#and i don’t wanna take down the web when the outside is the spider’s house | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dadsbongos · 4 years

Text

It’s in the Walls

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy

Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader

Warnings: you got a whole ass man living in your house without you knowing, you’re a mom

Summary: There’s a large house up for sale on a massive price-cut, who wouldn’t take that deal?

~~~

“Mom!” the shriek was high-pitched and echoed through the winding walls of the maze the manor made itself out to be.

(Y/n) closed her eyes, pretending the scream didn’t happen for a few seconds of cheap bliss before breaking back into her mothering persona. She crept down the corridors, reminding herself to take down every painting on the wall, the eyes followed her. Eventually, she came into her younger son’s new room, leaning her body against the doorway.

The blond child was huddled in a box pressed against the right wall, his small body curled tightly into itself inside the cardboard. He looked to his mother, large blue eyes sprinkled in delight that she came. Pointing to his bed, he murmured, “I saw a rat.”

“What?” she muttered, the realtor said the rodents that only stuck to the yard, but of course, that was a lie, “Oh, sweetie, come here,” the boy stumbled out of the box and grabbed onto his mother’s extended hand, “I’ll take care of him, you go make sure Joey hasn’t lost in mind in the library, okay?”

“Thank you, Dylan,” she cooed, pressing a short kiss to his forehead before sending him off.

His pink lips, shaped nearly identically to his father’s, stretched into a large grin,

“Okay, Mama!”

As soon as her son was gone, the smile drooped and suddenly she felt the weight of her eye bags drawing on her face. (Y/n) carefully approached the bed before getting onto her hands and knees, pulling up one of the draping blankets to peek underneath. A squirming, round, fat little frame poked out in the darkness before it squealed and began scurrying away.

Her hand shot out and she squeezed the fatty body between her fingers, grimacing at the rat in her hand. She never hated the things, they just never piqued her interest in the best ways, either. It thrashed and scratched at her, a small hiss leaving the woman before she tossed one of the windows open and left the rat on the sill outside to crawl away. Shutting and locking the window once again, (Y/n) made another mental note to get rat traps. Unless there were already traps.

Exiting the room, (Y/n) huffed at every creak in the wooden planks of the floorboards. The manor was old, oh, so old, it only made sense that none of the wooden boards would be silent. Even so, it was annoying and she liked to think she had the right to complain.

Eyes drifting to paintings and peeling wallpaper, she tried to remind herself to be thankful. Divorce wasn’t easy, much less so when your ex was a greedy, manipulative joke that milked you for nearly all of your possessions - she was lucky to find the mansion. Especially at such an astoundingly low price - she doubted a typical house would be cheaper than what she got the place for. None of those houses came fully-furnished anyway. Admittedly creepy and strange, but you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you might not like what you see.

As (Y/n) scanned through cupboards and cabinets, a loud thud alerted her of a new presence in the kitchen. She shot up, banging her head on the interior of a cabinet, her hand settled on the tender curve of her skull, softly rubbing as she stood. At the counter was her elder son, black-dyed hair messy and glasses slipping down his nose.

“Hi, honey,” (Y/n) chuckled at his frazzled appearance, “just get done wrestling one of the stuffed bears?”

Joey rolled his eyes, thumping a thick, hard-cover book against the granite countertop, “No, actually, I was looking for my shoes. Where are they?”

The woman shrugged, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I left them by the door and they’re not there anymore,” the teenage boy scratched at the back of his head, “Dylan’s either lying or genuinely didn’t steal them so I came to you.”

“Did you check everywhere?” (Y/n) questioned, brows furrowing at the absurdity of the situation, “Shoes don’t just walk away on their own, you gotta have feet in them.”

“Yes, I checked everywhere,” the boy grumbled, no longer bumping the book on the hard surface, now content to flip through the pages and allow the smell of old parchment to fill their nostrils. What a lovely smell that was.

Shaking her head, the mother fumbled for an explanation to the whereabouts of her son’s shoes, “I don’t know what to tell you, you brought more pairs, right?”

Joey nodded slowly, eyes scanning through fragmented sentences before turning to the next page, “Yeah, I just really liked those ones.”

“Alright, well, I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually, don’t worry yourself over it,” she grasped her boy’s shoulder, rubbing her thumb into the flesh tenderly before letting go, “We have a rat problem, by the way, if you see any traps, let me know.”

“Oh fun,” he mumbled, forcing a wide smile onto his lips, “I think there’s some in the backyard if you haven’t been out there. They look like shit but they’ll probably get the job done.”

“Language, but thank you.”

“English and you’re welcome.”

Deciding it was better to just walk away at this point, (Y/n) headed for the back door. It was heavy to pull open and nearly slammed shut if she hadn’t pressed her foot into the thick wood, grunting at the responding pain. A trash bag was set out with a pair of gloves next to it on a quaint little side table with spider webs running between the beige wicker legs. As if somebody had put them out for a quick run but forgot they wouldn’t be using them after they left.

After that, what caught her eye was the glint of rusted metal in the thick, untamed bushes of the surrounding greenery. Upon closer inspection, she could see that grass had entangled with the metallic gate on a small wooden box, buzzing flies being the next eye-catcher. She crouched down, instantly picking up on the putrid smell of corroding flesh and dried blood, flies nibbling on the swiss cheesed corpse of a rat.

“Shit!” she gagged, backing away, rubbing her hands on her pants despite having not touched the cage at all.

Looking back up at the house, (Y/n) barely noticed the outline of a person in one of the second-floor windows. She blinked twice, shaking her head before squinting back up at the same window. Just a coat rack. Didn’t seem right - there were pants in the outline! - but then she realized how outlandish it seemed. If there was a secret person living in the house, surely it would’ve been mentioned by the realtor.

‘Forgotten’ rats were one thing, an entire person was another.

“Mom!” another soprano level scream ruptured her eardrums.

In turn, (Y/n) huffed, clenching her eyes shut before turning around and walking back towards the porch. What she first noticed was her seven-year-old, the second being the extremely off-putting, cracked porcelain doll in his arms.

It was half his size and looked to have been haphazardly put back together with some unnamed brand of superglue. Dark hair framed its head quite well with glassy, hazel eyes and pale, pretty pink lips. Grossly realistic and abandoned in a mansion, it seemed to be perfect fire material. Or it would be, if she hadn’t been told by the realtor, very explicitly, to not use the fireplace.

“Whole house could go up in flames,” Mindy had waved her hands about, “I’m not sure how that’d work, but just… don’t test it.”

Dylan held up the doll closer to his mother’s face, “Isn’t he cool?!”

“Yeah,” she lied through her teeth, carefully taking the doll, “Does he have a name?”

Leading his mother back inside, Dylan shrugged, but his loose limbs and lack of control made it appear as though he was trying to toss his shoulders off from his body, “Don’t know.”

“Hmm,” she quietly hummed, pulling back the tightly sewn collar of the doll to peek at a possible name tag, “I’m not seeing anything here, baby. You wanna name him yourself?”

There was another creak, easily dismissed as the manor’s old bones settling as the woman handed the fragile doll to her son. Dylan pressed his lips into a tight line, staring at the toy for a few moments before bursting out an answer, “I think he looks like a James!”

(Y/n) nodded to the boy’s antics, “I think that’s a great name for him.”

Before they could continue the conversation, a hard bang on the wall knocked a picture from its spot above the stove, toppling onto the rather shiny surface. Their heads turned, eyes wide and Dylan was suddenly shaking, grasping onto his mother’s shirt and huddling into her side. The woman settled a hand on her son’s shoulder, pressing her thumb into the tensing muscles before pulling away to inspect the wall.

It was a wall, obviously. Flat, leveled, wall. Nothing particularly interesting about it aside from the wallpaper’s collection of grime and peels. Looking down, she took notice of the framed picture. Three figures stood in front of the home (Y/n) now found herself in possession of. Garden controlled and clean with no windows boarded, cracked, or dirtied. A young woman not much older than (Y/n) herself was holding a four-year-old brunette boy to her hip with, who one could assume was, her husband beside them.

Glancing between the picture and the doll, she frowned at how similar the toy looked to the little boy. Not to mention that haunting family portrait at the foot of the staircase. Turning the frame over in her hands, she opened up the back before pulling the picture out of its frame. (Y/n) searched for a scrawled title of the photograph, quickly finding an answer.

Mummy, Daddy, and Brahms!

She replaced the picture just as quickly as she got it out, debating between putting it back and tossing it out before deciding to leave it on the counter. (Y/n) took her son’s chubby cheeks between her hands, planting yet another kiss on his freckled forehead, “I think his name is Brahms, sweetie.”

“Brahms?” Dylan muttered, almost as though he was testing for another bump. When there was none, he nodded, “Brahms.”

Running away and back up the stairs, (Y/n) was ready to force herself into forgetting the whole thing happened when her older son’s voice was heard.

“It’s funny, you little brat!” followed by a loud wail.

“Give him back!” Dylan screamed.

(Y/n) rushed out of the kitchen to see Joey holding Brahms out of Dylan’s reach, the older boy was visibly angry, “Funny, I could say the same thing to you!”

“Joseph Lowy,” the woman muttered, snatching the doll from her son, and giving it back to her pouting little blond boy, “Here, go play with Brahms,” as he ran up the stairs, she called after him, “Don’t get too crazy up there, you two!”

Joey shook his head, rubbing at the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses, “Little asshole.”

“Hey!” (Y/n) looked over to the sixteen-year-old, “Don’t talk about your little brother like that.”

“He stole more of my shit,” the dark-haired boy tapped at the wall a few times with his knuckles, shaking his head, “Shoes I could deal with but now two of my shirts are missing.”

“Did you leave them at the house?” she tried to reason, leaning against the wall, “Dylan’s been with me for a while, maybe you’re losing it, sweetpea.”

Joey cringed at the pet name briefly before deciding to carry on with his point, “No, I didn’t leave my clothes at the house. I wouldn’t leave a single sock with that dick.”

“Don’t call my ex a dick,” (Y/n) breathed out, turning her son around and nudging him towards the den, “Only I can do that.”

“Unfair.”

“This isn’t a democracy, it’s a dictatorship,” (Y/n) waved off, standing there long enough just to watch the boy sit down on a leather chair and open the book in his hands. She’d have to go into town for rat traps, then.

She bit at her lip, turning towards the flight of stairs and beginning to go up the steps. Without the creeks flowing alongside her movement, the house seemed even more eerie - she didn’t bother to stop and figure out why there were no creeks. It didn’t matter to her at the time.

(Y/n) peeked into Dylan’s room, smiling softly at the sight of her little boy seated at a play table with plastic plates and cups and faux food set delicately on it. He was holding a small pink teacup with Brahms porcelain fingers using a hair tie to keep a similar purple one in his grasp. When the little boy noticed his mother in the doorway, he waved wildly, taking one of Brahms’ arms gently and copying the motion onto the doll.

Continuing down the hall, (Y/n) came upon her room, pushing it open and immediately seeing that her suitcases and bags had been peeled open. She was sure that she’d left them all zipped and sealed before leaving, but, of course, you can never be too certain. Going over to the luggage, she moved clothing around and peered through when she noticed how strewn about her things were.

The ‘fragile-minded’ female role after a heavy divorce was not something (Y/n) ever imagined herself as being. It was so played out and disgusting, she despised it with everything in her body. Yet, as she found that one of her dresses was missing, she suddenly felt as though it was depressingly truer than she’d hoped.

(Y/n) turned to another suitcase; her apple red-tinted skirt was gone. She dug deeper into the case, pulling out a few stray, tossed-around shirts in her endeavor to find her favorite skirt. She tossed a hand up, giving up on finding the articles of clothing for the time being. Not that she’d admit it, but worry was beginning to fester in the deepest crawlspaces of her gut.

Stepping over to a different suitcase, (Y/n) pulled out what probably wouldn’t make her look as though she just woke up and went over to the bathroom connected to her bedroom.

Mindy had made it abundantly clear that the two previous owners drowned themselves while on a ‘two-month’ vacation after leaving the house to a nanny. Who the nanny was or why she left wasn’t made clear to either woman, just that the house wasn’t right. Cryptic language, always appreciated.

Taking into mind the deaths and sudden missing clothing combined with bumps from the kitchen, it may be time to call the kettle a kettle. The home may be haunted. Not that she wanted a literal haunted house, but what other choice was there at this point?

Not even apartments were renting as low as the manor was selling.

As she finished getting dressed, (Y/n) began her way out of the house, stopping at her younger son’s room, “I’m going out for some things. Want me to bring you back anything?”

Dylan looked over to the cracked doll, “Do you want new clothes, Brahms?”

The doll, of course, was completely silent. Unmoving. Watching.

“I think Brahms wants new clothes, Mom,” Dylan beamed at the woman, holding up his plastic cup.

(Y/n) giggled, nodding as she pat the doorway, “Alright, honey, I’ll see what I can do for Brahms.”

“Thanks, Mom,” the bubbly little boy lowered his cup, settling his hand on the doll’s back, “Say thanks, Brahms.”

No words came from the toy, as one would be expected to expect. It sat still, not moving but still watching. Always watching. Unblinking, glassy, hazel eyes stuck on his flesh-and-blood blond friend.

“He says thanks.”

Nodding, the woman gave her boy a thumbs up, “I’m sure.”

The next son was still in the den, reading quietly to himself. Every now and again one’s ear would pick up on a small mumble of a word, small stutters slipping from the teenager’s lips. (Y/n) came up behind the boy, hands slamming onto the back of the chair loudly.

Joey jumped in his place, turning swiftly, “The hell, Mom?”

“I’m going out, bookworm,” (Y/n) teased, running a hand through the boy’s messy black hair, “Need me to pick something up?”

“Coffee grounds would be great,” he confirmed, “There’s none in this entire, literal, mansion.”

“Alright,” she gently brought her older son’s shoulders back so his head was laying against the chair, “Take a break sometime soon, okay? Stretch for a bit, make you and your brother some lunch.”

He hummed in acknowledgment but otherwise, there was no indication of him having even listened to his mother.

The next morning was just as drab and bland as the previous, and there was no doubt that the morning after this would be the same as always. (Y/n) huffed as she climbed out of bed, rubbing a hand over her droopy eyes. She stood, no longer remembering much of what had happened yesterday other than buying children’s clothes for a doll and coffee grounds for her son.

Not even the drill holes the previous owners must have never paid much mind to, which she noticed after dinner. They were strangely large for any typical drill she’d seen or owned.

(Y/n) managed to trudge into the kitchen during her dazed state, neither one of her boys was eating and so she correctly assumed both were still asleep. Scratching under her shirt at her stomach, the woman picked the coffee grounds from under the sink, laying the hefty tub on the counter next to the maker. Seemed a bit counterproductive to have a coffee maker and not a single crumb of grounds or even any beans to actually use. Not that she could say it to the owners’ faces.

“Oh, filters, right,” she mumbled to herself, immediately recalling the thin papers in the walk-in closet style storage compartment.

Her hand scanned over a few shelves, one arm crossed over her chest and the other still running along canned goods and cereal boxes. She tilted her head to rest on the raised shoulder, beginning to hum quietly to herself. The air was pleasantly crisp, oddly crisp for the interior of a house let alone a pantry. It had the same feeling as being inside an attic, if that made any sort of sense it didn’t matter to her at the time. Not much about the house mattered to her at the moment.

A few creeks and Joey was walking into the kitchen, the poor house was only getting older and with his naturally heavy steps, Joey found himself making more noise than he’d like. So much noise. Too much noise. Why did he have to be so loose with his footfalls? He’d been walking for over forty years by now.

Forty years? Forty years.

He was a grown man, he should be able to walk quietly. Just because Greta left him, he suddenly can’t be a ghost anymore?

A scream clutched the air as the pantry door slammed shut. (Y/n) turned, not finding herself much a fan of the darkness. She took the doorknob into her grip, violently twisting and pushing on the knob, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The door refused to budge, like a weight was pressing down onto it. It creaked and rocked ever so slightly but there was no way of getting it open.

“Joseph fucking Lowy, open this God damn door!” she pounded on the busted wood, beginning to kick when her hits proved no help, “Dylan! One of you open this door, right now!”

Suddenly, the lock made a click, and all the invisible weight was gone, a sixteen-year-old boy staring quizzically at his mother, “Mom, what’s wrong with you? How did you lock the door from the outside?”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n) shook her head, giving the pantry a glance over her shoulder, “You locked me in there.”

“You woke me up with all your yelling,” Joey instantly denied, “I’m surprised Dylan’s not up yet.”

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you right now,” she crossed both arms, “It’s not cute.”

“I’m serious!” he shouted in his own defense, neither of them taking notice in the seven-year-old cradling a porcelain doll with a cracked face to his chest, “I wouldn’t lock you in a pantry!”

“Mom…” the boy muttered.

(Y/n)’s jaw clenched, eyes slamming shut and body turning away from her older son to look at the disgusting wallpaper of her kitchen. She sniffed hard, rubbing under her nose before looking back to her younger son, “Yes, sweetie?”

“Brahms made a mess,” Dylan quietly replied, going up to his mother and grabbing her hand, “It wasn’t me, really. It was Brahms.”

“What do you mean it was Brahms?” she huffed, following after the child as he began leading her up to the second floor, “He’s a doll, baby, it was probably just the wind knocking something over.”

“No,” he shook his head, pushing his bedroom door open wider, “Brahms made a mess.”

A mess indeed. Clothes and toys had been absolutely hurricaned around the little boy’s room, some glass from pictures and abandoned dishes shattered across the floor. Dylan’s play table had been toppled over with all the plasticware left on the carpeted ground. Looking over to her son’s feet, (Y/n) felt herself puzzled at the lack of blood; glass was everywhere. How could his reckless little feet avoid all of it?”

“Baby, did you step in any glass?”

“There’s glass in there?” the boy peeked around his mother before looking down at Brahms, “How did you do that?”

(Y/n) turned back to the bedroom, poking her tongue into her cheek as her hands found their places on her hips. Confusion laced into her bones, trickling down the marrow and soaking into her shaking fingertips. Brows knit tightly downward in the midst of her conflict and head thumping for answers, no - no, that was a headache. She was getting a headache.

Taking her son’s shoulders, (Y/n) spun him around to face the way they just came down, “I’ll take care of that tonight, sweetpea, don’t go in here for a little bit, alright? I don’t want you cutting up your feet.”

“Okay, Mama,” Dylan grinned up at the woman, holding Brahms a little tighter in his grasp, “I don’t want Brahms to get hurt either.”

“That’s very nice of you,” she cooed, taking his cheek between thumb and forefinger and pinching gently, “What a good little boy I have.”

Beaming at the praise, the mother-son duo didn’t even notice the panel in the wall rolling back and it’s spidery tendons creeping around the curve of the wall’s edge. Instead, they giggled over nothing as (Y/n) took her son’s small, fragile hands into her own and puppeteered him down the stairs. Doll boy Brahms left to sit on the landing of the house’s flight until somebody, anybody, picked him up.

Passing the portrait of another family was easy enough despite how creepy it seemed. They’d have to take it down, feeling like a guest in one’s own home was never appreciated. Then again, neither were pests in your walls, especially when you didn’t know about them yet.

“Sleep tight, sweetie,” (Y/n) blew one final kiss to her son before closing the bedroom door to her own room.

“Wait,” Dylan whined, stopping his mother in the motion, “Brahms is still gone…”

The woman pursed her lips, “I know, I know. Just try to sleep without him for now, okay? We’ll probably find him tomorrow morning.”

Pouting, the boy kicked his legs out slightly before nodding solemnly, “Alright…”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she smiled tenderly at the child before shutting the bedroom door genuinely. Turning to her other son, (Y/n) forced a much faker smile onto her lips, “And thank you for your upcoming sacrifice.”

“I never said it was a sacrifice,” Joey grumbled, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, “You’re just dramatic.”

“Incorrect,” (Y/n) turned her boy around with a few small pats on the shoulder, descending the stairs as a pair until they reached the comically large portrait of a family that wasn’t their own.

Her hand settled against the groove of the curvy golden frame, the other resting against the painted surface as she and her son lifted the painting from the wall.

“Shit,” Joey hissed, assisting his mother in her lifting, “this thing’s heavy. Really heavy.”

“Probably wasn’t meant to be taken off the wall,” the woman reasoned with her son, muscles straining in their removal of the ridiculously big painting.

As the woman handled the painting, deciding to let it rest on the floor. Her backbones screamed as she slowly bent at the knee to lower the portrait of the wealthy family. Knuckles and joints beginning to ache as she did so.

“Mom…?” Joey muttered, voice much smaller and more fragile than she was accustomed to.

“Yeah?” she gruffed, finally letting the painting down completely. Her hands came to press on her tailbone ever so gently, practically already feeling next morning’s soreness, “Something wrong?”

“Only if you think a human-sized hole in the wall is a problem?” the boy chuckled dryly.

“A what?”

Turning swiftly, (Y/n) was quickly faced with exactly what her eldest son had just described to her. A human-sized hole in their wall. Large enough to fit a six-foot person, maybe they’d have to duck, but the fact remained. Her hands reached out for the edges of where the frame met the actual wall. She turned her head both ways, it was dark but when her eyes adjusted she could tell that there was a clear path running through the wall. Pulling her head back out, (Y/n) nodded towards the hole.

“I’ll go first, you follow.”

“Fine.”

Stepping into the hole, she noted how disgustingly crisp the air felt, it reminded her of being trapped in the pantry. It made her question what ways were waiting to be opened up by creeping little fingers inside that quiet, confined space. Her skin bumped and hairs raised at the thought of whoever had made these pathways still being inside the house. But that was insane, not a chance that somebody could live inside the walls of a manor without anybody finding out. There’d be too many creeks.

And suddenly she was remembering being locked in the pantry again, when those loud creeks were cracking into her ears and her sons had still been asleep. Her sons had still been asleep.

(Y/n) stopped, glad that her son’s eyes, though faltering, had adjusted to the dark well enough so he wouldn’t bump into her, “You’re sure you didn’t lock me in the pantry, right? There’s no way you were sleepwalking or anything?”

It was silent, so silent that there was a deafening buzz drumming into her ears.

“Joey?”

Again, all she was met with was the droning, consistent blare of buzzing in her ears.

“Joseph, I’m not playing with you.”

Once more, she was hit with buzzing.

“Joseph,” (Y/n) turned around, not meeting the eyes of her sixteen-year-old bookworm son, but instead with a stained, smelly, thin white shirt.

It hung low enough to expose the oddly shiny slick of sweat glistening over a hairy chest. Her breath grew rapid, fear racing through her body as she shook her head.

Looking up, her gut was wrenched at the dirtied prosthetic mask angled as if the person behind it was looking down upon her, as though she were a frightened rabbit. Now that she thought about it, she was a frightened, shaking little rabbit.

“Where’s my son?” when there was no response, she tossed herself into his body, attempting to push past him, “Joseph?! Dylan?!”

The arms of the secret man in her walls wrapped around her, squeezing tightly. One arm abandoned her waist, scrambling for something a little ways behind them, when he found it, the arm raised above her head.

“Joseph?!” she sobbed weakly, beginning to choke on her own nasty cocktail of tears and mucus, “Dylan?!”

A thwack left no more screaming to be heard, the tall man dropping his makeshift club in favor of picking the woman up as though she were his cute, delicate bride.

Brahms turned, heading back for the largest panel of the walls with (Y/n) dangling limply in his arms.

Finally coming to, (Y/n) sputtered in a soft muffle, eyesight unclear and spotting in the corners. The spots and blotches eventually leveled and began to mop themselves into one concise picture of the kitchen. She let out a soft hiss, wrists stinging when she suddenly realized that there were ropes binding her arms back and to her chair.

Head toppling to the left, a snoring Joey was also tied down with his glasses already having slipped from his nose. Crashed onto the floor and shattered, it reminded her of her youngest son’s room; her youngest son.

She looked over to her right, spotting an empty wicker chair immediately beside her and Dylan after that. Dylan was leaning far back, head resting on his shoulder and mouth having fallen open to let out quiet whimpers and whines as though even in Dreamland, he was frightful.

Finally, she looked forward, squinting at the collection of chairs in front of her. They were chairs, obviously, nothing too interesting about that but it’s what was in the chairs that alarmed her. Pillows conjoined together by stolen articles of clothing ranging from Joey’s shirt to her favorite dress and skirt and Dylan’s sweatshirt. Between her pillow copy and Dylan’s was the Brahms doll; staring ahead silently. Watching. Always watching.

A high-pitched, airy, childlike voice rang in her ear, it didn’t match the fully grown man standing behind Dylan. Brahms, the real Brahms, pat the boy’s blond hair before ruffling Joey’s untamed dark tresses, “Little brother… big brother…” he moved behind (Y/n), his hands settling on her shoulders before his mask moved to press it’s cold, hard lips against the goosebumped, terrified skin of her neck, “Mommy…”

Sitting down in the empty chair, Brahms smiled beneath his mask, staring into the dead, glassy eyes of his doll before letting his voice take on the deeper octave more appropriate of an adult.

“Daddy…”

#brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #brahms: the boy #can't believe i spelt the movie name wrong :)#clown energy people i'm telling you

129 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot: Phobias

Summary: Katie encounters an enemy FAR WORSE than anything she’s seen before. Can Steve saver her before it’s too late?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language, Spiders, and a little bit of fluff

A/N: So this is a little one shot/drabble that came to me after my husband saved my life from a monster in the bathroom...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 7

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“SSSSTEEEEEEEEEVE!”

The scream made the glass of water in Steve’s hand slip to the point he almost dropped it. Placing it down with a slam on the coffee table he stood up and bolted down the hall towards his bathroom only to be met by Katie, who was in her bra and denim shorts hurtling towards him.

“What is it?” He frowned, instantly placing himself between her and the bathroom, looking at the door.

“In there.” She muttered, and as her hands gripped at his hips he could feel her shaking behind him.

“Someone’s in there?” He looked over his shoulder and down at her.

She shook her head, stuttering a little in fear. “I… just… I can’t…”

Steve was really puzzled now. Not a lot phased Katie Stark. She had fought alongside him in the battle of New York, facing off against God Knows how many Aliens. The year before she had tackled the Mandarin with her brother, then there was Loki in the Desert, countless missions with SHIELD, so what on Earth had got her so petrified, in his bathroom no less, that she was trembling behind him?

“Stay here.” He instructed, gently before he crept forward and stepped to the bathroom. The door was wide open and he could see or hear nothing. Frowning he looked behind the door, in the tall cupboard that housed his toiletries, towels, bedsheets etc… all clear. He was just about to ask her what the fuck was going on when a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced into the shower cubicle and there was the culprit.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart.” He groaned, with a somewhat exasperated sigh as he looked at the spider. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought someone had broken in and was about to kill you.”

“Something did break in!” She squeaked back, still from her spot in the hall “It’s gonna eat me!” Steve rolled his eyes to himself. It was nothing more than a house spider. A fairly big one, he had to admit, but utterly harmless. Nevertheless, he knew Katie was petrified of the damned things. She had admitted to him post an incident with one on a Quinjet that she had woken up when she was three with one on her face and had been scared witless of them ever since.

“Katie, it’s not gonna hurt you.” he reasoned.

“I don’t care!” her voice was high pitched “Incy Wincy fucking Gorilla needs to leave” That did make him laugh. “Okay, Okay.” His chuckles died down. “I’ll sort it. Don’t panic.” Luckily for her, spiders fascinated Steve. He had always found their webs a thing of beauty, and in the army had often wandered the woods early in the morning to see them speckled with dew in the growing light of the sunrise or frost in the winter, sketching the particularly intricate ones he found. He bent down, scooped the arachnid in to his hands careful to keep it enclosed and headed back into the hall. “Where is..is it IN YOUR HANDS?” She shrieked, eyes wide as she backed away from him. “Why didn’t you kill it?” “I’m not gonna kill it!” he said, shaking his head “It isn’t his fault you’re scared of him.” “But…”

“Honey, it’s fine, I’m gonna let it go outside!” He tried hard not to laugh at the sheer look of disgust and horror on her face. “Just open the door for me ok?”

“Outside outside or like the hall way outside?” She said, looking at him. He paused for a moment, he had been thinking just the hall- it was a house spider after all. But he could hear her reaction already- I’ll just come back under the door…

“Outside outside.” he confirmed, and her shoulders visibly sagged as she exhaled and headed to the doorway. She opened it, then backed away from him to let him out. Giving her a smile he headed outside, spider safely contained in his cupped hands as he headed down the stairs to the main door of his apartment block. Using his foot to keep the door jarred open, he stooped down and gently let the spider go. It scurried off and he wiped his hands on his jeans before he took the three flights back up to his floor two steps at a time. Katie was in the kitchen, still in her bra and shorts, a glass of water in her hand. He leaned in the doorway looking at her for a moment, smile playing on his lips. Even when she was being absurd he loved her.

“You can stop looking at me like that.” she said to him.

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m utterly ridiculous.

”Steve cut her off with a chuckle “You are utterly ridiculous.” he said, striding towards her to give her a hug. She let out a noise that was half chuckle, half groan as she pressed her face into his t-shirt. “But I love you, arachnophobia induced drama included.

”She stayed still, her cheek pressed into his chest as his hands gently held her close, palms warm on her bare back.

“Gonna go for my shower now.” She mumbled.

“Ok” he pressed a kiss to her head “You coming back out or going straight to bed?”

“Bed.”

“Alright, I won’t be far behind you.”

She smiled up at him, before she headed out of the room and he watched her go, her hips swaying gently as she walked.

The water was hot as Katie stepped underneath it. She hated being that petrified of something as stupid as a spider, she really did. Logically she knew it was daft, they were so small in comparison to her. Tony had constantly told her whenever he had to rescue her from the eight-legged-freaks, ‘they’re more scared of you than you are of them’, but that was utter bollocks. Frankly, she’d take fighting off ten men single handed against dealing with one of them.

With a sigh she washed her hair, turned the water off and then set about cleaning her teeth before she headed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Steve was already in there and as she walked into the room he gently tossed a clean t-shirt onto the bed for her and she grinned. She loved sleeping in his shirts, for no reason other than they were his. And he loved the fact she loved to sleep in them for the same reason. He dropped a kiss to her cheek and told her he was going for a shower himself before he headed into the bathroom himself. She dried off, braided her hair before shrugging the T-shirt and settling down between the sheets of his bed. Steve returned a little under ten minutes later, chest speckled with drops of water he hadn’t dried off completely.

“Honey do you want a drink or anything?”

“No I’m good, Stevie, thanks.” She mumbled, eyes closed as she snuggled further into the bed. He dressed in a pair of sweats, leaving his chest bare- another thing he’d started doing since they’d been sharing a bed as Katie much preferred snuggling into him like that- and he began the usual routine of checking the doors and windows before he returned and slipped under the covers next to her. She let out a sigh and moved so that her head was lay on his chest, her hand gently tangling into the smattering of dark blonde hair that was there. He could tell she was wide awake, pondering something.

“What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

“Do you think I’m a dumbass, you know, because of the whole…spider thing? I know it’s ridiculous, but...”

Steve took a deep breath and moved so that he was led on his side, facing her. She pouted at being jostled off his chest and he smiled at the look of indignation on her face as he tucked a stray hand of hair behind her ear.

“Clowns.” he said gently.

“What? What has that got-“

“I hate them.” He gave a little shrug. “They freak me out. Big time. Can’t stand to look at them let alone be in the same room as them.” “So that’s why you don’t wanna watch IT.” She smiled softly “You’re scared of Clowns?” He nodded “Once when we were kids, there was a Carnival down at Coney. Bucky and I went in this like maze thing. Contained a load of mirrors and stuff…but the last room you went in was basically nothing but clowns, and you had no idea which one was the mirror and which one was the real thing.” He gave a shudder at the memory and he felt his girl’s hands warm on his chest. “Well, when the damned thing moved I had a complete melt down, asthma attack, you name it…”

“Why have you never told me this before?”

“Doesn’t do my Captain Badass image any good, does it?”

“And my spider phobia doesn’t do mine any good.” She chuckled a little. “Especially seeing as one of my best friend’s goes by the code name Black Widow.” He gave a little chuckle and wrapped his arms around her, as she turned over to get comfortable. He pulled her to him, her back pressing to his chest, and closed his eyes as he wrapped himself around her. She sighed, happy to bask in his warmth.

“Thank you for rescuing me” She mumbled and he gave a laugh that vibrated through his chest into her.

“Isn’t that what a man is supposed to do? Be his Dame’s Knight in shining armour?”

“Yeah but most Knights slay fire breathing dragons…” she said, before pausing slightly. “Oh God can u imagine? A fire breathing spider?” she shivered.

“Ok. Honey, now you’re being ridiculous again.” he said, eyes still closed.

“Hey, for all we know it could exist, like in the deepest, depths of Peru somewhere, just hasn’t been discovered…”

“Well, lucky for us we aint in Peru.” he said with a sigh, as he dropped a soft kiss to the back of her neck. “Now go to sleep.”

**** Chapter 8

#stark spangled banner #one shot #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #Katie Stark #chris evans #chris evans characters

87 notes · View notes

supercasey · 4 years

Text

TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

217 notes · View notes

spacesuitsforemergency · 4 years

Text

Bug Bros

Word Count: 2.4k

Requested by @lina-lovebug: Jaime Reyes x Parker! Fem! Reader? They both have a cruch on eachother and Tye and Ed and Barr tease him a lot about it, and always wonder why he doesn't just ask her out. Jaime just doesn't want to start a long distance since she lives in New York, but when she becomes part of the Young leaguers, now he has no excuse. They go out on a first date, which ends abrupt cuz his friends ended up following him. She kisses him anyway and he walks her back to Mt. Justice.

“Dude, staring at her isn’t gonna do anything.” Eduardo snickered at Jaime.

“There’s this thing called talking, you should try that with her.” Tye shook his head as he tossed the guys a soda, sitting down in the Mount Justice lounge with them.

“Shut up, guys!” Jaime groaned, face burning red.

You and your teammates, Peter Parker and Sam Alexander, were here in Rhode Island on official S.H.I.E.L.D business. This wasn’t your first visit here, so nobody was surprised when none of you had really paid attention to the debriefing back at S.H.I.E.L.D (as per usual), so the trip was taking longer than expected (as per usual). Your twin brother, Peter, was currently trying to work out some sort of deal with Black Canary, you and Sam were not listening. You were both bored, and eventually snuck off to the lounge, where some of the Outsiders were chilling.

“Guys mind if we crash here?” Sam asked them, sitting down next to Bart without an answer.

“Sure.” Tye mumbled sarcastically at him.

“So what do you guys do to avoid meetings around here?” You asked as you leaned against the back of the couch behind Jaime, eyes on the tv, which was currently playing Remember the Titans. Jaime’s eyes widened and he stiffened with how close you were to him, and his friends noticed.

“Usually just run the other direction.” Bart said through a mouthful of chips.

“What’s your meeting about, anyways?” Eduardo asked.

You and Sam both shrugged.

“How many times do we have to visit you guys for you to know we never know what’s going on?” You grinned.

“Yeah, we just follow Web Heads lead.” Sam stole a handful of chips from Bart. “It’s funny how you think we take our job seriously.”

Everyone looked at the both of you, concerned.

“We’re kidding, we take it seriously.” You reassure them. “Just nothing to do with...business meetings.”

“Nova! H/N! Get back here!” Spider Man ordered you. Sam rolled his eyes and took one last handful of chips before putting his helmet on and flying over.

“See ya later, Bug Bro.” You ruffled Jaime’s hair before shooting a web and swinging back over. Jaime’s face was now bright red, and he was clutching his soda can so tight his knuckles turned white. Eduardo and Tye started snickering at him, Jaime throwing his empty soda can at them in retaliation It didn’t affect either of them the way Jaime wanted it to, and they kept laughing at him.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Bart asked.

“Because.” Jaime crossed his arms and pouted.

“It’s a simple resolution, dude.” Tye picked up the soda can and tossed it back at him teasingly.

“Just ask her out, amigo!” Eduardo shouted a little too loud. Thankfully, you were too busy getting scolded by Black Canary and Batman to hear. “She obviously likes you, and even a deaf and blind man would know you like her!”

“I can’t ask her out, guys!” Jaime snapped at them, now actually angry. Now they stopped laughing and looked at him, concerned.

“Dude, whats up?” Tye asked his best friend.

“Looks, she lives all the way in New York. I live in El Paso.” Jaime sighed. “There’s no way it would work.”

“But you’re mostly here.” Bart tried to reassure him. “Rhode Island isn’t too far from New York.”

“Asami lives in Japan, we still make it work.” Tye added.

“Asami doesn’t live in Japan. She moved here last week. Don’t think I don’t remember.” Jaime mumbled.

“But before that we had a long distance thing.”

“For like a month while she sorted stuff out with her parents.” Jaime scoffed. “Y/N lives in New York. She’s not moving anytime soon.”

“So...you like her, but you’re not willing to even give long distance a try?” Eduardo raised an eyebrow.

“Well that makes me sound like el huevón, dude!” Jaime snapped. “Look, it just won’t work, okay? Would you guys just drop it?”

The boys all glanced at each other, shocked at Jaime’s outburst. He was always so chill, would hardly even yell at villains, so they almost didn’t recognize him when he was angry. Even Tye didn’t, and he’s known the guy since middle school.

“What’s the ups, dudes? Change the channel, games on.” Virgil waltzed in, snatching the remote from the coffee table.

Virgil didn’t notice the tense atmosphere until his team scored, and he went to high five Jaime, and didn’t get a response.

“Uhh...don’t leave me hangin, bro!” Virgil said, then finally looked at the other boys’ faces. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Jaime grumbled, getting up and walking out to the balcony.

“What’s his deal?” Virgil asked. “I didn’t think it was physically possible for him to be angry...”

“I’ll go talk to him.” Tye rushed after Jaime.

He walked out to the balcony, Jaime sitting on the rail and mumbling to himself, something he often did when he was nervous. Tye would often catch him doing this before math tests or trying a complicated skateboard trick.

“Talk to me, man.” Tye leaned against the railing, resting his chin on his hand.

“I really like her.” Jaime said, just above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you can either tell her and try, or never tell her and miss your chance forever.” Tye said nonchalantly, staring out at the city.

“Wow. That makes me feel better.” Jaime chuckled.

“Hey, you can always count on me to be real with you.” Tye nudged him lightly.

“That I can.” Jaime playfully shoved him.

“So? What are you gonna do?” Tye raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure yet.”

•

“Bug Bro!” You shouted, before jumping onto Jaime’s back. He yelped, quickly straightening up and holding onto the backs of your legs to keep you up.

“Warn me next time?” He asked, grinning up at you and you leaned over his shoulder to see his face.

“Sorry.” You laughed, ruffling his hair affectionately. “I have news, bro.”

“What is it, bro?” He asked as he continued making his way towards the kitchen for some lunch.

“Fury gave the green light, I’m joining the Outsiders!” You beamed excitedly.

“What? Really?” Jaime asked, eyes widening in shock.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be a counselor too.” You smiled.

“Why aren’t you staying in New York?” He asked as you hopped off his back and walked next to him.

“I need a change of scenery.” You shrugged. “Some space from my brother. I love him and all, but he never lets me do a lot on missions. Thinks I’ll get hurt or whatever.”

“Is it permanent?” He asked curiously.

“Nothings permanent, Jaime.” You giggled. “But maybe. I do want to help people more directly. I love my team but I just don’t have that kind of opportunity with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Yeah...S.H.I.E.L.Ds kinda scary.” Jaime rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I’m glad to have you on the team, Y/N.”

“Now I’ll be with my Bug Bro all the time!” You grinned, elbowing him playfully.

“Yeah! Totally.” He grinned nervously.

•

“Dude, what do I even say?” Jaime hyperventilated as he paced back and forth in front of Bart and Tye.

Tye and Bart didn’t really get along, they tolerated each other, but thy weren’t best buds. But when Jaime needed help, they would stop the bickering and work together.

“You got the hard part over with.” Tye shrugged. “She said yes to the date.”

“I know. I thought that was the hard part, turns out it’s not.” Jaime said as he checked himself in the mirror for the thousandth time. “Now I gotta actually make sure she likes me?”

“Well...Yeah?” Bart blinked at his homie. “Dude, just be yourself.”

“But a little less nervous.” Tye added.

“And maybe stop sweating.” Bart nodded.

“Quit worrying about your hair, it hasn’t moved since 2008.”

“Try to flirt a little more.”

“But not too much, you don’t want to come off as an idiot.”

“But you said be myself! None of those things is myself!” Jaime shouted at his friends.

“Be yourself...but calm.” Bart instructed.

“How am I supposed to be calm? I-“

“Dude! You’re late!” Tye yelled when he saw the time, 7 minutes past when Jaime was supposed to leave to pick you up.

“Shit!” Jaime snatched his keys from the dish on the side table. “See you guys later! But what if I mess this up-“

“Go!” Tye and Bart both yelled. Jaime stuck his tongue out at ten before rushing out to his car.

Bart and Tye sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, blankly staring at the tv.

“Wanna follow him?” Bart grinned.

“Oh yeah.” Tye nodded. “Let me call for reinforcements.”

•

“...and then Danny punched a hole trough the wall and hit Sam on accident.” You giggled as you finished a story about your teammates.

“Isn’t Danny supposed to be the chill one?” Jaime chuckled.

“Apparently.” You shrugged. “To be fair, he had a reason to be mad.”

“I suppose. So-“ Jaime opened his mouth to ask another question, but froze when he saw something: a few tables back and on the row across from them, he saw Tye, Bart, Eduardo and Virgil wearing sunglasses, fake mustaches and their hoods. He instantly glared at them, motioning discreetly for them to leave.

“What are you-?” You turned to look where he was.

“Wait Wait Wait!” Jaime shouted, a little too loudly, gaining the attention of several other customers. He smiled nervously and cleared his throat. “Um...you mentioned earlier a time when Sam crash landed into the White House?”

“Oh yeah!” You laughed, and began the story.

Jaime wanted to pay attention, he really did, but he couldn’t take his focus off his idiot friends. First of all he couldn’t believe Tye agreed to the ‘disguises’. Second of all, he couldn’t believe they were spying on him! Had they no regard for privacy and personal space?? Okay, so, maybe he did believe it.

‘Jaime Reyes, I advise you to focus on the Y/N Parker. She may grow angry if she discovers you are not listening. Shall I activate and obliterate the Tye Longshadow, Bart Allen, Eduardo Dorado Jr and Virgil Hawkins so you may focus properly on the Y/N Parker’s story?’ The Scarab asked.

“No! No obliteration!” Jaime mumbled.

“Is the Scarab talking to you?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, sorry. He’s been yapping in my ear, it’s hard to concentrate.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh. Well, we can leave if you want.” You smiled and waved over the waitress for the check.

“Please, let me.” Jaime set down his credit card before you could even open your wallet.

“Come on, you drove us here.” You sigh as the waitress took his credit card.

“It’s no trouble, really.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault this is ending so abruptly, it’s the least I can do.”

Once the waitress came back with his card he led to back out to his car, glaring at his friends as you passed the table. They all snickered, quickly paying their bill and piling into Virgil’s car.

“Where’d they go?” Bart asked as he leaned forward, between Virgil and Tye.

“Uh...there!” Eduardo pointed ahead. “¡Dale!”

Virgil stepped on it, following close behind Jaime’s black car. Tye looked at his phone when a text alert went off, seeing a text from Jaime: Quit following me! You’re all dead!

Tye just snickered, before responding with: wow, texting and driving? Not cool, man.

They followed Jaime’s car all the way back to Mount Justice, Eduardo and Bart bickering as they tried to see between the front seats, shoving each other. Virgil parked far behind them, just close enough to be able to see.

You were clueless to the car full of idiots as Jaime walked you up to the entrance. Jaime was well aware, and worried that you would notice them.

‘Jaime Reyes, get her inside quick. Once the door shuts we shall obli-‘

“Scarab, Stop!” Jaime scolded.

“He’s still chatty?” You giggled at Jaime as you reached the doors.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You can’t help that the alien parasite attached to you is talkative.” You smile up at him, making him laugh. “Uh...I had a really good time. Even if it was cut short.”

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled back at you, equally as nervous and awkward.

You both stood there for a few moments, not sure what to do next.

“What are they doing?” Eduardo asked as he shoved Batt aside to see better.

“They’re just standing there.” Virgil shook his head. “Is this dude really not smooth at all?”

“Trust me, hasn’t been smooth ever since we were kids.” Tye shook his head. “Doesn’t have a smooth bone in his body.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure your bones are smooth-Ow! What?” Bart rubbed his arm where Eduardo punched him.

“Come on, Jaime, do something.” Virgil groaned, starting to get second hand embarrassment for the guy.

Jaime knew he wanted to kiss you, but was it what you wanted? Would you yell at him? Not return it? Never lack to him ever again? Luckily, his anxious thoughts were interrupted when you suddenly craned your neck up to be able to press your lips to his. It was a quick peck on the lips, just to test the waters. He pulled you in for another kiss, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to lift yourself up a little higher.

“Finally!” Tye shouted, probably loud enough for the both of you to hear if you weren’t so busy.

“Oh, gross! I said kiss, not suck face!” Virgil pretended to gag.

“Dang, they’re really going at it.” Bart mumbled.

“You guys ruin the mood.” Eduardo shook his head. “Is this what it’s like to date you?”

“First of all, watching someone suck face is way different than sucking face.” Tye said.

“Quit saying ‘suck face’.” Eduardo cringed.

“Second of all, I am a delight to date.”

“Ha!” Virgil snorted, then slapped his hand over his mouth when Tye sent him a death glare. “I mean...yeah dude, who wouldn’t date you? You’re just so...lovely.”

“Uh...guys...Jaime’s coming for us.” Bart warmed.

“Crap! Start the car! Start the car!” Eduardo shrieked as Jaime activates his Blue Beetle suit, flying at them with the thirst for revenge in his eyes.

202 notes · View notes

kabira · 4 years

Text

03 | a little nighttime swinging

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.8k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — violence

note — you know the drill—send me an ask or dm to be added to the taglist! first appearance of the amazing aunt may, so cheers to that. don’t really have much to add except for the fact that i woke up dead tired before morning classes to finish this...but it was fun so i guess it was worth it.

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

Vernon almost jumped out of his seat when his phone buzzed.

And while he managed to keep his butt firmly planted, he did accidentally swipe half the stuff off his table, phone included. Granted, he should have been paying more attention—usually, he’d be alert and ready for the pestering texts about the day’s homework, but today he had been too tired to keep his eyes open for long.

He wiped the drool gathered at one corner of his mouth and swiped his phone up off the ground, his fingers going on autopilot as they entered the passcode and clicked open the messenger app.

LUCE:

page 25

wtf is a fitting reaction

nvm it’s fittig

VERNON:

reminds of the time you found a milf in the history textbook

LUCE:

the past is in the past

let it gooo

anyway send me the answers to q 11 through 13 and i’ll buy u whatever u want from larry’s on friday

Vernon snorted a laugh, then clicked off without answering. Bold of her to assume I don’t already have someone else to pay for my order. Somehow, though, the text from her had been almost relieving. After all the new changes, he had almost expected her not to text him. It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help being a little apprehensive about the new superhero stuff taking over his regular routine.

He glanced back at the ground, where an old notebook with plans for web shooter mods lay open on the ground, loose pages spilling out. It was already dark out, but the streetlights hadn’t been switched on yet—a good time to sneak out in his suit without being seen; he didn’t want Mrs. Jones next door wondering why Spider-Man was swinging out of Vernon Parker’s bedroom window when she went out for her evening walk.

He exhaled through his teeth, blinking hard to push back any remaining sleepiness. Most of his homework remained yet to be done, but in his defense, he’d had a lot on his mind, not to mention his running on less sleep and more leftover Rhino-induced adrenaline.

He was tired. His was the kind of exhaustion that seeped into his bones and trickled into the empty corners of his mind, making him want move instead of lie down and rest for a while. It was the kind of tiredness you could only wash away by doing, and as long as he was Spider-Man, there was always something to do.

He clicked off the reading light, dousing the room in darkness. His senses were awake, as if straining for the stimulus of the city, and he needed a good nighttime swing to clear his mind anyway. I deserve a break.

Changing into the costume took all of forty-five seconds, picking up the fallen books three seconds. After sticking a pillow under the bedcovers, Vernon perched on the window pane, looking out into the chilly backyard below. Somehow, changing into his suit and swinging out from his actual neighborhood seemed even more thrilling than swinging in.

Maybe if I go out this way, those three won’t be able to follow.

“Vernon, are you in there?”

His heart almost leaped out of his throat at the voice. Vernon turned, eyes wide, eyes zooming in on the shadow lurking at the bottom of his bedroom door, where a little light seeped in from outside. The lock clicked as Aunt May’s hand pressed down on the handle, and the door opened a crack.

“Don’t come in, I’m naked!” he yelled in a fit of panic, backflipping from the window onto the mattress, making the bedsprings squeak tellingly under his weight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was so sleep-deprived he’d forgotten about locking the door.

Rule number one of hiding your secret identity from your all-seeing aunt: never leave the bedroom door open.

“Oh,” his aunt’s voice came from outside. The light spilling in from the crack in the door receded as she pulled the door shut again. “I just wanted to ask, dear, aren’t you going to eat anything? You haven’t had a bite since you came back from school.”

Crap, that’s true, he thought, the muscles of his stomach tightening at the thought. I’ll swing by the candy store downtown. “Uh, I don’t think I will,” he said. “I’m not hungry, er—think I might be coming down with something.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” May’s worried voice sounded, the door beginning to open again. “I could have whipped you up a—”

“No!” he yelled, instinctively pulling the covers up to his chest. “Naked, remember?”

The door closed again. “Well, put something on,” she replied. “And I’ll make you some soup.”

“You do that,” he muttered loudly, already feeling guilt pool in the pit of his stomach at making her so something for him. But what else was he supposed to do? “Actually, no, don’t bother. I can feel a headache coming on already. I’ll turn in for the night and have a big breakfast tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to anything?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And don’t come in! Because—you know—germs and stuff. Really nasty bug going around in school, one of the kids in my class had it. Don’t wanna infect you too.”

He heard her sigh, but it was an accepting sigh, albeit a little reluctant. “All right,” she said, and the shadow under the door pulled back a little. “Good night, Vernon.”

“Night, Aunt May,” he said, watching the slit of light under the door until the shadow receded completely. As soon as he was in the clear, he breathed a sigh of relief, slipping off the covers.

Those S.H.I.E.L.D. guys had it easy.

Although he couldn’t feel the night air on his bare skin, swinging through the city at night always left him feeling refreshed. It was a little ironic, sure, physical exertion energizing him, but Vernon suspected it was more of a psychological thing. Being out here in the open reminded him of who he actually was supposed to be—not just Vernon Parker, the tired highschooler with leftover chemistry homework, but crime-fighting, wall-crawling, not-homework-doing Spider-Man.

He landed on the roof of a high building, hitting the concrete with a satisfying plunk. Everything seemed more alive at night. Even from up here, he could hear the sounds of humanity on the street below, loud voices running into each other over the noise of traffic. The Daily Bugle billboard on the high building opposite him was lit up—Jameson probably dragging him like always—but Vernon tuned it out. The last thing he needed right now was more negativity.

He was about to leap off the side again when his ears picked up a soft sound behind him. Bad guys, he thought reflexively, before realizing there was a much better explanation.

His jaw clenched, shoulders tightening before he forced them to relax. “You can come out now,” he called without turning, upset rippling through his body despite him desperately trying not to show it. “There’s no point in hiding if you can’t even do it properly.”

Their hesitation was almost audible, but then she stepped out from behind the small roof door. Tiger’s white suit was stark against the dark sky, her mask’s cat ears perked like Daredevil’s horns. He had to admit it was pretty impressive that she’d managed to stay unnoticed that long.

Nova floated up from the side of the building next, carrying a disgruntled-looking Felix. Seeing the latter out of his X-Men costume felt strange, like seeing Fury without his eyepatch. There was definitely something up with him, but Vernon didn’t want to pry, so he stored the suspicion away for later perusal.

“You can sense non-threatening presences with your spider sense?” Nova asked, looking both annoyed and awed. “Your file didn’t say that.”

Vernon was tempted to lie just to spite him, but stopped himself. If these guys were going to be his teammates, lying about his abilities probably wasn’t the best way to go. “No, you’re just bad at stealth,” he replied, deadpan. “How did you even find me? No, wait, let me guess—camera outside my house?”

“Tracker on your suit, actually,” Tiger said. Despite the mask covering her face, he could sense her guilt, which didn’t help his case. “We can’t learn to work together if you keep running away from us.”

“Running? I wasn’t running,” he said defensively. “And if you want us to work together, the best place to start is to tell me your name.”

“You already know my name.”

“Your other name.”

“Ah.” Her head tilted up. The high ponytail coming out the back of her head flicked to the side as nodded. “White Tiger.”

“A bit simplistic, but to the point.” He nodded in mock-approval. “Makes me think I should’ve just named myself Radioactive Spider.”

She didn’t take the bait, which was probably for the better. “So, what?” Nova asked, and Vernon was suddenly reminded of how infuriating his voice was. “Are you just going to stand around all night?”

“Swing around, actually,” he said. “It’s a big place. Sooner or later, I’m bound to find a crime happening. Sometimes it even happens to me.”

As if on cue, sirens sounded in the distance, loud and piercing. He shrugged at the three, before turning around and balancing himself on the edge. “If you want to get some real-world experience, there’s nothing better than stopping a petty robbery,” he said. “I hope you can keep up—because I’m not going to slow down.”

And he dived.

There was that feeling again, the air pressure against his body as he fell headfirst like a comet towards the busy street. A couple of people looked up as he pulled up at the last moment, shooting webs at an overhead lamppost and swinging in a circle around it before letting go, launching his body into the air again.

He looked over the rooftops as he swung, half-curious about how the others were going to follow. A small, white-clad figure leaped from building to building with surprising grace and strength, able to match him in speed. Nova flew alongside him, carrying Iceman again, who still wasn’t using his powers. Vernon knew it wasn’t a case of loss of powers either, because then he wouldn’t be here, and plus, he’d seen the guy in action this morning. Was he trying to remain inconspicuous?

The less people know Iceman’s in town, the better, he thought, though he knew it was a futile effort. The Rhino fight in the morning hadn’t had any live coverage, but he knew for all its lectures, S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t going to bother with hiding its tracks either. School next day was probably going to be buzzing with talk about the new superheroes.

He gritted his teeth. All this in a day. He could imagine how bad everything was going to get in the coming days.

Mid-swing, he saw the crime happening up ahead, a group of masked men trying to break into a store through the back door in a poorly-lit area. Vernon balanced on a high lamppost without alerting them, taking a moment to assess the situation. There were about eight men in balaclavas—a lot for a simple robbery. Maybe they were first-timers. Easy enough to take down.

“A record store?” he wondered aloud, and one of the guys whirled around, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What are you guys doing stealing from record stores?”

“Spider-Man!” one of them yelled, though he didn’t really see the point, since anyone who hadn’t noticed him yet probably deserved whatever was coming.

The man who had noticed him first fumbled for something along his hip before pulling out a gun and pointing it at him. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot!”

“Oh, no, don’t shoot!” he called out, and the man’s taut shoulders relaxed somewhat before Vernon shot a web straight at the gun, jerking it right out of his hand. “Can’t believe you fell for that.”

He jumped, landing on the ground in a crouch. The leader of the little group, the one who had been trying to bust open the door with a crowbar, stepped forward, swinging said crowbar in what Vernon guessed was supposed to be a menacing way. “Step aside,” he said to his men, his eyes narrowed on Vernon. “I’ll take care of the Spider.”

Vernon was so amused he let the guy attempt to swing at him, dodging the crowbar at the last moment. “Okay, not gonna lie,” he said. “When you called me the Spider, it made me feel kind of sexy.”

He kicked the robber in the side, sending him flying into a trashcan. The rest of the group hesitated only a moment before closing in again. Vernon webbed the lid of the trashcan, swinging it around like a shot-put player and knocking back some of them, before he let go, sending it crashing into one.

Nova dropped Felix in the midst of the group, and his skin slowly solidified into ice. “Okay, playtime’s over now,” he said. “If you just give up, I won’t have to bash your heads in.”

“Where did you come from?” one of the men asked, clearly surprised, right before Iceman froze him into a life-sized ice sculpture.

Vernon knocked out another man with a good old punch to the face. His spider sense buzzed. The crowbar guy, he thought as he whirled around, hands spread in shooting position, but White Tiger was already there, slicing through his crowbar with her claws. “Thanks,” he murmured, as she put him out of commission with a well-placed roundhouse.

She inclined her head. “Don’t get distracted.”

He turned, seeing Nova’s fists start to glow as he aimed at the guy who was attempting to sneak away. Vernon’s eyes landed behind him, where an unsuspecting civilian car was coming down the street. “No!” he yelled, webbing a surprised Nova to the wall.

“Hey, man, what the heck?!” Nova yelled back, struggling against the webs. Vernon shot web fluid at the guy who had been trying to escape, wrapping him up like a cocoon. There was the muffled sound of something heavy falling as Tiger drop-kicked the last one, cleanly finishing what he admitted would otherwise have taken longer. She leaped across the street, slicing through the webs covering Nova, who dropped to the sidewalk.

“What the hell was that for?” he asked, stalking up to Vernon with his fists clenched. “I had that guy!”

“No, you almost sent him crashing into that car,” Vernon said, gesturing at the vehicle behind him that now passed unharmed. “When in a fight, civilians are always first priority. They can’t defend themselves like us.”

Nova scowled, but turned on his heel and marched away, muttering something about him stealing the glory. Vernon watched him go with a frown, then turned around.

One of the robbers lay webbed-up, two quite literally frozen in place, five knocked out. The fight had taken a total of about two minutes—not a record, but considering the number they were going against, surprisingly efficient. He wasn’t even sure if this classified as a fight or simply a one-sided beatdown.

Overkill, he thought, then sighed. “You people have a lot to learn.”

“Oh, come on,” Iceman said. He seemed energized after the fight as his skin melted back to normal, a lively glint in his eye where there hadn’t been one a few minutes ago. “That was so much fun.”

“Yeah, but you have to learn to care about collateral damage,” he snapped, trying and failing to hide his annoyance. Now that he wasn’t swinging alone, crime-fighting wasn’t half as fun, even if it was twice as fast. Having someone watch his back was safe, sure, but it could lead to him letting his guard down. And what if he ended up somewhere alone? “You’re fast, but we’re not fighting in a vacuum. We’re not fighting a war, we’re protecting people. That’s supposed to be the most important thing—making sure no one gets hurt.”

“Even these guys?” Nova asked, toeing one of the unconscious robbers.

“Yeah, even these guys,” Vernon said. “Well, they can be hurt a little bit, but that’s only because there’s no other way to stop them. Next time, make sure you’re not letting any innocent people get in the way of your fun.”

The group fell silent. He almost felt bad about killing their enthusiasm, but Nova’s recklessness had managed to give him a scare. One more second and he might have had a death on his conscience.

The sirens were closer now. He’d completely forgotten about the cops; web-slinging was a much faster method of travel than cars, and he almost always left them behind. “Come on,” he told the others, casting one last glance around the scene. Something felt off, but he guessed it was just the novelty of working in a team. Fun day. “The police will find them. Let’s go.”

88 notes · View notes

sadaboutniall · 4 years

Text

happy halloween! 👻 here’s a quickie little yn x niall fic to celebrate my fave holiday! this song is the vibe, if you want some listening to go along with.

the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween

Unsurprisingly, Halloween is perfectly at home in Edinburgh. The night is dark and damp, a pervasive chill hanging in the air as you and your friends rush drunkenly along the cobblestone street, rain hitting the backs of your necks, and warm, golden lamplight from flats above trickling out onto the dark stone. The city is as alive as it always is—alive in a way that feels like a million different lives, like it somehow knows both the past and the future, like it’s holding you close but also hurtling you forward. It feels like tonight is a special night—and, although you have no real reason to think this Halloween will be different from any other Halloween, you let that feeling in, let it settle into your bones and carry you forward toward the party.

It had been Fiona’s idea, going to the football squad’s Halloween party. Your other friends had championed a pub crawl or a scary movie night at the flat, but Fiona’d heard about the football party and, knowing the keeper she’s been crushing on would surely be there, insisted. And now you’re here, drunk in a witch costume on a dark October eve, your pointed hat barely keeping the rain off your face, orange and brown leaves crunching under the heel of your boots as you pick up the pace and run toward the party, giggling into the night.

The football house is packed even fuller than you’d imagined it would be, the air thick with the smell of beer and weed and Fiona, dressed as Posh Spice, spots the keeper just milliseconds after your group ducks into the party, disappearing in a flurry of rhinestones. It leaves just three of you—Fleur, Amina, and yourself—standing in the middle of a heaving party, first years entirely out of their element.

“Drinks?” Fleur, dressed as a zombie bride, asks.

“Drinks.” Echoes Amina, the antennas on her alien costume bobbing as she nods her head.

The three of you clasp hands so as not to lose each other and Fleur leads the way, zig zagging through the crowd of goblins and ghouls and strangely sexual Boris Johnson costumes until she finds the kitchen, a dark, damp little room with one, singular coffin shaped window above the sink and no furniture save for a wooden table in the middle of the room, without a single chair. Atop the table sits a literal cauldron, cast iron and all, with a pink liquid gently swaying inside.

“Ick,” says Amina, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. “Boys.”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here for a hundred years,” you say, voice low. Something about the room makes you feel like you’ve travelled a million miles away from the party, just on the other side of the door. You can’t hear a thing in here—just the pitter patter of the rain against the window, and the creaking of the floorboards as Fleur steps forward.

“That’s probably true,” she laughs, peering into the cauldron. “I bet none of these lads can cook. They must order Nando’s every night.”

“Probably,” Amina agrees, stepping forward to peer over Fleur’s shoulder. “At least they went through the effort of making a mixed drink, though. I’m far too bloated for a beer.”

“Aye,” Fleur’s Scottish accent thickens when she’s drunk, but it sounds even thicker all of a sudden. “Commitment to the theme as well.”

“It smells lovely,” says Amina, shutting her eyes as she smiles. “Like roses.”

“Really?” Fleur says, as you step deeper into the kitchen and join them around the cauldron. “I reckon it smells like chocolate.”

You lean forward, too, despite yourself. The scent of the drink is intoxicating—neither roses nor chocolate but, you think, the distinct smell of a chilly day by the sea: salt air and a rising tide and it’s more like a memory than a scent, a moment in time, the most peculiar sense of deja vu. Whatever it is, it’s not the kind of smell that should be coming from a mixed drink at a house party. Whatever it is, you don’t want to step away from it.

The three of you—the witch, the bride, and the alien—stand over the cauldron for a long moment, breathing it in. There is no sound beyond the rain outside, no semblance of the party raging beyond the kitchen door. It’s just the three of you, this cold, quiet room, and the strangely comforting feeling that you are, after all, not alone.

“Are there any cups?” Amina speaks first, glancing up at you, across the table from her. Her brown eyes are glassy, her gaze faraway.

“Cups,” you echo, a little floaty, your mind still by the seaside. “Right. Let me find some.”

The room’s only cabinets flank the sink and the single window, one on each side. You find the first cabinet empty except for a shimmery spider web and an old looking candle, but the second holds exactly what you’re looking for: three cocktail glasses, set on the shelf in a pretty row, glinting despite the dingy light. Perfect.

“Bingo!” You say, turning back toward your friends. “And only three left anyw—guys?”

The room is empty.

The cauldron still sits atop the table, its intoxicating smell strong as ever, but your friends are not where you left them, twenty seconds ago, when you turned toward the cabinets. Your friends are not anywhere in sight.

“Guys?” You call out again, taking one step forward. “You’re so not funny. I found cups.”

Silence.

“Fleur? Amina?” You step forward again, toward the center of the room, toward the drink. “You want a drink, or no?”

Still, silence—somehow more silent than before. Even the rain sounds like it’s whispering.

“This is fucking freaky,” you say, one last shot, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. “You guys win, I’m fully freaked out, Happy Halloween.”

Silence. Stillness. A sudden, oppressive need to get out of this room.

Quick as a cat, you do.

When you step back through the door and out into the party, alone, it’s like you were never gone. In fact, it’s a bit like time has stopped—the party is just as packed as it was when you arrived, and you’re pretty sure the same song is still blasting through the speakers. Confused but ignoring it, you start to push your way through the crowd, in search of your friends.

A few steps deeper into the crowd and you spot a sliding back door. It makes perfect sense to you, the idea of Fleur and Amina slipping out into the backyard for some air, so you head straight for it, stepping out into the chilly, dark night.

The rain has mostly stopped, though the leafy ground is still damp beneath your feet and the air feels wet, like it could begin again at any moment. Although it’s dark, you can see well enough—the yard is illuminated by a group of jack o’lanterns lined up along the back brick wall, and fairy lights strung between trees, casting a warm, flickering aura—and it’s immediately clear that Amina and Fleur are not out here. In fact, no one is.

You turn around to head back inside, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you do. And that’s when you walk right into him.

“Lads, are you—oof. Deo, you eejit—shit, you’re not, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“I—” you step back to collect yourself for a moment, eyes trailing up the hard chest you just stumbled straight into. It’s just a guy—blonde hair, bright blue eyes, thick Irish accent—but there’s something about him that keeps you rooted to your spot. Something about him that feels safer than going back inside.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He rushes, when you don’t answer. I should’ve been looking, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no,” you manage. “I’m fine. It was my fault anyway, was looking at my phone. Are you okay? You sounded, like, worried?” You don’t know this man, you have no idea what his worried sounds like. But you can’t stop yourself from saying it.

“Can’t find my mates anywhere,” the stranger says, eyes sweeping the backyard over your head. “It’s like they fucking vanished.”

“I lost my friends too,” you echo, turning to look with him, though you know you’ll only find an empty yard. “I thought they might be out here, but nothing.”

“Two lost souls,” says the stranger, a smile in his voice. When you turn back around he’s pulling at his phone, saying, “I’m just going to text them and tell them I’m out here. They can come find me.”

“I was about to do the same,” you tell him, glancing down at your phone in your hands to shoot off the text. “There are way too many people in there.”

“Wanna wait it out together?” He looks up from his phone, a smile on his face. It brings out one tiny dimple, and sets your heart moving a little faster. “I’m Niall.”

“I’m a witch,” you smile back at him and he laughs, blue eyes trailing down your body once. It sends a jolt of something through you, makes you hope the flush creeping up your face isn’t visible in the flickering light.

“Have you got any powers?” Asks Niall, his eyes moving back up to meet yours. The blue is stunningly bright, even in the darkness.

“That’s for me to know,” you say, more smoothly than you ever imagined. “And you to find out. What’s your costume?”

“You can’t tell?” He glances down at himself, dressed in double denim with an American flag bandana tied around his neck. “Bruce Springsteen.”

“Right,” you nod, though it wasn’t obvious to you at all. “Course. You need to work on that accent, though.”

“Do I?” He raises an eyebrow, and adopts a surprisingly good—if over exaggerated—New Jersey accent. “I’m pretty proud of it, honestly. Been convincing people that it’s real all night.”

It’s not all that difficult for you to believe, actually, a bunch of drunk Brits buying into a fake, over the top, American accent without a single question. Instead, you ask him, “is there a tragic backstory, then? To go along with the tragic attempt at an accent?”

Niall laughs, bold and loud into the dark night, and suddenly you realize how entirely unafraid you feel with him—how you’d been on edge since the moment you stepped into the party but now that’s gone, evaporated, replaced, with a warm feeling in your belly and Niall’s infectious laughter. You bring your drink up to your lips and take a sip before you realize yet another thing: you have no memory of filling up your cup before leaving the kitchen.

Across from you, Niall’s clutching what looks like a pint of Guinness, which is a drink that makes very little sense at a house party. The more you think about it, the less of the night makes sense. You shake your head to push it away, not quite ready to give this up just yet.

Under the golden, flickering light from the jack o'lanterns, you study Niall: the way his freckles sprinkle across his thick neck, how his roots are so much darker than the blonde at his tips, the tuft of chest hair peeking out from where his denim shirt is unbuttoned—everything about him leaves you breathless, desperate, longing, attracted to him in a way you’ve never experienced before. You feel, distinctly, that you are both supposed to be here, tonight, alone, together.

You feel, distinctly, that something went out if its way to make sure this would happen.

And maybe it’s the drink—the mysterious thing that smells like sea salt to you and roses to Amina—but here, with the wind rising around you and the night settling in, you have the distinct feeling that Niall is on the exact same page.

“I have the strangest feeling,” Niall says, voice dropping to something like a whisper. Behind him, leaves rustle as the wind blows a strong, measured gust though the garden. “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“I don’t think so,” you can’t look anywhere other than Niall’s eyes. “But I know what you mean.”

Niall nods, taking one step forward to lessen the gap between you. He’s so close you can smell him: warm and musky and soft and something else, too—something that reminds you of salt air and days by the sea. “I just feel like,” he says, and you nod.

“Me too.”

Far, far away someone calls your name, but you can’t stop looking at Niall, stepping closer and closer to him with every distant shout of your name. The shouting grows louder and louder until it’s impossible to ignore, although Niall doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all. You open your mouth to ask him if he can hear it too, but before you get the chance something shakes your shoulder, calls your name one more time, and you open your eyes.

“Jesus,” says Amina, a mixture of relief and concern clouding her features. “You are impossible to wake up.”

“I’m—what?” You sit up in bed, head foggy, limbs heavy. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“Noon,” Amina pulls out her phone to check. “We’re gonna be late for our brunch reservations, that’s why I came to wake you up.”

“Oh,” you rub your eyes, shaking your head to try to bring yourself back down to Earth. “I was having such a vivid dream, sorry.”

“It’s cool, just hurry up.” Amina makes her way to your bedroom door, but pauses before she steps back out into the hallway. “Oh, by the way, Fiona said there’s a Halloween party at the football house tonight and she’s fucking desperate to go since she fancies the keeper. Could be fun, no?”

On Halloween night, dressed as a witch, you stand in the backyard of the football house with your friends. The yard is illuminated by jack o’lanterns and fairy lights and Fiona is off snogging the keeper upstairs and you feel warm and safe and happy, despite the autumnal chill in the air. As Fleur tells your small group a story about the weird couple sitting across from you at brunch today, you drop your head back to stare up at the night sky, sprinkled with stars, and the full moon peeking out over the clouds. It feels like you are supposed to be here tonight. You exhale, watching your breath fog with the cold and curl in the air above you.

“I’m going to refill my drink,” you say, smiling at the small group you’ve been standing with. You can feel something budding between Fleur and the pretty girl she’s been chatting to, dressed as Britney Spears, and you want to give them a moment alone. Fleur flashes you a grateful smile as you walk away.

Back inside, you locate the entirely normal kitchen, bright and airy and crowded, with a coffin-shaped window above the sink, and pull open the fridge to grab a beer from the stock inside. When you shut the door, there’s someone standing on the other side.

He’s dressed as Bruce Springsteen, double denim and an American flag bandana around his neck. He’s blonde hair with dark roots, and bright blue eyes. He’s staring right at you, with an unmistakable look of recognition on his face.

“Hi,” he says, stepping forward to lessen the gap between you and him. He smells warm and musky and safe—with a whiff of something like salt air. “Sorry if this is a bit weird, but I’m Niall. Have we—have we met before?”

####

sources for images: 1, 2, 3

#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #niall horan x reader #halloween #thank u to rand for all her help with this as always!!#this is v different for me I hope it's ok!

87 notes · View notes

creativia10 · 3 years

Text

Janus in Wickhills Part 2

Fanfic au of @/tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors 's Love and Other Fairytales series

(continued from Janus in Wickhills Part 1)

The Duke had a very crazed look to his eyes.

“What is this!?” The duke exclaimed.

Janus twitched back some, concerned about sudden moves as though he were around some wild beast. Considering this was another fae, and how he looked at that moment, maybe he wasn’t that far off. Everyone had tensed up at his arrival. They were all still though.

The duke twitched some, his fingers clenched and unclenched. He stepped towards Janus, but someone stood in the way. Janus couldn’t see the face of the person who stood between them, but whatever it was made the Duke look concerned. There was even more of a hint of mania to his face.

“I just-I need to-“ The Duke glanced around. Then after a moment he shot over to the glasses fae and frantically grabbed his shoulders, mace fallen by their feet. Janus jumped.

“Snowmelt! I need you to help ground me into reality. I am seeing him, and it’s not possible, I can’t be seeing him I just can’t.”

His rambling seemed frantic. The man who he called snowmelt seemed very concerned. He grabbed the Duke’s arms.

“Remus. Remus! Look at me.”

Remus, apparently, took a breath and shakily met his eyes.

“You’re not seeing things. I see him too. But!” He quickly said as Remus started to look frazzled again, “he’s not-“ Snowmelt choked on what he was going to say, and hesitated. He looked at Janus again before returning his gaze to Remus.

“It’s not like it was. We don’t know what’s going on yet, but he is not going to hurt you again. Ok?”

Remus’ breath slowed as he took in Snowmelt’s words. He seemed unsure, but at least he calmed down. He stepped beside Snowmelt and turned to him.

“So what do we know then?”

“That is what we’re trying to figure out,” the one dressed as a knight said with a sigh. Janus found his eyes kept darting between them, still tensed from whatever just happened. It gave him a weird feeling. This entire thing was unsettling.

The curly haired one gently caught Remus up on what they knew so far. Snowmelt turned his attention back to Janus.

“Do you remember where in the forest you woke up?”

Janus scrunched his face in thought.

“I think so…but” He pursed his lips, unsure how to word his concern.

“But what?” The prince asked.

“Isn’t locating in the forest a bit difficult on revel nights?”

The others paused and looked at each other.

“Have you been to a revel before?” The prince asked.

“I…don’t believe so. I feel like I recall that would be a bad idea.”

“That should not be as much of a concern for a faerie,” the knight said.

“We have a pretty good handle on navigating the forest now, even on a revel night. We should be able to help you if you think you can remember.”

“I, however, cannot do this now, since I am the prince of the forest, I must attend to the revel to ensure the peace is kept,” The prince said.

“I could take him,” the curly haired one said.

“Pa- uh,” he paused and cleared his throat, “It’s dangerous,” Snowmelt said.

“Well, I know all of you will not want to leave the revel due to your duties, and I have gotten better with my abilities. I am stronger than you think,” Curly said.

“None of us think you aren’t strong, my love,” The knight dressed companion said.

“Perhaps it would be better to not go tonight anyways. It is late, on a revel night, and since we don’t know what’s going on, there could be more danger than we know of,” Snowmelt said.

“What should we do then?” The companion dressed as a knight asked.

They paused and then looked at Janus.

“What do you want to do?” The curly haired one asked. Janus stared at them in bewilderment.

“What do I want to do? How the heck should I know!? I woke up not knowing where I was and I keep getting looks like I’m a ghost by people I don’t even know!”

Janus let out a breath in frustration. The others looked at each other.

“Would you like to simply sit with us for now?” Snowmelt asked.

Janus sighed. “It’s not like I have many options right now anyways.”

He followed them to where they were sitting earlier.

The others sat except for the knight who stood off to the side at her post, not being very subtle with how often she looked over at him. Janus stood awkwardly by them for a moment.

The curly haired one smiled at him and patted the seat next to him.

“You can sit!” He said brightly. Janus hesitantly sat beside him.

“You may call me Wren!” He called cheerily. “I also like the nickname Goldilocks-“

“-but that is a nickname saved solely for his very powerful boyfriends,” the knight dressed one said very pointedly, from where he sat. Wren gave him a look.

Well Janus felt awkward now.

“…Alright. Well you may call me Jay,” he said to Wren.

Wren smiled at Janus and nodded before he gestured from those beside him.

Snowmelt nodded to Janus.

“You may call me L.”

The others didn’t give him nicknames. Alright then.

It was awkward and uncomfortable. But at least Wren seemed nice.

It was unfortunate his thoughts kept going back to these confusing circumstances. There seemed to be a lot going on at the revel as well. Lots of whispering and staring.

He wasn’t quite sure why this group was helping him when it was clear they were wary of him, apparently because of his resemblance to a previous traitorous ruler. He would take what he would get, but still be on guard.

They stayed late. Gosh, how long did these things go til?

Wren yawned and started to lean onto L. L looked down at Wren softly. It was sweet.

L then looked over to the spider prince.

“Are you good to stay as I get them home?”

The prince nodded at him.

“There’s not as many here now,” The Prince said.

L nodded and carefully got up, lifting Wren into a bridal carry.

He paused.

“I don’t think we decided what to do, since we deemed it dangerous to go searching now.”

L turned to Janus.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Wren suddenly piped up sleepily.

Janus paused.

“Uh- I don’t think so.” He furrowed his brows. “I don’t think I had a home. I remember traveling a lot.” The others exchanged looks, like they seemed to do every time he said something about himself. It was aggravating.

“I-hmm…” L started. “I feel places he could stay in town would not be welcoming to a fae, as he looks.” He thought some more. “I am unsure of the room in our house…”

“Perhaps we could set up one of your hammocks nearby?” Their knight companion, who hadn’t shared his name, suggested. “He wouldn’t be just left out that way.”

“Hm, yeah that could work.”

They were suggesting he sleep outside? He noticed they didn’t exactly ask him. What else could he bring up though? He didn’t know these people or where the line might be. This could all be a trap for all he knew, and his lack of information was driving him crazy.

“I can stay by him while he’s there,” Remus said. They turned to him in surprise.

“Are you sure Remus?” Snowmelt asked.

Remus shrugged, “Eh, I live in the forest anyways. Besides, I don’t live with you all, so it wouldn’t disrupt anything.”

The knight companion looked like he wanted to argue.

“It’s fiine, Ro. You all will be right there, and I can handle myself. I can’t do anything to him anyways.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Remus continued, “Just let me know if there’s anything else you want me to do. It’s the least I can do after all the ways you guys have helped me.”

Janus was slightly embarrassed to admit how wary he was to walk in the forest this late at night, even with the others who were with him. He didn’t recall fearing the dark before, but then again maybe waking up in a strange place could do that to you. After some walking, they seemed to reach a nice woodsy house, although it was hard to tell with the lack of light. L carried Wren inside.

The prince looked around. He walked around the side, jumped up, and started stringing spider silk between a couple of trees into the shape of a hammock.

Janus’ jaw dropped.

“I- are you making a hammock out of your own spider silk?”

“Mhm,” came from a different voice. Janus turned and jumped when he saw that Remus had somehow grown a large mossy cradle for himself, that he was already lounging in. It didn’t look very sanitary to Janus, but then again if this fae did live in the woods like he claimed, it was probably nothing to him. Unsure how to react, he turned back to the prince.

“But, will-“

“The hammocks I have made are strong enough to hold up myself and my three partners at once. I think you will be fine,” the prince said, sounding indignant.

Janus still looked on hesitantly.

Remus then said, “Would you rather wear a snake den into the ground right there?”

Janus whirled on him and scowled.

“What a ridiculous thing to suggest.”

Remus shrugged, seeming unconcerned.

“How would I know how you sleep?”

Janus refrained from complaining about sleeping outside in the first place. It was certainly better than the nowhere option.

Remus patted some moss beside him.

“Wanna feel how squishy it is?”

Janus scrunched his face, “No thanks.”

“It’s actually more comfortable than you’d think.”

“Hm.”

The spider got back down.

“There you go.”

Janus stepped towards it and stopped again. He tried to figure out how to ask his question without offending the prince, but couldn’t shake off his concern.

“I- well, I mean, aren’t spider webs meant to stick and capture creatures that aren’t spiders?”

The prince frowned.

“It’s not going to trap you. And even if it were, I can always get you out.”

That was not as reassuring as it was probably meant to be.

The prince continued, “It might stick some, but it’s light enough that it would more so be a slight annoyance, like if you were to get moss in your hair or something.”

Remus then said, “Yeah, but not the oozy kind though. Webbing is much lighter, right?”

The prince gave Remus a look, “…yes, right.”

Surprisingly, Remus popped up then, stretched his arms over his head and then tossed himself into the web hammock, startling Janus and the prince.

“Wha- Remus!”

“Whaat~? I was just showing him it was fine.” Remus patted the web. “If you join me up here, at least you won’t be alone if you get stuck.”

The prince sighed at that.

“I usually make big webs, so there should be enough room for both of you to lay in there comfortably, without even touching each other.”

Janus hesitated but he finally got closer to the web.

The prince stepped forward, a hand held out,

“Do you need hel-“

“Nope,” Janus abruptly pulled himself into the web hammock, bouncing the whole thing and sending Remus rolling into him. Remus snickered at his expense. Janus was mortified to feel his face heat up some. They remained still until the rocking stopped before Remus scooted back to an acceptable distance. The prince seemed to struggle to school in a neutral expression.

“Are you good?” The Prince asked. Janus nodded. The prince nodded back,

“Ok, well I will be in the house if you need anything, alright?”

Then he went inside.

Janus finagled a bit to take his hat off, and pushed his shoes off with some effort, hoping they landed close. He saw that Remus’ weapon from earlier was laid against the tree. Janus didn’t take his cape off, but he did unlatch it so he would be more comfortable. He glanced around and startled when he noticed that Remus was watching him. Remus immediately glanced away and grew surprisingly quiet. Even though he had been unsettled, Janus found himself look over the other.

He was glad there were some outside porch lights so they weren’t in complete darkness. Janus was trying to figure out how he felt about the one before him, why he was drawn to look at him. The mustache, and everything almost gave him a rugged look. Janus can’t say he ever expected to check out a man with green skin, but it certainly wasn’t the oddest thing that had happened that day.

“Can I ask you something?” Janus asked him then.

He heard a rustle as Remus shifted to look at Janus again with his green eyes curiously.

“Me sleeping out here, that wasn’t only because of how much room there is in their house, is it?”

Remus’ silence was answer enough for Janus. Janus sighed. Remus opened his mouth a couple of times. Then he finally spoke,

“We all have very good reason to be wary from seeing his face. None of them are trying to be cruel.”

Janus huffed out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

“That’s the worst part of all this. You all look at me like I killed a loved one, and I still know barely anything about this situation. I am not necessarily blaming you, but it’s still unfair.”

Remus didn’t speak for a moment. Janus wondered if he opened up too much.

“Well…you’re not the only one who has had to deal with unfairness due to similar appearances.”

Janus’ eyes widened and he looked over at Remus, actually looked at him.

Remus smiled sadly and sighed.

“I don’t do this talky stuff much, like this, just so you know.”

He seemed to cut off at something.

Janus opened his mouth to ask about it when Remus turned again.

“Goodnight Jay,” and stilled.

Janus looked at his back for a moment, a bit unsure of what he was longing for.

“…goodnight.”

(continues in Part 3)

#ts janus #ts remus #laoft fic #sanders sides fanfic

6 notes · View notes

hillnerd · 4 years

Text

puppies for sale

Rating: PG AO3 ff.net Summary: Ron goes to pick up the kids from the Burrow, which should be an easy thing- but there are puppies for sale down the road. Domestic Weasley-Granger family fluff. not beta-ed. we die like men ;) ------------------

“Mum, I’m here!” called Ron, as he stepped out of the floo to his childhood home, spelling away the soot before he tromped it all over and got an ear-full for it. The Burrow always remained the same, the only sign of the passage of time was the people inside, and the occasional photo or children’s artwork being changed out on the walls. A fragrant baking smell wafted through the house, and he could faintly hear the sound of children laughing.

“In the kitchen, dear!”

He happily trounced over to see what his Mum had been baking, hoping she wasn’t saving it for anyone. He hadn’t gotten in much of a lunch and his stomach was fiercely growling.

“Something smells good.”

“Fig rolls,” she said with a satisfied smile. Like his dad and all the rest of their older redheaded relatives, her hair wasn’t graying, just fading into a pale rose color with little white streaks here and there. “You look hungry. Help yourself to some rolls and a glass of milk.”

Ron gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking a still warm fig roll from the plate and quickly tucking in. He gave an appreciative sigh. “Can you write up the recipe for these?”

She took out a card from her recipe box and quickly duplicated it onto a spare slip of parchment.

“How was the shop?”

“Chaos as usual,” he said, wiping some crumbs from his beard. “But we’ve been working on some ideas recently that really have potential in defense and business markets, so I’m feeling rather good about that… Where are the kids at?”

“With your father near his shed. Don’t worry, I don’t let them go inside it!”

Ron furtively rolled his eyes. No matter how many times they all assured her of the shed’s safety, she remained staunchly convinced that everything in there could spring to life with ‘ekeltrickedy’ and murder any visitors. Why she thought only her husband could survive the death trap was beyond him, but he knew better than to question her at this point.

“Thanks for the food and the recipe! I’ll take a whack at it after the Halloween rush,” he said, heading out to find the children.

His dad was sitting in a Muggle folding camp chair Hermione had gifted him. He’d been giddy about it for months, and took it out so regularly it got banned from the house itself after he’d set it up in the dining room one too many times.

“Watch out, you might be accosted soon,” he warned Ron, twitching his head near the garden wall. There stood a few lean-tos, made from pieces of apple boxes, sticks, and decorated with a great deal of leaves. Magic was surely holding them in place, because they looked incredibly structurally unsound.

“Halt!” cried Rose, jumping from behind a tree. She jabbed a wand-shaped stick in Ron’s direction as he approached. “This is our society!”

“Yeah! Our sosety!” Hugo repeated from inside an apple box. He laid on his stomach and poked the dirt with his ‘wand.’

“It’s society,” Rose harshly whispered at her brother, making Ron shake his head at her tone. She sounded just like Hermione when she’d been a snooty first year. He’d have to work on that with her. Last thing he wanted was his little girl getting bullied for the same stuff her mother had. If Hugo had seemed at all upset Ron would have intervened, but instead Hugo had a gleeful grin on his face.

“SOCIETY!” Hugo boldly bellowed, pointing his own ‘wand,’ before laughing and flapping his hands in excitement.

“Careful now. Don’t put your eye out,” Ron said, flicking his wand to keep the flailing stick away from Hugo’s face, narrowly avoiding an accident.

“We made our own society!” Rose proclaimed. “You need to ask permission to come in.”

“Ah, well, may I enter your society?”

It wasn’t that hard to get into their society. Rose immediately took him by the hand and started giving a tour.

“Over there is our ministry, and a museum, and over here is the hospital, and over there the jail. Hugo’s been there a lot.”

“Oh? Now why is that?” Ron asked, looking over to his dad in concern. He didn’t want Hugo being picked on.

“He just liked that box the most,” Dad replied for them, as Rose had lost interest in the tour and was decorating the ministry roof with more leaves. “Rosie dubbed it a jail, and Hugo didn’t much care until she said it’s where ‘bad men go’. There was a spot of caterwauling about that, but then he found he’d rather be in a spacious apple box jail instead of the other buildings that were so cramped and falling over. Also, no spider webs in the jailhouse.”

“There are spiders in these?” Ron asked, voice going high. He began to tromp towards the ‘museum.’

“No no, only webs,” Dad laughed, patting Ron on the arm.

Not feeling as amused about the society Rose had created, he announced, “alright, kids. Time to wrap it up and head home.”

“No! We can’t go home yet!” Rose yelled, accidentally knocking her precarious ministry decorations to the ground as she ran over. “We were supposed to go look at puppies!”

“Daddy, we hafta see the puppies! We hafta!” Hugo whined, shimmying along his belly to work his way out of the apple box.

“Puppies?” Ron repeated.

“The Watsons have some puppies down the road,” said Dad, polishing his glasses. “They have them for sale right now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Nooo, they might all be sold and gone by then!” Rose practically wailed, her face starting to turn red. Hugo’s brown eyes started to fill with tears at the idea.

Ron gave a sigh and looked to his father, who gave a shrug. He’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t get to see them.

“The Watsons…” Ron asked. “They’re the ones to the West with the goats?”

“That’s right.”

“Pleeeease can we see the puppies, Daddy?” Hugo asked, pulling at Ron’s trouser leg.

Unable to think of a reason to disappoint his children, Ron promptly told them yes. He made sure to bundle them up, as a crisp fall wind had picked up, then the three of them walked to the Watsons’ small farm.

Sure enough along the dirt country road was a cardboard sign stating ‘puppies for sale.’ Rose read the sign out loud for Hugo, and Ron had to quickly grab their hands before they dashed into the property. He helped them over the cattle guard, then walked them to the barn door where he could see old Mrs Watson shaking out a blanket. She was a stout hardy looking old woman, who had a genial face with deep craggy smile lines all over the place.

“Hello, dears. You must be one of them Weasley boys, aren’t you?” she asked, straightening her apron in a way that reminded him of his mother. Rose politely smiled at her while Hugo quietly hid himself behind Ron’s leg.

“That’s right, Mrs Watson. I’m Ron, Molly and Arthur’s youngest of the boys,” he said with a smile. “And these are mine. Rose and Hugo.”

“Goodness! I remember when you were just a sprout of a thing toddling about behind your other brothers. Can’t believe you’re old enough to have your own children!” She gave a shake of her head then squinted down at Rose and Hugo. “I imagine you want to see some puppies, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Rose said in a burst of enthusiasm, as Hugo’s hands began to tug at Ron’s trouser leg.

“Well you go on in. We have them in the birthing stall to the right. Feel free to let yourself into it and pet them, just don’t let them out,” she said. Without prompting Rose hurried into the barn, while Hugo stayed attached to Ron’s leg. “Would you all like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”

“What do you say, Hugh?” Ron asked, craning his neck to see Hugo’s face.

Hugo pulled his father’s hand until Ron was leaning over, and whispered in his ear, “I wanna have chocolate and puppies.”

“You can do both,” Ron assured him, in a low voice. Hugo gave a small smile.

“Hot chocolate sounds lovely, Mrs Watson, thank you.”

“Alright me lovers, you go see puppies and I’ll have some hot chocolate in no time!” she said with a kindly look at Hugo.

Once Mrs Watson was gone Hugo enthusiastically pulled Ron into the barn, with Ron stooped the whole way.

Rose had waited outside the pen, though Ron wasn’t sure if it was for Hugo’s sake or because she wasn’t sure how to open the two-way gate latch.

Toddling about the hay were seven or so adorable fluffy puppies, some black and some brown. Rose and Hugo immediately were all giggles and squeals, kneeling down and enthusiastically getting investigated by the curious pups. They spent a long time getting licked and playfully nipped at, and Ron felt immensely grateful he’d decided to let them visit the pups, despite one chewing on his shoelaces and another whizzing on him. He surreptitiously spelled it away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“Oooooh, look at its little paws!” Rose cooed, holding one in her lap, not noticing it enthusiastically teething her messy braid.

“I like this one!” Hugo said, holding a much more calm pup, who looked smaller than the rest of them. It happily nuzzled into Hugo’s arms.

“I have some hot chocolate here,” said Mrs Watson, bringing over some throw away mugs with plastic lids. “Figured if you couldn’t drink it all, you could bring it home for later.”

“Quite thoughtful, thank you,” said Ron, accepting the drinks, noting the kids had little enthusiasm for anything but the puppies still. Not wanting to be rude, he stayed next to Mrs Watson to chat, while the kids continued to play.

“How are your mother and father doing?” she asked.

“Mum’s still cooking away, Dad’s still working, but they watch the grandkids a lot. That’s why we’re here today.”

“How many grandkids are there now?”

“Hard to keep count!” he said with a smile. “But I think it’s... twelve now? I don’t think I’m leaving anyone out.”

“Christmas must be spectacular!”

“A bit crowded, but yeah, it’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure it is. I only have two grandchildren, but I love it when they visit. Had them up last weekend to get one of the puppies. Started with twelve puppies, same as your family, but now all are spoken for but one.”

“Which one?”

“The littlest one, but that Clark White down the road’s been saying he might come by to get one.”

Ron bristled a bit. He remembered Mr White, a sinister old bugger of a man. He never tended his fences, was always in disputes with neighbors, and his animals all had a forlorn look about them.

Just then there was a brisk knock on the barn door, and in came the man himself, looking surly as ever. He resembled a dried fig that had been bleached by the sun, and his thin lips were turned down in a permanent frown that only served to emphasize his jowls. He and Mrs Watson exchanged pleasantries, though neither looked particularly pleased about it.

“Which ones are available still?”

“I’m afraid only one,” answered Mrs Watson.

“Ain’t the runt, is it?” He snorted.

“It is, but he’s a hardy little thing. I doubt he’ll end up much smaller than the rest of the pups when he’s grown.”

The old man peered into the stall, and pointed a gnarled finger.

“That’s it, yeah?”

Hugo looked up at the old man and his eyes widened. He clutched the little puppy closer to himself.

“That’s the puppy, yes.”

Without preamble he opened the stall door and reached toward the puppy in Hugo’s arms.

“Now wait a second,” Ron began, but it was too late.

Hugo gave a small cry and the dog gave a sharp yipe, jerked by the scruff of his neck by the savage Mr White. Rose looked to her father with pleading blue eyes. Hugo let out a sob and buried his face in Rose’s stomach.

“Looks healthy enough,” Mr White said, roughly opening the puppy’s mouth to inspect its teeth. “I’ll take—”

“We’ll take him!” Ron cried out. Rose gasped, while Hugo kept his face safely tucked into his sister.

“What?” Mr White snapped, his severe face contorting into a nasty mix of shock and rage. Ron used the man’s surprise to pluck away the puppy and bring it to his own chest.

Ron found it hard not to smirk at the old sour faced prune. “I said, we’re taking him.”

“Really?!” Rose cried out, patting her brothers russet curls. “Hugo! It’s ok! Daddy’s getting the puppy!”

“I’ll give you five hundred cash, right now,” said Mr White, reaching into his mangy work coat to bring a wad of Muggle paper money out.

Ron’s self assured smile began to falter when he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any Muggle money on him. He patted himself, but realized there was no wallet. He didn’t have so much as two pence on him, just some knuts and galleons he decidedly could not give Mrs Watson. Panic reeled as his daughter looked at him with nothing but confidence in her beaming freckled face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr White, but I’m afraid the puppy’s spoken for already,” said Mrs Watson, shaking her head. “Plus, as you said, it’s the runt. I’m just trading it for a few of Molly Weasley’s pies.”

“You’re joking,” Mr White snarled. “This is ridiculous! I told you I wanted one last week!”

“Well you never said which one, that I recall, but my memory’s not what it used to be… Sorry to disappoint you, Clarke,” she said with a large smile.

He gave an ugly look at them all before stomping out of the barn and slamming the door behind him. Hugo’s hands went to his ears and he further buried his face in Rose’s stomach. Not wanting to overwhelm Hugo further, Ron turned to Mrs Watson.

“I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” he said, with an apologetic look.

“Oh it’s no trouble. Any excuse to slight Clarke White makes my day a little bit brighter, truth be told.”

“Well, I can’t let you give away the puppy for a few pies. How much is the pup, really?”

“Well, I’ve been asking three hundred. They’re purebred, good guard stock, with all their shots and de-worming and such. But I meant what I said. You just have two of Molly’s pies here some time before Christmas and we’ll call it quite even.”

“I’ll make sure you have them whenever you want. Thank you, Mrs Watson. And I’ll add in something more than just the pies,” Ron said, before slowly approaching the children.

Rose was still stroking Hugo, whose hands were firmly stuck to his ears. Ron knelt down and brought the puppy up between them. “Let’s sit down and sip our hot chocolate, and pet this new puppy of ours. We don’t have to deal with that mean, scary old man again, I promise you.”

It took some coaxing, but Hugo finally removed his hands and stroked the puppy’s fluffy little head, worrying the ear of the dog between his fingers. After some more calming down they drank most of their hot chocolate, bid Mrs Watson a fond goodbye (she was kind enough to give him a collar and enough kibble for a few days), and walked back to the Burrow, puppy buried in Ron’s coat. Even being a ‘runt’ and ten weeks old it was too heavy for the kids to carry for long.

Both his mother and father shook their heads at him for buying the puppy, but he didn’t want to bring up Mr White in front of the children so held his tongue. They flooed home, and Ron set about making a nesting box for the pup. Hugo and Rose were eager to help make it as cozy as they could with long abandoned stuffed animals and blankets.

“What should we name him?” Ron asked them, as the little pup sleepily walked in a circle before toppling onto his side to sleep.

“Broomstick,” said Hugo.

“Quaffle,” Rosie offered.

“I’m sensing a theme…” said Ron, looking about the nearest shelf for a quidditch book. “Perhaps we can name him after a famous quidditch player?”

“We could name him after Aunt Ginny!”

“He’s a boy, though,” Rose protested.

“Names are just names, they don’t have to be ‘boy or girl’ names,” Ron supplied, remembering an article Hermione’d given him to read about it a few years prior. “But I don’t think Aunt Ginny wants to share her name with a dog.”

“Why not name him after Viktor Krum?” Rose said with a smile.

Ron couldn’t deny the idea of having his dog named Krum wouldn’t be that bad, but then again he didn’t want to deal with Hermione’s wrath should she find it insulting.

“Hmm… Someone we don’t know?” he prompted.

“The Cannons!” Hugo crowed. “Wait I know!”

“Chudley!” they all three chorused together.

Ron gave a hearty laugh that made Chudley open his eyes before promptly falling asleep again. “You definitely are my children!”

Hugo lettered, with help from Rose, Chudley’s name across the side of the box. Only one of the letters was backwards, which was quite the accomplishment. Rose decorated it with a variety of stickers and hand drawn flowers, stars and Cannons logos.

Hermione owled to say she was running late. He would have preferred the ‘we have a dog now’ reveal to happen with the children present so she couldn’t give him as much of an earful, but her schedule had been quite mad at the Ministry recently.

The children were exhausted from all the excitement, so he managed to get them fed, bathed and asleep early and without much fuss.

Ron put on the radio, sat on the sofa and took out a notebook to make some notes for the Wheezes marketing campaign for Halloween. Chudley was curled up in his box with old Crookshanks curiously peering down from the hearth.

“You be nice, you old ginger bastard,” Ron said with a warning look. Crookshanks turned his yellow glare at Ron before jumping from the hearth onto the sofa, butting his head against Ron’s leg. He rolled over to show his old pudgy tummy.

“Oh I know that’s a trap! But nice try,” said Ron, remembering quite vividly the last time a vindictive Crookshanks had pretended to want tummy rubs.

The flames of the fire brightened, and he smiled knowing Hermione would be home in a moment. Crookshanks quickly schooled himself into a ‘good cat’ position for her, giving Ron the opportunity to rub the cat’s fur the wrong way tail to head.

“That’s what happens when you try to trick me into getting stabbed by your claws.”

Hermione flooed into the house, and a smile curled his lips. He hated when she was kept at work longer, but the one silver lining was that it always led to her hair going a bit mussed and wild. Today was not an exception.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, eyeing the ringlets around her face. “Did you already eat? I have Hugo’s favorite ‘spagooters’ ready and can heat it up in a jiff.”

She gave a tired but contented smile and collapsed onto the sofa beside him, giving Crookshank’s chin a scratch as the cat purred and preened for her, pitifully meowing for attention.

“We should call it spaghetti. I don’t want Hugo learning the wrong words for things.”

“Hugh knows it’s spaghetti,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Plus there’s nothing funnier than seeing that look on your face when we chant for spagooters.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see them tonight... It was horrible at work. That abuse allegation mess I was telling you about last week is really coming to a head and some of those damn Wizengamots are just… I thought I couldn’t be shocked anymore by anything awful that happens, but then they really just prove they can sink to an even lower level than I’d ever thought possible! The way they sit there and act like over one hundred and fifty allegations of abuse is nothing is beyond me. They’re so bloody corrupt and uncaring I’m left truly shocked and speechless!”

Despite being speechless, she was able to rant about the Wizengamot for another fifteen minutes. While she ranted, he managed to get her shoes off, find out she had not eaten, and bring a meal. She ate around the ‘spagooters’ while nearly flinging tomato basil sauce onto his shirt as she gesticulated about the injustices in the world.

“So is there anything in place for victims?” Ron asked, taking her plate into the kitchen.

“You mean for victim support?” He nodded at her. “Nothing official yet, but I’m seeing what we can do. The Wizengamot has many in denial of there actually being victims, let alone that they need help and counseling.”

“Maybe we can figure something outside of the Ministry. Perhaps we could do a fund or something through Wheezes? I could talk to some other businesses or something... Have the proceeds go to some foundation or other?”

“That’s a lovely idea,” she said with a small sniff.

He leaned over the couch and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll talk to George in the morning.”

Chudley’s box gave a bit of a shudder and she finally noticed it.

“What’s that?” she asked looking over to the box.

“Er…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “That would be Chudley.”

“I gathered that much, since Chudley’s written on the outside of the box,” she said, raising her eyebrow at him and walking over to peer inside the box. “Ron…”

“So… I didn’t get a chance to ask if this is alright, but I bought us a puppy.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing as she stared into the box.

Ron felt a small touch of frenzied dread at how quiet she was.

“Normally I wouldn’t make such a big decision without you, but we were with Muggles and this old bleeder Mr White was about to buy it and I just knew he’d be treating it like shit because I’ve known him since I was a kid and he always treats his animals horribly, and the kids were crying as this old man made the puppy cry and buying it was the only way I could save it from him in the moment. I didn’t have my mobile on me, and even if I did I don’t think I could have reached you in time. It all happened really fast, and the kids were looking at me like ‘you can fix this!’ and I just had to, and Hugo had his little hands on his ears and- and if we have to find it a new home I completely understand and will make sure it’s all on me with the kids and not you at all, because this is really truly on me and—”

“Hush,” she said with a small laugh. “I think you’re upsetting Chudley.”

With that she reached into the box and gently cradled the little pup. She rubbed his little snout and scratched behind his ear making the dog’s tiny tail wag something mad.

“So you’re okay with us keeping him?” Ron asked hopefully. She nodded and continued to pet the small pup, who was crawling up her body to lick her jaw. Ron’s face split into a grin. “You won’t have to lift a finger for him. It’ll be me doing everything! Well me and maybe the kids a bit.”

“I can’t turn down a deal like that, can I Chudley?” she asked as the dog continued to lick at her. Crookshanks went to the top of the mantle to glare at them. “Be nice, Crookshanks! From the sound of it he was rescued from a dire situation!”

“He really was. I’m not just making excuses to have a dog.”

“I expect to hear the whole harrowing tale of why we needed to save Chudley later,” she replied, putting the pup in his box before casting a calming spell and accident-proofing his blanket.

“In bed?”

“I was thinking we could expand the tub tonight and catch up there.” She had a saucy smile on her face he couldn’t resist. He quickly took her hand and they laughed all the way up the stairs.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

author’s note- let me know what you think! :) or reblog if wording is hard

#romione #ronald weasley #hugo weasley #rose weasley #fanfiction #hermione granger #next gen #chudley #puppies #dogs of tumblr #my writing #fan fic

121 notes · View notes

satuguro · 5 years

Text

don’t say that you love me | pt. 2

IN WHICH: harry osborn is too persuasive for his own good, and y/n needs a getaway.

INSPO: how to be yours — chris renzema, the night we met — lord huron, my recent break up :))

NOTES: i didn’t expect this much love on my last fic. thank you all so much, and i hope this new year and decade brings you all joy <3 i also love the idea of having timothee chalamet as harry osborn, so that’s who i’m “casting” as harry in my fic lmao

LINKS: part one, part two

For days, you found yourself sluggishly walking to your classes, barely able to take your mind off of anything but Peter Parker, much to your discontent.

When they say that you can never stop thinking about people you care about, they weren’t kidding. Before, you scoffed every time Betty stressfully texted you about how everything reminded her of her ex, advising her to, “If he’s not thinking about you, don’t think of him.”

Now you understood. You wanted him to think of you, to look at the hoodie you made Ned give back to him, and have his heart hurt as much as you did. But looking at him longingly from across the classroom, watching as he laughed with Mj Watson— you doubted his heart hurt. He was happy; happier without you by his side.

“Hey. You wanna add the acid?” Your partner, Harry Osborn, nudged your shoulder gently as he spoke.

Blinking to get yourself out of your trance, you nodded solemnly as you took the dropper with the acid, dropping a few drops into the boiling beaker without so much as a sigh. You were glum, that much was obvious, but Harry couldn’t help but snort to himself at your sigh.

“Wow, I’m not that bad, you know.”

“What?” As if in a spell, you looked at him with confusion. It took a few seconds for his words to fully process in your head. “Oh. No, not you, Osborn.” You shook your head, placing your head in your hands as you tried to make yourself snap out of it. He didn’t have the right to be in your head so much.

“I thought we were on a first name basis!” Harry gasped, feigning shock as you hit him lightly on the shoulder with a roll of your eyes. Chuckling to himself, Harry stated, “I’m kidding, Y/N. I know that Parker’s the reason why you’re all down.” Harry, with his nonchalant tone and cheeky smile, made you scoff as you looked back at your lab book as if you were paying attention. You were, of course.

“The chemicals are burning, Harry.”

“What? Oh, shit.” Hastily, Harry grabbed the tongs, picking up the smoking beaker and setting it aside. Your chemistry teacher was eyeing you both as Harry offered an innocent smile that you couldn’t help but chuckle at. It was nice to laugh for once.

•

“Do you want him as a rebound?”

The sudden question caught you off guard, pulling your attention away from the chemistry notes that were sprawled out in front of you. To the right of you, a boy shushed you and Betty harshly.

A frown tugged at the sides of your lips as you tilting your head to the side. “Who as a rebound? I’m too tired for this,” you sighed.

“Yes, a rebound! Are you gonna have Harry Osborn as a rebound guy or not?” Betty questioned, excitement evident as she pulled the chair out from in front of you with a screech and sat down. She plopped her things to the side loudly, rolling her eyes as the same boy shushed her.

With one turn of her head, Betty shushed him back before focusing back towards the task at hand: you.

“What— No! Why would I? I mean, should I?” Your brows furrowed. Betty knew more about relationships than you ever could know— was having a rebound guy normal?

“Why not?” The smile she had on her face was ecstatic, enthusiastic, even. “Word in the halls say that he likes you a lot,” she explained, her grin growing as a gleam of mischief caught in her eye. Of course she’d know about his liking to you before you did; Betty was a sucker for gossip. You knew there was no saying no— when Betty had a plan, she was going to execute it in the best way possible.

“I still don’t know why Peter broke up with me, Bets,” you reminded, running a hand down your face as if you were wiping away all the thoughts in your head. “As much as I hate saying it out loud, I’m not over him. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Exactly why you should go out with Harry!” Clapping her hands uncharacteristically in excitement, Betty stood up, gathering her things quickly. “My dad should be here about now. But think about it, Y/N!” She waved you goodbye as she left you, alone and even more confused as before, staring at the notes you had made.

You wanted to ask Peter what the reason was for breaking up with you. But how could you do it if you haven’t spoken to him since the ball?

You stayed in the library until the moon hung high over the city and the city lights flashed into the library’s large windows. Your head was in your hands as you read the same paragraph again for what seemed to be the 84th time. You were tired, trying to keep yourself awake for just a little longer.

You left when the janitor yelled at you to.

Trudging down the illuminated streets, your face blank as you tried to remember all the terms you had written down, you barely even noticed the sound of thwips overhead. You were too out of it, too in your own head to even hear the soft sound of a bang and the tiny, “Ow,” that followed.

He had to say something snarky to get your attention.

“Too late for a walk, don’t you think?”

“Says the one who’s out here with me.” You glared towards the voice, your gaze softening when you saw the masked hero of New York— Spider-Man, standing on a light pole in all his red and blue glory. “Oh. You.” You turned away from him, not even acknowledging him for more than five seconds before acting as if he was just another annoying side character to your life.

“You’re nice,” the hero hummed, his tone playful as he swung to the next light pole ahead. His composure was calm and collective, but unknown to you, Peter Parker’s heart was beating too fast for his body as he followed you down the sidewalk. Of all the ways he could’ve tried to talk to you, this had to be the worst way to do it. “So,” he jumped onto the ground, landing perfectly on his feet alongside you, “am I going to have to ask why you’re walking outside at 3 am on a Wednesday?”

“School’s beating me with a bat. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned from under the mask. Worry surged in his veins, much to his own guilt, and he found himself tapping you on the shoulder as he offered you his hand. “Do you, uh, want a ride?”

“A ride?” Your eyes widened, the deep purple bags that hung under them now gone as you looked at him with shock. Your lack of sleep was softening your reactions, making it as if you were speaking with a random boy rather than New York’s masked hero. “I mean—“

“It’s better and safer than walking alone on the street,” Peter added, the whites of his suit wide as he tried to persuade you. Whether it was the guilt in his stomach or his automatic concern for people’s safety, some part of him needed to know that you made it home safe. “Please; it’s the least I can do.”

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, your face uncertain but the aching in your body screaming otherwise. Hesitantly, you took his hand, holding it tightly as you moved closer to him. “Go ahead, Spidey.” The nickname was quick, a common one, but one that Peter found himself smiling at as he shot a web up into the sky.

His hands found its way around your waist, holding you flush against him as he brought the both of you up above the roads of New York. The yelp you let out was soon replaced by your laughter as you felt the wind whip your face, the addictive feeling of falling and being caught running through your body. You were more awake than you ever had been in months, your arms wrapped around Spider-Man’s neck as he laughed with you.

The world looked so pretty from the air.

It was over as soon as it began, his feet landing on your light-decorated balcony with a soft thump. He let you go gently, unwrapping his arms from you and allowing you to step back. Your hair was a mess, wild and tangled from the wind, but a grateful smile was etched on your face.

“Thank you— I needed that,” you murmured, shifting your things as you looked into the whites of the hero’s mask.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s no problem,” Peter stammered, heart beating hard as he looked at you. You were beautiful. But as the thought came, so did new waves of guilt and anger towards himself come. Frowning from under the mask, he shook his head to himself as he jumped up to the balcony railing. Offering a playful salute, he swung away, ignoring the aching in his heart.

That night, as you laid in your bed thinking of the kind hero, a thought came into your mind that made your heart stop.

You never told him where you had lived.

Peter felt guilty.

He had nearly crashed into multiple buildings on his way home. His mind, much to his discontent, couldn’t think of anything else other than you. What he had done to you was nothing like him— but that didn’t change the fact that he still did it.

He was so screwed.

You didn’t encounter Peter Parker until you attended a New Years' party at the Osborn’s house.

Naturally, you were invited. Harry had made it his very duty to pull you out of the deep hole Peter had left you in, even if you had little to no interest in attending any party in the first place. But Harry, with his dimpled smiles and cheeky persuasive comments, had no problem convincing you to go. He had claimed that he could’ve taken you to the ball drop to see it in person, but he didn’t want to deal with all the other people there.

You picked at the rim of your cliche red solo cup, hesitant as you stood on the sidelines of the party. You had lost Harry ages ago— the boy was like a hummingbird, flying from one person to another with his hair wild and energy practically radiating off of him. You didn’t mind it; it was his party, after all. You didn’t know how he could be so energetic with no alcohol in his veins; he had told you that he didn’t plan on drinking throughout the entirety of the party, for he saw everyone at his party as his responsibility.

The loud thumping of the bass was all that filled your mind as you sipped the punch you had poured. It tasted strongly of vodka, poignant on your tongue as you swallowed it down with a slight wince. You weren’t used to drinking, but the want to have a good time was strong in your mind as you tilted your head back. You forced the alcohol down, wanting to have a good memory ( if you could even remember the next day ) after the days of stress and sadness.

The rest was a blur. Harry had found you ( or maybe you found him— you didn’t know ) and had led you to the dance floor, jumping along with you to the beat of the music. He had tied his tie around your head like a bandanna, yelling something about “making sure boys know you’d beat them up.” You were laughing, joking around and yelling lyrics with him as both of you danced like idiots. Harry’s hand was holding yours, making sure you weren’t going to drown into the crowd as the both of you danced. You had lost track of the time and the refills of punch you had, your world spinning and the lights hitting your face as if you had fallen straight out of Euphoria.

Giggling to yourself, you dragged Harry out of the crowd and brought him to the punch bowl ( again ). You reached for the ladle like a child, only for it to be taken away by Harry.

“You’re drinking like my Aunt Jackie on Thanksgiving,” he stated, keeping the ladle away from you, watching your pouting face with amusement.

“I’m not Aunt Jackie,” you replied blatantly, practically leaning against him and the table for support as you tried to make yourself sound serious. At your woozy tone, Harry chuckled and shook his head, curls bouncing every which way.

“I know, Y/N.”

You shoved yourself dramatically against the table, the dancing of the others in front of you catching your eye and making you stare. Thoughts, most of them unintelligible, bounced around in your head. You were frowning now, moods swinging as you tried to focus on one thing at a time.

“I miss him,” you announced.

“I know you do.” Harry stood next to you, his hands on the table behind him as he looked at you. Your chest was heaving from the dancing, your cheeks red as you stared blankly at the dancing bodies. “Hey,” he nudged you gently, catching your attention. “You’ll get over him. I know you will.” Despite his voice being soft, it still stood out from the chaos around the two of you.

One side of your mouth twitched upwards. “You think so?”

Harry’s terrible attention span reached him before your words could. “New Year’s! It’s almost here!” He took your hand, weaving you through the people as he led the both of you to the living room.

There, the projector showed the New York ball drop in real-time. Thirty seconds flashed on the timer as Anderson Cooper spoke about something that none of you were interested in in the slightest.

Harry pulled you onto the oak wood table in the middle of the living room, holding you close to him so that your wobbly legs wouldn’t bring you off the edge. You flashed him a grin, placing your hands around his neck messily as you both looked at the projector.

“Here it is! Three!” Harry yelled, cheering with everyone else as people began to pair up.

“Two!” Your eyes, wandering and heavy, landed on an image that made you want to throw up. In the corner, hidden and away from the rest of the world.

Peter and Mj.

“One!” Mj’s arms were thrown over his neck, bringing him closer to her. Peter, with an adoring smile, closed his eyes as he leaned his face closer to hers.

You tore your eyes away from them, focusing on Harry’s smiling face as he waited for the ball to drop. Before he could yell out a “Happy New Year,” you took his face, leaning it down to yours. Only then did you pause, before he gave you a reassuring smile that made you land your lips onto his.

“Happy New Year!” You shut your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks as you deepened the kiss. It was desperate, an escape from the reality that stood across the room from you and Harry.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker angst #spider-man #spider man #spider man: homecoming #spider man: ffh #spider man imagines #betty brant #mj watson #marvel imagines #marvel #ned leeds #tom holland angst

740 notes · View notes