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#and then she comes over and apropos of nothing is like 'alright i want you to lobotomize me
taxinealkaloids · 1 year
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harrianthe + sewing (variations on a theme)
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landwriter · 1 year
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Since you're asking for prompts: can we hear more about Hob's cat whomst Dream instantly appropriates as his own? 😶
It was not, actually, love at first sight.
Hob had found Dream and the cat staring at one another in kitchen, with equally affronted expressions that were immediately turned upon him when he walked in.
"Right," he'd said, and addressed the cat first, to Dream's visible chagrin. "Cat, this Dream. He's very nice. And Dream, this is a cat. I don't have a name for her yet, but we've been making friends over the past couple months," and then he'd looked back down at the little black cat and said, "Haven't we? Haven't we, sweet one?" and when he had looked back up from giving her a scratch under the chin, Dream had gone.
Hob had found him sulking in the living room.
"Love," he'd said, "She was in the alley behind the pub. Skinniest little thing I've seen. I've been feeding her what I can, but with the weather turning, and she'd warmed up to me so much-"
"I did not ask for this," Dream had said. And fair play, Hob had thought, because adopting a pet sort of was one of those, well, couple's decisions, wasn't it? But Hob wasn't about to let either of them go back out into the cold night.
"I know," he'd said, and sat down on the couch too. "That wasn't very fair of me." But Hob wasn't a very fair person in general, so he had tucked his body against Dream's, and wrapped an arm around him, then murmured lowly into his neck, "Although, you didn't ask for me either, did you?"
And Hob had made up with Dream that way, and the next day he brought some tuna home and the cat forgave him too.
continued on AO3 / below the cut: (~2K)
The two of them never quite warmed up to each other, though. Sometimes, Hob would come into a room to find them both there, gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, before one stalked off and the other looked smugly at Hob. But they coexisted, more or less, and after a few months, Hob figured that was how it was going to remain. It was alright. He had enough affection for both of them. They didn't need like each other as well. It would have been nice, though.
---
The cat - Hob had never picked a name for her and Dream certainly wasn't going to offer one - so in time she went from being the cat to The Cat instead, was not an indoor, domestic creature like Hob. She had been born outside, been a kitten outside, and would come and go as she pleased.
Dream was not sure why she had traded it for days and afternoons in Hob's flat above The New Inn, but he could understand. Hob had a special kind of persistence to him. A special kind of patience and warmth. And he never made her stay in when she wanted to explore at night.
But Dream was growing uneasy with it. He knew the world of humans better than he ever had, and it was not an especially kind world for a small cat, no matter how fierce she'd assured Dream she was, time and time again. There were dogs. Cars. Long falls.
Hob didn't seem to think about it at all. He didn't look up in the evenings when brakes squealed outside. He didn't walk through the flat in the grey light of early morning looking for a small black circle of fur sleeping off her adventures in one spot or another.
Dream could not stop thinking about it. Hob loved the cat terribly. And the cat was clever, and quick, and sounded like a tiny four stroke engine when she was happy. He refused to say anything to Hob, lest Hob assume his own worries, and have the precious peace of he enjoyed in the evenings be ruined by Dream's helpless fretfulness.
He tried to temper The Cat's appetite for exploration instead, to no avail. He knew it was hopeless. Cats kept their own counsel.
---
His eldest sister met him for a walk on a fine spring day.
"I hear you two have a cat now," she said, apropos of nothing, eyes sparkling.
"How?" he asked, appalled. He felt bizarrely stricken by the thought of his sister knowing about The Cat.
She jostled his shoulder playfully. "Oh, you know me. I hear things," she said. Then she looked a bit closer at his face and said, "Oh, Dream, you idiot. Don't be silly."
Dream felt his face flush and he scowled. "And I would rather it be you than anyone else, sister. Of course. When it is time. But," he said, and trailed off.
Death stopped walking and turned to face him. "But what?"
"Hob loves her," he said, pathetically.
"Most things that live are loved," said Death.
"Can you not-?" asked Dream.
"I could," she said, and smiled. "But I've already made one exception for someone you love. I can't be seen playing favourites, you know."
Dream felt several different objections spring to his lips at once, but then his sister's expression lightened into a teasing grin, "Besides, little brother, I'm sure you can think of something."
"Ever helpful, sister of mine," he said. At least he had asked. Cold comfort that it was. Perhaps he would be able to change her mind in the future.
Death kissed him on the cheek. "I have to go back to work, but tell your husband hello for me, won't you? That's for Hob, by the way. You get this," she said, and punched him softly on the arm, "It's normal to worry about the ones you love, Dream, yeah? Just because it hurts doesn't mean it has to be fixed."
And she strode away and Dream stood there feeling like all little brothers sometimes feel.
---
Hob noticed him staring at The Cat that evening more than usual. The Cat noticed him as well, of course, but pretended not to, mostly because she could.
"Having a squabble, are you?" asked Hob. He'd started making little jokes about what he thought was enmity between them. Yes, the presence of The Cat had been...discomfiting, at first. But it had not been enmity between them for months now.
Dream looked up guiltily. "We have yet to come to an understanding," he said, which was true enough.
Hob scoffed softly. Dream felt impossibly fond. "Well, I wish you two the best of luck in your negotiations." He cupped Dream's face and kissed him. "I'm off to bed. Early morning lectures, nothing worse. Both of you enjoy your nights," he said.
Dream stared after him and so did The Cat. Then the bedroom door closed with a soft click and The Cat got up, very casually, jumped down into his lap, and curled up. She found it incredibly amusing to let Hob think she disliked Dream, and the only reason Dream didn't ruin her ruse out of greater loyalty to Hob was because he feared all his feelings of concern and worry would spill out at the same time. She knew this, of course, and was tremendously smug about having her way.
She impatiently bumped her warm little head up into Dream's hand and he curled his fingers into her fur. For while they had their differences, Dream's chin scratches were objectively superior Hob's, and she had set her feud with him aside the moment she realized it. Dream, of course, had the unfair advantage of millennia of dreams of people petting their cats, and millennia of dreams of cats being pet. No other being, he thought, with some satisfaction, could pet a cat better.
Since Hob's term had started, they had done this on his early nights, settling on the couch, Dream sometimes with a book, sometimes with just his thoughts, until she had her fill of attention and got up from his lap to slip like a small shadow out the window. Then Dream would brush the fur off his clothes, and attend to his duties in The Dreaming.
The Cat stretched and hopped onto the windowsill. She stopped, and looked back at Dream, eyes bright with curiosity. You'll think of something, his sister had said.
Dream stood and looked down at her. He affected an air of disinterest. "Are you not bored of it yet?" he said, "Night after night."
She swished her tail.
"All the same. Birds, trees, insects, what else is there? Only variations on the same theme. Are they not? How tedious it must become," he said, "For a Cat such as you."
She made to take her leave, hurt and irritated.
"No," continued Dream, "It is below your station, I think. You are a fine emissary of the night. Walk with me, and explore a greater darkness. Come and witness my work, if you wish. Come prowl in the minds of men instead of their alleyways."
He turned away at once, not waiting for her reply. She hopped down from the windowsill.
They went into the night together.
---
The only consolation, thought Hob, of early mornings, was getting to read the morning edition of the paper while watching his husband complete the crossword before he even got to the business section. Dream had already plucked it out and was smirking down at it. Perhaps the clues were particularly obscure today.
Hob picked up the paper and turned it over to the front page. He took a sip of tea and choked on it immediately. Under the masthead, in sensationally large font, was the headline:
Black Cat Crossed Your Path? Scientists Theorize Collective Unconsciousness After Same Cat Reported In Nation's Dreams
Dream smiled as he completed the crossword, thoroughly unconcerned with Hob's wheezing gasps.
"Darling," said Hob, after evacuating the last of the Earl Grey from his lungs. "Dream."
"Yes?" asked Dream.
"Did you perhaps invest The Cat with your powers of office last night? After I went to bed?"
"She was bored," said Dream.
"Right. So you gave her the power to walk with you through dreams. Because she was bored," he said.
"Husband. No such thing. I also did it because she is well-suited to such work." Dream sniffed, haughty. "It certainly suits her more than chasing birds and running in between cars," he said.
Hob's phone vibrated. It was a text from Rita, another Classics professor, who had been over for lunch once or twice before:
Robert, that cat of yours was in my dreams last night. She recognized me. Explain yourself.
As he read it, another notification popped up. His teaching assistant, Michael:
lol hob the first year papers are getting to me, i dreamt ur cat was watching me mark them last night. allegory??
His phone vibrated again. Hob put it on silent and very deliberately placed it back on the table face down. He looked over to the living room where The Cat was stretched out on the rug and emitting tiny little snores, and then at his husband who was looking at him like he dared Hob object. Well-suited indeed, thought Hob.
"Apparently so," he said, and started in on his eggs before they got cold.
It was wonderful that they were finally getting along.
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abeautifulblog · 2 years
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here, have the opening scene of the aforementioned original-fiction monster-hunter-with-selective-mutism story:
*
It wasn't reassuring when Jack pulled out his phone to call his psychic, and found that she'd texted him forty minutes ago with a message that read, apropos of nothing, Think twice before accepting this one.
That bad? he sent back.
She must have had her phone in her hand, because not ten seconds later it came back with her reply: Or that good! :) Followed almost immediately with, Call me.
Just tell me whether I should take the job.
There was a longer pause before the phone buzzed again. I'm not a charity, Jack. Call me.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, then gave in and called her number. The phone gave a ring that cut off with a hiccup, then an automated voice cut in with the usual spiel, Completing this call may incur additional charges. If you would like to—
Yes, he would like to continue. Yes, he'll press one.
It resumed ringing, and a few seconds later Fischer picked up.
“Howdy, Jack,” she said—too jauntily, given that she knew he was only calling under duress.
There was a beat, the space in which he should have replied, and the dead air on the phone sounded pointed. He sighed, and took the phone away from his ear so he could put the call on speaker and swipe out a message.
Hi, he texted. A few moments later a chime filtered through the earpiece as her phone received it.
“Oh, so that's how it's going to be?” she asked.
I called. Do I take the job or not?
“And what if I said I won't tell you anything unless you talk to me?”
I'll hang up and flip a coin. I'm not in the mood.
“Alright, alright,” she said, placating, as if he were the one bullying her and not the other way around. “Though flipping a coin might be as good a way as any to make this decision.”
Wow, I sure am glad I decided to pay for your opinion first.
Fischer laughed. “Goddamn, friend, you're in a bitchy mood today, aren't you?”
For good reason, but he wasn't up to explaining the whole saga via text.
I ain't paying three bucks a minute to listen to you laugh at me.
I could call my momma and get that for free.
Tell me something specific or I'm hanging up.
Fischer stopped laughing, mercifully, and cleared her throat. “Regarding your employment in the immediate future: unforeseen complications,” she announced, like she was reading it off a weather forecast. “This job you're thinking of taking on—I can tell you it’s going to get messy, and it's either going to turn out real good, or real, real bad.”
How bad is real bad? he asked.
“That you're not coming back from it.”
Yeah, that was about as bad as they came.
And how good is real good?
“The Magician. Nothing less, nothing in between.”
Creation and inspiration. The manifestation of one's desires. Infinite possibility. Although he had to say, it was slightly worrying that whatever she'd sensed in the currents had led her to do a reading forty minutes before he'd even heard the job offer.
“What's the job?” she asked when he was silent.
He sighed, then laboriously tapped out: Some couple got their kid stolen by the fae. It was their own damn fault, but they want to hire me to get him back. I'd say no, but with Midwinter coming up there's no better time to try.
“You'd say no anyway. Why are you even considering it?”
Yeah, she knew him too well.
Because they're offering me twenty five grand for it.
She hummed thoughtfully “Well. I can tell you that whatever your Magician is, it isn't money.”
So does that mean I get 25k AND all my desires made manifest?
“Could be, assuming you don't die.”
Okay. So how do I not fuck it up?
She hesitated. “I’m sorry, Jack, but I don't think it's up to you. The tipping point—the decision that's going to determine whether you succeed or fail—it's someone else’s choice, not yours.”
Well, christ, wasn't that just what he wanted to hear. Jack scrunched up his face and scrubbed a hand over tired eyes. The call log kicked up another minute.
What would you do? he asked at last.
“Oh, I love it when people ask me for advice they're not going to take. I, personally, wouldn't do it, because I'm risk-averse and would rather run a psychic hotline than get into half the trouble you do. You, on the other hand, are a crazy motherfucker whose idea of a good time is jumping out of perfectly functional airplanes.”
He could correct her, but it wasn't worth it.
Alright, then what would you tell ME to do?
“Go for it. I'm curious to see what your Magician is.”
He snorted. And if I don't roll sevens?
“I'll send your momma flowers.”
Pretty sure she'd rather have gin, he shot back, and then hung up before the call could rack up another three bucks.
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tumbleassbitch · 2 years
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another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) | The Quarry | TravisxLaura
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Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything. Chapter 2/? | Chapter 1
June 28th, 2022
“Can I get something to read? Some music?” Laura asks one morning.
He’s just placed her breakfast on the ground, plain oats and a pitifully small apple, and the question makes him look her in the eye for the first time in two days.
She’s had time to think.
The first day she was fully awake, it took the better part of an hour for her to accept that screaming wasn’t going to bring the cop back. That was two days ago, and he never lingers for a casual chat. In fact, he hasn’t even said a word.
That’s going to change today.
He purses his lips down at her. God, he’s so weird with his mouth. “I’m not running a resort here.”
Clearly. “I just… need a distraction. From my thoughts.”
He exhales softly through his nose. “I understand that it must have been hard to witness for you.”
“So you don’t think I killed him,” she says.
She nails it, and by the way his eyes shut for a moment, he knows what he just exposed. His mouth is a thin line. This is dangerous territory, but she can’t afford to wait any longer.
“You know what killed him, don’t you? I didn’t imagine it,” she says flatly. She hates the way her eyes burn in front of him. “Please,” she adds.
The sheriff looks off to the side, working his jaw until finally, “This is bear country, ma’am. When I got there, it was too late for your friend.”
Black and red mottled skin, the glint of eyes-
The thing is, Laura’s always been too sharp. Too many teeth and edges, fast hands and eyes that never stayed in one place for too long. It’s how she was raised. It’s how she’s survived for this long.
“Bullshit,” she says fiercely, stepping closer to the bars. 
“Oh, what? You think you know something because you’re in some fancy school?” he says with a sneer, looking down on her like she’s just a snot-nosed kid that happily waltzed into his life for the sole purpose of irritating him. 
“So you’ve looked into me,” she says with a grin that borders on feral. “You don't have to be an animal doctor to know that a bear can’t just- do something like that. So what was it?”
“Young lady, you ain’t got a clue about what can and can’t happen.”
“Try me. This doesn’t have to be this hard,” she tries a different route. Desperation laces her tone. “It was big, and thin. I didn’t see any fur, so you can’t tell me that it was some sort of fucking bear.”
He snorts and steps away, calling over his shoulder as he goes, “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
“Hey!” Laura grits her teeth.
No response, and the door shuts closed.
It’s later, as she’s debating filing down the rusted spoon in her cell into a shiv, that the sound of 80’s rock trails down the hallway.
...
While the town of North Kill lay sleeping, the hag in the woods started weeping…
The carved words mock her from their spot in the plaster. Whoever put them there wanted to make sure they’d stick. 
It’s the hundredth time she’s read them, could probably recite it in her sleep, and yet she still studies each crudely drawn letter as if the answer to her predicament lies in their grit. 
“As the bodies decay, the wolves hunt their prey,” she mutters aloud, and the telltale creak of a metal door announces the arrival of dinner.
She glances up. Spaghetti again.
“And the sheriff continues his creeping,” she finishes pointedly. The cop considers her there, and to her surprise, he takes a seat across from her in the old wooden chair. The soft drone of a commercial comes from the little radio at the end of the hall.
“You have a shit taste in poetry,” he says, apropos of nothing.
“If you didn’t want me to read it, you shouldn’t have put me in this cell,” she replies through a mouthful of pasta.
The edges of his lip curl. He changes the topic. “So you think you know what’s going on here?”
“I think I know enough.” She shrugs. “And I think that’s why you’re keeping me here.”
“Alright, take your shot. What’s your best guess?” 
She wasn’t expecting that. To be frank, she has no fucking clue what’s going on. “Some sort of… government experiment? Like, a mutant animal that escaped,” she trails off.
“Government experiment?” he repeats, and surprise, the barest hint of a wry grin tugs at his lips.
Ugh, the bastard has the audacity to mock her. She scowls. “Yeah, sure. That’s my guess.”
He tilts his head to the side, mulling her words over. “It’s a good guess, I’ll give you that.” The gel holding his hair in place isn’t doing its job right; a few stray hairs pass over his receding hairline. He looks exhausted.
She hasn’t really had the chance to stop and observe him. It’s not the kind of tired after a long day’s work; it’s a bone-deep weariness that’s the result of years of hard life. Being a cop isn’t easy, she’s sure, but this looks different. This is a small town that shouldn’t see anything more than a rowdy drunk and maybe a petty theft or two.
She’s seen her fair share of cops to compare.
“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says. “Stop while you’re ahead.”
His words bring her out of her observation, and she blinks, putting her fork down. “What, so you’re saying that if I just… stay quiet, you’ll let me go?”
“No,” he says bluntly. “You’re in just as much trouble as I am.”
Well, thank you, whatever the fuck that means. Laura narrows her eyes in consideration. “Trouble with who?”
His radio crackles on his chest, and he abruptly stands up. “Playtime’s over.“
“If not government experiments, what then?” she calls after his retreating back. “Some sort of chemical spill?”
He leaves just before the ad break finally ends on the radio. She doesn’t really listen to Ozzy Osbourne, but the heavy metal and low, drawled voice is just as recognizable as Elvis.
‘Howling in shadows, living in a lunar spell…’
On the other side of the building, a faint laugh devoid of humor rings.
...
June 30th, 2022
The longer I wait, the less likely I’m getting out of here.
It’s a thought that bleeds panic through her veins. Her mom’s voice continues to nag in the background to, ‘Stay calm, stay low, you gotta be smart about this-’ But she’s seen the documentaries about people who get kidnapped, and she’s fraying at the edges.
Laura knows it’s only been five days, but each minute drags on with no end in sight. The thought of losing track of time terrifies her, so she keeps a tally in the North Kill Junior Officer notepad left behind with her lunch a few days ago. A cartoon bear waves at her from the cover. She scribbles in its eyes.
There has to be a way out . 
She sits up at the sound of the door opening, tucking away her sketch of Detective Dick Whippet getting mauled by a cougar.
He doesn’t have to speak for her to know the drill. She puts her hands through the bars and he nods appreciatively, cuffing her with a solid click.
It’s shower time.
Despite the awkwardness of stripping naked just a wall away, the change in scenery is worth it.  She chances a peek in the one-second window afforded between the door and the dividing fence, and, yup. The rest of the precinct is still eerily empty, chairs stacked on tables and a thick, pervasive silence that covers them like a blanket.
The first and last time Laura was in a police department, she could only remember the faint edges of the front lobby. This one feels more worn down, regardless. There’s a sense of neglect that goes far beyond the outdated desks and dusty office chairs.
If he’s the only one here… maybe she could overpower him?
Between the soothing pressure against her scalp and her train of thought, it takes her a second to catch on when she notices the blood on her fingers.
“Shit,” she mutters. 
Her cycle had been bound to start any day, now. It just happens to be today.
“Everything good?” he asks, alert.
Oh, hell no. Not now. This is the last conversation she wants to have with a man, let alone the one keeping her hostage. But what’s the alternative? Walking back to her cell and hoping she doesn’t bleed through, then stuffing toilet paper down her pants for the next five days? Screw that.
Laura swallows her embarrassment. It’s literally not her fault. 
“So, uh, everything’s okay…”
“...But?”
“But my period just started.”
“...Ah,” is his lame response.
God, men are so predictable . “Do you have any pads? Tampons? A diva cup?”
“A what?”
“I need supplies ,” she stresses over the sound of the rushing water. “Do. You. Have. Any.”
Now it’s his turn to mutter, “Shit.”
“You know,” she says, leaning up against the gross wall tiles, soap in hand. “You really should’ve thought about this before you decided to keep a woman jailed illegally.”
No answer.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking,” is his reply. If she didn’t know better, she’d say the creepy cop sounded flustered.
I’m going to have to use toilet paper, she thinks with an edge of fatalism. “Do you… still have my bag? I have things there.”
“Yes, I still- It’s not that we don’t have supplies. We have supplies here,” he stumbles over his words defensively. Apparently, this is a sore subject.
“‘Kay, so, could you get them?”
He seems to mull it over in silence, till finally, “Goddamn it.” The water shuts off and a hand juts out with a towel. “Put this on and give me your hands.”
Laura obliges, sticking her hands out just beyond the wall so her body is still hidden. The handcuffs rub uncomfortably against her wet wrists.
“Stay. Put.”
… Huh?
“Yes, sir,” she says, not quite believing what she’s hearing. But his footsteps trail away, and the door of the showers…
Shuts closed.
She chances a look around the corner and her eyes confirm it. He said stay and expects her to obey him like a dog. Did he honestly think she was this complacent? 
Maybe you should be, the thought crosses her mind, but adrenaline drowns it out. If she doesn’t get out soon, then… what next? Who’s to say that he won’t put a bullet in her brain tomorrow? 
Her feet make up their mind before the rest of her catches up and she pushes on the door, praying to whoever hears her that it stays silent. No sign of him.
Oh my god. Blood shoots through her veins and she’s off, running as fast and quietly as she can into the large dim room. The red light of a fire exit shines like a beacon and she could almost weep, racing to the door. Except, when she tries to push it open, it’s locked.
She presses again in her panic, and it still doesn’t budge, the dull clack of metal a mocking sound. 
Who the fuck locks a fire exit?
A door slams shut somewhere in the precinct and she swings her head up in time to catch Travis coming out of a storage closet on the other side of the room. An odd clash of emotions erupt on his face: fury, shock, shame, before finally settling on cold determination.
There’s a breath of stillness, then both move.
Potential escape routes are categorized in a flurry: stairs leading up to the second floor, and a shorter staircase that leads to a formal set of doors that she can only hope is the main entrance. That’s the one. 
“Laura!”
Eyes on the prize! she thinks hysterically. Go, go, go-
She refuses to look back, tugging down chairs with her shackled wrists as she races forward. The muttered curses that follow are like music to her ears, but he’s still too close. 
He might have a good thirty years of wear on her, but he’s surprisingly fit for his age. His hand catches the edge of her towel and she grunts, jerking free to let it fall, dignity be damned. 
“Hey!”
So close! Adrenaline pumps away any hesitation and Laura pushes on, wet feet slapping against the tile. Her feet barely graze the stone steps up to the door, please, god, and the lock turns with sweet serenity. She opens it a sliver and slips in, naked body grazing the doorway, and swiftly locks it behind her.
It’s not outside. Hell, it’s not even a normal fucking office with windows. But there’s a chair she can place under the lock, so she throws it under and knocks over a filing cabinet while at it, the crash muffled by stacks of folders and loose paper.
The officer’s body rocks into the doors. “ Open this goddamn door right now!"
She runs for the phone on the desk and overshoots, body knocking into the desk with an impact she barely feels.
“Ms. Brandt!” More banging on the door.
It's awkward work with handcuffs, but she manages to lodge the phone between her shoulder and chin and begins dialing Max’s parent’s landline. Something's wrong, though. There’s no tone.
Instead, there’s a voice: hers, screaming .
“MAX!” rings out over the receiver. Distorted sounds of ripping flesh and gnawing, demonic growls that crawled out of her worst nightmare play out in a warbled-
She drops the phone and slaps her hands over her mouth in shock, backing away from the desk as if it burst into flames, but nothing else happens. It’s just a plain, run-of-the-mill black phone.
Is she in hell? Did she die in the cellar, too, and this was her punishment?
Her eyes dart wildly across the room, breath coming out in pants, now. Hysteria is creeping in but she has to focus right now, has to get it together while she still has this chance. A corkboard catches her eye, and despite it being the most useless thing for a prison break, something inexplicably draws her near. The headlines leap off the wall in disjointed notes.
FOUR MONTHS ON: MISSING HIKERS
FREAK SHOW UP IN FLAMES
A calendar with the same ridiculous cartoon bear cop has a date circled in thick red ink. She traces over the letters, FULL MOON! over June 25th. The night they arrived. Tucked beneath the calendar are the edges of a faded green flier, and she raises it up with shaking fingers. Harum Scarum. She’s seen this sign before, right?
Missing pets. Missing persons. A freak show burned down. A full moon. Not only had she seen it, she literally walked right to it.
A warped cage with scorched metal and a broken sign rises up in her memory, and like a petal in water, she picks it out: Silas the wolf boy .
“Werewolves,” she breathes aloud. Of course.
And that’s when Sheriff Hackett breaks through.
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sereia1313 · 2 years
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Chapters 121-130
Read it on Ao3, Dokuga, or FFnet for daily updates!
Summary: Some memories fade with time, lured away by a passing breeze. Others are so ingrained in our hearts that we cling to them with every fibre of our being. To the point where it’s all we remember.
Inspiration: "Forget Me Not" by Marianas Trench
Muse
Hesitation continued to stay his hand. He needed to find her—needed to see her, no matter the outcome.
He tasted blood as the thought of explaining her death to the kit entered his mind.
She was the boy's reason for training, for wanting to prove himself a capable packmate. He'd trusted the Shiro, trusted Sesshoumaru to keep her safe.
Failure had never tasted so bitter.
He reached for the door, promising himself he'd shield the kit from the atrocities that lay on the other side.
But he never had the chance.
The door flew open, Kagome staring up at him, chest heaving, before leaping into his arms.
"I did it!"
Conscientious 
"I wasn't sure if it would work—well, I knew it should, but it's not like I've ever attempted it before." Her excited chatter buzzed in his ears, brow furrowing as his eyes tried to comprehend the sight.
She was alright.
She was alright.
The rest of her words fell away as he gathered her in his arms, a surprised squeak escaping her lips as he buried his face in her hair.
"Sesshoumaru—"
"You test my sanity."
She relaxed against him, sensing his disquiet. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd agree if I'd told you. But I'm okay. And so are they."
Pathos
A myriad of questions swirled around in his head, but none would form as she led him into the garden, his brain still processing the fact that she was alive.
"Kagome—"
She placed a finger to her lips, then motioned to the tree at the far end. Wind rustled the branches, and he braced himself for the incoming storm from his mother, it being the one trigger they hadn't been able to quell.
But it never came.
Golden eyes focused on the base of the tree, widening at the sight of his mother's head in the lap of her mate, Kagura running her fingers through silver hair.
Extradite
Kagome refused to let him any closer, wanting to give them more time alone, and perhaps it was better that way, his brother and the wolf prince arriving moments later.
"Keh, see? I told you she was fine," Inuyasha groused, crossing his arms.
Kouga wrinkled his nose, looking between the miko and the two demonesses. "Not doin' anything that's gonna get you kicked out, are ya Kags?"
A slight blush stained her cheeks, and she rubbed the back of her head. "I don't think so." Guilt tainted her scent as she met Sesshoumaru's gaze. "At least I hope not."
He narrowed his eyes—that remained to be seen.
Luddite
She was hiding something.
It was in the way her hands fluttered, the way her eyes kept moving towards Kagura.
The wind demoness hadn't moved from her place at his mother's side, murmuring softly as she continued to stroke her hair. None but Kagome could get close, his mother's hackles raising in the protection of her mate.
He had nothing against the woman, especially with how focused his mother now was, their fingers intertwined before she brought Kagura's palm to her lips.
It was the miko that bothered him—even more so than she had before.
Actions such as these always came with a price.
Apropos
The smell of death followed her out of the garden and continued to linger even as the kit presented his kill.
He was a little put out that she'd come to him, as tradition cited he was supposed to lay it at her feet, but that thought was soon forgotten under her praise and warm embrace, leaving the boy an embarrassed mess.
Time with the wolf pack had provided training on preparing the meat, but Kouga still offered to aid the boy, hoisting the buck over one shoulder as Shippou led him and Inuyasha towards the kitchens.
Wrapping his claws around her wrist, Sesshoumaru ignored her protests as he dragged her away.
Ostentatious
He'd grabbed his swords before leaving the garden, the hilt of Tenseiga coated in her power even as it sat against his hip.
Barely managing to bite back a growl, he shoved the miko into his quarters, eyes blazing as he shut the door behind him. "What did you do?"
Kagome whirled on him, anger spiking from being handled so roughly. "Was that necessary? I would've told you back in the gardens."
Sesshoumaru stayed where he was, not trusting himself to get any closer. "But not before."
She had the decency to flush in embarrassment. "You wouldn't have agreed if I'd told you before. Which is stupid because it all worked out—"
"You are dying."
Brouhaha
She bit her lip, turning away from him. "I'm not dying. I'm just not immortal anymore."
Emotions threatened to erupt from his chest, heedless of his command for control. Her words made no sense. She was human. Humans were not—
"The jewel," she explained, starting to pace the expanse of his room, "when I wished it away, the object—the intent—was gone, but the power remained. It needed somewhere to go."
His brother had never spoken of their time together in the meidou, stating only that he'd found her and that the threat had been neutralized.
"So it chose a new host," he surmised, latching onto the information as the scent of decay continued to assault his nostrils.
Ineffable
Kagome nodded, still pacing. "You mentioned that there wasn't anything left for Tenseiga to bring Kagura back—" she stopped, giving him a pained look. "Did you know Inukimi tried to do it? Right after you told her about Kagura's death?"
Sesshoumaru jerked in surprise. His mother had been distraught at the news and sequestered herself in her room, refusing to speak to anyone. The servants had stayed away, and he'd had Naraku to deal with, not realizing until he'd returned that something had gone wrong.
He'd always thought the loss of a second mate caused her mind to deteriorate—had she attempted to revive Kagura and been punished in the process?
Menagerie 
"The process required an exorbitant amount of power," he stated. It wasn't surprising; death was fickle and needed balance; the fact that his father had crafted a blade to cheat it was a feat in itself.
Her pacing stilled, the miko's shoulders hunched as she avoided his gaze. "Not exactly."
Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
"No."
"Why not?" he growled, swiftly losing patience. Had he done something, a slight towards one of the various creatures living at the shiro, to misplace her trust enough not to confide in him? Had he not changed enough from their first meeting to warrant—
"Because you'll get mad."
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adultswim2021 · 2 years
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Robot Chicken #38: “Lust for Puppets” | November 5, 2006 – 11:30PM | S02E18
Almost done with this season. LETS GOOOOO
First sketch of length: Calvin and Hobbes. The premise is exactly what you think it would be: Calvin is seen as mentally ill, he's diagnosed with various mental problems, and it causes a downward spiral ending in his being committed. Eh!
Okay this is apropos of nothing, and I don't even remember what sketch it was that made me take note of this (it was one of the short channel change things probably): The prevalence of blurred-out shirts on this show. Where does that come from? Did they just ignore whatever standards and practices thing that lead them to needing to censor out stuff? Did they originally air uncensored in some cases and get blurred out later? It literally makes me look down on the show, like what a bunch of fucking amateurs.  
Next bad sketch: the fake semen on the set of There's Something About Mary turns out to give Cameron Diaz cancer. Having limited time on Earth causes her to go beat people up with baseball bats that wronged her. Then she suicide bombs a bunch of paparazzi. Yeah, this one just sucks, too. The thing that I feel the most betrayed with Robot Chicken is that I'm pretty sure Adult Swim is letting these people make the exact show that they want to make, and they are wasting all that freedom doing lame-ass sketches that skewer celebrities that nobody should care about. This sketch is fundamentally why I despise this show so much. But on the other hand, all comedy is ephemeral and it doesn't really matter, does it? All subject matter will become irrelevant no matter how self-consciously evergreen we try to make our art be. NOTHING MATTERS (KILLS SELF).
Oh yeah, I forgot to say, they did the thing again where they used the same punchline in a short channel change sketch; a group of cats are hanging out and a mouse runs in the middle of them with a suicide bomb vest on, taking them all out. You'd think they'd at least put this bit in a different episode.
Then there's a sketch where a woman brings home a Frankenstein to meet her parents, and the dad keeps thinking he's being monstrous and shoots him with a shotgun over and over. He eventually learns to love his daughters new beau, but then has a change of heart when he finds his name is Frankenstein, thinking that he's Jewish. Ehhhh. Alright.
Mario Kart: Vice City has Mario and Luigi mistakenly rolling their Go-Karts into Grand Theft Auto. You can probably guess the jokes: Mario physics don't work the same way in GTA, and they wind up causing havoc. The end of the sketch shows Yoshi hunting for them, and he winds up in Racoon City and getting swarmed by zombies. I'm not a real gamer, so I had NO IDEA what this was a reference to. Apparently it's Resident Evil. Okay!
So that's this one. I had a bad time. Thanks.
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tennessoui · 3 years
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If you're up up to it, how about obikin and 42?
yes!!! Prompt 42 is Star-Crossed Lovers, but star-crossed lovers are soooooo out now. 'Crossed the stars to be lovers' is IN, baby!!
(2.7k)
Someone has left a letter on his bunk. Obi-Wan as a rule doesn’t get letters. Actually, as a rule, Obi-Wan has never wanted to receive a letter in his entire life. They all have datapads for a reason, and it’s because they’ve evolved past the need for flimsi and ink when there are means at their disposal to deliver messages near instantly.
So no, Obi-Wan has never wanted to see a letter sitting on his bunk. He finds the whole thing rather trying, actually, the Flimsi Friends program the Jedi Order established fifty standard years ago in an attempt to connect their Jedi with others across the branches through letters. Obi-Wan had scorned the idea as an Initiate living comfortably in the Temple on Coruscant, and his opinion hadn’t really changed once he began his tenure at the AgriCorps.
Kabre notices before anyone else. “Oh, hey! Obi-Wan’s got a letter.”
“Finally,” Aldran grins, craning his neck from where he’s collapsed on his bunk. “We only signed you up months ago.”
“Really, you shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan says. “Really.”
“Oh, come now, little Obi,” Kabre pats him on the head. Obi-Wan is twenty-five and of a perfectly average height, but Kabre is close to three heads taller than him and of an indeterminable age. “Think of it as an opportunity to strengthen your connection to the living Force.”
“Through the Flimsi Friends program,” Obi-Wan deadpans, raising an eyebrow up at his peer.
“Getting letters from Susa is the highlight of my week,” Aldran tells the ceiling dreamily.
Obi-Wan shares a commiserating eyeroll with Kabre. “That’s because you’re in love with her.”
“Who wouldn’t be? She’s so sweet and kind and pretty and she has all these stories from her adventures in the ExploraCorps--”
“Alright, who got him talking about Susa?” Lathrum asks from the door, sighing in exasperation as he makes his way over to his own bunk. “It’ll be a standard day before he’s done.”
“Hey!” Aldran gasps, offended and already close to sulking. “Whatever. Fine. Everyone’s just jealous that Susa and I are in love because y’all are never going to find something nearly as good as we have.”
“Obi-Wan finally got a letter from the program,” Kabre announces to Lathrum. “We were just saying that he should at least try to be excited.”
“Yes, perhaps you’ll meet your own Susa,” Lathrum smirks, peeling off his dirt-covered tunic. His next words come out muffled. “Force help us if that happens.”
“No need to worry,” Obi-Wan says dryly, picking up the letter and studying it. “They appear to be a youngling.”
“A youngling wrote you?” Kabre asks, barely restrained glee in his deep baritone.
Aldran guffaws from his bunk. “Well now you have to write back!”
“Knowing your luck, it’s probably a youngling from the Jedi Temple,” Lathrum says. “Dear Obi-Wan, Today someone chose me to be their Padawan and I’m one step closer to being a Jedi Knight. How are your plants doing?”
“Yes, alright,” Obi-Wan shakes his head, smiling slightly. He had met Lathrum when he was fourteen and still bitterly disappointed about his new position at the AgriCorps, and Lathrum has never let him forget it even after all these years.
He sits down on his mattress and pulls out the letter. It’s short at least. The handwriting is atrocious but the spelling is worse.
Dear Obi-Wan,
Hi! My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am nine years old. How are you doing today? My master says I have to write this to practice my spelling. I think not everyone can learn Basic, but he says I have to and that all Jedi masters know how. I didn’t ever know there was all this stuff I have to do to be a Jedi. I’ve been here for weeks now and I still don’t have my lightsaber!
I think the temple is really weird. It’s so big and cold. I miss my friends back home. Me and Kitster would go crazy exploring this place but no one here wants to play with me. Master Jinn says not to worry and I’m not! The temple is just really big and I’m cold all the time and I miss my mom. Master Jinn found me on Tatooine and took me here to make me a Jedi which is great, but everyone here already knows each other and I don’t think they like me much. I know the Jedi Council doesn’t. They didn’t even want to train me but Master Jinn inzi--incis--said he would.
Do you want to be friends?
Would you explore the temple with me?
Write back soon please,
Anakin
“Well?” Kabre asks, when Obi-Wan finishes silently reading the letter.
Obi-Wan sighs and rubs a hand over the jagged penmanship. It’s all too obvious that this Anakin Skywalker is...painfully young, churlish and childish and achingly lonely.
Obi-Wan sighs again, harder, as he looks up at his bunkmates. “Where do we keep the blasted flimsi?”
---
Dear Anakin,
Thank you for your letter, it was very nice to read. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m 25 years old. I hope you are settling in at the Temple better by the time this letter finds you. I have to admit I was very surprised to hear that you are nine years old and have been allowed to train to be a Jedi. That’s unheard of. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Jedi. There must have been a reason your master chose you. The Force wills it and it will be.
It is understandable to miss your mother and your old home. When I became a member of the AgriCorps, I spent the first few months missing the Jedi temple on Coruscant a lot. It was the only home I ever had. But we make others as we go. The Temple is big and I suppose very cold compared to a desert planet--I looked up Tatooine here and there wasn’t much information, but I could never live somewhere with two suns! I’d be burned to a crisp in a matter of hours.
The upside to the Temple being big is that there are a lot of hiding spots and footholds for climbing. Try the pillars in the entrance hall. They connect to each other. My friends and I would run around on top of them for hours, although I think that was mostly because we were too scared to get down. You should ask Knight Eerin about it, or Knight Vos. They’re usually in the Mess Hall if not the Halls of Healing.
I’m sure Master Jinn has you busy with meditation and classes, but I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Best,
Obi-Wan Kenobi
---
Dear Obi-Wan,
I was really excited to get your letter! I didn’t know it would take so long but it’s been ages! So much stuff has happened. I finally finished my remedial classes and Master says we can focus more time of katas now! I can’t wait to learn how to fight! And Master Windu smiled at me the other day when he saw me in the hall because Master told him about my grades!
I asked Knight Eerin about you and she showed me some pictures she had on her datapad of you when you lived at the Temple. You look really pretty cool! I have blond hair and blue eyes if you were wondering. My mom always said she thought I was going to be really tall. What do you look like now? What do you do at the AgriCorps? Why did you leave the Temple? Knight Eerin says you need to give her a comm call soon. She didn’t sound very happy.
I made a friend! Knight Vos’ padawan was there when I talked to him about what you told me, and she came with me to go exploring! She’s so cool. She’s been helping me with my katas too.
Apparently I won’t get my lightsaber for years! That’s so long!
Anyway I have to go and do my reading now but please write back faster this time, Obi-Wan!
--Ani
----
Obi-Wan never reacts quite as happily and dramatically as Aldrin does when he sees a letter from Anakin on his bunk in the evenings, but over the years everyone learns not to disturb Obi-Wan on those nights.
The first letter Obi-Wan receives from Anakin after the boy turns eighteen includes his commlink frequency hastily crammed at the bottom of the page. If you want, Anakin has scribbled.
“Finally,” Obi-Wan jokes when the line connects and Anakin answers breathlessly. “No offense to you, dear one, and you have come quite a ways since you were a youngling, but your handwriting is still atrocious. I’d much rather talk to you like this than try to puzzle out what you’ve written.”
Anakin splutters and then stutters out in a voice slower and deeper than Obi-Wan had expected, “I didn’t know you had an accent, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan finds that he likes that voice saying his name in that way.
That’s the first sign of trouble.
----
Anakin sends a photo of his knighting ceremony. Obi-Wan wants to cry with pride. His friends tease him about it relentlessly. “You look like I did the day I married Susa,” Aldrin crows and takes a picture of Obi-Wan’s blushing, laughing face. Later, Obi-Wan reluctantly sends it to Anakin.
“I’m jealous of your friends,” Anakin confesses with an exhale of static. “They get to see you everyday.”
“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, unable to say more. Unable to admit that he’s thought the same thing about Anakin’s master at the Temple. Unable to deny it though.
They move onto safer topics, ones that make Obi-Wan’s chest feel less tight.
----
“Jedi Knights are forbidden to have romantic attachments,” Kabre tells him apropos of nothing one late evening when they’re leaning against the railings of their cabin.
Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to pretend to not know what his friend is talking about. Anakin is twenty-three now. They call each other as often as possible, whenever they have enough free time. Thinking about Anakin, somewhere out in the galaxy, makes Obi-Wan feel dangerous things. Dangerous, insidious, illogical things.
“Yes,” he agrees.
“Everything you’ve ever told me about this boy makes me think he’s in love with you,” Kabre says. “And the way you tell it makes me think you’re in love with him too.”
“Kabre, I…”
“I’m not asking you to deny it to me, Obi-Wan. You don’t need to defend yourself. You know no one cares if you’ve gone and fallen in love with your flimsi friend. It happens. And Force knows there’s no way you could be more insufferable than Aldrin and Susa.”
“He’s a Jedi Knight, Kabre,” Obi-Wan looks away, off over the fields. “I know what that means.”
----
When Anakin is twenty-four, Obi-Wan walks into his room to see a letter on his pillow. He blinks in surprise. He hasn’t gotten a letter since they petered out in favor of comm calls with Anakin.
But he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.
He sits down to read it.
Dear Obi-Wan,
I find myself growing weary of Knighthood. I love my Padawan, I love the missions, I love the fighting. But I love something else more. I have for almost as long as I can remember.
I’ve been looking through the old letters from you. I’ve kept them all. I know Jedi should not have material attachments, but I found that I could no more throw them away than give my lightsaber to a Sith. They make up our story.
You were the first friend I ever had at the Temple. I don’t quite think you realized that then, and you may not even realize it now. But you were. I would get a letter from you and feel warm for weeks afterwards.
Actually, everything I love about the Temple and the Jedi you gave to me. My friends now, indirectly. All the hiding spots. Moving meditation.
When I got my kyber crystal, I wanted to tell you before anyone else. When my Padawan braid was cut, I gave it to my master, but wished I had something I could give to you too.
That was the day I really admitted to myself that you already have all of me.
Obi-Wan, I’m in love with you. I love you more every time we talk. Disengaging the comms at the end of the night hurts like losing my hand all over again. I love you, I love you.
And I have been a coward about it for too many years. I was afraid that you would reject me, think me too rash and young and foolish. But I know what I want. You told me in one of your letters that you believed I lived off of a single-minded desire to achieve my goals and that I would let nothing stand in the way.
I do not plan on starting now, if you will have me that is. I dream of nothing more than to feel your hands on my face, to listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest.
I will not disrespect the ways of the Jedi by loving you quietly, when I know you are my deepest, strongest attachment. One that I will not shake, even if I lived to be as old as Master Yoda himself.
If you find that you feel the same way, I will leave the Jedi Order tomorrow and meet you on Bandomeer. If you do not, then I understand and will never speak of this again. I am something of an expert after all these years of loving you silently from afar.
Yours sincerely, yours always, yours completely,
Anakin
Obi-Wan traces the words with a shaking hand. He doesn’t know he’s crying until a tear falls onto the flimsi. Oh, Anakin. Oh, his brave, foolish Anakin.
Will he really be so selfish as to allow Anakin to leave his Knighthood for him? His padawan, his home?
But the knowledge that Anakin loves him is a heady, addictive feeling. Obi-Wan has never truly gotten the things he wants. He loves his life now, of course. But he hadn’t wanted it.
And he loves Anakin.
He loves him terribly.
He reaches for a piece of flimsi and a pen.
----
Anakin will be the first to admit he’s been in a foul mood for a few standard weeks now. He’d sent that letter to Obi-Wan--Force, why had he sent that letter to Obi-Wan, obviously the man will never want to talk to him again now--and then immediately Ahsoka and him had been called in for a mission.
It had been awful and disgusting. Anakin is covered in mud from head to toe, and his padawan doesn’t look any better. And worst of all, he had had no time at all to comm Obi-Wan. No time at all to see how the man had taken his confession. It feels like he’s been holding his breath for days.
But he’s at the Temple now. He can clean himself off and call Obi-Wan incessantly until the man answers. Anakin can’t keep living like this.
“Letter for you, Master,” Ahsoka says as he enters their quarters. She’d been sent ahead while Anakin had finished docking the ship, and now she’s sitting at the table perfectly clean.
Anakin thinks his heart stops at these words and then it starts beating as fast as it ever has before. “Where?”
“I put it on your bed,” Ahsoka peers up at him with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay, Skyguy? You look a bit--”
But Anakin’s gone, already tearing into his room. There on the bedspread is a letter. Obi-Wan’s written him a letter.
Anakin has to try opening it three times before he finally gets his fingers to cooperate. It’s very short.
Dearest One, Obi-Wan has written.
I’ll meet you here tomorrow on Bandomeer. I will be waiting.
Forever yours,
Obi-Wan
Anakin smiles and feels like he could cry or sing or dance or scream from all the joy that’s welled up in his chest at this small handful of words Obi-Wan has given him. They’re everything and more.
Mindful of the mud on his person, he puts the letter gently on his bed and walks back out to the common area. Ahsoka is right where he left her.
“Okay, now you just look scary,” she says, pointing a fork at him. “Stop smiling like that.”
Anakin lets his grin die. He won’t relish this next part, but it’s for Obi-Wan. It’s so he can be with Obi-Wan. It's necessary. “Snips,” he says, sitting down opposite her. “We need to talk.”
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The Lingerie Game
{An Obey Me Fic} – F!MC
Synopsis: A game is happening at the House of Lamentation— anyone who sees MC not fully clothed will get the opportunity to spend 12 hours time alone with her wearing lingerie of their choice.
<<CH2
Chapter Three: A Game of Strip Poker
warnings: mildly n.s.f.t, sexual themes, poker
Mammon cashes in on his 12-hour reward. He's decided to teach MC the ins and outs of poker, but with a twist. However, the game can't last forever.
Word Count: 5610
Sitting in wait for MC is a package carefully positioned in front of her bedroom door. A gold ribbon wraps around the box, contrasting with the plain brown paper that covers it. Attached is a note that reads:
My room! Saturday night!
Wear this underneath your normal clothes.
 “Wow. His handwriting is worse than mine,” MC comments as she reads the note. She also remarks on the lack of signature. It’s a good thing that it’s obvious who sent this. No one else but Mammon could be so confident yet convey such bashfulness through writing.
As soon as she finishes reading, she takes the package into her room, eager to see the lingerie Mammon has picked out. Upon opening, she initially notices the color scheme—black and gold. As if she could expect anything else. She goes on to pull out the first piece, holding it in front of her to get a better look. In her hands is a short, black chemise with a sheer body. An outline of lace separates the see-through fabric from an opaque bikini. What’s more, golden dagger-shaped shards hang off the brassiere while metallic specks can be seen throughout the flowing fabric.
He expects me to be able to wear this underneath my regular clothes? The frown on her face as she thought this is replaced by an affectionate smile as she continues to stare at the chemise. She then sets it aside and lets out a sentimental breath as she does so. Reaching into the box again she pulls out a pair of black boyshorts studded with silver white diamonds on the sides. Attached to the shorts are garter straps with gold-colored clasps at the end. Stockings, however, did not come with the set.
“I wonder if that was on purpose,” she mutters to herself. “Oh well, guess we’ll find out Saturday night.” She stares at the lingerie laid out on her bed, and for a moment, thinks about all the potential activities Mammon has planned.
Whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it.
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 Saturday has finally arrived and after a long day of making up missed school, Mammon and MC could use some winding down.
“Why did we have to spend a whole day at school for just a couple of lousy hours?!” Mammon complains as the two walk home.
“Because he’s a sadist,” MC replies. There’s no denying that ‘he' refers to Lucifer. She’s truly contemplating whether it was, indeed, worth it after having lost eight hours of her day off to forced independent study. “At least there’s tonight.”
Mammon chuckles shyly and agrees. His confidence picks up speed as he states, “Ya know it’s gonna be fun cause The Great Mammon planned it!” A grin plasters his face while he says this.
In response, she comments on how it sounds like she’ll have to take some time to relax beforehand.
He agrees rather begrudgingly, his disappointment shining through despite having just spent the first half of the day together already.
The two eventually reach home and part ways, having agreed to meet in Mammon’s room after dinner. MC has no idea what the evening plans could be, but knowing him, she’s going to need energy. With this is mind, she decides to nap in the time before dinner, and makes her way up to her room. Once there, she manages to only take her shirt off before flopping onto bed and falling asleep. The cool fabric is refreshing compared to the hot air outside, perfect for afternoon dozing.
A knock on the door disrupts her slumber. With it, a lazy acknowledgement escapes from MC, prompting the knocker to enter the room.
“Dinner's ready, MC,” Satan calls out. In response, all he hears is mumbles coming from the body half-under the covers. Satan sighs as he steps further into the room. “It’s not good to sleep so early in the day.” He immediately goes from lecturing to tempting as he adds, “Besides, I made your favorite.”
This sparks some energy in MC. Satan’s cooking is always delicious and better yet he says it’s one of her favorites. She quickly pushes herself up and the blanket that was covering her falls to the side. Still in bed, she turns to face him and with resolve, tells him she will be right there.
He decisively ignores what she said to instead ask, “Are you not wearing a shirt?”
MC looks down to confirm that she is, in fact, shirtless. Upon realizing what this means, she looks up, stares ahead at the wall in front of her, and says flatly, “No. I am not.” She can’t believe how quick that was.
“A win-win for us both, it seems,” Satan is obviously pleased with what just happened. “I’ll let you get dressed.” He then takes his leave, closing the door behind him.
MC remains sitting in bed, her eyes lingering blankly at the space Satan just left through. That was almost embarrassingly too fast. It’s only been less than a week since the game first started and already two prizes are being rewarded. Let’s just focus on tonight, she thinks as she pushes the encounter out of her mind. But, first, food.
Dinner passes without much incident. To their displeasure, the brothers know Mammon will be getting uninterrupted time with MC tonight. But the punishment from last time is still fresh in their minds, so they tended to steer away from that topic. Only the rogue complaint here and there made it out their mouths. Not that any questions would be answered anyway; MC is unaware of the activities for the night and there’s no way Mammon would tell his brothers what he has prepared.
Upon finishing her meal, MC heads upstairs to get ready for the night. First, a shower is in order. Can’t feel her best without one. She makes sure to use the scents she thinks Mammon would like best. He always seems to try to stand close to me when I use the strawberry-scented stuff.
After washing, she tosses on some throw-away clothes for the walk back to her room. She’s too wet to immediately put on the lingerie and she’s certainly not walking back in a towel. There can’t be two winners in a day.
She's eventually able to wear the lingerie and walks over to the mirror hanging on her door. Moment of truth. She looks over her reflection, quite pleased with how she looks. “Who knew Mammon could pick out something that looks so good?” Her thoughts instantly leave her mouth. “Well, I guess modeling helps.”
Still, there’s the matter of trying to wear it under her everyday clothes. It definitely wasn’t designed to do that. A larger, loose-fitting shirt will work, but the bottoms might be a bit trickier. Jeans definitely won’t work, in fact any type of pants won’t. She’ll have to go with a skirt. The two tops can easily be tucked in with that too, making it slightly more manageable.
The completed ensemble is a bit uncomfortable, but it���ll do. He can’t be planning on never seeing the lingerie. Eventually she can take off the other clothes…right? Well, either way, it’s time to head to Mammon’s room.
She announces her arrival with three sharp knocks. In return, she hears a startled Mammon telling her to come in. When she enters the room, she sees him sitting on the couch, his back to the door. She also notes the trashcan filled to the top with crumpled up paper. Seems like it took him a couple times to find the right words for the note earlier.
“You ready?” she asks.
“I’ve been ready,” he replies a little impatiently while turning to face her. His tone quickly changes, though, as he attempts to hide this anxious eagerness. “Not that I’ve just been sitting here waiting!” He swiftly decides to change the subject to avoid any further hole digging. Instead, he comments on what MC is wearing. On how little it is, in fact.
“What? You told me to wear my everyday clothes,” she says, genuinely confused by his line of reasoning. “The skirt isn’t even short. It’s mid-length.” MC lifts the ends while she states this, as if to prove the point.
This causes Mammon to look away. It takes him a slight moment to regain himself before he says, “I guess it can’t be helped.” He gets up from the couch and walks over to MC. Draping his jacket across her shoulders, he tells her, “Wear this.”
She’s completely baffled at this point. More clothes? A couple seconds are spent in wonder until she slips her arms through. She doesn’t completely mind. As the jacket settles, a scent drifts over her.
It smells like him.
MC hesitates to ask for an explanation, but the curiosity is pressing. “So, what’s the deal with the clothes, anyway?”
“Huh?” Mammon acts as though she knows what they’re going to do. “Well, with what you had on, you’d only have to lose twice.” This does nothing to clear up mystery, and its only when he sees MC's puzzled expression does he realize that. He finally reveals what the two will be doing, “I’m gonna teach ya poker!”
Of course. He has wanted to play countless times before, but MC didn’t know how nor was any interested in learning. But now she has too. On top of that, it seems like it’s going to be strip poker. How apropos.
“I see.” Good thing she took that nap. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have the mental energy to be taught anything else that day. “Alright, let’s get to it.”
Mammon gives a hum of agreement and the two make their way over to the couches where he’s set up the cards. On the table are examples of possible hands in order of ranking. As he goes over them, he makes sure to give MC enough time to properly memorize the categories. When she’s had her fill, he continues to explain the rules and mechanics of the variant his chosen in-depth.
Plainly, players will be dealt two cards, then five will be laid onto the table as community cards. Use the two cards in combination with the ones of the board to make a better hand than the other.
“I’ve decided to go easy on ya!” A huge smile can be seen on Mammon’s face. “This one’s the easiest to learn, so you should have no problem playing.” It’s obvious he’s having so much fun teaching her something he loves.
MC smiles in response. Seeing him so enthusiastic makes him so endearing. He’s quite serious about it too. No way he’s not by how thoroughly he’s explaining the game.
Soon enough the two begin playing, starting with some practice rounds. When MC decides she has the hang of it, she suggests they raise the stakes by finally betting clothes.
“Ya haven’t won yet!” Mammon rejects the idea straightaway. “Ya hafta win first,” he clarifies.
She has to wonder if he’s doing such a slow reveal on purpose. No, of course he is. First the long lesson now all the practicing. Though, she has to admit, it is more fun this way—there’s a buildup, anticipation. And there’s no point in rushing, they do have half a day. So, she's content to carry on without anteing for now.
While there’s a bit of enjoyment in trying to win against Mammon in something he excels in, MC is starting to lose interest. The lack of risk is starting to compromise the point of playing, even if she always either loses or folds. All she has to do is win once, then the real game can begin. Time to really focus.
Up to this point, she’s just been paying attention to her own cards and trying to beat Mammon’s hand. She’s been foregoing any observation of her opponent proper. Right, I’ve got to play the player as much as the game. She starts with some simple watching, noting anything that might help her: expressions, movements, comments, etc. Further scrutinizing is done by deliberately making a couple of bad moves to gauge his reactions. She’s getting nothing from him.
A couple more rounds go by, and MC has concluded that Mammon is unreadable, almost. The only time he reacted, just slightly, was when she nearly won. He seemed almost proud. That’s got to be her angle. She’s not skilled enough to read him, but she can coax him into giving away information. Just have to ask the right questions.
It takes some tries before finding the most effective line of questioning. Problem is, before, she wasn’t asking too many questions. Now, it’s like a flood gate has been lifted.
“Finally getting serious, huh?” If Mammon knew what she was up to, he wasn’t showing it. Additionally, the influx of questions hasn’t thrown him off. Rather, he’s quite excited to show off his talent in front of MC. Maybe a bit too excited. He’s letting down his guard.
Which is perfect for her. She needs this win. In fact, she might have him. The last thing she asked caused a slight stir in Mammon. “So, a pair in hand and a pair on the table is a two pair?”
“Yep! Got it!” Mammon's response showed no sign of hesitation or worry. But there was the tiniest hint of disappointment hidden within his words.
This is what tipped MC off. He thinks he has a better hand. Good thing her cards are better than what she said. And with what’s on the table, there's a good chance his cards will lose to her actual ones.
“Alright let’s show ‘em,” she says as she lays her cards into view.
Mammon almost immediately declared himself winner until she pointed at the three aces on the table, those being the two in her hand and then the community one. In addition to the pair included on the board, that makes her a hand a winner compared to Mammon’s, who only had five cards of the same suite.
“Guess we can start anteing then,” MC proclaims. She’s ready to stop being so damn uncomfortable because of the weird layers she’s wearing. She may not even try the next rounds, not that she’ll let Mammon know that. He would try to make excuses to prevent her from stripping for sure. “Actually, maybe you should explain how you’re thinking of doing that first,” she follows up after realizing he never clarified those particulars.
Mammon goes on to lay out the rules he’s devised. Simply, if both players show their hand, the loser has to remove an item of clothing. There’s no penalty to folding considering the circumstance.
Sure enough, the next round plays and she ends up losing an item of clothing. Can’t say she ended up not trying, though. She just didn’t try as hard. It was fun learning how to play against Mammon, but it’s too much now. There’s no way she can keep up steam.
She opts for the skirt first. It’s been the major cause of her discomfort, surprisingly to her. The band has been causing the two shirts to rub against her skin nonstop. She sticks her thumbs in to separate it from herself and lifts herself off the couch just enough to pull the skirt off, setting it to her side. With that she returns her gaze to Mammon.
This prompts a small fuss from him. Snapping out of a lascivious stare, he spits out, “Why'da go for that first? I gave ya the jacket!”
That’s the other reason. She doesn’t want to take his jacket off. She tells him as such, burying her head in it as she does. It’s soothing in a way.
A small amount of color rises across Mammon’s face from this. He gets up wordlessly and walks over to MC. Taking off his own sunglasses, he puts them on her, slightly brushing her cheeks as his hands slide past.
“There,” he says as he looks at her before walking back around the table. He seems satisfied with that explanation, or rather, lack thereof.
“These will literally be the next thing I take off.”
“They’re suppose'da be.” Mammon goes on to deal the next round. It was tight, coming down to who had the higher cards. Ultimately, he won by a hair.
And the glasses come right off.
The following hand plays much slower. MC takes her time to analyze everything, thinking of endless possible card combinations that’ll earn her a win as the community cards are laid down. She’s decided she can’t be the only one stripping.
It’s down to the last card on the table and she has to choose whether to show or fold. It’s a decent enough hand. She’ll show.
Mammon's the first to flip his cards, revealing a respectable hand, as well.
“Are you sure you haven’t been cheating?” She suddenly asks.
“Huh?” Mammon was taken by surprise with this. A little offended, he answers, “I may bend the rules sometimes. But this isn’t the time and place, MC. Even I know that.”
“You’re right,” she turns her cards over. “Because you would’ve won, then.” She reveals a hand that triumphs over her opponent’s.
“MC!” He exclaims both pleased and a little unsettled. “Ya had me going there. Hah! Look at ya.”
But she is just looking at him, waiting with a smile half-cocked. They showed their cards. She won. He lost.
He eventually understood why she was staring at him with such a look. And he froze. Right, by his rules, he loses an article of clothing now. For some reason, this didn’t even occur to him as a possibility—that they’d both be half-naked.
He's already lost his jacket and glasses. All that’s left are his shirt and pants. He picks the prior. Reaching over behind his head, Mammon takes his shirt and, as quickly as he can, yanks it over his head.
“You can quit lookin' at me like that, now.”
She doesn’t. Not even realizing she’s staring; she continues to admire his physique. Only when Mammon goes out of his way to get her attention does she snap out of her daze.
“Next round!” He says as if he’s uttering a decree.
The cards are dealt once again. MC, however, is getting tired. He sure can play for a long while. Having won the last round, she decides to phone it in for the rest, trying only as hard as it takes Mammon not to notice. It helps that she’s not good to begin with.
The next clothing item she tosses is the shirt beneath Mammon’s jacket, still refusing to take it off. She somehow manages it by balancing the jacket on her shoulders as she slips out of the top worn under it. Sure, she could have just taken off the jacket then put it back on when she was done, but it’s more fun this way. Plus, Mammon can't say anything her breaking the rules, so to speak.
Now, all she’s wearing is Mammon’s jacket and the lingerie he picked out. And she wants to show off this fact. She abruptly stands up, which causes the hanging daggers of the brassier to sway as she does so. Holding her arms out while posing, she asks, “Isn’t it cute?”
Mammon takes a moment before answering, soaking in what he’s seeing.
“You’re beautiful.”
MC felt a tinge of heat reach her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting him to respond like that. But she was glad.
She sits back down and comments on how she loves what he picked out. Then, silently thinks to herself how she hopes to wear it again for him.
Mammon, meanwhile, was marveling at how MC looked. Even going so far as to praise himself for his choice of lingerie.
“By the way,” MC begins. “This does beg the question, what about the stockings?” She leans back and to the side, supporting herself with her hands as she swings her legs alternatively up and down.
“Oh, uh,” he searches for the words, a little distracted by her bare legs. Finally finding them, he says, “It seemed like too much.”
“That’s too bad. It would’ve made the outfit even cuter,” she replies minorly disappointed. Then adds with a chuckle, “Plus it would’ve gave me more things to take off. Oh well, there’s always next time.”
“I can see that now! No need to rub—” He processes the last thing MC said. “Wait, for real?!”
MC confirms what she said, ready to laugh again. Well, that confirms he's all up for seeing her like this again.
“Imma hold you to that!” Mammon ecstatically swears. It’ll be even more fun the next time around, especially since the anxieties of this time won’t overwhelm him.
The night continues and MC can’t hide her exhaustion, yawning more and more frequently. She’s been folding more frequently too. Every round, in fact. The only thing she has left to offer is the jacket she’s been cuddling all night, and she’s not going to let it go.
“One more game,” Mammon says. “Then ya can go to bed.” He stipulates, “But no folding! Both of us gotta show our cards.”
“I’m not going to bed until you are,” she replies. “You have to get your full time.” A yawn tries to escape from her mouth as she says this.
Mammon accepts this but insists on having that last round. While she looks adorable, he does want to see how she looks without the covering piece. Plus, there has to be a proper sendoff of the game—folding just won’t do.
“In that case, we can watch a movie or something,” he suggests as he lays down the cards. He puts down all five table cards without delay. There’s no need to go through the whole process. When he lays the last card, he also flips his own, then looks at MC to do the same.
Although coming down to pure luck at this point, she ends up having to finally forego the jacket she’s come to love. She pouts as she removes it, then quickly makes her way over to the couch Mammon is sitting on the far end of. Settling down at a spot where they're almost touching, she goes on to suggest they watch a horror movie.
He’s reluctant to agree to this but relents as he’s too focused on the sudden close proximity between the two.
“I’ve been wanting to watch this certain one,” MC says as she pulls the film onto the TV. She stays on the summary screen to give Mammon the chance to read it and waits for him to give the go-ahead. Mammon, however, seemed to be focusing all his attention on MC, and she has to direct him to look at the screen. After a moment, a sign of confirmation is given, though hesitantly as if he didn't even process what he just read. She starts the movie anyway.
A little ways in, MC begins to shift and leans heavily onto Mammon, holding nothing back as she puts her full weight on him.
“If ya scared, all you gotta do is say so,” he says in reaction. “The Great Mammon will protect ya!” He looks down at who appears to be his new blanket.
She responds with a tired hum. Though she’s not having Mammon’s feigned bravery, she’s too exhausted to fight it. Instead, she continues to just watch the movie through half-closed eyes, propped against his shoulder.
“Hold on a sec.” He lifts her off for a split moment and repositions, his back now being supported by the arm of the couch. He pulls her into his lap, and she ends up laying between his legs with her head on his chest. “It’s more cozy this way, yeah?”
“Makes the jacket the next-best thing,” she answers.
The two continue to watch the movie in silence. During so, Mammon’s arms have been slowly moving from the couch to around MC, getting closer and tighter every time he got scared. He soon was fully encircling her with his head hiding behind as far as he could manage, which wasn’t much considering his position, even with sliding down. This was when he noticed the smell of strawberries.
“Hey, MC,” he spoke low trying to get her attention. There was no response. “Are ya sleepin'?” Again, he was met with silence. He took this opportunity to lightly bury his head into her, absorbing the scent that he adores on her. It had a calming effect, especially after the stress caused by the horror on screen.
“Did’ya wear this for me?” He asks softly to himself. Though the movie was over, he stayed still. He wanted nothing but to continue holding her like he was. There’s a chance he might just fall asleep too.
But he couldn’t. It’s too uncomfortable for that. The position is fine for cuddling yet sleeping like this will only bring pain the next day. And it can’t be much better for her. Not to mention, they don’t even have any blankets, and the pillows that were already on the couch are hardly meant for such use. He ultimately decides to sacrifice the snuggling, over much internal debating, and wakes MC up.
“Time to get up,” Mammon’s voice was loud as he shook her tenderly. He knew all too well if the first attempt didn’t work, he’d have way too much trouble with trying again. “It’s better to sleep inna bed. C'mon.”
MC grumbles at this as she sits up. Without a word, she makes her way over to the bed in his room.
“What're ya doing?” He asks a bit flustered, fully not expecting her actions.
“You said to go to bed,” she replies rather pragmatically. Then adds, “And there’s still time left in your twelve hours.” As she says this, she lifts the covers and climbs into bed. “Unless… you want me to walk all the way back to my own room?” It’s clear she has no plans to do this anyway, as she’s already quite settled in his bed.
Mammon makes no arguments, only an off-hand comment that can be taken as him denying all responsibility in having the idea. Instead, he gets into bed next to her, facing her way.
As soon as she feels his weight, she rolls over to meet him. She asks, “Can I hold you?”
He answers by holding her first. Showing no restraint, he presses his body into hers, his arms fully wrapped around her. He lets out a heavy sigh as he does so.
MC stiffens in surprise by this, but very quickly relaxes into him. Lifting her head off the shoulder she was resting on, she gives him a peck on the cheek as she tells him, “Good Night.”
Stunned by this, Mammon stares at MC, who has taken her position back onto his shoulder. Shifting his gaze to the side, a short moment passes before he says, “If ya gonna kiss me, ya gotta do it right.”
To this, she looks up again and brings her face to his, stopping just before his lips. And she waits, hesitating in front of him as she pauses for consent, her own lips somewhat parted ways in anticipation. She looks from his eyes to his lips then back again, as her way of asking.
Mammon gives his permission by impatiently pressing his lips to hers. His hand supports her head as his avarice takes over, roughly deepening the kiss more and more. To him, no matter how near their bodies, it will never be enough. There will always be some distance to close.
In return, he gets kisses that are sleepy but not effortless. Noting this, and realizing that he’s getting too excited, he pulls away. When he does, he meets MC with eyes brimmed with compassion. But only for a second as he quickly buries her head into his chest, hiding her from the complete redness that is consuming his face. He ends the night by telling her, “Go back to sleep,” as he feels her warm breath against his skin.
As for her, she falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, loud and fast.
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 Although falling asleep later, Mammon was the first one to wake up. He wants every second awake he can get holding the woman he’s come to adore. In fact, even though they repositioned during their slumber, he’s still cradling her. As he lies on his back staring at the ceiling, MC sleeps soundly on his chest. He starts to caress her head, feeling the hair that would tickle him occasionally throughout the night on his fingertips, wishing this won’t end.
Unfortunately, this wakes her up after a while and she moves off his chest, much to his disappointment. So much so, that he pulls her back without delay, saying that he’s not done holding her yet. The Avatar of Greed, indeed.
“Mammon, I have to get up.”
But he doesn’t let go. Rather, he tightens his embrace.
“Mammon…” she sinks into him, not wanting to get up either. But she has to go grocery shopping for dinner. It’s her turn. A fact she relays to him, yet he still won’t budge.
“How ‘bout a good morning kiss?” This got his attention. “But I can’t do it from here.”
He relents to this. Eager for another kiss. His grip loosens, allowing MC to position herself in front of him. He props her chin up and runs his thumb over her bottom lip before he goes in. It’s softer this time, slower with deliberate motions. He wants the feel of her lips committed to memory.
Her kisses in answer are the same. In contrast to the tired grazes of yesterday, her touch now is very much alive.
Mammon stops first, distancing himself just enough to where their lips barely touch. Tentatively, he asks, “This… this makes up for last night, yeah?” His lips brush against hers with each word.
MC doesn't want to talk, but they're too close to just silently ask. She opts for a quick, “What do you mean?”
“I wanted our first kiss to-” he stops midsentence, a little bashful by the words. He rephrases, “I wanted to be gentler. But I couldn’t hold myself back once I felt your lips.”
“I didn’t mind at all,” she reassures as she smoothly rubs her nose on his. Afterwards, she furthers the distance for a better look at him as she says, “In fact, I like it when you’re assertive.”
“Don’t say such weird stuff all of a sudden!” An embarrassed expression appears on his face. “Geeze, it’s kinda scary when you act so sweet.” He thinks for a moment until he decides to tell her, “But, you could do more of that…you know, if ya wanted.”
MC feels as though she needs to put his mind to ease. “I like you, Mammon.” She’s sure to enunciate this, clearly saying his name so there’s no doubt about who she’s talking about.
He’s at a loss for words at this point, stunned. A smile soon creeps on his face and the words he finally comes up are filled with self-praise. “Of course ya do!” Secretly though, he’s relieved by what she said. The affirmation of her feelings fills him with confidence.
The conversation continues with MC reiterating that she, unfortunately, needs to go out for groceries. She furthers the argument by reminding him that his twelve hours are up.
A demand for one more kiss is his response, which she gladly indulges. He steadies her with his hands once more, as if it’s a need to feel her body while they kiss. It’s more fervent this time around after hearing her confession; his emotions seemingly exploding into her lips.
The first to pull away this time was MC, sensing that Mammon would never stop. She can’t leave if the kiss never ends, right? Looking at him, she can see he’s visibly disappointed with his eyes still closed.
When he opens them, it’s only slightly and he’s sure to not meet her eyes. If he sees her, it’ll only cause him to try to make her stay again. Instead, he rushes her along. “Just hurry up so you can get back, will ya?”
MC slips back on the clothes from the night before. Stopping short of the door, she turns to face him once more and pauses, pondering on whether she should express the idea on her mind. Ultimately, she chooses to tease him with the one other reason she had prepared to use against him.
“You know,” she gets his attention. “I was gonna entice you with some of my homemade ramen.” The jestful smile on her face cannot be hidden, no matter the amount of lip biting. “But looks like I don’t have to now.”
The speed at which Mammon disregards his previous determination to not look at MC is unimaginable. In fact, he completely abandons the notion to let her go. He hops out of bed almost as swiftly as his stare and bounds for the troublemaker. Reaching her before she can get away, he wraps his arms around her and brings her into a tight embrace of no escape. He’s back to preventing her from leaving. Not until she promises to make his ramen.
In between fits of giggles, MC manages to spill that she planned on doing that anyway. When she gets let go, she gives Mammon one last playful look before she sets off to buy the ingredients of his favorite dish of hers.
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@trueblue-escapist this one got long! :) (edit: now on ao3)
It was by sheer fortune that the message arrived while he was dining at Beau and Yasha's home.
They were trying some of the latter's experimental recipes. Fortunately Yasha had progressed very well in the last several months; this was now the fourth meal Caleb had been over for since Beau declared her love's attempts at Empire foods to be reliably nonpoisonous.
He was comfortable, speculating with Beau over her recent visit to Shattengrod. So when Jester began speaking in his head, he almost dropped his fork.
With strained panting—"Caleb, we need some help."
Caleb’s thoughts immediately went to static. He held up a hand as her voice continued, eyes wide, and both Beau and Yasha fell quiet with concern.
"There’s a lot of fishy people and I have, um. One diamond. We’re on the ship. Hope you aren’t busy—"
Abrupt cut-off. No continuation. He shot a look across the table to the other two, and they seemed to instantly read the tension on his face for what it was. They darted from their seats as he replied, "I am with Beau and Yasha. Hang in there, please. We’re coming."
"Sword?" called Yasha from another room.
"Sword. Beau," Caleb shouted, his adrenaline spiking with every second they were still here, "diamonds?"
"One," came her terse response. "I got it."
He stood up. The chair legs screeched against Beau and Yasha’s nice hardwood. Dug a hand through his hair and pulled half of it out of the tie.
Next he slapped his hands together. A strand of amber formed from his pinched thumbs and middle fingers as he drew them apart. Gods, his trembling hands shook the arcane thread. Ten seconds since Jester’s message.
"Essek," Caleb said to the thread, which vibrated with each word. "If you aren’t busy and have the spells. Retrieve Caduceus if you could and bring him to the Nein Heroez. It’s urgent. And diamonds," he added hastily. The thread dissipated.
Yasha and Beau emerged together from the hall with weapons in hand as the reply came: "I will contact Caduceus, then, and keep you updated. Hopefully I can be of aid. Stay safe, Caleb."
Caleb closed his eyes for a single breath and tried to absorb Essek’s soft, controlled caution.
They were coming. They would be okay.
Without needing to look, he held his hands to Yasha and Beau. "Uk’otoa is being an exceptional nuisance."
Beau scowled and said, "I fucking told Fjord to do something with that ball"—and they were off.
***
Jester woke up to what felt like a giant spike piercing through her head, or maybe a handaxe being sunk into her skull—but if it kept going forever instead of happening in an instant. Her stomach felt like a tiny pool of boiling acid that the ship kept rocking back and forth.
She moaned, curling up harder and pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. It didn’t really help, but the pulsing pain eased a little over some time.
"Arty?" she eventually managed.
"I’m so sorry, my dear," murmured his low voice by her ear. "I came as quickly as I could."
"It’s okay. Water?"
She felt a small weasel tongue lick her cheek, then retreat.
After about a minute of measured, careful breathing through the migraine, Jester heard a door crack open and winced from the brighter light now shining in from the hallway.
"Sorry," whispered a familiar voice, and Jester might have started crying at the sound of his Zemnian accent if she wasn’t already teary-eyed from pain.
The door closed, dimming the room again to its singular lantern.
She did her best to uncurl as Caleb set down a bowl and cup on the small table nearby and brought over a chair to her bedside. He reached for his neck, too, and a crimson weasel slipped into his hands.
"Thanks," she said as he returned Sprinkle to her shoulder.
"Of course. Would you like help sitting up?"
"Please."
She had to rest her head on Caleb’s shoulder for a minute when sitting up gave her a rush of a dizzy spell. His hand had rubbed up and down her arm. He smelled like sweat and fish guts and leather.
Eventually Jester had her back against the wall and the cup of water in her hands as she took a careful sip.
"Everyone’s alright," began Caleb, voice still hushed in consideration of her headache. "We took care of them all shortly after you went down, and Fjord was able to heal you a little bit. Essek arrived with Caduceus not long after."
"That’s good."
She closed her eyes and sipped more water. The warm weight of Sprinkle was draped around her neck.
Gods. Jester loved her friends so much.
"Where is everyone? Where’s Fjord?" she asked.
"Out on the deck cleaning up and figuring out what to do next," came the wry response. "Beau gave Fjord a piece of her mind about that orb. Caduceus suggested to try hiding it in the Happy Fun Ball."
"Aw, man. That’s a really good idea."
"Ja. So we are figuring out who will take it in there and where to put it."
She nodded sluggishly, eyes still closed.
"I’m sorry," said Caleb after a long moment. "Do you want to sleep?"
"No. I'm just tired."
That last word came out with a bit more... a bit more than Jester had intended to say it with. She chewed the inside of her cheek and took a sip of water.
She could feel Caleb's gaze on her. "Is it something you would like to talk about?"
The headache continued to pulse in her temples. She stared down into her cup, at the water sloshing side to side from the rocking of the ship. "If you guys are going to Yussa's later, I want to come with. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Mama."
"Of course."
Jester breathed in and out and continued, "It's been a year and I think I'm sick of sailing."
"Ah."
"I mean, there's been so many cool things. The Lucidian Ocean is huge. One time we saw a sea horse that was big enough to ride on. And the port cities we've visited have all been beautiful. But most of the time it's just this boat. And less Arty. And Uk'otoa attacking us for the cloven crystal. I can't even prank people whenever I get bored because it's all the same people, and it's way less fun to keep pranking the same people over and over again."
Caleb made a considering noise. She sipped water, chewing the inside of her cheek some more.
Slowly he asked, "Are you... thinking of staying with your mother for a while?"
"Maybe."
Peaceful silence. They listened to the sounds of wood creaking and the ocean undulating. Jester felt the shittiness of her body continue to ease, and she set down the water to take a sniff at the bowl instead. Some stew, still warm.
As she had a cautious taste, Caleb said, "Hey."
She brought down the bowl and looked at him.
"Would you like to see something cool?"
"Of course I would like to see something cool, Caleb."
His smile as she sat up with anticipation and set down the bowl was very welcome—and a pretty cool sight already. But she watched him pull out a piece of wool and rub it between two fingers, and all of a sudden there was a cat in his lap and another cat on his shoulders.
Jester gasped, hands flying to her face. "Are those your cats?"
The smile on his face only got bigger and warmer as he looked down at the illusory one in his lap cleaning its brown-and-white face. "Yes. This one is Gretel, she is still somewhat a kitten. The other one is Mac, which is short for mackerel because he was eating one from a rubbish heap when I found him."
"Oh my god, Caleb, that’s so adorable." She beamed and leaned in to wiggle her fingers at illusion-Gretel, cooing without caring that it wasn’t the real cat.
He rubbed the wool in his hand and illusion-Gretel began to purr loudly.
She could feel the dimples in her cheeks from grinning. "I love them."
"They will both be very glad to hear that and will eagerly exploit your love to make you spoil them."
"Well, of course I’ll spoil them, they’re so perfect."
Caleb’s smile eased into something soft. "Would you like to meet them in person, then? Before you return to the Nein Heroez?"
The excitement welling up inside Jester faltered.
Oh, right.
She twisted her fingers together, fixing her gaze on the blood crusted in the space between them and beneath her nails. "Um. Yeah, I would love to, Caleb. But probably I'm not going to come back here."
No response except a careful inhale.
She picked at a bloodied crease in her palm and continued, "Fjord and I talked a couple weeks ago. It wasn't like an argument or anything, don't worry! We're one hundred and ten per cent still best friends who love each other and everything, you know? But he loves being captain of the Nein Heroez and doesn't really plan on stopping anytime soon. Or doing anything else. And I want to do more. The world's so big, and there's like a dozen other planes I could see, Arty promised he'd show me around the Feywild—"
Caleb's long-fingered hand placed itself on top of her fidgeting ones, and Jester's rambling mouth fell silent. The illusory cats were gone.
"It's fine, Jester," he said. She looked up at his furrowed brow and crooked smile. "I understand."
Deep breath in and out. Jester returned a similar smile. "Yeah."
Seeming reassured, he leaned back in his chair and seemed to look off elsewhere, his brow still furrowed in thought.
In the lull, she took up the bowl of stew again with more relish. The weight of the news she'd been ignoring had lifted from her shoulders, and with it some of her worries. She hadn't known how people would react. The more reasonable voice in her mind figured that everyone would take the relationship change with ease, reminding her of Yasha's advice in Eiselcross a year ago. The louder, more anxious voice had stressed over whether any of them might judge her for being a bad girlfriend.
Apropos of nothing, gaze still a little distant, Caleb said, "Essek and I are in a relationship."
Halfway through a sip of the stew, Jester's mouth fell open. "Really?"
His lips twitched at the squeal in her voice. "Ja."
She smiled, said, "Aw, I'm happy for you two," and returned to her stew to try and stamp down the sudden, strange sense of instability overtaking her. Like her heart found itself stuck in the second between missing the next step down the stairs and falling.
"Thank you. I am telling you this, though, because Essek and I have had... somewhat of a similar conversation." His eyes flickered to meet her startled gaze briefly, and she saw a bittersweet wryness in them. "Neither of us expect the other to be, well. Committed. My whole self, more or less, is dedicated to my home. I want to make it a better place. Essek has very different goals in mind for his future. We love each other, but between my life and his constant vagrancy, it would be unfair to expect us to stay the same. And, you know. I don't have as much time as he does, anyway."
Jester had the bowl of stew in her lap now, unable to stop staring at Caleb. He finally seemed to notice her attention and awkwardly fixed his eyes on a spot of the wall somewhere to her right and up.
In her chest, time started again. Jester's heart safely found the next step instead of taking a tumble down the stairs.
"Thank you, Caleb," she said softly.
He returned to looking at her properly, and the renewed warmth in his expression helped resettle Jester's sense of the world even further. "I'm sure your mother could be much more reassuring."
"Maybe, but it's you."
Caleb went a little pink. The flush was still visible to Jester's eyes in the dim room. Thank the gods that the warmth in her own cheeks would be much harder for him to notice.
That was enough conversation for her at the moment. She shoved the bowl of stew back against her mouth.
(send me a brief widojest prompt!)
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donablue · 3 years
Text
this particular store is usually deserted around this time of day, so anto is always a little thrown on the rare occasion when he finds someone else there when he walks in. but this time it's a familiar face that wheels around to face him, surprise taking over it before he's greeted with a loud, "anto!"
"what's the story, champ?" he makes his way over to posy and bumps his arm into her shoulder. she bumps him back and anto stifles a small laugh at how it's less of a bump and more her bouncing ineffectively off his arm.
"wig shopping! i am not liking this one anymore," posy explains, absently gesturing at the pink wig currently on her head while she turns back to the mannequin heads displaying the range of wigs. she shoots him a glance out of the corner of her eyes. "what is being your story?"
he could say anything. and yet he opts for the truth. "last storm knocked one of my earrings loose, so i'm in the market for a new pair."
judging from the quirk of posy's eyebrows, she hadn't been expecting him to actually explain himself. he hadn't expected it either, really, but there's always been something about posy that settles him enough to offer up bits of honesty that he wouldn't afford anyone else.
when she doesn't reply, anto moves away to browse the lines of jewelry along the nearest wall. he's about halfway through the first display before posy speaks up.
"can i be choosing them for you?"
she's no longer looking at the wigs and is instead staring at him, looking borderline excited already.
"well, shit," he mutters to himself under his breath. anto knows he's going to give in but he gives himself the illusion of thinking it over for a beat before his shoulders sag and he lets out a sigh. "yeah, alright. nothing pink, though, alright?"
brilliant smile fixed on her face, posy hums her acknowledgment and runs to his side. her focus turns intense as she mulls over the displays in front of them, considering every piece carefully before she moves onto the next, and anto has to fight back the fond twist of his lips.
waiting patiently next to posy, his gaze flicks back and forth between her expression of concentration to the jewelry cases until she says, apropos of nothing, "i have never been thanking you."
"what–?" anto balks. "the fuck do you have to be thanking me for?"
"for not cheating at the duel. or, i guess, not totally cheating at the duel."
thinking about the duel still leaves a sour taste in anto's mouth. it makes his temple ache with the phantom pain of a bullet ripping past, just barely avoiding killing him outright.
"it was nice of you to be giving him a chance to fire back," posy continues, not having stopped to look up at him.
"he shot me in the face, posy," he grumbles, not caring how petulant it comes out.
"i said it was nice, not smart," she clarifies, and anto is torn between laughing hysterically and snarling.
he settles for bristling, shoulders hunching as he huffs out a harsh breath. "should've killed the bastard when i had the chance."
"grognak would never have forgiven you," posy states matter-of-factly, "and troy is being my best friend, so i'm happy you didn't."
nostrils flaring as he mentally flinches away from thinking about what grognak would have done if he'd actually killed troy, anto grunts and deflects, "yeah, well. i've done worse before. wouldn't have been the first time, or the last. all part of the job description, posy."
silences settles over them for a minute, and anto is pretty certain that posy's eyes don't move from the same set of earrings the entire time. that is, until she turns to meet his eyes and surprises him again.
"i killed someone too."
eyeing the woman skeptically, anto leans his hip against a display case and crosses his arms. "you? you, posy, have killed someone?"
"i have!" her stare is defiant and anto is reminded once again of why he's fond of her.
"just the one?"
"as far as i am knowing, yes," posy replies.
the cryptic answer makes him narrow his eyes at her until posy admits, "i suffered the blunt force traumas from having my face beaten in with a flashlight, so i don't remember. but thomas says it was to protect peoples! captain planet was stabbing people on the pier! i don't know why he died, i was only hitting him once with my flashlight!"
the distress on her face is too much for him. placing a hand on posy's shoulder, anto gives her a small shake and ducks down to look her in the eye.
"no offence, posy, but accidentally killing someone isn't the same. what do you know about being a gangster?"
"oh!" somehow, that seems to distract her from the turn the conversation had taken. she turns on her heel and darts towards the back, presumably into one of the changing rooms, leaving him to stand alone in the middle of the store without a response.
he can hear her rustling around so he goes back to browsing the shelves. watches, earrings, glasses, bracelets, necklaces, all easy enough to pluck from their stands and stuff into a pocket when he finds something he likes or deems good enough to sell off. a glimmer catches his eye and he turns to inspect it. there's a pair of earrings that look like they might be real amethysts, judging from the locked case enclosing them. with a glance over his shoulder, anto sets to picking the lock, smirking to himself when it pops open and he can snake a hand in to snatch the earrings. the case is closed again and the jewelry is safely in anto's hand when the sound of a curtain being drawn back reaches him, and he smoothly tucks them away into his jacket pocket, moving to greet posy when she comes out.
whatever he'd been expecting, he's not prepared for the sight of posy striding over to square up to him in her new outfit. it's not plain, but strangely muted compared to the other clothes anto has seen her in. her hands settle on her hips and she straightens up to her full height, puffing her chest out proudly.
"i am a solo dolo but i have respect all over the 'hood!" she declares, and anto's eyebrows shoot up his forehead.
"that right?"
he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling, but his disbelief must come across loud and clear in his tone because the next thing he knows, posy is flashing him a grin and has her gun trained just to the left of him. "what is up, motherfucker?" she chirps.
his resolve cracks and laughter startles out of him.
it's not often that something reduces him to tears of laughter, but he doubles over and laughs until he can manage to straighten up, breathless and sporting blurry vision. "jesus– fair play, then. who taught you that one?"
"the ballas gave me gangster lessons," posy elaborates, grinning widely as he allows himself another few chuckles. "we've been killing, slicing, and gangbanging."
that sets him off again.
"they let me paint maxwell purple! steven thought i joined the gang, but i am thinking they are being liking me. like abdul with the vagos!" she explains further, watching him as he leans back against a display case to catch his breath.
"explains the purple wig." he jerks his chin in the general direction of her head, hand coming up to clutch at his ribs where he feel a faint ache. his eyes drift down to where her gun has come to rest against her side and he arches an eyebrow after a beat. "that a diamondback? what do you need that kind of firepower for, eh?"
posy spares the weapon a glance before she tucks it back into her jacket. "troy gave it to me. or pillbot. they both gave me one, it is being for protections. one of them got stolen though."
sobering slightly, anto nods, recalling the abridged version of events she's told him before. he tucks the first question that comes to mind, and the accompanying prickle of curiosity to know where troy would have gotten a diamondback from, away. "you let me know if you need something else, got it? don't want you walking around without a strap."
there's a long pause that nearly makes anto fidget with how intently posy stares at him. the moment abruptly ends and she rewards him with a sunny smile. "okay! peace, pimp!"
she's already made her way back into a dressing room by the time his stunned silence gives way to another bout of raucous laughter.
they don't spend long in the store after that, with posy quickly settling on a new blue wig and moving onto insisting he get a matching pair of stud earrings for himself. despite himself, anto caves. he buys them.
he's securing the backing of the second earring into place as they step back outside. when his hands fall back down to his sides, posy looks him over and gives him an approving nod. he returns the favour, making a show of inspecting the look of her new wig before nodding gravely. "right deadly," he announces.
"right deadly," posy returns with another nod.
his chest warms and, for a second, he allows his face soften.
posy moves towards her car, a little thing that he's seen a few times which, sure enough, has been painted puple.
"it was nice to be seeing you without... um. yeah!" she calls out once she's seated behind the wheel.
the corner of his mouth twitches up into a half smile as he fills in the blanks himself. "sure, look, we'll link up later, yeah? i've some stuff to sell."
he's about to turn away and head back to the shit car he'd stolen to get here, but he stops to consider briefly before jogging over to the driver's side of posy's car right as the engine comes to life. crouching down and rifling through his pockets, anto finds what he's looking for right as posy rolls the window down with a curious expression. reaching into the car and tugging one of posy's hands towards him, he deposits his favourite set of brass knuckles into her open palm and folds her fingers over it.
"easier to hide than a gun," he says by way of explanation and leaves it at that before he dashes away.
her excited "oh!" is easily heard and anto allows himself a pleased grin as he slides into his stolen car and promptly throws it into reverse, honking twice before he speeds away.
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ackercrushing · 3 years
Text
A Little Wager
Ok, I don't usually write. If I do, I rarely complete it. I either have grand ideas that just don't come out or I read something similar that scratches that itch and I don't have to write anymore. But this little fluff nugget has been my constant daydream for a while. There are no warnings for this. It's lighthearted and fun. I suck at writing smut so I doubt I'll continue it. If someone wanted to pick up where I left off and do a shower scene, I would LOVE that! Anyway, here it is. Be gentle :)
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It was mid afternoon when you and your squad made it to the training grounds.  Captain Levi’s squad was supposed to be done in the next half hour. You like to get your squad there early when the special forces are training to provide a little inspiration.
You choose Emily to lead the squad in stretches before they hit the course.  All the while, they’re watching Levi’s soldiers expertly soar through the air completing maneuvers it will take years for your squad to accomplish. While stretching, you hear the oohs and aaahs, sometimes shocked gasps as another soldier completes in flight stunts that look impossible.  You notice Levi, arms crossed, watching them intently.  He never has to yell out instruction or commands.  His squad is a well-oiled machine.
“Alright guys, what’s the bet today?” you ask your team, breaking their reverie.
“Isn’t it your turn to pick, Captain (y/l/n)?” asks the unofficial leader of the squad, Leo. “Besides, every time we come up with a bet, it’s almost guaranteed defeat.”
“I’m not stupid guys. The tasks get harder depending on what we bet.  If you bet I walk topless through the mess hall at dinner time, Malcolm (glancing over to the brave boy who dared make that wager), you better believe I’m giving you a nearly impossible task.” Malcolm blushes.
“It was worth a shot.” He says sheepishly. Amelia punches his arm playfully saying “That’s gross Malcolm, she’s our squad leader.”
“Anyway, I think you’ll like this offer.  How about you nail all your maneuvers I assigned last week and two more surprise tasks, and I’ll do all your laundry for a week?”  While this bet wasn’t as exciting as a topless Captain at dinnertime, it did get the squad’s full attention.  You knew some of them were wearing clothing for the second, maybe third time between washes and they stunk!  This bet was more for you than anyone.
The slight turn and side eye from Levi let you know he wasn’t watching his squad as intently as you thought. He was eavesdropping.
“But you have to land properly.  No biffing the landings!” You add, hearing groans from some of your soldiers.  More groans when you tell them the surprise maneuvers they are to complete.  They’re difficult but not impossible for their skill level.
“All right guys, I think this is doable.” Leo chimes in, pumping up his squad mates.  Some were already looking defeated, having the most difficulty with their landings. They all circled up and started motivating each other.  Levi might have the elite group, but no one could rival your squad in the heart department. These guys gave it their all every time, training or battle.
You had a way with these “kids” as you called them that few squad leaders did.  They loved your inclusiveness and your no-blame leadership style.  You made sure they knew they were a team.  Mistakes were learning opportunities, even the fatal ones. Those most of all.  And they did happen to all Scout squads.  It was just the nature of the job.
“OK Captain (y/l/n), we accept the bet!  Get the soap ready!  Let’s do this!”  The whole squad was pumped and ready.  You couldn’t help but grin and hope that you had a lot of laundry to do this week.
“Alright, it’s on.  Keep stretching and warming up!” you say as you walk over to join Levi and watch the last of his team’s maneuvers.
“Well, your team is certainly inspiring some young ones today.” You grin and bump his shoulder.
“Is that why you’re always early?”
“Yes sir, I’ll take all the motivation we can get.”
“So what’s up with that bet? Sounds like a recurring thing with you.” He asks, never taking his gaze from his flyers.
“All the motivation I can get, right?  They really respond well to the bets we make.”
“Did I hear mention of a bet that would have had you walk topless through the mess hall at dinner time?” This question did pull his gaze to you with raised eyebrows. You couldn't help the blush that stained your cheeks.
“That was never going to happen.” You outline the tasks you gave your squad that day.
“Yeah, that would be hard for my group to accomplish.” Levi smirks. “Would you like to join us during our next training session? Maybe my squad would like to try betting on something.”
“That would be amazing! Thank you!” You are beaming. Training with the elites will certainly boost your squad’s morale.
“Alright, day after tomorrow at 1pm.”
“It’s a date.” tumbles out of your mouth.  Levi briefly side eyes you with a slightly scrunched brow at your choice of phrase but continues walking to his squad for their debrief.  You are blushing thinking he might have taken that the wrong way.  Oh well, nothing to do now but show up at 1pm in two days.  Your squad was going to freak out!
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The joint training sessions became a regular once a week thing with the two squads.  The bets initially started out pretty tame.  Levi and you lost several but when they were “Do 100 push ups” or “Clean all the floors in the barracks”, it was ok.  Neither of you minded losing those.  But the soldiers started getting braver with their wagers.
You knew something interesting was in the works when you see Sasha Braus bouncing on her heels and clapping her hands before you both even make it over to them.
“Alright Sasha, what do you have for us today?” Asks Levi, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
“Ohhhh, this is a goooood one!”  Her voice quivers with excitement.  “If we complete all our maneuvers flawlessly, landings included, Captain (y/l/n) has to do 10 push ups.”  She’s so excited, she can hardly continue.
“Sasha, that’s not a challenge.” You add, knowing there has to be more to it. You notice Jean, Conny, and Eren look slightly uncomfortable.
“That’s not all!  With every push up, you and Captain Levi have to KISS!”  She literally squeals. Your eyes grow large.
“Sasha, that only works if both parties are consensual.”  You roll your eyes, knowing Levi will not agree to this.
“What do you mean Captain (y/l/n)?  You wouldn’t consent to that?”
The phrase you could hear a pin drop is very apropos in this moment as all eyes are on Levi with gaping mouths.  You could swear you heard the wind of heads turning.
“You mean to tell me YOU consent to that?” You ask incredulously.
Levi takes your arm and pulls you aside.  “The task fits the bet, right?  Here’s what we’ll have them do.”  He outlines his plan and the butterflies in your stomach still. But you’re not sure if you’re relived or disappointed knowing your squad will definitely not be able to pull this off. Were you hoping to lose this one?
“Perfect. Let’s tell them.” You grin.
You both walk back over, and Levi lays out the maneuvers they’ll have to perform in order to win the bet.
They are obviously shaken but the elites take the young ones aside, and after a 10-minute pep talk and possible strategy session, they return and accept your conditions. Is this task as difficult as Levi thought? They seem pretty confident. "We accept!" Sasha yells.
Levi looks at you and winks. “Alright, get going then.”  In pairs, the two squads enthusiastically enter the training arena.
The last teams are nearly finished.  You look over at Levi nervously.  All the pairs assigned to you were flawless.  How could that be?  The elites really were inspiring, but you realized you might have been going a little too easy on your team.  What a sight to behold.  And your squad was so proud of themselves.  You would have made a bet to kiss a titan for this!
Levi’s mouth is agape as he slowly turns his head to look at you.  You both just stare at each other in disbelief, his expression saying everything you needed to know.  His group was flawless as well.
“Holy shit.” You mumble under your breath, heat now creeping up your neck, your palms sweaty already.
Levi regains his composure, that cool mask of confidence back on his face and in his stance.  He strides toward you looking way more collected than you feel.
“Alright, new strategy.” He says, a sneaky glimmer in his eye. “They didn’t say what kind of kiss, right?”
You pause for a second, realizing what he’s saying and your breath that you didn’t know you were holding is released in a relieved sigh. Is relieved the right word?
“I know where you’re going with this.” You say shaking your head.
“Every time you lower yourself, I’ll turn my head and you kiss somewhere on my face.  Forehead, cheeks, nose.  We’ll keep them guessing.”
“They’re going to be so mad!”
“They should have thought of all the loopholes before they finalized the deal.” Levi stated coolly with a shrug.
Sasha, back to bouncing and clapping, yells “Ok you two!  Assume the position!”
"This is stupid.”-Conny
“I don’t think I can watch this.”-Eren
"Why does Captain Levi get to do the kissing?" -Jean
Meanwhile the girls are giggling messes of anticipation.
Levi lies on the ground, hands casually behind his head like he’s relaxed and getting ready for an afternoon nap. Huh, to feel that relaxed right now. You crawl up his body, your knees straddling his hips and your hands to either side of his neck. Hoots and hollers from the two squads do not help the blush on your face. You raise to plank position, then slowly lower yourself.
Levi’s head remains still until the last second, then turns to the right, offering his cheek for the first kiss.  You lightly feather his skin with your lips before returning to plank.
“Hey, that’s cheating!” Sasha sounds so defeated.
“You didn’t specify what kind of kiss Sasha.  Let this be a lesson to you.  Negotiate better next time.” Levi says smugly. “I want to hear you count!  That was 1, 9 to go!”
The next 4 kisses were met with increasingly under enthused counting as the cheek, nose, and forehead barely-there-pecks were administered.
At the start of the 6th, Levi says to you “My turn.”  Your eyes narrow in confusion and he clarifies “I’m going to kiss you now. Move however you prefer.”  You nod, really just wanting this to be over with. You agree with the squad that this is underwhelming.
You move your head so kisses land on both cheeks, your forehead, and your nose.  Time for the final kiss.  As you start to lower your body, Levi removes his hands from behind his head and places them on either side of your face.  Your eyes widen when he says “Let’s give them a little something more, huh?” You feel those butterflies again as you nod your head in agreement.  And time passes in slow motion.  You continue lowering until your lips meet Levi’s.  At first, the kiss is just a brushing of your lips together.  Levi gently pulls your face away just a bit to look you in the eyes, then lowers you again, this time kissing you properly.  You can’t feel anything else.  Your body feels weightless.  His lips part and his tongue grazes your bottom lip.  You open your lips to him and the kiss deepens, tongues swirling and gliding together.  There’s no one else here but the two of you.  The gasps and cheers from the combined squads don’t reach your ears. You have no idea how long this kiss lasts but you can honestly say you don’t want it to end.
The only thing to break the spell is Eren saying “Geez, are they going to come up for air?”  Levi reluctantly pulls away after a few more brief kisses.  You slowly raise your body, as your eyes open and lock with Levi’s.  “Damn” he mutters softly.  You can’t help but grin a little as you complete your final plank.  You blink your eyes a few times, trying to rid yourself of the spell Levi’s put you under.  You push up to your feet, face flushed and lips swollen.  You offer a hand to Levi, who takes it, even though he doesn’t really need it to get off the ground.  Once vertical, you expect him to release your hand, but instead, he intertwines his fingers with yours and says “Ok kids, show’s over.  Hit the showers.”  The soldiers don’t miss the fact that you’re still holding hands as they depart.  Sasha and Mikasa keep looking over their shoulders, hoping they won’t miss anything else.
Levi whispers in your ear “What do you say Captain?  Ready to hit the shower too?”
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ghosthunterbuck · 3 years
Text
Stay Awhile
Happy holidays to @not-the-same-url-i-used-to-be, for the @destielsecretsanta2020 gift exchange! I hope you like this mess of pure found family fluff!
(Read it on AO3)
Family dinners are kind of a big deal. It's hard to get everyone together these days, so when every single one of them RSVP's yes, it's huge. And they're running late.
"Dammit," Dean says, glancing at the traffic map Cas has pulled up on his phone. They're on I-80 just outside of Cheyenne, stuck in stop-and-go traffic that doesn't seem like it'll be letting up any time soon. They're coming from San Francisco, or thereabouts, and on their third day of driving.
Once upon a time, Dean would've just pushed through, making the 22-hour drive on 3 hours of sleep, coffee and a little bit of hope. These days, though, he and Cas like to take it slow, to stop and smell the roses as it were.
That's what they do now. Two years down the line, and they don't hunt unless some other hunter desperately needs their help. Instead, for the first time in Dean's life, they've been travelling just for the hell of it. Most recently they'd been in wine country, because Cas was curious and Dean had forgotten how to say no a long time ago. They have at least 16 different bottles in the trunk, all of which they're planning on sharing, if they ever make it to Lebanon.
"Sam's gonna kill us," Dean groans.
Cas pats him on the thigh. "He'll kill you," he replies. "I said we should've left Saturday, but you wanted to stick around for the county fair."
"It was twelve bucks and they had a pie eating competition!"
"Yes, dear," Cas says, fake exasperation lacing his tone.
"Fuck you," Dean replies, but he can't stop the laugh that bubbles out from his chest.
Cas shakes his head with a smile. "There's an exit coming up in half a mile, let's see if we can't find a better way home."
Dean grins. "Anything you say, sweetheart."
All said and done, they're only forty-five minutes late. Sam's still going to bitch, but frankly Dean considers it a miracle of navigation and ever-so-slightly reckless driving.
"Grab the wine and I'll get our bags out of the trunk," Dean says.
The sounds of laughter and plates clinking floats out as soon as they open the door to the bunker, and Dean can feel a grin settling on his face already as he pauses to take it all in. He loves this, more than just about anything he's ever had. Cas nudges his shoulder and nods towards the open door.
"Don't you think we've kept them waiting long enough already?"
"Yeah," Dean says, and they head in.
"It's about time!" Sam calls when he spot's them. He stands and strides over to them.
Dean drops his and Cas's bags in preparation for the bear hug he knows he's going to get. Ever since he and Cas started heading out on their own, Sam acts like he hasn’t seen them in years.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, accepting the embrace and clapping Sam on the back. "You should've seen the traffic."
"We all know it wasn't traffic that kept you in California an extra day," Sam teases.
Dean shoots a look at Cas. Traitor, he thinks. Cas's grin widens, and for a moment it's almost like he can hear Dean's thoughts again. But no, Cas just knows him that well.
"Alright," Jodie says, stepping up behind Sam, "give the rest of us a turn."
Dean and Cas pass out hugs like party favors, making sure to spend a moment with everyone in the room. Cas lingers for a few minutes with Jack, and while he does Dean steps into the kitchen to make them both a plate of food.
It's been too damn long.
After a few minutes, Cas joins him in the kitchen and presses a short kiss against the shell of his ear.
"It's good to see everyone," Cas murmurs, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist.
Dean turns in the embrace and deposits a lingering kiss against Cas's lips. "It is," he agrees.
There's something that Dean has been turning over in his head for a few weeks, and he figures now is as good a time as any to finally spit it out. "What if we stayed put for a while?" He searches Cas's face for any sign of distress, but the soft smile he's been wearing all night remains.
"Here in the bunker?" Cas asks, tilting his head in that oh so familiar way.
"We could," Dean says.
"But?"
"But…" And this is the part he's nervous about. There's a lot they've hashed out over the years, and Dean knows that Cas wants to be with him. He knows that he's happy as a human, knows that they're happy together. But there's something different about asking him for this. "I was thinking we could get a house. Something that's just ours. Still nearby, so we could be close to everybody. What do you think?" Dean bites his lip.
Cas's smile expands into a broad grin. "I would like nothing more than to 'settle down' with you, Dean Winchester."
"Awesome," Dean sighs and kisses Cas again.
They rejoin the party after that and are pulled quickly in opposite directions. Donna tells Dean about her (very, very hot) new boyfriend while Cas is regaled with Claire and Kaia's latest hunting adventure. He finds Charlie and Stevie talking to Patience about her college classes (and finds out that she's doing psychic consulting out of her dorm room). Garth and Alex are discussing the challenges of treating monsters and hunters in underground clinics. Bobby is talking to Jack about metaphysics (and damn, when did Bobby have time to do so much reading on the subject?), and Sam and Eileen are bent over some witch-y looking book with Rowena.
His family, Dean thinks. The hunters, the werewolves, the Queen of Hell, God himself, a couple college kids, and an ex-angel. It doesn't get much better than this.
The party goes late into the night, and when it's over everyone crashes at the bunker. These days, it functions as a stopover for hunters from all around the country. Sam and Eileen are slowly expanding their reach, giving hunters everywhere access to the enormous cache of knowledge contained within the bunker's walls. It feels so full of life, like it was always meant to be. They all sleep easy.  
Dean wakes up smiling. It's not like this everyday, but it's happening more all the time. Something about sleeping in Cas's arms, waking up in them, it keeps the nightmares at bay. Most of them, anyway.
Dean brushes a lock of hair away from Cas's face. It's gotten longer recently and it's nice. He places a soft kiss on Cas's brow.
"I'm gonna make breakfast," he says softly. "Want to help?"
Cas groans and presses his face into Dean's shoulder. "Too early," he mumbles.
Dean chuckles. "Alright, sweetheart," he says. He rolls onto his back, carefully dislodging Cas, then gets up.
Without opening his eyes, Cas whines and makes grabby hands at Dean. Dean catches one of Cas's hands in his own. "I'll make coffee," he promises, then presses a kiss into Cas's knuckles.
"Promise?" Cas says.
"Anything for you, sunshine," Dean replies.
To his surprise, Dean isn't alone when he walks into the kitchen. Claire sits at the table, eyes closed and a steaming mug held in both hands.
"Hey kid," Dean says, clearing his throat.
Claire hums in acknowledgement, takes a sip of her coffee, then opens her eyes. "You two look happy," she says, apropos of nothing.
"I- uh, yeah. We are," Dean replies.
"M'glad," Claire says. "You both deserve it."
"We're thinking about getting a house," Dean confides in her. "Haven't even told Sam yet."
She smiles at that. "I'm happy for you," she says.
"You know, if you ever wanted to get out of the life-"
"Nah, me and Kaia have everything we need. I wouldn't say no to an invitation to visit, though."
Dean grins. "You'll be first on our list."
They fall into comfortable silence for several minutes, as Dean pulls out enough ingredients to feed an army. Hunters are a hungry bunch, after all.
"Claire?" Dean says as he cracks eggs into a bowl.
"Yeah?"
"You seem happy, too."
There's a long pause. Finally, she says, "I am." Dean turns to see her smiling into her coffee
Just then, Sam and Eileen walk into the kitchen, followed quickly by Garth and Bess. Before long most of the bunker has arrived, and Dean gets back to cooking the feast. Behind him, someone else fires up the toaster, and soon he's handing off plate after plate of bacon, eggs and toast.
Finally, once nearly everyone has food, Cas walks in looking just as rumpled as he always does in the morning. Dean meets him with a mug of coffee and a sweet kiss. "Morning, sunshine," he murmurs against his lips.
"Good morning, Dean," Cas replies, voice still rough with sleep.
And yeah, Dean thinks, he could get used to this.
72 notes · View notes
starter-library · 3 years
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「MONTGOMERY RICKY BY RICKY MONTGOMERY STARTERS」
This December
“Only I my darkest moments can I see the light”
“Well, this December I’ll remember”
“I’m alright if you’re alright and I’m okay if you’re okay”
“It’s just a little bit lonely in this home”
“It’s always colder on your own”
“I wanna see you with your head wide open, empty on the ground”
Line without a hook
“I don't really give a damn about the way you touch me when we're alone”
“You can hold my hand if no one's home”
“Do you like it when I'm away?”
“If I went and hurt my body, baby would you love me the same?”
“I can feel all my bones coming back and I'm craving motion”
“You're a pond and I'm an ocean”
“All my emotions feel like explosions when you are around”
“Oh, baby, I am a wreck when I'm without you”
“I need you here to stay”
“Was it something I said to make you feel like you're a burden?”
“Oh, and if I could take it all back I swear that I would pull you from the tide”
“Darling, when I'm fast asleep I’ve seen this person watching me”
“Is it worth it? Is it worth it? Tell me, is it worth it?”
“Because there is something, and there is nothing there is nothing in between”
"She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a boy"
Cabo
“Do what you can with me and do it quietly”
“I think I found a place for us, it’s down by the garden after dark, it’s in my arms”
“I cannot say a word to you like this”
“I wanna see you but I gotta resist”
Don’t Know How
“I wanna be your little mister now”
“I wanna be the one that puts you out”
“I wanna do it but I don’t know- I don’t know how”
“I wanna be the one that tells you no, I wanna be a place that you can’t go”
“No one knows if you’re a heartbreaker”
“You can’t say if you’re a life taker cause you can’t tell if you’re not”
“I wanna be the one that makes you stay”
“I wanna be a word you say at night”
“I wanna be a feeling you can’t fight”
Last Night
“I thought you’d care to notice me. I just want you to notice me”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Don’t know what id do without the words I hear right now”
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone and I’m coming home”
“Last night, I was fine.”
“Last night, I was fine. Dropping lines and getting mine”
“Isn’t it so interesting the way he branded all that he touched?”
“Somewhere in my heart of hearts I knew it all along but I’m still finding out”
“Since the start it was all planned out and always hard”
California
“I’m headed back for my shot at the family dream”
“I am just a boy, but with a little bit of culture, I’ll go for”
“I want the world to know I’m not just a photograph”
“Some way, someday you’ll know my name”
“I’m not too good to say “I love you””
“Why must we always make love from the back?”
“My eyes are up here and my legs can move”
“I am just a girl but with a little motivation, I’ll go far”
“I want the world to know that I’m not just a piece of trash”
“Art is dead and artists killed it”
“I want the world to know that I’m not just a piece of ass”
My Heart is Buried in Venice
“Come rest your bones next to me and toss your thoughts to the sea”
“I’ll pull up each of our anchors so we can get lost, you and me”
“My heart is buried in Venice, hidden beneath all my worries and doubt”
“My heart is buried in Venice waiting for someone to take it home”
“Even when you try to hide it a smile creeps out from your teeth”
“I never thought I would have to say I’m sorry for anyone but me”
“Say what you mean”
“Tell me the truth or tell me you’re through”
“Don’t leave me to breathe”
“Don’t leave me to bleed for someone who chose to leave me be”
Mr Loverman
“I'm headed straight for the floor”
“The alcohol's served its tour and it's headed straight for my skin”
“I'm Mr. Loverman and I miss my lover, man”
“The ways in which you talk to me have me wishing I were gone”
“The ways that you say my name have me running on and on”
“I've shattered now”
“I'm spilling out upon this linoleum ground”
“I'm reeling in my brain again”
“What am I 'sposed to do without you?”
Get Used to It
“My fingers used to dance on every key now they’re just pieces of meat”
“Used to go to university, used to be the head of varsity”
“Used to live inside this box with everyone noticing me”
“I used to leave the evening feeling right”
“I’ll be with you each and every night chasing the horizon in your eyes”
“You want a garden but you got a balcony”
“You’re always looking for some company”
“You want a say, well what you got to say?”
“Give in to me, give in to me and see”
“Apropos, you’re beautiful”
“Get used to it, get used to it.”
Snow
“I’m ready and I’m down to forget.”
“Does it suck that I’m not so predictable”
“To me evergreen wasn’t such a bad dream”
“Oh, sometimes things aren’t as plain as they seem”
“Darling when I go, bury me six feet in snow”
“Here we are, wasting our chances for the last time”
“When we go, I’ll try not to be so slow”
“Say it once, say it twice, try to be nice”
“Well, let’s not lose ourselves”
“Summer’s over, love had her screaming at the screen”
“It’s understood that the both of us are no good and I’ll always be that”
“Take my mind, take my body”
“Take my father’s conscience from me”
“Sister will you lend me all your strength, I’m bringing everyone home”
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destiel69420 · 3 years
Text
Cas brings it up one day, apropos of nothing.
“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, while he and Dean are getting ready for bed.
“Oh you’ve been thinking, huh? Should I be worried?” Dean teases, bumps Cas with his elbow, who gives him a half-hearted glare and a huff of a laugh, then reaches over to turn his bedside lamp off, leaving the room dark.
“If we do move closer to Lebanon, into a house and not an underground bunker, we’re going to need IDs and proof of our legal existence. Since Jack will be going to school, as one of his parents, I think I’m going to have ‘Kline’ as my last name.” He says it in a thoughtful way, but it’s clear he’s been thinking about it. As Dean gets under the comforter on his side of the bed, he hums his acknowledgment. Cas doesn’t say anything as he gets into bed, but when he’s in, he lays on his side facing Dean. “Are you alright with that? That I’m not taking ‘Winchester,’ I mean.”
Dean reaches out, tugs Cas to his chest who goes easily. “‘Course it’s alright Cas. You get to make your own choices, it ain’t up to me what you do.” He rubs his hand up and down the length of Cas’ back. “‘Winchester’ has history. I didn’t choose it, and you sure as hell don’t have to for me. I’m glad you’re going with ‘Kline,’ it’s something you chose, and you chose your son.”
Cas nods, but Dean feels it more than sees it. He drapes an arm across Dean’s chest, kisses the closest spot, Dean’s shoulder.
Dean turns his head, kisses the top of Cas’ head. “Night angel.” Cas falls asleep quickly, but Dean doesn’t fall asleep for a long while.
“Dean!” Charlie says when she picks up the phone. “Haven’t heard from you in a bit, hope you’re doing good. How’s Cas?”
.
.
Dean calls Charlie the next day while Cas is tending to his plants. He started with tomatoes, but it quickly expanded to various other vegetables and herbs.
He chuckles at her enthusiasm. “I’m doing good Charlie. So is Cas; he’s gotten really into gardening, and he’s been mentioning bees lately, so we’ll see where that goes. Sorry I haven’t been calling as often as I should.”
He gets a pffft through the receiver, and he can see the way Charlie would wave her hand at him, dismissing it. “You’re good. It just means that I’ll have to be the one that calls you. You usually only call when you need something, so what can I do for you now?”
He hears the sound of a keyboard over the receiver. “Alright, are you all going with ‘Winchester?’”
Dean feels a twinge of guilt that he doesn’t talk to Charlie as much as he should and tells himself that he’ll be better about it. “Ya caught me Charles, I do need somethin’ from you.” He gets an mhm through the phone. “I need some legal docs and IDs for me ‘n Cas. We may have
to get one for Jack too, ‘cause he is technically only three.”
“No, actually. Jack is staying with ‘Kline,’ and that’s what Cas chose.” He wonders briefly why she guessed they’d choose Winchester. Being a Winchester was a big part of Dean’s identity for a long time, nearly 40 years now, but he doesn’t think that he wants it to be anymore.
Nearly right on cue, Charlie asks him “So, what about you? Are you sticking with Winchester?”
There’s a beat of silence before he answers. “No, I actually have another idea.”
.
.
A week later, Dean drops a small stack of papers in front of Cas, who’s sitting at the table, blearily drinking his coffee. He looks up at Dean, confused squint on his face, squintier than normal in his drowsiness.
“What’s this?” Cas he mumbles, and Dean feels a little thrill of excitement, and under that, a little bit of embarrassment, but he’s not focusing on that right now.
He tips his head towards the papers. “Legal docs, for you, me, and Jack. Had Charlie write ‘em up. Go ahead, look.” Cas picks up the papers, flips through them, and Dean feels apprehension coil in his chest. On the top are Jack’s papers. His year of birth is pushed back far enough for him to reasonably be in high school. Next are Cas’. Whenever birthdays have come up in the past, he argues that he wasn’t actually “born,” and they don’t know when Jimmy was born, but Cas never felt comfortable claiming it as his own anyways, so Dean goes with the day he and Dean met. So he’s sentimental, sue him. At the bottom are Dean’s.
Cas gasps quietly, looking up at Dean with wonderment in his eyes. “Dean Kline?” He says it quietly, like he’s misreading what’s in front of him. Dean feels a flush high on his cheeks and he looks away.
Cas kisses him all over his face, and Dean laughs. When Cas leans back, his hands move to Dean’s neck and his eyes are bright. “Dean Kline.” He says it softly, like if it’s too loud it wouldn’t be real anymore. Dean smiles, presses his forehead to Cas’.
“I said that Winchester has a history, that I didn’t have a choice for a long time, and that’s still true. But I have a choice now. And I’m choosing you and Jack. I’m choosing my family.” By the time he’s finished talking he manages to feel warmer somehow, and he looks over Cas’ shoulder, past him. Quite suddenly, Cas is right in his space, hands on either side of his face and smiling so hard he barely manages to kiss Dean at all. Dean’s hands come up to rest on
Cas’ waist.
“Dean Kline.” He says back, tilting his head up to kiss Cas on the forehead. Cas hugs him tight around his chest, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other gently petting Dean’s hair, his face pressed into Dean’s neck.
“That would be,” he says through a wide smile, the one that shows his gums. “That would be good with me.” He kisses Dean again and again, and the coffee on the table goes cold.
When he speaks again, his voice rumbles through his chest into Dean’s. “Castiel Kline and Dean Kline might imply that we’re married.” Dean grins, squeezing Cas tight to him.
“Would that be good with you Cas?” he says into Cas’ hair, smiling so hard it makes his cheeks hurt some. Cas leans back, with a matching grin of his own.
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5lazarus · 3 years
Text
Dragon Eyes: an Avatar-The Last Airbender Fanfic
Dragon Eyes
On a diplomatic mission to the Fire Nation, Katara leaves the children with Aang to have tea with Zuko and Mai. But the two of them have something they want to talk about. They've lived enough of fathers neglecting one child for the other, and they have seen enough.
Katara wishes they had propositioned her, rather than bring this up. Read on Archive of Our Own here.
Years of travel in the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation have not made handling the heat any easier. Katara rejoices in shedding her layers, showing off some skin. Aang is entertaining all the kids—all of them, not just Tenzin, and Zuko’s daughter, too. She is relieved to have them out of her hair, to have the time to sit down and comb through her hair. She twists her hair into her old Fire Nation fashion and grins at herself in the mirror. She loves her hair loopies, but it’s nice to shake things up a bit.
Aang is taking the kids through the palace and tormenting the tour guide Zuko sent them with Ty Lee. Katara is taking advantage of the break. Zuko told her he’ll be in the garden with Mai, doing a tea meditation. Apparently they do that every morning, to keep a finger on each other’s pulse. At first Katara was nonplussed, wondering if that was a euphemism, and was slightly alarmed when he invited her to join them. Aang has talked about how the Air Nomads practiced polyamory. The Water Tribe does not. Katara does not.
It is terribly, terribly hot, humidity a caress on the skin, and she bends it cooler around her limbs, swiping the sweat away. Barefoot she walks down the tile path into the courtyard. Mai and Zuko are sitting by the turtleducks, drinking tea. Mai sees her first and raises a small cup in welcome.
Zuko says, “I told you she’d come.”
Mai rolls her eyes. “Hot tea on a hot day? Only offer this to Katara, not any other officials from the Water Tribe.”
“Fair,” Zuko says. He smiles at her. “Aang’s got the kids?”
Katara settles down at the tea table, one of those elegantly-carved pieces of wood that look deceptively simple and thus cost a fortune. Zuko uses wooden prongs to place a small porcelain cup before her and Mai. She touches it, eggshell thin. It’s warm.
“The tea tastes better that way,” Zuko says. Mai looks at him fondly. “Easier now that I don’t have to hide the fire bending.”
Katara smiles. “I really am surprised we didn’t run into each other earlier. Your uncle’s tea shop was so popular!”
Zuko hides his face behind his hair, and Mai puts her hand on his arm. Iroh’s death is still raw on him. She takes the tongs from him and begins pulling thin, silvery green leaves from a jar. She places them in a scoop made from bamboo.
“Bai hao yin zhen,” Mai says. “Early spring.” An eagerness underlays her usual drawl. Katara raises an eyebrow. She really likes the tea. Mai says, “Here. Smell.”
Katara leans forward. “The things I do for diplomacy!” She grins, and takes a cautious sniff. Her eyes widen, and she inhales deeper, drunk on the scent. “That’s like the sun!”
Mai smiles, and Zuko shakes himself out of his reverie to say, “Uncle always said the tasting notes were honey and sun fruits, after the rain. This is the new buds of a tea tree. There are other white teas, just as exquisite, that include the leaves, but I’ve always loved this one. It’s a treat.”
Katara says, “Well, thank you for sharing with me. If it tastes anything like it smells….”
“Uncle always served you red tea, right?” Zuko takes an open pot and closes a hand gently around its handle. The water begins to bubble. “He thought you’d like a deeper flavor. It’s good for the cold. But white tea cools me down.”
Katara leans back on her haunches, raising her face to the sun. She listens to the burble of the koi pond behind her, where Zuko has placed a shrine to Yue. Reparations, she thinks. Not enough: Sokka and Suki broke up, of course, and he has never quite been able to settle down since. She’s there, silent in the bright sky, and while it is not enough, at least the world is whole.
The courtyard is gritty under her hands, and she wipes at them, wincing at the soreness in the joints. She’s been stressed. These family trips are always stressful. Aang, for all his meditation, never seems to be able to focus on packing and he makes Bumi’s inattention worse, and then Kya gets upset that Bumi is bothering her and kicks up a fuss, and then Tenzin of course cries, and Appa covers him in slobber trying to comfort him, which makes him cry worse, and then he needs a bath, and then Bumi and Kya get upset, because the baby is the baby and the Airbender and everything, as Kya once screamed. She sighs. It is good to have some time in the sun, while Aang takes care of the kids, and have some intelligent conversation besides when she was having her next baby. She wasn’t. Three and a husband were enough.
Mai says, apropos of nothing, “Dragon eyes.” She slides the tea from the scoop into a gaiwan, shaking the leaves to spread them on the bottom.
Katara opens her eyes. “What?”
Mai says, “It means the water’s boiling. When the bubbles are that large, like dragon eyes. It means it’s the temperature that’s good for this kind of white tea. Though some brew it cooler—with crab eyes, rather than dragon eyes.”
Zuko takes his hand from the pot and skillfully pours the boiling water into the waiting gaiwan. He places its lid on the top, and pours it swiftly into another exquisite porcelain pitcher, almost translucently blue. Like blood, Katara thinks, and then banishes the thought. Hama wouldn’t like her here. The honeysuckle smell fills the garden. Zuko pours the tea, almost silver-green, into her cup.
He says, “Don’t drink. Just smell.”
Katara looks at him doubtfully. It seems like such a waste of such wonderful-smelling tea. The Fire Nation court has always struck her as excessive, though she is leery of people who prattle on about decadence.
Mai says, “You can drink it. But it’s the rinse, you rinse leaves like this the way you do rice.”
Katara says, “You ever cooked rice?” Zuko laughs, and Mai rolls her eyes.
“Very funny,” she drawls. “When we searched for Ursa. Eventually I got it right.” Zuko grins in a way that makes Katara think that perhaps she never did.
He points to the figure, painted in blue, sitting serenely at the center of the tea table. “Or you can offer it to her.” Katara picks up the porcelain figurine. It’s of a woman, a mother, holding a child close. She catches Mai’s eye. Zuko still hurts for his mother, for his father, for his cousin and his sister and his uncle. It manifests in such obvious ways, how he grieves his family. She doesn’t even need to hear it, but Zuko says it anyway. “It was my mother’s. Noriko, I mean.”
“Have you spoken to her recently?” Katara says carefully. She places the figurine back onto the table and unceremoniously dumps her cup over it, hoping it scalds through the paint. Families are complicated, Zuko’s insanely so. Mai gives her an amused look and does the same.
Zuko shrugs. “I just wish she’d talk to Azula. She hasn’t visited her once. And I know it’s hard, and you never really know when the lucid period will end, but—“
Mai says, “Loving Azula isn’t easy. It might get better when Ozai dies.”
Then they are silent as Zuko picks up the pot again and flash-brews the tea. It is hard to be sour with such a sweet smell filling the air. They don’t need to say it. It would have been better if Aang had killed Ozai. It is easier to come to peace with the dead father than the living disposed king and his mad daughter.
Zuko pours the honey-sweet tea into her little cup. She sips it, lost in its clear light taste. This is what the dew hidden in a flower tastes like, she thinks. She tries to slow down sipping at this minuscule cup, but too fast, the tea is gone. Zuko is smiling.
“Another cup?” he says, and she nods eagerly. “This was one of my uncle’s favorites. One of the many things he loved from the Earth Kingdom.”
They drink, reveling in the sheer loveliness of it. It’s like drinking light, Katara thinks. Earth and fire and water, in one cup. The warm porcelain soothes her aching hands. A muscle relaxes in her neck, and she lets her shoulders down. She rolls them, happy in their mobility.
Mai looks at her with an acupuncturist’s eye. “Pinched nerve?” she asks. “I can look at that. If you’re comfortable.”
Katara stops, cup halfway to her mouth. She’s going back to her original thought that they were hitting on her, which is flattering, but no. Absolutely not. She’s got enough going on, even if Aang wouldn’t mind, or even be into it. No.
Zuko leans forward. “There’s something we’ve been wanting to ask her.”
Katara’s heart stops. She puts the cup down, a little too hard. “I—uh—“
“Have things been alright with Aang?”
Mai’s mouth twitches. “I think she thought we were going to ask her something else.”
“Everything’s fine!” Katara blurts. Mai can be such a troll sometimes. “I mean. Traveling with the kids is always…a lot, but—why?” She’s irritated now. She has not been pleased with Aang, but three small children take a toll on communication in a marriage. She’s embarrassed that it has been that obvious. She fiddles with the figurine on the table.
Zuko and Mai exchange a look. They look like they’re waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Mai heaves a sigh.
“Bumi wrote Izumi something in a letter,” Mai says. She folds her hands in her lap. “You know how they’re friends. And it made her very upset.”
“Well,” Katara says. “If he was nasty to her, I’ll speak to him, but I don’t see what this has to do with my marriage. Bumi is—“ She stops. Bumi is always in the middle of things, fussing around, crashing into walls just like his namesake. She loses patience with him too often, she knows that, but Kya’s easy to distract with a waterbending lesson, and Tenzin just sits with his scrolls when Aang isn’t putting him through his paces. He’s so much like his father, an absolute whirlwind of energy. She’s privately thought it’s a shame he didn’t inherit his father’s bending, rather than Tenzin, but that is something she can not let herself think for long.
“He says he doesn’t think his father loves him, because he’s not a bender,” Zuko says. “Which I know is not right. But I have been in that position before. And he told her that Aang is never around, that he just travels from temple to temple with Tenzin, and he and Kya are just left at home. And that he’s worried about you too. It was a very…” He trails off, and looks at Mai.
Mai finishes, “The ink was smudge. He’d been crying. So we wanted to talk to you, because it scared Izumi. Because we both know what it is like to be ignored by our fathers.” She smiles thinly. “And the toll it took on our mothers.”
Zuko says, “I’m sorry if we overstepped, it was just—hard to read.”
Katara says, “Why didn’t he tell me? It’s—he does his best to present for the kids, but Aang has his Avatar duties, and as the last airbender, there’s so much he needs to teach Tenzin, so it’s just easier for him to bring only him along. Have you tried to move three children around the world on bison-back?”
Zuko looks wry for a second. “Well,” he says. “It depends if you count Sokka as a child.”
Mai puts her hand on his arm: not the time.
Katara says, “I wish it was better, but I knew I wasn’t walking into something that was easy. From the start. He could be a better father, but what can I do? What can I do?” She’s furious now, tears rising to her eyes, and she looses a ragged breath, surprised at her own fervor. Wordlessly Zuko pours her another cup. She downs it, barely tasting it.
Mai says, “If he’s not being a good father to your children and a good husband to you, you can leave. We’re not our mothers, Katara.” Zuko looks at her warningly. “Sorry. I don’t know how it was in the Southern Water Tribe, but for my mother, she thought she had no choice. But there is always a choice. Even if it isn’t easy. I don’t—“
Zuko says firmly, “You deserve better. Bumi and Kya deserve better. And Tenzin too. That sort of resentment between siblings is poison. I should know.”
Katara would have preferred that they proposition her. She closes her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. Louder, she continues, “I know Bumi deserves better. From both of us. I know it hurts them. I can see it in the way they treat Tenzin. Kya already barely speaks to Aang. But. Tenzin is my son, too. And of course he and Aang would be closer. It’s just—if I take my children and go, I’m taking Aang’s family away. And I know the Air Nomads were different, he wasn’t raised to stay in one place, if you were a bender and a boy you’d be sent to the temple and that was it, but—“
“Bumi is Southern Water Tribe,” Mai says. “And even if his father is an Air Nomad, only his brother counts as one. Because of bending. And that isn’t fair for him. For Kya either, because they are both. And you know you need to do something about it.” Katara looks up, surprised at the emotion in her voice. Mai stares at her steadily. “Katara, you saved the world. You’re the hero of the Fire Nation, the Painted Lady, the chief of the Southern Water Tribe. You deserve a husband who is a coparent to all your children, not just one.”
Katara says, “You don’t—“ and then there is a crash and a scream and the sound of raucous laughter as Aang comes running in on an air ball, Tenzin nipping at his heels.
“C’mon,” he yells behind him, “faster, you snail sloths!” He and Tenzin pause, perched on the air they so effortlessly bend. Tenzin looks a little harried. Bumi comes running in, panting, then Kya, and Izumi at a more sedate pace.
“That’s…cheating,” Kya says. She grips at the wall. “That wasn’t fair!” She is genuinely angry, almost at the brink of tears, and Izumi bumps her reassuringly. Bumi throws himself on the ground.
Tenzin says pedantically, “You didn’t say no bending.”
Izumi snaps, “Maybe it didn’t need to be said!”
Aang jumps onto his feet, and Tenzin follows. Kya is crouching over Bumi now, muttering to him. Mai’s face is a stone. Zuko is blushing.
“What’s up?” Aang says, grinning. “Did I miss anything fun?”
Katara pours herself a cup rather than answering. She considered the heat and sweetness in the air. With a flick of her risk, she bends it over the mother figurine, washing her clean.
“Oh, you know,” she says. “Diplomacy. We’ll talk about it when we get home.”
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Becoming A Stark? (28)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader
Word Count: 3395
Warnings: swearing, IW emotional trauma, the usual.
Author Note: There is some dialog from Infinity War used in this chapter. I don’t own it, but also there’s new stuff after it so don’t skip it. This is the final chapter. There will be a sequel that I’m not sure when will be posted but it will be coming. If you want to be tagged when it’s posted, let me know! Thank you for reading all of this and giving me so much love on my fist PP story. Let me know what you think of the finale.
Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List
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“Mom have you seen my jacket?” You ask as you walk from the living room back into the kitchen. You’re already dressed in ripped jeans, galaxy converse, and a grey AC/DC shirt.
“Which jacket?” Pepper asks as she stirs the eggs she’s cooking for you.
“My denim one? I wore it yesterday? Or maybe it was the day before?”
“Have you checked your room?”
“I looked there when I was getting ready. I didn’t see it.” Instead of being dressed for the office, Pepper is wearing running gear. “Are you going into the office today?”
“In a little bit. Your dad wants to go to the park for a run first.”
“Dad running? Since when?”
“I think your birthday is making him feel O-L-D.” Pepper teases as Tony walks down the stairs.
“I can still spell even if I’m getting old.” Tony responds. In his hand he’s holding your Rolling Stones jacket. “You left this on the stairs kiddo.”
“Oh, right! I meant to take it up last night.” You shrug it over your shoulders before sitting down at the food that Pepper made for you.
“What’s with the pep in your step today?”
“Field trip. I don’t have to be at school today.”
“Field trip?” Your dad asks as he sits down next to you. “Where to?”
“MoMA. My art class is going.”
“Ah so you and the young Parker are getting out of school to go look at art. How sweet.” Your dad says with a teasing tone remembering how Peter ended up in your art class after switching in in the second six weeks. “With how much it cost for you to go to that school, I would think you would spend more time at school than on field trips.”
“It’s educational. I promise.”
“Sure it is.”
“What your dad is trying to say is have fun.” Pepper says with a laugh. “He and I are going to go so can you lock up when you leave with Happy?” You nod. “Perfect. Have fun, love you, see you after school.”
“Love you kiddo.” Your dad kisses the top of your head. Pepper places a kiss behind him. You munch on your toast as they walk towards the door. Today should be a fairly normal day, apart from the field trip.
“Slow down, slow down. I’ll spell it out for you.” Tony tries to get Pepper to listen as he tries to explain his dream from last night while they walk through the park together.
“You’re totally rambling.”
“No I’m not.” Tony throws back in his own defense.
“You lost me.”
“Look, you know how you’re having a dream, and in the dream you gotta pee.” Tony ties his jacket around his shoulders as he says this.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. And then you’re like ‘Oh my God. There’s no bathrooms. What am I gonna do? Oh, someone’s watching.’”
“Right.”
“‘Oh, I’m gonna go in my pants.’”
“And then you wake up and in real life you actually have to pee.” Pepper catches his drift.
“Yes.” Tony’s hand waves in agreement.
“Yeah. Everybody has that.”
“Right that’s the point I’m trying to make. Apropos of that, last night I dreamt we had a kid.”
“We have a kid. Y/N.” Pepper points out with a smile.
“No like a baby.” Tony explains. “It was so real. We named him after your eccentric uncle. Uh what was his name? Morgan! Morgan.”
“Right. So when you woke up…”
“Naturally.”
“...and thought we were…”
“Expecting.”
“Yeah.”
“Yes?”
“No.” Pepper smiles at him as she says it.
“I had a dream about it. It was so real.”
“If you wanted to have another kid, you wouldn’t have done that.” Pepper unties the sweater and taps on the nanoparticle home.
“I’m glad you brought this up, ‘cause it’s nothing. It’s just a housing unit for nanoparticles.”
“You’re not helping your case, okay?”
“No, this is detachable. It’s not a…”
“You don’t need that. Y/N didn’t need you to get that. I didn’t need you to get that. Your family needs you to put them first sometimes ok?”
“I know. I had the surgery. I’m just trying to protect us and future usses and that’s it. Just in case there’s a monster in the closet. Instead of, you know…”
“Shirts.”
“You know me so well.”
“God.”
“You finish all my sentences.”
“You should have shirts in your closet.”
“Yeah, you know what there should be? No more surprises. We’re going to have a nice dinner tonight. Hear all about Y/N’s field trip. Show off this Harry Winston. Right?” Pepper chuckles at his antics. “And we should have no more surprises. Ever. I should promise you.”
“Yes.”
“I will.” Tony leans in to kiss Pepper. “Thank you.”
“Tony Stark?” Pepper pulls away at the sound of someone calling Tony’s name. Tony on the other hand can only roll his eyes because this was exactly the kind of thing he was talking about. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange. I need you to come with me.” Pepper grabs Tony’s hand at this. “Oh and uh congratulations on the wedding, by the way.”
“I’m sorry, are you giving out tickets to something?”
“We need your help. It’s not overselling it to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”
“And who’s we?”
“Hey Tony.” Bruce appears by Stephen’s side, shocking both Tony and Pepper after so much time without him.
“Bruce.”
“Pepper.”
“Hi.”
“Oh.”
“Are you ok?” Tony asks as Bruce falls into hugging him. What has happened while he was away?
“Ready for this field trip?” Peter asks as he sits down next to you on the bus.
“I’m always ready. Getting out of school for the day? Hell yeah.” You nudge your boyfriend’s shoulder. “Are you ready to see MoMA?”
“I guess so. I haven’t been since Ben died so…” Peter trails off.
“Babe, you haven’t been to MoMA since then? Why?”
“Ben really liked seeing the new exhibits and he would take me with him when he went. It just felt wrong to go without him.” Peter explains as the bus takes off from MSST and heads towards MoMA. “But there’s a first time to do stuff since you lose people I guess.”
“It’s going to be fine. I’ll be with you the whole time.” You say as you take his hand in yours. Peter leans forward on the seat in front of you so he can look in your direction.
“Well that will make everything better.” Suddenly the hairs on Peter’s arm stand straight up.
“What?” 
“Something’s wrong.” Peter mumbles. “Spidey senses are off the wall.” His voice is no louder than a whisper.
“Something like a giant donut spaceship floating over NYC seem off enough?” You say pointing towards the window beside him. He turns to look and the recognition on his face tells you all you need to know. Looks like Peter may not be on the field trip after all.
“Can you and Ned create a distraction?”
“Of course. But you’ll be safe?”
“Always am.” He kisses you on the lips really quick before you tap Ned on the shoulder. Ned spins around to look at you. 
“Guy in the chair needs to distract everyone with me.” You say quickly, but as Ned turns he sees the ship out the window.
“Holy shit.” He then turns towards the back of the bus and yells, “We’re all gonna die! There’s a spaceship!” You follow him towards the back of the bus as people start calling out asking what’s going on. But your eyes catch Peter’s one more time before he opens the emergency exit window with his web shooter. While everyone else is watching the spaceship, your eyes are trailing out the back of the bus as Peter jumps off the bridge. You know he’ll web himself to safety, but it makes your stomach fall to your toes every time.
Peter swings into the park where he sees a big angry alien… if he had to guess, swinging a sword/ax at Tony. So he does the one thing he knows how to do, he grabs it. “Hey man. What’s up Mr. Stark?” 
“Kid where did you come from?”
“Field trip, to MoMA.” Peter screams as he’s thrown in the other direction. “Uh what is this guy’s problem Mr. Stark?”
“Uh he’s from space. He came here to steal a necklace from a wizard.” As the alien throws cars around and Tony tries to laser him, Peter webs the car and swings it back at the alien. Which might just make him more angry, but that’s half the fun. Right as the alien swings his ax down again, a red object zooms by. “Kid that’s the wizard, get on it.”
“On it!” Swinging across New York, he finally grabs the wizard when a blue light grabs the wizard and pulls them both up towards the sky. “Uh, Mr. Stark, I’m being beamed up.”
“Hang on kid!” Wong traps the alien in an icy tundra, slicing off the hand that reaches up towards them. “Wong you’re invited to my wedding.” Tony shouts before jetting off to rescue his daughter’s boyfriend, who happens to be climbing up the side of the alien spaceship. “Give me a little juice FRIDAY. Unlock 17:A.” His boots morph together to form one big foot thruster. “Pete you gotta let go. I’m gonna catch you.” He says over the comms to Peter.
“But you said save the wizard.” Peter pulls his mask off as he says, “I can’t breathe.”
“We’re too high up. You’re running out of air.” If your boyfriend dies in space, you might kill your dad, so he’s going to do everything he can to save the kid.
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Peter’s hands slip from the ship as he runs out of air. But the Iron Spider suit Tony had been working on arrives just in time to grab hold of Peter and save him from falling back to Earth. Instead he just hits the ship a time or two before having air to breathe again. Peter grabs a hold of the ship and stands back up. “Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!”
“Happy trails, kid. FRIDAY send him home.”
“Yep.” A parachute deploys and pulls Peter off the ship.
“Oh come on!” As Tony cuts into the side of the ship, FRIDAY alerts him of something else.
“Boss incoming call from Miss Potts.”
“Tony are you alright? What’s going on?”
“Yeah I’m fine. I just think we might have to push our 8:30 res.”
“Why?”
“Just ‘cause I’ll probably not make it back for a while.”
“Tell me you’re not on that ship.”
“Yeah.”
“God, no, please tell me you’re not on the ship.”
“Honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“Come back here Tony. I swear to God. I will take Y/N and I will leave for good. No more surprises. You promised.”
“Pep.”
“Come back here right now.” Static starts to crackle. “Come back.”
“Boss we’re losing her.”
“I’m going too…” Pepper’s voice breaks off as the call drops. While Tony is dealing with this call, Peter is climbing up his webs, back onto the ship he had been told not to be on. 
All he can mutter is “I should have stayed on the bus,” as the doors shut on the ship.
The ship is no longer in the sky. You watched it fly away. But you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, because now you can’t get a hold of your dad or Peter. So you call the one person who has always had to be in the same position as you- you call your mom.
“Y/N? Are you ok?”
“Mom tell me Dad didn’t do something stupid and get on that ship.” Your school group is starting to walk into the first exhibit hall, but you need reassurance right now, not art pieces. Pepper doesn’t say anything for a moment, trying to figure out how to tell you that your dad is on that ship. “He’s on that ship isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? Why would he be stupid enough to get on an alien space ship?”
“Because he’s stupid enough to think that saving the world falls on his shoulders and his alone.”
“I think Peter might have been stupid enough to think that too.” You say as soon as you know your class is out of hearing range.
“What?”
“I’ve tried calling him and he’s not picking up.”
“I thought he was on the field trip with you?”
“He was until he saw an alien ship in the sky. Then he decided that he needed to be a superhero. And now he won’t pick up the phone and he always picks up the phone, even when he’s in his suit.” You voice the concerns you’re having. “And my calls to Dad aren’t going through either which makes me think that Peter is with him.”
“He wouldn’t be stupid enough to take a fifteen year old with him on a space ship.” Pepper tries to reassure you.
“But just because he doesn’t take Peter doesn’t mean that Peter isn’t stupid enough to follow him.”
“Sounds like we both need to date smarter men.”
“They’re book smart. I’m just not sure if they’re life smart.”
“I think I’d agree with that.”
“But we also love them too much to let them go.”
“That’s also true.” Pepper doesn’t comment on the fact that you just admitted that you love Peter. “But I also know that your dad will do anything to keep Peter safe if he’s with him. So you just focus on your school trip and at the end of the day, they’ll all come home safe.” Pepper’s promise doesn’t hold much truth to it, but you know your mom is trying to calm you more than anything. “I’m going to send Happy to pick you up from the museum and bring you to SI.”
“Right now?”
“No, but he’ll be there to pick you up when everyone heads back to school.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll just head back to school and then he can pick me up from school. But Mom, if you hear from Dad, can you tell him I love him?”
“He knows you love him.”
“But I didn’t say it to him this morning and if something happens to him…” You feel the tears welling in your eyes.
“Nothing is going to happen to him. He knows you love him.”
“You don’t know that. Every time he walks out the door to play Avenger, he could leave and not come back. He could die out there today. And I couldn’t take the two seconds it would have taken to tell him I loved him this morning.” The tears drizzle down your face as you mutter the words you feel in your soul. Out of the corner of your eye you see Ned waiting by the door leading to the next exhibit area. You wipe the tears from your cheeks. “So just if you hear from him tell him ok, Mom?”
“I will. Now just for now, don’t think about all of this. Just focus on the field trip and I’ll see you after it ok? Everything is going to be ok.”
“Mom? I love you.”
“I love you too Y/N. So much.” You hang up the phone and Ned walks over.
“Everything alright?”
“No, but the universe doesn’t usually ask me before it makes it’s decisions.”
“Have you heard from Peter?” You shake your head. 
“I can’t get a hold of him or my dad. My mom said my dad is on that donut that flew out of the sky, which makes me think if I can’t get a hold of Peter…”
“He’s on it too.” Ned finishes your thought. “Peter’s in space with Iron Man. That’s so cool.” Ned mumbles but then sees your face. “Ok, not the point right now. What’s our plan?”
“We don’t have one. We’re not Avengers. We just wait around until the rest of them hopefully show up.” And you do what you hope is the next best step, you text your aunt- SOS.
N:Don’t worry. Avengers are on it. Focus on school. 
Why does everyone think you’ll be able to focus on anything when your dad and boyfriend disappeared on an alien spaceship? 
Y:you all think i’m going to be able to focus on learning when my dad and boyfriend have just gone missing? that’s the stupidest thing i’ve ever heard of coming from two of the smartest women i know.
N:I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but this isn’t on your shoulders. The Avengers will take care of this fight. I promise you, we’ll get them back. Anyway we have to.
“Anything?” Ned asks quietly, as your tour guide goes on pointing out different pieces of art. You shake your head.
“Apparently it’s an Avenger problem, not a me problem, according to Aunt Nat.”
“It’s still cool that you can just text Avengers.”
“Ned, my dad is literally an Avenger. It loses the coolness factor when your dad leaves on missions and you don’t know if he’ll come back alive or not.”
“That’s true I guess.” He looks at the art piece next to you. “But still you get to text the Black Widow! Isn’t that cool?”
“She’s just my Aunt Nat. I’ve hung out with her watching horror movies and talking about crushes. It feels different than saying I text the Black Widow.” You glance over at the statue, trying to take it in so you can write your report when you get home.
“They could have tried to put at least one blemish on it.” MJ mutters and you nod in agreement.
“Uh, Y/N?”
“Ned?” You turn from MJ to see Ned staring at his hand. It’s turning to dust in front of his eyes. “Ned, what’s happening?”
“I think something’s wrong.” His other hand starts to turn into dust and you don’t understand. 
“What is happening?”
“Something that can’t be good.” MJ says and you turn to see her hands turning to dust as well. “Y/N, something is wrong. Really wrong.” Your friends are turning to dust in front of your eyes. You can’t stop it, you can’t figure out what’s wrong. So you do the one thing you know to do when something is wrong- you call your mom.
“Y/N? Please tell me you’re not turning to dust too?”
“Mom, I don’t get what’s happening.”
“I don’t know either. But something isn’t right.” Your mom sounds stressed and worried at the same time you lift a hand to run through your hair and that’s when you see it. Your hand is disappearing before your eyes.
“Mom. Mom, I’m scared. My hand, it’s going.”
“Y/N, everything is going to be alright. It’s going to be ok.” Pepper doesn’t tell you that she has tears streaming down her cheeks. She needs to stay calm for you. You’re the one fading into nothing. She can stay calm for you in this moment. 
“Mom, Mom. I don’t want to go. Please. I don’t know what’s happening. Mom, please make it stop.” Pepper closes her eyes as she listens to your pleads.
“It’s going to be alright sweetheart. Everything is going to be ok.” You watch in horror as Ned fades into nothing but a pile of dust.
“Mom, Ned’s gone. MJ’s seconds away from going. I don’t want to go too. Please make it stop.”
“Everything is going to be alright baby. Just breathe. Everything is going to be ok.” Pepper lies to you.
“Mom, I love you. Tell Dad I love him too. I don’t want to go. Tell him that. I never wanted to go. Having you two as parents was the best thing that ever happened to me.” Your eyes look in horror as MJ turns into dust too.
“We feel the same about you.”
“I love you. I love you so much Mom. I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. I love you.”
“We love you too.” Pepper knows she only has seconds left with you so she wants to make sure you know this before it’s too late.
“I love yo-”
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