s weaseled his way out of it. He loves to write, but he can do it outside of a studio, and he’s really not in the mood, today.

He wanders down the strip mall, listening to Good Charlotte to truly get himself back in his old emo mindset. Almost this entire strip mall is unfamiliar to him, except one store. Michael stops in front of it, scoffs, laughs, and walks in, tugging his headphones off his head.

The guy at the counter seems to recognize him. “Hey, it’s you!” he says enthusiastically, with a heavy Irish accent.

Michael grins, confused. “Me,” he says, as if that will clear anything up.

“Oh, sorry,” the tattoo artist says. “I just — I did your tattoo back in, what was it, 2014? And your mate’s as well.”

“Calum?” Michael asks. The guy snaps his fingers.

“That’s him. I keep seeing you guys on the TV now,” the guy says. Michael feels badly for not knowing his name. “Seems like you’ve made quite a name for yourself, eh? I always want to brag, you know, ‘I did his first tattoo.’ But I don’t name-drop. Feels cheap.”

“You can name-drop,” Michael says, thrilled that his name is even the kind of name anyone could name-drop. “I’m surprised you remember us coming here, that was a while ago. I’m really sorry, I don’t think I got your name…?”

The guy laughs. “Makes sense, you were pissed off your arses both times. I’m Niall.”

“Michael,” Michael says. “Although I reckon you know that.”

Niall nods. “I’m not likely to forget the times you came in anytime soon,” he adds. “First time I ever saw soulmate tattoos appear while I was in the middle of giving someone a tattoo.”

Michael’s heart stops.

“What?” he says, dimly.

Niall, unaware that he’s just said something groundbreaking and totally insane, carries on. “Oh, you know, the numbers. Birthdays, I think you said they were. You got his and he got yours, right? They just showed up, smack at midnight. Both times. Never seen it happen before.”

Michael can’t breathe.

“I,” he says, but fails to find words enough to finish that sentence.

“How’s the one I gave you holding up?” Niall continues. “I could take a look, if you like.”

“No,” Michael says. He feels dizzy. “Sorry, I…I actually have to run, I forgot — I’ve got to…” He shakes his head. “The birthday tattoo I have, I…I thought that came from here. I thought you did that.”

Niall frowns. “No, mate. That one just appeared. For your pal, as well. I was in the middle of doing the numerals when your birthday just, bam. Threw me for a loop.”

Michael trips backwards and steadies himself. “Okay,” he says, although he feels like he’s suffocating. “Well, um, I better run to my thing that I have — see you. Thanks.”

He all but races out of the tattoo parlor and doesn’t stop until he’s away from the strip mall. Then he leans against a stop sign.

Okay. This isn’t possible. It’s been — it’s been, what, three? Four years? Michael’s never had a soulmate. He’s okay with that. He’s never wanted one. He’s always been just fine, just him and Calum, and neither of them having —

Michael blinks and thinks about what Niall has said.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs. He yanks his sleeve up and looks at his tattoo of Calum’s birthday again. “Holy shit.”

He pushes himself to his feet and starts purposefully making his way to his parents’ house, shooting off a text as he does:

michael: come to mine after studio. wanna talk to you

Calum has a key, so he lets himself in.

“Hey, Mikey,” he says. “What’s up?”

Michael has been playing guitar for the past two hours, or trying to, but his hands are still shaking too much. He sets it aside when Calum comes in.

“How was the studio?” Michael asks nonchalantly, like this is a normal day, and everything is fine.

Calum frowns. “You’re acting weird. You only texted me once. What’s going on?”

“Texting you once isn’t weird,” Michael says.

“Michael, have you met you? I’ve received one-word answers from you in more than one text.” Calum crosses his arms. “Why are you being weird?”

“We’re soulmates,” Michael blurts out.

Calum raises his eyebrows. “That’s impossible, given neither of us have soulmate tattoos, Mike.”

“Really? How’d you get my birthday on you, then?” Michael challenges.

“From when we got drunk on my eighteenth, you idiot, same as how you got mine on you.”

“Yeah? Cal, do you actually remember getting that tattoo? Hell, did we pay for these ones?” He stands up finally and shifts on his feet. “You asked to get 2012. Do you remember that?”

“Obviously, yes.”

“And do you remember asking to get my birthday?”

Calum stares at him. “No,” he finally says.

“I think we’ve been colossally idiotic,” Michael says. “I never asked to get your birthday tattooed on me. We were just too drunk to remember.”

“Oh my God,” Calum says. “Holy shit.” And then he laughs, like it’s funny.

“Don’t laugh,” Michael says. “This isn’t funny, it’s absolutely mad.”

“Yes,” Calum agrees, still smiling. “Absolutely fucking insane. We are the dumbest people on the entire planet. I’m in love with you, Michael.”

Michael’s heart stops beating. “What?”

“I’m not sure I knew,” Calum says. “But I definitely am. I — it’s only you for me. You’re it. I didn’t want any other soulmate.”

“Me neither,” Michael breathes. “You’re it for me.” His face feels hot. “Oh, holy shit. I’m in love with you.”

“Welcome to the party,” Calum says.

Michael’s run out of things to say, so he kisses Calum.

It doesn’t feel like the huge revelation Michael might have expected. It just feels…right. In fact, it feels obvious. Like for years he’s been working to solve a math problem, and now he’s finally realized it’d been exactly what he’d thought. It’s Calum. Of course it’s Calum. Who else could it have been? Who else could it ever possibly be? Everything he’s ever felt about Calum has been love, even when it had been anger or hurt or confusion. He loves Calum, is in love with Calum, and always has been.

Calum doesn’t hesitate to kiss Michael back, cupping Michael’s jaw as if anchoring him to the kiss. He tilts his head, fixing the angle, and they fit so perfectly that Michael wonders why they’ve never thought to do this before. He tugs on the front of Calum’s t-shirt, pulling him closer, and wraps his arms around Calum’s waist, and it feels so natural, and so easy, to just kiss Calum like it’s what he was made to do. Calum licks at Michael’s lower lip and Michael’s intoxicated by the way it feels, Calum’s tongue in his mouth, Calum’s hands threaded in his hair, Calum under his palms, Calum, Calum, Calum. He makes a noise that’s half-groan and half-sigh, and feels Calum smiling against his lips. He pulls away. Michael feels dizzy.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I really like kissing you.”

“Good, ‘cause there’s going to be a lot more of it,” Calum says.

Michael leans his forehead against Calum’s. “You taste of Vegemite.”

“There were snacks at the studio,” Calum says.

“Did you save me any?”

“Any Vegemite chocolate scrolls?” Calum leans back and raises his eyebrows. “Dream on.”

“That’s rude,” Michael complains. “I’m not sure I’m in love with you anymore. We should break up.”

“We’re not even really dating,” Calum says.

Michael blanches. “Oh. Right. Cal, d’you wanna be my boyfriend?”

“Not if you’re just going to break up with me straight away.” He sticks his tongue out. Michael wants to kiss him again, but he’s still recovering from the first.

“To be honest,” Michael says, “our tattoos are pretty shit compared to Luke and Ashton. They get the sun and the moon, and we just get a bunch of numbers? Birthdays? How uncreative do you get?”

“You’re going to challenge the ineffable power of soulmate tattoos because you think ours aren’t creative?”

“I’m just saying, it might have been nice to get something a little cooler or more symbolic.”

“I don’t know,” Calum says. “I like having your birthday. It makes me feel like you’ve been important to me since birth. And like I’ve always got a piece of you with me. The sun could be anyone, but this day is yours.”

“And Joe Biden’s,” Michael says.

“God, you ruin every moment, don’t you?”

“I share a birthday with Joe Biden!” Calum glares at him. “Okay, yes, that was really cheesy and adorable,” Michael concedes. “I like your birthday on me, as well. For the same reason.”

Calum grins. “For real, Mikey. Can we, like. Do this?” He gestures between the two of them, as if whatever this is will become automatically clear. Michael’s not sure what it is, or what it even should be. They’re best friends turned soulmates turned…what? “Be boyfriends and all?”

Oh. Well. That’s simple enough. “Yeah,” Michael says. “I’m not marrying you until I get a prenup, though. Gotta have that money.”

“God, can I break up with you yet?” Calum mutters.

“Nope, there’s a five minute wait time, and I just broke up with you like one minute ago.”

“We weren’t dating when you broke up with me then, though.”

“Well, I still did it, so you have to wait.”

“Fine,” Calum says. “I have an idea for what we can do in the meantime.”

It’s a pretty good idea, Michael decides when Calum kisses him for the second time. “Could kiss you forever,” he mumbles against Calum’s lips.

“Not if I break up with you,” Calum says. Michael pulls away, appalled.

“Oh my God, now you ruined the moment! You’re such a hypocrite!”

Calum doesn’t stop laughing for awhile, but it’s fine. Calum’s laugh is Michael’s favorite sound.

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dickbaggins · 4 years

Text

hey hey the amazing @gollyderek tagged me to share some of a wip and since it’s technically now wednesday, let’s call it wip wednesday! I’m working on two things, my low/urban fantasy series (and I do mean low, it’s set in jersey city) and a very impulsive frank/billy/deadpool that I started last night that everyone’s already sick of! So here’s some garbage!

so my main project for nano is a fantasy series about a very traumatized incubus (who doesn’t know he’s an incubus and who happens to look exactly like ben barnes) working as a private investigator in a supernaturally-populated jersey city. he’s really awkward, and here, his new sidekicks, an angel and an immortal warrior who may or may not be diarmuid and the mute from pilgrimage, help him get ready for a date:

“How have you never been on a date?” Tim says at the apartment door, blustering in with Laz following behind him. “You’re like, the dreamiest thing in the whole city. The whole eastern seaboard. There should be a line out this door for dates with you. How do you even fill your time if you’re not dating?”

And he goes on and on, walking straight ahead to Gem’s bedroom, to the closet and the dresser.

Gem shoots a nervous look at Laz, who smiles with his mouth closed and pats Gem on the back. It’s comforting even if there’s no words, but Gem’s stomach is still flipping.

“I’ve had bad experiences,” is all Gem says, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed while Tim combs through his closet.

“Do you even know the place he wants to meet you at? That place is expensive as hell. It has a michelin star!”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh my god. Gemini. This might be a fake date but do not go into it thinking that.”

“What should I be thinking, then?”

“A companionable night with a new flame,” Tim rattles off with a bit of a lecherous grin. “Do you not have a suit? What forty year old man doesn’t have a suit?”

“Me, I guess. What would I need a suit for?”

“Men need suits, Gem,” Tim sighs, exasperated as he continues through the closet, setting out a few things still on hangers on top of the dresser. “Especially when they’re going to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city with one of the most eligible bachelors in the state!”

“Well...date’s not until tomorrow,” Gem points out, glancing from Laz in the doorway as ever, to Tim still pawing through his clothes. “That’s enough time for a suit, right?”

Tim turns around with his eyes narrowed, hands on his hips, puffing a sigh and shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about suits, Gemini Royle.”

and last night I started writing based on a slew of terrible deadpool fourth wall jokes about frank and billy and, well, I had a lot of fun writing it but I doubt it’s ever going to see the light of day after this post. Here’s all of it so far, because why the fuck not! It’s set in an alternate s2 where Frank saves Bill at the end and then has to figure out what the fuck to do with him.

It’s tense in here, in Frank’s shithole studio apartment. Seems too small for him to be standing here on his own, let alone with Billy Russo across from him. There’s absolutely nowhere to hide. And there's a lot of things Frank, for once, wants to hide from. Namely, the ruin of Billy’s face and the wan, pale tone of his skin, the sharp, watery glint of his eyes.

He’s almost died twice now, at Frank’s hands, and the only difference this time was Frank calling in favours. He still doesn’t know why he did it. So he can’t answer Billy’s sole question of why why why. He can just look. And wonder at his own foolish actions. Again.

They’re locked like that, staring at each other, wondering, waiting for who’s gonna be the first one up to incite violence. Judging from the flop sweat on Billy’s brow, it’s not likely to be him, this time. Frank doesn’t have any answers for him, doesn’t even have an impulse to finish the job. It’s gone beyond sad, at this point.

At this point, it’s just stupid.

There’s a tap on the window, rattling it in it’s delicate prewar frame and Frank’s stomach drops out.

Things are about to get even stupider, somehow.

The tap precedes the awkward scrabbling and the window opens to the cold city air rushing in for a few seconds until the lanky, red and black clad figure thumps inelegantly into the room, landing hard on his hip, immediately reaching up to slam the window back shut, one-handed.

This is just about the worst timing Frank can imagine. He winces, glancing at Billy but it’s too late; the other man’s already crossed the few steps towards the window, hauling the intruder up by his neck and pushing him up against the wall.

“Whoa, Frank, i didn’t know you had company, like, ever,” Wade Wilson starts, rapid-fire, his voice a little higher than usual for Billy’s long fingers squeezing at his neck. “Let alone a freaking Disney prince, holy hell. I mean, a very specific Disney prince, except it kinda looks like Aslan finally went rogue and did some damage. God, when will people learn? Wild animals cannot be tamed, even if they are Jesus or whatever.”

“Wilson, shut up,” Frank mutters, feeling a headache growing, slamming him like a dart right between the eyes.

“Friend of yours?” Billy hisses, his black eyes fixed wild on Wade Wilson, wide and dangerous.

“I could ask the same question,” Wade says, voice even tighter, his long body starting to slump a little, “But I'm starting to see all kindsa fun stars and black holes here, so I don’t think I’m gonna get it out. Hi, I’m Deadpool, I’m Frank’s new best friend and gosh, you’ve got big hands.”

Frank watches Billy’s hand tighten for a second before he finally lets go, and Wilson sinks to the floor with his legs outstretched.

“Frank?” Billy looks to him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. I know him.”

“He’s being modest,” Wade coughs, absently waving his hands around like they’re half-limp, half-useless, and Frank can never tell when he’s joking. “We’re embarking on a really juicy enemies-with-benefits-to-friends-with-benefits-to-lovers-with-guns arc. Fifteen chapters minimum, probably well over 500k words. Slow burn, I’m assuming, since we haven’t even kissed yet. Maybe tonight’s the night, huh, Frank?”

“I camped out on a rooftop with him once, a few months back,” Frank offers by way of easier to understand explanations. “Staking out the same warehouse. Wouldn’t shut up.”

“Is this...the red pajamas guy?” Billy starts slowly, squinting down at Wade.

“I don’t even wear pajamas to bed but oh my god, you’ve been talking about me? I’m blushing.”

“Yeah, from the papers,” Billy continues, “The devil of hell’s kitchen. Your buddy from a while back.”

“Ooooh, easy mistake. The main difference is the catholic repression. If you thought Frank was bad, you should see that guy! I bet those two had some real snoozer conversations, huh? Dithering over rosaries and the nuances of communion wafers. No, see, I’m Deadpool.”

“Right,” Billy huffs out of his nose, looking at Frank again. He looks lost; he looks, a little, like how Frank found him in that basement after Curtis called him, like things are moving too fast and even he can’t keep up. “Frankie? Everything cool?”

“Yeah, Bill. we’re good.”

“Bill! You’re that guy!” Wade says, scrambling to his feet, his boots squeaking on the floor. He rushes to tug his mask up out of his suit and off, presenting his mottled, scarred face with a big grin at Billy. “We’re like, face twins! Or we would be, if the producers had the balls to even try and make you look ugly. See, that’s a main facet of my personality, so they couldn’t skip over it with me. Same vibe, though!”

Frank’s seen it all, as far as injuries go; hell, he designed the lines and craters on Billy’s face with his own two hands, watched him gush blood over meat and bone. Maybe that was why, the first time Wilson took his mask off (with a warning of ‘hold on to your balls, baby’), Frank hadn’t done much more than survey the damage and nod once. He still can’t figure out if Wilson was offended or impressed, that night, although judging from the way he can’t shake the merc, he figures it’s the latter.

Billy has nearly the same reaction, a detached curiosity, a slight purse of his lips as he looks Wilson’s face over. “Didn’t think anyone could look worse than me.”

“Oh please, you’re still such a panty-drencher. And those big black eyes, gosh, I’m swooning,” Wilson says, clutching at his chest through his suit. “Oh, are you my romantic rival? For Frank’s affection? Cause I mean, from how he talks about you, it really sounds like there was some - “ he makes a circle with his thumb and the fingers of one hand, poking his other index finger through it multiple times, slow and then fast, and then there’s two fingers, and then three, and Frank’s just about to tell him to jump his ass back out the window when Billy actually laughs.

Frank hasn’t heard that noise in so long, not in any kind of genuine way, and there’s something about it that eases up the hard clutch of his chest, the ice in his guts. “Don’t encourage him,” Frank grumbles nonetheless, throwing himself into making coffee in the kitchen, the usual first activity he does when Wade’s just tumbled in through his window.

“I think I like this guy,” Billy says, and Frank hears the distinct muffled sound of Wilson clapping his gloved hands behind him.

“We should do a team-up! It’ll make the romantic tension even better, when Frank and I finally do start putting things in very tight places. Very tight, Frank. In case you’re wondering.”

“I’m not,” he shoots back over his shoulder, glad his back is turned for that particular phrase. It’s not like he’s been impervious to Wilson’s flirtations; it’s hard to be made of stone when he’s fawning after you, something so sweet and clingy in his affection.

“I guess we could do a whole-ass threeway relationship,” Wilson considers thoughtfully, and the thumping noise now is him sailing onto the loveseat; Frank’s been getting to know that one a little too well in recent weeks. “It’s been done before, more or less, by way better. And you’re supposed to be a bad guy, right? Frank saving you from the icy clutches of death really boned up your canon, huh? Someone’s blindly sentimental with a bullish villain boner and I don’t mean him. Come, sit, let’s chat.”

Wade’s the only person Frank’s ever met that talks as much as Bill, and having them on the same couch, let alone in the same room is something he’s never even considered. The chatter is nice though, in a way, filling up the space where there’s usually silence, where he’d been worried, actually, about this thing now, with Billy. Where he’s back to something like fighting fit and got nowhere else to go, so he’s crashing here before Curtis nuts up and calls the cops. Somehow, having Wade Wilson with the worst timing ever, has taken a good deal of pressure off the whole situation.

“And you’re both snipers! That’s really romantic. So much time in foxholes together, huh? All those long nights with nothing else to do but mutual handies and some high school style necking, gosh, it almost makes me nostalgic.”

Frank’s never heard Wilson talk about his own special forces record before, but he’s at least wrist-deep into it with Billy listening, perched on the arm of the couch. The apartment’s small enough that Frank can lean on the kitchen counter and still take part, although he doesn’t have much to add. He crosses his arms and waits for the water to boil, waits for either of them to run out of conversation but it’s not happening.

3 notes · View notes

hwangskz · 5 years

Text

in another life (pt. 1) | soulmate! minho

part 1 of the uwma! au series !!!! i was so excited to get this up bcs, if u hadn't realised alrdy, i LOVE uwma with my entire heart :( (ps if any of u watch any bls or even just uwma pls hmu thank u) and pls read this post b4 or after ur done reading this fic so u don't get confused in the next part!! +++ tw suicide !

• "y/n….do u like him?"

• ur automatically reminded of the time u first met

• u remember it as clear as day

• u both had taken film as ur major and on the first day, ur college held a lil gathering

• u picked up the nearest headband and read it's label

• 'belle'

• so….were u supposed to find ur beast now???? JSGSSHE THAT'S WHAT THEY SAID

• BUT UR RUNNING OUT OF TIME !!!!!!

• "10 seconds to find ur partner!!!!"

• u looked around bcs u were NOT standing in front of that huge crowd, later trying to find ur partner

• when a boy caught ur eyes

• he stood on the side, his hand limply holding the blue headband as he looked around

• and he looked ?? sad :( ??

• "last 5 seconds!!!"

• u turned around one last time and ?? EVERYONE HAD FOUND THEIR PARTNERS ALREADY??

• so u RAN towards that boy

• and caught him off guard as u pulled him down to sit on the ground as the announcer continued talking and giving out future tasks

• "hey."

• "???"

• wow this boy is worse than YOU at communicating

• "are u sure we're partners??"

• "..."

• "right, yea. i was the one who dragged u..haha..sorry.."

• so u pulled his hand up to view his headband

• 'prince adam'

• u probably looked really confused rn bcs u just made the guy speak up

• "beast."

• u looked up, OBVIOUSLY confused

• this new voice box working??? wonder whose it is

• ":o huh?????"

• he sighed and held it up for u

• thank u nameless boy bcs ur hands kinda WERE getting tired JDKHD

• "prince adam is the real name of the prince in disney's beauty and the beast."

• ":OOO REALLY???? wait but how do u know"

• "..... google?"

• "... RIGHT sorry haha"

• even after the lil gathering ended and u got to go to ur class

• ur mind was still thinking abt the guy

• u probably didn't even notice u had entered the class w that DULL ASS look until

• "ouc- WHO THE F-???????"

• "still in ur dreams?? lmao dumbass"

• ":O SHIN RYUJIN"

• "this group needed the following of a sane person so im here too. hello to u too, y/n"

• "MISS YEJI??? PEOPLE THAT I KNOW AND CHERISH????? ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ OMG HELLO TO U TOO"

• and there it was, once again, ryujin trying to get ur over affectionate ass off of her as yeji laughs

• well iN UR DEFENSE, U MISSED UR BEST FRIENDS AND MEETING NEW PEOPLE TERRIFIES U

• and when u take a seat

• u can't help but follow the movements of the boy who enters the class

• his moves aren't rushed; they seem calm. too calm.

• and that's when u hear all the whispers around u

• "is that blood on his shirt? is he already following in his dad's footsteps?"

• ‘what footsteps?’

• "i heard he dragged his partner today for the freshman gathering today?"

• ‘but i was the one who dragged him..then how-’

• "y/n?"

• "h-huh?"

• yeji's third call woke u up from ur train of thoughts

• "are u ok?"

• "yea.. i'm fine. dw!!"

• "see i told u they’re thinking abt their fantasy boys and/or girls again it's fine"

• "WH- EXCUSE ME I DON'T FANTASISE!!!!!"

• "yes y/n l/n i totally believe that"

• "SHUT UP RYUJIN"

• ur group's laughters echo in the room, along w the other friend groups'

• except for that boy who now sits in front of u

• u wonder if he's waiting for his friends

• but they never seem to show up

• even though it's alrdy been over 5 months now

• and that pretty boy in front of u is DISTRACTING u from the lesson (๑•ૅㅁ•๑) !!!!!

• and this one particular day..yeji and ryujin were absent..

• so u were kinda lonely anyways

• and hearing ppl continue to whisper abt that guy..it made u wanna talk to him again

• u don't know exactly why ?? but u did

• so u gathered up ur stuff from ur desk

• and sat at the desk next to his

• and immediately u could hear the whispers getting a bit louder

• and he ducked his head and turned towards u

• and u decided to ignore those words, and looked at him, with a bright smile on ur face

• "don't worry about them. i'm here now."

• it was something abt u

• something abt those words that made him feel some type of way

• he took in a deep breath as he looked down and then looked at u again

• "......thank you, i guess"

• u nodded and he turned towards his work

• a small smile on his face

• he had found someone

• "so?"

• ryujin asked u, bringing u back from ur flashback

•"yea..i think so.."

• yeji and ryujin sighed

• ur mind : ALERT

• IS IT BAD??? THAT U LIKE HIM???? (๑´╹‸╹`๑) ??

• "y/n...do u not know abt him..?"

• "(o゜ー゜o)??"

• they share a Look and turn towards u, worried looks on their faces

• OK YEA IT PROBABLY IS,,

• "he's the son of a mafia... that's why ppl talk abt him in such..hushed tones..and basically isolate him"

• "and look y/n..we know that isolating him is truly bad, but maybe get a little away? from him? what if u get involved in smthg bad?"

• u...ur honestly a lil shocked

• not fully by the news that his dad is a mafia

• but by the fact that they think something bad can happen when ur with him

• with HIM

• "but it's his dad who is a mafia. he's not at all like that !! he's a bit shy, and is just scared to express himself. and don't worry, yeji. i am not going to get myself in trouble"

• they muttered an "okay" and leaned back against their chairs again

• "but wait.."

• ryujin spoke up again

• "when did u even hangout w him? enough to, well, get feelings for him?"

• "uh well..that day both of u were absent, i went and sat w him in class..then shared some of my lunch w him when i saw him on the rooftop..and kind of having been bringing him lunch and staying w him..during that time.."

• they laughed, and u could feel the tension easing away

• "never knew y/n's a dom lmao"

• "they seem like a switch tho"

• "SHUT UP"

• and so u did join the guy

• (who's name u had learned to be lee minho)

• whenever u found him to be lonely

• and even tho minho seemed to be against the whole idea of u joining him all the time

• trust me he's a whole softie inside

• he just ;;;; he gets so happy whenever u come by

• and not just bring him lunch

• and not only during lunch breaks

• but all the time

• whenever he passes by u

• u always greet him, and

• wave at him and u just feel like a shield from everyone and all the bad things everyone says and he just

• he can't thank u enough

• but it's not just that

• and he knows that

• even when he sees u coming towards him in the library

• sneaking in some food bcs it IS lunch

• so technically u ARE supposed to bring him food

• "hey !! :D"

• u take the chair in front of him

• and take out the food, both of urs, and shove his one towards him

• "WHY-"

• minho shushes u and u turn around to look if u made anyone else angry

• and perhaps...... u DID.... AJSBBE

• so u just duck ur head as an apology and the furious students go back to studying

• "why are u studying rn???? it's lunch!!!!!"

• "ok and??"

• "rest is important!!"

• "what makes u think i haven't rested enough alrdy?"

• "well i've seen u w the book the ENTIRE DAY ??"

• minho sighs, but then perks his head up

• "u..u watch me..?"

• "!! im not a STALKER-"

• minho shushes u again and ur pretty sure the other students r staring daggers at u rn JDVSJE

• "-im not a stalker,, ur in my class.. right in front of me.."

• minho chuckles silently at ur words

• "sure"

• u were flustered until u realised u just

• u just made the biggest tsundere chuckle

• c h u c k l e

• "did u just …….. chuckle at me…….."

• minho looked down, scared to meet ur eyes bcs shit ur rite

• "no…….what makes u think that………"

• u giggle at his failed attempt to delete that successful moment from ur memory

• minho smiles a little

• he was so happy

• even tho it was abt u

• even tho u had made it CRYSTAL CLEAR that u like him

• like at random times u would be like

• "damn i can't believe i fell for u"

• or

• "oh good lord!! i always try to hangout w the guy i like but he pretends to not like spending time with me!!!!!!! what did i do to deserve this !!!!!!"

• and in these situations what does minho do??

• LAUGH .

• he LAUGHS

• just a bit bcs he's still under that tsundere cover JSGSJSB

• but like !!!!!!! in his defense !!!!!!!

• HE DIDNT KNOW IF U TRULY MEANT IT !!!!!!!

• MAYBE U LIKE HIM JUST AS A FRIEND !!!!!!!!!!!!

• AND HE DIDN'T WANT TO RUIN THIS FRIENDSHIP !!!!!!!!

• that too w his first ever friend..................

• little did he know he was truly so engrossed in his thoughts that he had stopped eating and had been staring at the sky above for like ??? more than 5 mins now ??

• "MINHO ???????"

• he flinched and moved away a bit at the sound of ur voice suddenly piercing his thoughts

• "w-what"

• "bitch i thought u died or smthg...u have been staring above for so long pretty sure some flies even touched ur food and it's now UNHYGIENIC"

• his eyes met urs and, as if he got some idea, he suddenly kept his lunch box away to look at u

• "wait im pretty sure the flies didn't sit on the food!!!! it was a joke-"

• minho exhaled loudly before he spoke

• "y/n?"

• "yes…?"

• "can i ask u smthg…..?"

• "sure!!"

• minho inhaled sharply before continuing

• "do u ever feel uncomfortable? when ur with me?"

• u thought for a while, before giving him a smile and answering him

• "why would i? idk if ur referring to the rumors here...or if they're supposed to be involved here but...they don't affect me. firstly, i don't even know if ur dad truly is a part of the mafia-"

• "he is."

• minho was staring at u intently, wondering how u'll respond to this

• "well, uh, nice for him? i guess? but it's him right? not u? then there's nothing to worry about."

• minho shook his head as he tried to look anywhere but at u

• "but what if u ever get in trouble? bcs of me?"

• "that's on me. not u. and if it's through u, or if u ever get in trouble or smthg-"

• u picked his hand up, holding it tightly, which seemed to catch him off guard

• "-i will protect u."

• he could do nothing but give u a soft smile, before turning his head away

• and so did u bcs damn y/n since when did u become so confident huh JDVSJE

• so u decided to go for it

• "y/n, will u be my partne-"

• u gently pecked his lips before moving away real QUICK JSGEJE

• WAS HE ABT TO CONFESS ???????????

• WHY ARE HIS EYES WIDENED LIKE THAT?????????? DID U

• OH NO U DID SOMETHING WRONG DIDN'T U

• "i-i'm sorry….i didn't mean to-"

• and u looked up in time, only to see minho leaning in, before he connected his lips to urs

• it was a slow kiss

• it took u a while to get the fact into ur head that he's right here

• he is kissing u

• and so u snaked ur arms across his shoulders, as he held u tight, even closer

• and when u both pulled away

• both of u were flushed red

• and it did feel kinda quiet so u just

• "damn im glad we have lunch on the rooftop, huh"

• minho chuckled as he moved away

• "kinda ….. yes"

• and so for the next months u continued to tease him with this JDGSJS

• even tho yall are technically dating now uwu

• but he never tells u he likes u

• which is : frustrating

• bcs u !!!!!! UR THE BIGGEST OVERTHINKER EVER !!!!!!

• ENOUGH TO WIN A CHAMPIONSHIP !!!!!!!!!

• and the fact that EVEN THO he's ur bf and u KNOW it, u continue to be curious if he even likes u :(

• so u just slam ur spoon on the table

• which makes him look up

• "what? is the ramen too spicy?"

• u shoot ur head towards him, a pout on ur face

• "do u like me?"

• ".........what"

• JSHSKWKKW

• Y/N PLS

• "u never….u have never said u like me…...and yea sure im not supposed to question this bcs ur my boyfriend and i know that but im sorry i overthink alot and it's just me saying i like u all the time but not u and i just can't help but-"

• "i …….. i like."

• "huh?"

• u shoot ur head upwards at minho, who now gets up to keep his empty bowl in ur kitchen sink, with a grin along ur face

• "u heard me."

• and u wish u could still be as happy as u were on this day

• when he first confessed

• well, half-confessed

• but u couldn't be

• even as he stood in front of u, saying that he loves u

• and he's grateful for u

• u couldn't stop the tears that continued to stream down ur cheeks

• ur eyes could only focus on the gun that he held right beside his temple

• his dad used to send people behind minho whenever u two went on a date

• "he wants me to go on w his job after he resigns" minho had once told on one of ur dates

• "do u want to?"

• "no, obviously-"

• he held ur hand in his

• "i want to be with u"

• then why

• why was he standing there, with that gun

• that stupid gun aimed at his temple?

• today while u had closed ur eyes, wishing for something, like minho had told u when he brought that birthday cake for u out of nowhere while u and minho were having ur date

• u opened ur eyes when u heard a muffled voice screaming loudly

• only to find it was minho's

• which confused u when u saw the hand covering his mouth

• but surprised u, when u saw his dad standing right behind him

• he kept pulling minho away from u

• minho yelled, tried to free himself away

• but couldn't

• until u yelled at his dad to stop

• and minho dropped on the ground, with his wrists red from being grasped so tightly

• u went on and on abt how he has made minho feel and what minho truly wants

• u had shut ur eyes out of fear

• but u had opened them to see what minho truly wants

• death ;

• an escape

• from all of this

• and so he spoke one more time

• "y/n. remember, i love you, okay? i….i'll always keep my promise."

• and then, a gunshot.

• u weren't sure if time had stopped or if it was just u frozen

• but u could only hear a beep sound going in ur ears as his body dropped on the ground

• limp.

• and at once u leapt towards him, sobbing, u fell to ur knees, ur hands grazing his cheeks and gently hitting his chest

• "y/n…. i don't know how to go on…"

• he had told u this months ago, when u guys had been dating for abt 5 months then

• "minho, we'll always be together, no matter what. i, at least, will be there for u, always."

• minho had looked at u with tears in his eyes

• he rlly was so stupidly in love w u

• "but what if i...die...someday?"

• u sighed and turned to look at the night sky

• at least none of his dad's assistants had found out abt ur place yet

• (thankfully)

• u turned to look at him again

• "then...i'll die too."

• so that's what u were gonna do

• u searched for the pistol, as u blinked several times to focus properly

• when u finally found it, ur hands shakily reached for it

• and then as u aimed it at ur own temple

• the last part of that conversation popped into ur head again

• "then, will we meet each other in next life?"

• minho thought abt it for a few secs

• "probably"

• u nodded

• "i once heard that...when u fall for someone at first sight, it probably just means that we're recognising our partner's soul from our past life….do u think that will happen w us? do u think we'll…. we'll recognise each other?"

• "...i hope so…."

• u both let out a stifled laugh

• and so u stick ur pinky finger out, asking for his

• "minho."

• "yes?"

• "promise me."

• "promise what?"

• "promise that…...that we'll find each other.."

• minho was abt to argue w u but seeing ur lil pout

• he had no choice but to agree

• "promise."

• and so, another gunshot was heard.

48 notes · View notes

whumphoarder · 5 years

Text

It’s My Party and I’ll Bite If I Want To

Summary: Peter grows venomous fangs on his sixteenth birthday and wrecks havoc at the Avengers compound. Tony’s pretty chill, all things considered.

Word count: 2,144

Genre: Crack, humor, whump

A/N: We all deal with our post-Endgame stress in different ways. Crackfic writing is mine.

Link to read on Ao3

Ned enters the lunch room, grinning broadly. “Hey man, happy birthday! What do you—” He suddenly cuts himself off, frowning at Peter’s mouth. “Dude. What’s up with your teeth?”

Peter rubs a hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I dunno… just kinda woke up like this,” he admits. He runs his tongue over the sharp edges of his newly elongated canines. They had certainly been a shock to see in the bathroom mirror that morning. “Maybe it’s like, well, you know how you get your twelve-year-old molars?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe they’re like that,” Peter concludes.

Ned squints at him. “Except you’re not twelve. And those aren’t molars.”

Peter shrugs, but he’s feeling rather defensive. “Same concept, probably. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.”

Ned huffs out a quick laugh. “Sure you didn’t get bitten by any bats recently? Any cravings to drink human blood?”

Sudden anger flashes in Peter and his eyes narrow. “Shut up, Ned!” he snaps. “I’m not a fucking vampire!”

“Whoa! Hey, calm down,” Ned says holding his hands up in surrender. “I was just joking,”

The rage dies down almost as quickly as it cropped up. “Yeah, yeah, I knew that,” Peter mutters as he opens his lunch bag. “Sorry.”

As Peter pulls out a bright red apple from his bag and takes a bite, Ned opts to just change the subject. “So, got any plans for this weekend?” he asks. “Going out with May to celebrate or anything?”

Peter feels his body flush as anger flashes back to him. He slams the apple down onto the table. “What do you mean ‘going out with May’?” he demands. “Are you saying my only date could ever be my aunt?!”

Ned blinks at him. “That’s… not what I said at all,” he says slowly. “You okay man?”

“Yeah, sorry…” Peter says as the heat flushes away. “I’m just, kinda stressed I guess? Homework or, uh, something.”

“Uh huh,” Ned says, sounding unconvinced. “Sure.” His gaze falls to Peter’s apple. “Whoa,” he mutters.

Peter glances down and suddenly realizes that right around his bite mark, the apple is now shriveling up into a dark green decaying mess. “Huh,” he remarks. “That’s… That’s weird.”

“Hello, is this Mr. Stark?” the voice on the other end of the line asks.

“It is,” Tony confirms. A sense of dread is already filling him. A call to his personal cell from an unknown number never means good things. “And who is this?”

“This is Sharon Byron. I’m the assistant principal from Midtown School of Science and Technology,” the caller identifies. “We have you listed as the secondary emergency contact for Peter Parker. Is this correct?”

“That’s correct,” Tony says, his heart rate quickening. “What’s going on?”

“Well, he’s been causing a bit of a scene today,” she says briskly. “He’s gotten in multiple verbal altercations, both with students and staff members, as well as nearly biting a boy in his gym class. The school security officer and two teachers actually had to escort him out of the locker room."

“Peter? ” Tony questions, flabbergasted. He’s already texting Happy to bring the car around—thankfully he’s in the city today rather than upstate. “We’re talking about Peter Parker, right?”

“Yes sir,” Ms. Byron says. “He’s not making much sense either. The school nurse has been attempting to get a read on his temperature, but every time she approaches him with a thermometer, he tries to bite her.”

“Peter Parker is doing this?” Tony asks one last time. Then, before she can answer, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Never mind, know what? It’s fine. On my way. ETA forty minutes.”

He hangs up the phone.

“No! I don’t want to leave!” Peter snaps at his mentor, who is standing in the doorway of the principal’s office, looking flummoxed. The kid bounces up and down slightly on the cushioned office seat. “This is a really comfy chair!”

“Peter, something is clearly off with you today,” Tony tries to reason with him. “I just want to get you checked out, and maybe—”

“No!” Peter cries, leaping to his feet, suddenly alive with white-hot fury. He charges Tony, whose eyes widen as he steps backward. “I don’t want to go! I don’t wan—” He stops mid-sentence as the feeling suddenly dissipates. It’s replaced by embarrassment. “Oh. Sorry,” he mumbles. “That was weird.”

“Little bit,” Tony huffs. He lowers his hand, which Peter suddenly registers has been hovering over the armor housing unit on his chest. “You feeling okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, uh, actually it’s been a little weird all day,” Peter admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “One second I’m fine, and the next I just wanna tear everyone to pieces, you know?”

Tony scoffs. “Sure, kid. It’s called a board meeting.”

Two hours later, Peter is at the compound, leaning back against a chair in Bruce’s lab as the doctor peers into his open mouth.

“So they just appeared this morning?” Bruce asks, poking at the canines with a gloved finger.

“Yeah, ‘retty ‘uch,” Peter mumbles in reply, mouth still open. “Think they’re ‘oisonous or somethin’.”

Bruce adjusts his glasses as he leans in closer. “Venomous,” he corrects absently.

Peter frowns. “Huh?”

“Your teeth would be venomous, not poisonous.”

Anger flashes through Peter again and he snaps at Bruce, who yelps and only barely manages to pull back his hand before Peter bites off the doctor’s finger. “Are you saying I’m stupid?!” Peter demands.

Bruce is taken aback. “Um… no? Of course not. It’s a common mistake, I just thought you’d want to know so that—”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tony remarks without glancing up. He’s been so quiet that Peter nearly forgot he was there, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room and tapping something into his phone. “He’s been doing that all day. The two-hour drive back to the compound was a doozy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Peter exclaims, turning on Tony now.

“Well,” Tony says casually, “when you threatened that pigeon after he took a crap on the car windshield by screaming that next time you see him or any of his ‘idiot feathered friends’, you’d use instant kill mode, that seemed a little extreme is all I’m saying.”

The fury engulfs Peter and suddenly he can’t take it anymore. He jumps out of his seat and starts charging towards his mentor.

“Peter!” Bruce exclaims, jumping forward to grab his shoulder. Peter only whips around, rage in his eyes. Without a second’s hesitation, he sinks his fangs into the doctor’s forearm.

Bruce’s eyes go wide before he collapses to the ground in a heap.

“I’m fine, Tony,” Bruce insists calmly from his position on the floor. He’s lying flat on his back, his body eerily still. “This really could be worse.”

“You literally haven’t moved a muscle from the neck down in thirty minutes,” Tony argues, lowering himself down to sit on the floor beside the (hopefully) temporarily paralyzed doctor. “How is this in any way fine?”

“I think it’s starting to wear off,” Bruce says. “Look. I’m wiggling my fingers right now.”

Tony’s gaze falls to Bruce’s hand, which is not moving in the slightest. “Nope.”

“Oh.” Bruce sighs. “Well, on the bright side, the paralytic toxin in Peter’s fangs doesn’t seem to be affecting any respiratory processes or major organ functionality. All things considered, I think we lucked out.”

“Uh huh, sure, Bruce.” He glances back over his shoulder to where the kid is currently sitting on the couch in the corner of the lab, staring at the Magic Bullet blender infomercial playing on the TV with a dazed look in his eyes. “So, what’s our game plan?”

“Well, I’ve had some time to think while I’ve been down here,” Bruce begins, “and I’m pretty sure the aggression is related to the fangs.”

“No shit,” Tony scoffs.

“Logically then, the solution would be removing the fangs,” the doctor goes on.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “And how exactly do you suggest I do that?”

Bruce hums thoughtfully. “Yeah… that’s the part I’m still working on…”

“I AM NOT GOING TO THE DENTIST!”

“Which way are we going with him again?” Steve asks. The super soldier is holding onto Peter’s left arm while Tony—fully encased in his armor—holds onto the right. The two are currently escorting the struggling teenager down the hallway, Clint and Sam flanking them as back up.

“Medbay,” Tony replies wearily. “I’ve got an oral surgeon coming in from SHIELD. Should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

Peter swings his legs, kicking wildly. “HE’S NOT PULLING MY FUCKING TEETH!”

Steve tuts. “Peter,” he begins. “There’s no call for that. We’re all just trying to help you here, and that’s why—”

Before anyone can react, Peter whips his head to the side and bites Captain Fucking Righteous around the wrist. With a cry of surprise, the soldier plummets to the ground in a tangle of twitching limbs.

“Move in, move in!” Sam shouts as he and Clint instantly converge on Peter, who thrashes sideways and clamps his teeth down on Clint’s bare bicep.

“Shit,” Clint manages to mutter as he collapses down beside Steve.

“I told you he was biting, Legolas!” Tony snaps. “Why the fuck did you wear a sleeveless shirt?!”

Having landed face down, Clint’s reply is muffled. ‘’Cus ‘s m’ thing…” he mumbles into the ground.

“Peter, c’mon,” Sam pleads, trying to manhandle the snapping kid away from the two men on the ground while Tony struggles to get a grip on Peter’s thrashing feet. “Let’s just calm down and have a chat about this…”

“I DON’T WANT TO CHAT!” Peter shouts. “LET ME GO!”

In one violent twist, the enraged teen sinks his teeth into the side of Sam’s neck.

“Mother fuc—” Sam yelps before dropping to the ground, causing Tony to lose his grip on Peter’s leg. The kid instantly takes advantage of this by leaping onto the wall, sticking, and scurrying up to the ceiling to camp out in the corner, hissing threateningly at his mentor.

“Oh, you are so grounded, kid!” Tony hollers.

“You know, this is actually kinda nice,” Steve remarks from the ground.

“I know, right?” Sam agrees. He’s lying face up on the floor about five feet away from the soldier. “You’d think paralysis would be unnerving but it’s actually weirdly relaxing.”

Clint hums thoughtfully. “Like floating,” he agrees. Tony had taken pity on the archer and flipped him to his back just before racing down the hall after the hissing spider child.

They lay there for a few more minutes, the sounds of firing repulsors, thwipping webs, and muffled crashing issuing from several rooms away.

“You know what’s really bugging me though?” Clint asks.

“What?” Steve questions.

“The fourteenth ceiling tile from the left is crooked.”

“I noticed that too!” Sam exclaims.

There’s another loud crash followed by Tony’s scream of “DO NOT BITE THE DENTIST!”

The three men lie in silence for another moment.

“... Also my nose itches,” Clint complains.

“Where’s the kid at now, FRI?” Tony asks wearily. He’s lying on the ground in the common area kitchen, internally kicking himself for lowering his faceplate to try to talk Peter down. Who’d have thought the kid would go for the nose?

“Peter has locked himself in your lab,” the AI reports. “Agent Romanoff is currently crawling through the air vents with a tranquilizer dart gun in an attempt to get a clear shot at Peter.”

“Wonderful,” Tony mutters sarcastically. “Keep me posted.”

From under the table, he hears the paralyzed SHIELD dentist groan something about his back and how he should have retired last year because he’s definitely getting too old for this shit. Happy’s still grumbling curses from his position on the floor just in front of the dishwasher.

A moment later the AI reports, “Agent Romanoff has just dropped into the lab and fired at the target. Peter is temporarily incapacitated.”

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god.”

“Unfortunately,” FRIDAY goes on, “Peter has managed to bite her ankle in the process. She is now incapacitated as well.”

Tony lets out a groan. “I am definitely returning this kid’s birthday presents now...”

When Peter finally wakes from his drug-induced sleep several hours later, he finds himself reclined in a chair in Tony’s lab. He sits up with a frown and spits out two wads of bloody cotton gauze into his open palm.

Pepper is standing on the other end of the room, pliers in one hand and a small glass jar containing two sharp teeth in the other. “Welcome back,” she greets.

“Miss ‘otts?” he mumbles. “Wha’ ‘appened?”

Pepper huffs out a quick laugh. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she assures. “Happy birthday, Peter.”

Fic Masterlist

For more crack-ish irondad/Avengers shenanigans, try New Year’s Regrets or Avengers Vandal

#spiderman fic #irondad #Irondad and Spiderson #peter parker whump #avengers whump #tumblr prompt #crackfic #i think i've snapped #help me

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sweettemptaticn · 4 years

Text

Discord thread featuring: Ryleigh and Bear ( @laid-bear )

Where: The Grind

When: A week after their first meeting.

Description: Ryleigh finds Bear at the The Grind and extends an invitation to make dinner for him.

Trigger Warnings: None.

RYLEIGH

In the two months she's lived in Dayton, she's visited The Grind more than any other establishment. Some people enjoy their alcohol; Ryleigh enjoys her coffee. More than anything. It's her one basic need in life, besides food or, you know, water. "Thanks, Jacob," Ryleigh beams at the barista behind the counter, slipping a five into the tip jar. She doesn't have a lot of extra cash to spare, usually, but when she is capable of tipping a little extra here and there, she does. Everyone has to do their part, right? She takes a sip of the caramel macchiato she ordered, groaning with pleasure because it's spot on perfect. "If I ever become rich and famous, I'm hiring you to be my personal barista," she winks at the male, who offers her a small laugh and an agreement he'd take it before making his next drink. Ryleigh spins on her heel to leave, eyes barely scanning the interior of the coffee shop, when she notices a familiar hulking form. Her smile widens and her feet carry her across the shop toward his table, surprised to see him stationary after his quick stop in the bakery a week or so prior. "I see you decided to give my suggestion a try," Ryleigh muses as she approaches his table. Her blonde hair is drawn into a single french braid, wisps framing her face as she peers down to the order in front of him. "Well? What do you think?" Green eyes shine with a hopeful glint, one of her small hands wrapped around her own drink as her other slips into the back pocket of her distressed denim hugging her hips. Her casual, no work today look is topped off with a light weight sweater, slouched down one shoulder, exposing her fair skin to the world - and her Gemini tattoo on her shoulder blade. "S'good coffee, isn't it?"

BEAR

It had taken him a few days, but Bear had finally made it to The Grind. It was nicer than a lot of the greasy spoon-style places he’d stopped for coffee on the road...in fact, this might have been the first time he’d gone to a dedicated coffee shop since he was in Portland. He’d ordered himself a black coffee and posted up at a table near the window with a copy of MotorTrend and the local paper but was currently much more invested in the magazine, reading an article about trucks he could definitely never afford. He was wearing an ancient pair of jeans that had seen better days but looked worn in in a way that had become trendy, fading a bit at the pockets and hem, and a black t-shirt which exposed the army of tattoos that stretched from his back and chest down to his biceps where they peeked out from under the fabric. He raised his head when he noticed someone hovering over him, cracking a bit of a grin when he saw the girl from the bakery, taking a half a beat to remember her name was Ryleigh. “Hey—“ he greeted her, giving her a nod as he leaned back a little to meet her eye. “It’s pretty good,” he said, taking a sip and nodding. “Definitely could’ve done worse.” His eyes took in the tattoo and the loose bits of hair that brushed her shoulders before they found hers again. “How’re you?”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh hopes she doesn't come off like she's staring. She's not. Trying not to. But it's hard to keep her eyes focused on one part of him when she's really fascinated by all of him. Those arms, with a peak of ink beneath the sleeves stretched over those large biceps. Under any other circumstance, Bear's size would be intimidating to her, but after their initial meeting in the bakery, and finding him here now, she's surprised to find she doesn't feel anything but comfortable in his presence. He grins at her and Ryleigh offers one of her own, trying not to think too much about how said grin only enhances his handsome features. "Just pretty good?" She pouts slightly, before rolling her shoulders forward in a small shrug. "I guess you can't win them all. Pretty good is better than not good, so I'll take it," Ryleigh nods, biting at the inside of her cheek. "I'm alright. I actually have a day off today, so coffee first and then... I'll see where the day takes me, I guess. I don't really have any plans, actually," she chuckles, her eyes drawn back to his own. "What about you? Are you settling in alright?"

BEAR

Bear liked how she looked when she pouted then smiled—she was so expressive, it had caught him off guard the last time as well. He liked it even as he found it slightly intimidating in a way he couldn’t quite explain—it was open, transparent, two of the things he definitely was not. He shook his head. “It’s good, I promise, definitely the best cup of coffee I’ve had here,” he said, flashing her another half smile before she went on. “Settling in fine—I’ve spent a literal fucking fortune trying to get my apartment together...I’ll actually have a bed next week, kind of a big accomplishment,” he said sarcastically, making it clear that he was being self deprecating. “D’you want to sit?” He offered, nodding at the chair across from him.

RYLEIGH

Her noise of amusement is a soft hum in her throat, his comment at her query making her smile wider. "You're just saying that to get on my good side," she teases gently, lifting her own cup to wrap her lips - lightly glossed, but there's no other evidence of make-up on her face save for the mascara darkening her long lashes - around her straw to drink from her own Coffee. "That's... awful. I don't have my own place, yet, because I moved in with my brother. Couldn't really afford to find one on my own, but he spends all his time at his girlfriend's place, so I guess I kind of have it to myself?" She offers in turn, shifting from one foot to the other. "Hey, a bed is a big accomplishment! And nothing to take for granted, either," Ryleigh commends. Her gaze flickers to the empty chair across from him. "I wouldn't be keeping you from anything?" She'd love to sit with him, to find out more about the mysterious handsome stranger whose smile makes her stomach twist up into tiny little knots she can't explain, but she also doesn't want to impose and keep him from something else he'd rather be doing.

BEAR

Bear wondered if he /was/ just saying that to get on her good side. The coffee was good, but it hadn’t really struck him as particularly amazing until she was asking him and then yes, it was good, great even, it was literally whatever she wanted him to say it was. He would have laughed at his own obviousness if it wouldn’t have made him look crazy. Instead, he just shook his head at her. “Definitely wouldn’t lie to you about something as serious as coffee,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice. He listened to her talk about living with her brother and envied just a little the roommate situation—places were expensive in this town, and he’d already thought about picking up a second gig so I’d have a little bit to save. He shook his head at her when she asked about the seat. “It’s all yours—this thing is mostly garbage anyway,” he said, closing the magazine that he would definitely be reading again later. He wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad sign that he was lying—or at least bending the truth—on little things as they related to her. He wondered what that meant in the scheme of things, brushing off the thought before he nodded at the chair. “Sit.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh narrows her eyes playfully at him. "You better not. I take coffee very seriously, it's my krpotonite," she points out, hoping he can hear the soft jest in her voice even as her lips quiver to keep her grin in check. She fails, miserably, because she's smiling at him against her better judgement and-- he's going to think you're a loon if you keep smiling like that. He closes his magazine and pushes it away, but as immersed as he'd been with it when she approaches, she doubts it really is garbage. She gladly takes his invitation, however, lowering herself into the chair opposite him, sliding her coffee onto the table in front of her, and crossing her legs at the ankle beneath the table. "So, what other discoveries have you made since our last meeting? Stumbled on any other coffee hot spots?" Ryleigh props her elbow on the edge of the table and drops her chin to rest it against the heel of her palm, her bright green eyes never straying away from him.

BEAR

Bear pressed his lips together as she teased him, trying to keep from smiling in turn. He didn’t normally smile so much. He also didn’t normally hang out in coffee shops or spend time at bakeries or see the same girl—no matter the context—more than once unless you counted a couple total coincidences and about the same number of round twos when he’d been stuck in a town during a snowstorm when he was on the road. He watched her sit, her hands, then her eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that she was young—probably much younger than him. But he also knew that he’d been behaving himself, that he hadn’t said anything he regretted or that seemed to have made her uncomfortable, and here she was, looking at him with a similar sort of lingering gaze that he knew he was looking at her. He hadn’t really been /out of it/ per say, but he had been /almost/ staring, definitely a little more obvious than he’d planned to be, before he answered. “No other coffee spots,” he shook his head, pausing to take a sip from the paper cup in front of him, lid sitting next to it on the table. He toyed with the cardboard sleeve as he spoke, pulling it from the white paper cup before he systematically and absently began to shred it into neat, thin strips. “I got a job, thank G-d...thinking about taking a second, idle hands and all that,” he said, smirking a little before he met her eye again. “It’s just a bouncer gig but it pays and it keeps me up late, I’m kinda a night owl.”

RYLEIGH

If they'd been in a different city, a different place in time, Ryleigh would've already offered to do more than take up his time in a coffee shop. She would've invited him back to her place, would've been on her knees for him, and wouldn't have thought anything of it because that's what she was good for. That's what she knew how to do. Her move to Dayton meant learning who she'd once been before New York, before allowing herself to fall into a pit of someone making all of her choices for her. Her ex never would've allowed her to be friends, or even know, someone like Bear. Would've strictly forbidden it because it wouldn't have been his call and he wasn't about to have his girlfriend throw herself at the first guy who smiles nicely at her. So she hadn't been granted the luxury of many friends. She'd had her thoughts and the solace of New York rooftop to pair with school and her job. To be allowed to do all of these things she once would've had to ask for permission for... sometimes it's overwhelming and exhausting, but Ryleigh would rather feel overwhelmed than desolate any day of the week. "That's good. I haven't found any others either. There's this one place on the corner of Main that's not bad, but I use them as a last resort," she offers lightly, gaze drifting down to his hands as he pulls apart the sleeve that'd been around his cup. "Yeah? I'm happy for you! I was so thankful for Sadie, she owns the bakery we met it, for offering me a job. We used to work together back in New York when I lived there and if it hadn't been for her suggestion, I probably would've ended up somewhere else other than Dayton. I'm glad I came here, though," she explains with a small smile, her face growing warm. "Idle hands are the worst. If I'm not working, I'm usually baking or cooking something at home because I'm... a little obsessed with food and keeping myself busy. A man after my own heart... I'm definitely a night owl. Sleep isn't all that easy sometimes."

BEAR

In Alaska, growing up, there had been girls like Ryleigh. Girls who were open and bright and who smiled a lot. In a place like that, though, that sort of thing only lasted so long until it was burnished into something flatter, more even. That’s what it had been like traveling, too—girls who had seen his bullshit before and knew the routine, knew the enviable quirks and traits of a man who moved through the world by his own volition, all else be damned. He had learned that from his father, inherited it in his DNA and carried it in his blood like a virus that sometimes reared its head to remind him that it was there. That he could become just like him at any time. Bear brushed off the thought, wondering why seeing the girl made him think so much about the ways she was different, why he had to sit there and analyze the fact that she smiled a lot or didn’t seem to have any agenda other than what was obvious in the conversation when she spoke. He listened, continuing to shred the sleeve slowly, half smiling at the things she said she liked to do because it seemed to fit, the warmth of her personality and the inherent warmth in the things she described liking to do. “So it’s not just a gig to pay the bills then? You’re one of those people who can follow a recipe and it actually comes out right?” He said, acting as this was a pretty novel concept. “That explains the coffee, then,” he said, nodding at her cup after she expressed being a night owl.

RYLEIGH

"Definitely not just to pay the bills, although it's a pretty good gig getting to do something you love, isn't it?" She answers, her free hand falling into her lap to toy with one of the loose strings of one of the holes stretched across her thigh. "I went to culinary school in New York, it was the whole reason I moved there in the first place, and I graduated three months ago. Haven't really done anything with the degree yet, but one day I'll be a famous pastry chef. That's my life long goal anyway," she explains, unsure why she's so eager to share parts of herself with someone she's literally had one other conversation with. "But, yeah, to answer your question... I don't follow a lot of recipes. I'm more of a make from scratch kind of person, but if you put a recipe in front of me, I could probably do it with a little tweaking." Ryleigh adds with a small blush of heat coloring her cheeks, because she doesn't like talking about herself. She's just really passionate about food. "Yeah... it's my life blood. You tap my veins and there's probably espresso running all through them." Ryleigh lifts her head from her palm to take another sip of said coffee. He's still tearing that sleeve to shreds. "Are you a night owl because you can't sleep or because you don't like to?"

BEAR

“I’m not good at sitting still,” Bear admitted, knowing this was definitely one of his worst traits. “I’ve always worked a couple of jobs at a time from the time I was seventeen—where I grew up, you either worked and lived on an oil rig a few miles off the coast, or you became an alcoholic,” he said with a snort, tone a little wry but he was serious. “And I’m not someone who can sleep if I’m not damn near exhausted, so I’ve found the best way to do that is stay awake until I basically don’t have a choice anymore,” he said, wondering why he was going on and on about this. “Culinary school?” He asked, his tone clearly impressed. “I could see that for you,” he said, nodding at the comment about being a famous pastry chef. “You seem like one of those girls who’d have their own show and a million followers on whatever app people are using,” he said with a half grin, making the jab at himself because he was /not/ a social media person.

RYLEIGH

Something else she could understand. Not wanting to sit still. Sitting still meant too much time with her own thoughts and that was never a good idea. She focuses on his voice, on the key words to fall fro his lips. "Oil rig? Where'd you grow up, if you don't mind me asking?" Curiosity has a heavy presence in her tone, a genuine desire to learn more about this man sitting across from her. Why he wants to spend time talking to someone who's definitely younger than him is beyond her comprehension, but she's going to gladly take his attention. She's always felt older than she truly is, anyway. Especially after all the shit she's seen in her life. "I can definitely relate. To the whole being exhausted bit. It's easier when your body just gives out on you instead of spending three hours trying to sleep," she agrees, drawing invisible shapes with her fingers over the table top - using some of the condensation from her cup as it drips onto the table. "Oh, no, that's not... I don't even use social media, right now. I wouldn't want a show, though. I want people to appreciate my food, not my personality." Ryleigh offers him a small grin of her own, lower lip falling prey to her teeth out of nervous habit.

BEAR

Bear rubbed a hand over his jaw as he considered her question, wondering it the question was just out of politeness rather than interest and maybe he was boring the shit out of her. His calloused fingers rubbed over the rough stubble as he answered. “Homer, Alaska—little peninsula out near the Alaskan gulf, kinda a shanty town when you get out of the tourist traps,” he said with an embarrassed sort of smile, looking up to meet her eye. “Lots of roughnecks,” he added, shrugging before he listened to her. “You’re not one of those girls who’s counting followers and all that?” He said, looking a little surprised—he figured for a girl who looked like her, she had to be into some of the validation to some degree. She looked like she was made for it. Instead, as she talked, he listened, liking the idea of her wanting her work to speak for itself—that was something he could relate to, something he could get behind. When her lower lip went beneath her teeth, Bear looked out the window to keep from watching her, to keep from thinking about the other contexts in which she might make a face like that, tendon in his neck standing out a little against the skin as his jaw tensed ever so slightly. “I’d imagine there’s a lot to appreciate in both of those regards.”

RYLEIGH

"Wow, you're... a long way from home." There's genuine delight in her face over his answer, because Alaska. Alaska always seems like one of those places which sounds nice, in theory and would be a great place to visit, but she's never met anyone who's actually lived there. Or was raised there. His smile endears her to him even more, those little knots in her belly twisting even harder. "Roughnecks... big, husky guys like you, you mean?" She questions teasingly. "No, not really. Even when I did have social media, I didn't really care about that. I was posting more pictures of food than anything else, so... when I left New York I dropped it all together." Because she was running and she couldn't have social media presence if she was trying to stay hidden. No social media. New phone with a no name contract. Random ass car with random license plates. For the most part, she'd had it all figured out. As long as she could stay that way, non consequential, then she might even make it the rest of her life without being found. When he turns his head away, she's given ample opportunity to allow her gaze to drift over him profile, his strong jaw, the visible tendon in his neck. She clears her throat softly, his comment causing the flush of her skin to deepen and spread down her neck. He's going to think she's a weirdo as often as she keeps blushing around him, goodness sake. "How do you know? You've never tried my food. For all you know, I could be joshin' ya," she teases, allowing her own gaze to fall away from him so as to not let herself wonder if his jaw is as sturdy as it looks.

BEAR

Bear smirked a little when she called him a roughneck, turning a little to look at her with a brow cocked, looking highly amused by her comment. “I strike you as that type?” He asked, smirk growing even more pronounced because of course she was right but that didn’t keep him from being even more entertained by his question. He nodded as she talked about social media, appreciating that because /God/, he’d known some blowhards in Seattle and Portland who were very proud of themselves for getting a couple of artsy tattoos and playing mediocre bass in a Nirvana-wannabe band. He listened to her talk about New York, trying to imagine her in a city he’d never been too—hell, he’d never been east of Idaho. He shook his head a little at her question, knocking a knuckle on the table. “See, that’s where you’re wrong—I had one of your cupcakes, remember? And that thing was good as hell and I don’t even normally like sweets, so as far as I’m concerned there’s plenty to appreciate there.”

RYLEIGH

Her hands press onto either side of her cheeks as he smirks at her and asks her if he looks the type. He doesn't seem mad, so that's a bonus on her part, right? "No, I just... I don't even know what a roughneck is supposed to look like or what it means, honestly, I just... made an assumption, I'm sorry," she apologizes genuinely, a smooth chuckle easing out of her throat at her own embarrassment. Her hands drop to the table, far smaller in comparison to his own, she notices, though she'd also noticed that when they'd shaken hands back at the bakery when they first met. "Technically, that wasn't my cupcake. It was Sadie's, my boss', creation. So you liked her cupcake, not mine, but I'm not opposed to having you try one of mine. Or, if you don't normally like sweets, you could let me cook for you," she suggest with a wider smile, thinking nothing of offering to cook for a complete stranger. Sometimes, she cooks too much food, or bakes too many cupcakes, and ends up sharing everything with the whole of Aiden's apartment building.

BEAR

Bear shouldn’t have smirked more when she started stammering and apologizing but he did, the expression on his face softening a little after a moment because he didn’t want the girl to be absolutely embarrassed even if it was cute as hell. “You’re absolutely right, I’m just giving you hell,” he said, shifting so he could nudge her knee with his under the table—given his height, he didn’t have to move much to make it happen. “Basically just go-nowhere local dudes who never bothered to get an education, are good at manual labor, what have you,” he trailed off, snorting a little because now he’d just made himself sound like an idiot who was only good with a wrench. Oh well. “Wait, that wasn’t yours? Sorta feeling betrayed now, Meadows,” he said, shooting her a look but then his brows raised at the comment about baking or cooking for him. “Yeah, actually, I can barely fry an egg so I couldn’t mind eating something besides cornflakes or takeout for a change...if you’re offering, that is, I don’t wanna make your life harder.”

RYLEIGH

"Oh, thank goodness," Ryleigh looses a sigh of relief as he nudges against her knee - the knock jarring her leg slightly, but not enough for her to move away from the touch. She keeps her knee there, resting lightly against his, as he explains what a roughneck is for her. "Oh... well, you're not go-nowhere if you're here, right?" She tries to see the bright side of his statement, not liking the idea of him thinking down on himself in any way. "I'm sorry, but it's one of Sadie's greatest creations and hey, you liked it, so you can't feel too betrayed!" She argues gently, knocking her own knee against his this time, though her touch is nowhere near as hard as his own because she's so tiny in comparison. "I'm definitely offering. Are you kidding? I love cooking for people. Please?" Ryleigh makes a show of batting her pretty lashes at him, even forcing a small pout to her full mouth, drawing attention to her plush, pink lips.

BEAR

Bear couldn’t help but cock a smile at her trying to find some type of light at the end of the tunnel from his comment—he wasn’t surprised she’d gone that route, wasn’t surprised that she’d taken a self depreciating comment and turned it into the opposite of how he meant it. More than that, though, he /was/ surprised how at how appreciated the way that something akin to a compliment came from her lips. And fuck. Those lips. He let himself watch her for a moment, that now-familiar tension coming back to his jaw as he let his mind wander for a bit and then reeled it in. He wasn’t sure he could take her saying ‘please?’ to him again with that expression so he nodded immediately, readily agreeing. “Name your day,” he answered, letting his knee rest against hers still after the nudging.

RYLEIGH

She tries not to put too much focus on the warmth of his knee against her own, but she can feel that heat radiating through her, those knots in her belly becoming even tighter than before. “Are you free this Friday? I have another day off and if you have to work, we could literally do it any time? I make great pancakes,” Ryleigh offers, giving him options to work with. Hopefully. He’d said he got a bouncer gig, which could be for any of the number of clubs in Dayton and knowing how this town works, he could definitely have to work well into the early morning.

BEAR

Bear didn’t take more than a few second’s pause before he answered her, shaking his head no but then quickly nodding yes. “No, yeah, I’m off on Friday...taking a double tonight and tomorrow,” he said, trying not to think about what it was going to be like alone with her, out of public, trying to keep his head on straight. “I could make Friday.”

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh smiles so wide, her dimples clear as day, when he answers her. “Perfect. Would you want dinner or something earlier?” She asks him, already working out different meals in her head that she could possibly throw together for him. “Are you allergic to anything?” Ryleigh muses, tapping her fingers on the table, surprised her drink isn’t nearly gone. With anyone else, her cup would be almost empty at this point, but she’s been so immersed in talking to him, she’d forgotten about the caffeine in front of her.

BEAR

In the back of his head, Bear wondered if this was a bad idea. Not because he didn't want to go, but because he did want to go. Badly. He listened to her talk absently, weighing in his head if it was a great idea to hang around a girl who was probably more than a handful of years younger than him, but he was taking a sip of his coffee and shaking before he realized what he was doing. "Dinner sounds good," he said, shifting to lean back in his chair and rub a hand over his head. "Not allergic to anything that I know of."

RYLEIGH

She's almost giddy at the prospect of spending more time with him. He interests her and not just because she enjoys it when he smiles at her. He's incredibly handsome and could literally have his pick of anyone in this town to spend his time with, but she's thankful she gets to do this for him, at the very least. "Alright, great. I have the perfect thing in mind, but I'm not going to tell you because I don't want to spoil anything." Ryleigh beams brightly, reaching for her coffee to finally take a sip of the caffeine.

BEAR

Bear watched her bring her lips to her coffee cup and he picked up one of the cardboard scraps he'd created and shredded it now further still, eyes on her mouth for a beat before he directed them back to hers. "I should get your number then," he said, shifting to pull his phone out of his back pocket and unlocking it, passing it to her. His lock screen was a shot of the coast back in Alaska.

RYLEIGH

"Oh, yes!" Ryleigh exclaims, realizing him having her number would absolutely be very helpful. She takes his phone from him, fingers absently brushing against his much larger ones as she does so, and proceeds to thumb her number into his phone. Ryleigh adds her name with little smiley face emoji at the end of it, before slipping his phone back to him. "Text me, call me, any time." She enthuses. "And if you need to reschedule or cancel or anything, too. Just let me know. I'm flexible."

BEAR

Bear felt her fingers graze over his and was immediately surprised at the softness of her skin, hand lingering for about a milisecond longer than necessary before he let go. He watched her for a beat, wondering if she was going to shoot him a 'hey, something came up' text sometime on Friday after he texted her so she had his number. He wasn't sure if the thought relieved him or bothered him. "Here," he said, taking the phone back from her and texting her his first name--he assumed she didn't need the last, how many "Bear"s were there in one town anyway? "In case something comes up or whatever--text me."

RYLEIGH

Her own phone dings inside of her back pocket, which she's quick to grab for and save his number. She's got a no name burner phone, simple touch screen, and there's absolutely nothing fancy about it at all. Ryleigh smiles slightly as she adds his name to the four other contacts she has in her phone, rounding the number out to five. "I'm sure there won't. I'm pretty free and this is the most exciting thing I have to look forward to this week, so thank you for giving me that," she says as she lifts her eyes to meet his, an almost shy smile on her mouth this time.

BEAR

Bear moved to put his phone back in his pocket, watching her and wondering why she was being so nice to him. He was skeptical but intrigued, unable to truly detach himself from looking forward to seeing her as he nodded at her. “I’ll text you Friday beforehand, we can figure it out,” he said, determined for some reason to give her an out.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh slides her phone back into her back pocket, shifting in her seat, her knee brushing against his again as she does. "Sounds like a plan, but don't think you're going to get out of trying my food, mister. I mean, if something important comes up, I get it, but I promise you won't be disappointed." If there's one part of her life she's confident in, her culinary skills would be it. One of her hands plays over the table top, reaching for the magazine he'd cast aside before. "What kind of magazine is this?" Ryleigh asks, genuinely curious, her fingers drifting over the glossy cover.

BEAR

Bear cracked the tiniest smile at the word ‘mister,’ shaking his head a little at her as he kept his eyes on her. “It’s stupid,” he said, shifting to move the magazine to the center of the table, fingers brushing against hers. “Motorcycles, trucks,” he said, feeling like an idiot talking about this with a hot girl.

RYLEIGH

"Hey, interests aren't stupid. Not everyone has the same ones, doesn't make them stupid, though," she shrugs, allowing him to move the magazine, biting harder at her lip when his fingers brush against hers again. These little touches keep sending sparks of heat skittering along her skin and it's distracting. "Motorcycles and trucks? I've never been on the back of a motorcycle, but I've always thought it'd be fun." Because she definitely doesn't want to drive one.

BEAR

Bear cocked a brow at her, looking a little pleased at the comment. “I have a motorcycle—“ he said, flipping a through pages through the magazine to get past the gaudy sports bikes before he found a picture of an old school Triumph and pointed at it. “Like that,” he said, then shot her a bit of a grin. “Except mine’s from the late 70s and beat to hell, it does the job...I could take you for a spin sometime.”

RYLEIGH

Her eyes light up, her interest peaked, as he flips through the magazine to point out the kind of motorcycle he has. "I feel like I would look even tinier on a motorcycle like that. I'm already small enough, you're a giant in comparison, and this... it's a little intimidating," she muses with a quiet laugh, lifting one of her hands to squeeze her thumb and index finger together to indicate how much is a little. "Really? I'd love that." Ryleigh feels like she's taken up so much of his time already, but he doesn't seem to be in a rush to be anywhere and she has nowhere to be today, either. "

BEAR

Bear laughed a little at the comment she made about being tiny because, well, there was no denying it. “It’s a lot of metal, that’s for sure,” he agreed, mind know set on the fact that she was tiny and something about this liked that. He tried to stop thinking about it, instead focusing on her words. “Maybe after dinner then,” he said, thinking about her on the back of the bike with him and trying to imagine this—any of the things they were talking about—being normal and platonic.

RYLEIGH

Ryleigh's never been sure of anything more than she's sure she wants to spend more time with this man. He's funny, and kind, and yeah, he's massive, but he's not like anyone else she's met in this town. Everyone was always so extra for no reason, looking for another fix, trying to drink themselves into a stupor. It's one thing to want to take the edge off, but it's another thing entirely to throw yourself into choas because that's what you feel like you need to stay alive. She loves the friends she's made, loves her brother completely, but Bear is different, and she appreciates that about him. "Maybe, if you're not completely full off what I feed you, then yes... I'm going to hold you to that," Ryleigh agrees, unable to stop smiling at him the way she is.

BEAR

Bear caught sight of her smile and he leaned back in his seat, hand moving over his hair. He was well on to his way of being in serious trouble right now, because the way she smiled...he just wanted her to keep doing it, wanted to say whatever it would take to keep that happening because she was beautiful and he liked the way it looked on her. He pushed back his chair, magazine forgotten as he picked up the cardboard he’d ripped and put it in the cup. “Deal,” he said, meeting her eye as he stood. “Friday then,” he reiterated, needing to gather his chill before it became totally obvious he had none of it.

RYLEIGH

When he pushes back his chair, Ryleigh hopes the flicker of disappointment in her chest isn't seen. Instead, she shuts the magazine she'd been looking at with him and slips it back into the spot she'd grabbed it from. Her own hand wraps around her cup and she rises to her feet and without a counter between them, it's easy to see how much smaller she actually is in comparison, which does nothing to help her addled brain. "Friday. Just... let me know if anything changes," she agrees, wondering if she'd maybe said or done something that suddenly put him on edge.

BEAR

“Sounds good,” Bear said, looking down at her and quickly realizing he has at least at foot if not more on her. He met her eye for a beat, then reached to the side of her to pick up the magazine. He rolled up and stuck it into his back pocket, then picked up his the keys to his truck that he’d almost left behind. “Friday...” he repeated, watching her for a half a second before he met her eye. “See ya then, Ryleigh,” he said, turning and going before she could answer.

RYLEIGH

"See you," she calls, as he's walking out the door. Breathing in deep, she releases a heavy breath, before shaking her head. "Get a grip, Leigh," she berates herself in a quiet whisper, before she spins away from the table and makes her own way out of the coffee shop. Whatever happens, whether he blows her off or decides he does want to have dinner still.. she hopes he still wants to have dinner with her. Putting those thoughts out of her head, she tries her best to go about her day, to not think about what she's sure will be the highlight of her day, and she takes out her phone to shoot a text to Stevie, asking her what she's up to.

#laid-bear #( interactions. )#( discord thread. )#( ryleigh+bear.002 )

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