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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

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Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

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tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids.

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling.

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness.

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly.

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row.

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes.

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative.

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch.

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge.

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door.

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street.

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead?

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks.

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen.

“Parker, ugh.”

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage.

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted.

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that.

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed.

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material?

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed.

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good.

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it.

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business.

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom.

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out.

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with.

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back.

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet.

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.”

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before.

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair.

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand.

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort.

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease.

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest.

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart.

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly.

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.”

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night.

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile.

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant.

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude.

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

#starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #high school au

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dansnaturepictures · 4 years

Photo

07/01/2021-Part 2 of 2: Walk at Riverside Park, the ten pictures in this photoset are different to the ones I tweeted tonight

Following on from my previous blog we walked at the local Riverside Park along the River Itchen during my birthday afternoon, and it another wonderful wildlife especially birdwatching and photography walk for me this week off. This began at the start of the walk when we were thrilled to spot a lovely Grey Wagtail flying around a shore type area and across the water by Woodmill a part of the area I showed in one of my photos on Twitter with water rushing from the mill which I don’t believe I have seen here before. This bright and beautiful very yellow bird was another year tick for me, and one I was delighted to get as after three consecutive years of seeing this bird further upstream beside the same river on my work lunch breaks in Winchester I am obviously not going to be going there as I am working from home as I have been since March so it was less of a bird that felt certain in the early weeks of the year this time around. So it was a relief to see this bird I love so much, my year list now sits on 95 just one behind how many bird species I saw all year in 2012 and my second highest ever amount of birds seen on this date after this time last year in which at Slimbridge where if things were different this year we would have been going again for my birthday as I said the other day my 2020 year list reached treble figures. I am thrilled especially given the circumstances this year that I have been able to get quite close to that again already! I felt we have been so lucky on our walks to exercise to see so many fantastic species. Its quite a nice thought looking at my records all bar two of my first sightings of Grey Wagtail in a year have been along the River Itchen be that here, Bishopstoke or Winchester so that was interesting and feels nice. We saw another Grey Wagtail further on in the walk too as I tweeted a picture of.

As we moved on I as I said in my previous post about today loved trying out my new 70-300 Nikon lens. Tasked primarily with capturing landscapes and sky scenes, those beautiful views I see when out or at home which I want to capture to remember and like sharing I rather thought it seems to do very well at that. Such pictures I took with it include the first, fourth, sixth, eighth, ninth and tenth in this photoset all of which I was pleased with how they came out I think they were of a pleasing quality and this lens as I said in my last post does seem an upgrade from the previous lens I had that just simply got too old and stopped working. But as we walked on I saw signs today that this may not be a landscape only lens and for the first time in a while I may have this lens which I may term as normal meaning general could be used for other subjects. When a Robin was so nearby instead of reaching for my big zoom lens which I use for all birds and mammals usually I had a go with this one and I felt the quality was good I did tweet this picture on Dans_Pictures. When as I speak about in a minute a Redwing flew into trees a bird I don’t have an extensive record of photographing over the years in case it flew off before I could get the big lens out of my bag and on I took a picture with this one on 300 and then it did stay for me to get a different angle with the big lens and I could see little difference in quality between them. My macro lens didn’t make the bag for today’s walk with my bridge camera included too, this len’s shape especially and possibly weight could make days where I bring my DSLR and normal lens, big lens, macro lens and bridge camera instead of either/or from the latter two could increase, but this lens proved able to take pictures of flowers and berries and some at home when I was playing around earlier too that I would take with my macro lens quite well. So I think this is a great option for me on days I don’t bring many lenses or those moments where I’m just not ready with the right lens and could really alongside the landscapes do its job as a general lens. I am so happy and as I said in my last blog so thankful I was gifted this lens by my whole family today. I took the second and fifth pictures in this photoset of Mute Swan in nice light and Black-headed Gulls with my new lens.

As we walked on I realised I had rather under-celebrated the general bird value of this place alongside the water birds I know its brilliant for on the river as I saw a variety of woodland species, Nuthatch and then whilst taking in more great Blackbirds after this morning and Robin I was thrilled to see the Redwings come through. Brilliant views of these striking, so well marked and coloured and beautiful birds, absolute stars of any winter here. It was easy to see why them and Blackbirds were around today with berries their favourite food visible too. This felt like one of the most exceptional wildlife watching moments of my week off with a bird I saw for the first time in 2021 at Blackwater in the New Forest on Sunday, and one that presented great photo opportunities that really stood out today I tweeted pictures of these birds.

Also as we walked on we were delighted alongside probably into the hundreds of Feral Pigeons gathered beside the water a common sight here which was interesting as I tweeted photos of adding well to the varied pigeon and dove experience at home today as I mentioned in my last post to see the group of Black Swans here. Five in total we saw today, mixing with the Mute Swans and Mallards just before Cobden Bridge which is shown in the fourth picture. It was brilliant to make out their alluring colours, my favourite colour scheme of all and fantastic to watch these beautiful birds - considering this whilst ignoring the facts of whether they should be here or not - for a few minutes. They are always such elegant and entertaining ones to watch as with all swans but these are nice being a bit more petite. There is a great thrill about seeing these birds I saw them elsewhere last year after a few years of seeing this colony here so I was pleased to see them today and I took the third picture in this photoset of one. Also whilst walking we got a brilliant Common Gull view among many Black-headed, Herring and Great Black Backed seen today another real star bird of this week my fourth sighting of them in 2021 this was and this view it was nice to see their greenshank-esque greenish legs and as a bird I have become more familiar with on identification within our family with my Mum discuss with her how to tell them to the full extent of the bird instead of it just flying at a distance or swimming with its legs below water. I tweeted a picture of this gull.

We walked the other side of Woodmill a piece of the River Itchen we very often walked when I was a child when I first started to love this river so I know it so well but had not seen the area for years, it was amazing how short a walk it now felt this area shown in the last three pictures in this photoset. Here we saw a few more star birds of the week, including many Little Grebes always a fairly different I find and great bird to see on a river a fast flowing type habitat and another New Year’s Day year tick in appropriate trees a Siskin a key moment today.

But best of all along this stretch we encountered one of the birds of my young year when we saw a sixth in 2021 for us of one of my favourites the Kingfisher which I took the seventh picture in this photoset and another that I tweeted of it. It is just phenomenal how many of these I have seen this year a true highlight of my week off. I think this is so synonymous of my theme of my 2021 start to my birdwatching and bird year list in that instead of perhaps a usual year where its a mad dash to see species at different locations and we may not dwell once we have seen certain ones but do still enjoy everything the week has been a local one for obvious reasons and not without its star species some usual others not so much but we’ve gone onto see species again and again something I am sure will not be exclusive to our week off, which has been brilliant and really allowed us to focus on the star birds of the week off something always so key to any time off I have to build up bird year lists this was the primary purpose of this time off I have obviously done a lot else as we are in lockdown so are just seeing birds from home and on daily exercise walks. The Kingfisher has been the star and this view today was a top one. And I’ve got form for seeing it on my birthday admittedly on more notable ones my 18th in 2015 at Lower Test and 21st in 2018 at Lymington to my 24th birthday today but its still a great link to one of my favourite birds and for what birthdays should be about really doing what one loves.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Grey Wagtail of the year, one of my favourite birds the Kingfisher, Pied Wagtail, Woodpigeon, Feral Pigeon, Carrion Crow, Robin, Blackbird, Redwing, Nuthatch, House Sparrow, Starling, Siskin, Black-headed Gull, Common Gull, Herring Gull, Great Black Backed Gull, Little Grebe, Moorhen, Cormorant, Mute Swan, Black Swan, Mallard and Brown Rats.

I had a fantastic birthday today, it really was such a nice way to spend it within lockdown focusing on lots of great stuff. Thank you for all your wonderful birthday wishes and incredible support for my photos and posts today and this week. I hope you are all well.

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anteroom-of-death · 4 years

Text

Life, for Dummies p1

a/n: plz love me and go easy. i haven’t written anything since dodos were alive....

You were new to the “fam”. The Doctor picked you up randomly like a stray. Not that you minded most days. It felt like transfering to a school in March: the middle of the semester. And much like high school, friends groups were already formed. Hell, you couldn’t believe that Yaz and the Doc weren’t slamming each other against the walls and making out running down corridors and such.

Graham especially treated you well. Like a pottering but wicked smart granddad. Ryan too, you could bond over basketball and other fun stuff. But still. A second out of step. Any time you had these thoughts, you shoved it down and cursed not totally growing out of your middle school “I’m not like other girls!” mindset. Which, what the fuck? You were a grown ass woman.

“Y/N?” the Doctor said waving a hand in front of you, snapping you from your reverie as you came to the present. You are on Gallifrey and there’s some psycho of the week- named the Master looking ferally at you all like he was planning what bathtub you’d wake up in with a kidney missing. You totally zoned out. The Wii Mii music might as well be what plays when you enter a room.

Shaking yourself you tried to size up the current threat. So- this is where the Doctor’s from? No bad considering it looked like a mix between Dresden after the bombing and Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It had lots of open fields. Big skies. Plenty of sunlight from two burning suns so no “When the street lights kick on, you come back in!” The image of a tiny little blonde baby-Doc bobbing around chasing space fireflies was cute.

Damn reveries.

“Be afraid Doctor!” He said five minutes earlier.

How could anyone be afraid of that. Sure when swapping past stories they told you he was crazy and killed people. The grunting he made coming through the portal was not something fearful. They were oddly sexual. The Doctor’s greatest enemy? Was right before you?

“I should have had more coffee!” You whined under your breath. Honestly. All this running, you didn’t know if you needed to mainline Folger’s or get one of those dorky water packs suburban white dads had for hiking.

This fucker grinned at that. “You’re funny!” He giggled pointing at you. Figures he had like, super sonic hearing. “You didn’t tell me you had funny little humans with you this time!”

“Hilarious dude! Can you even reach the shelves in the grocery store?” It was a pithy attempt at humor. The man had no right calling humans small.

He laughed and looked like he was debating killing you. He gave a resounding twirlin’ and then went onto monologue as if he were written by Joss Wheden. Mainly at the Doctor. But he kept glancing over at you. Yaz and Ryan were obviously acting on primal instinct of figuring how to take the Master down and Graham looked half bored. They’d met him before. Graham looked like he was just waiting for it to be done. Graham was chill. Reliable. He didn’t fly off the handle as much as the rest of you all. He was older. He was one margarita away from becoming a Parrothead. You liked that.

The Master’s glances felt disarming. Like he’d already seen you without your clothing. Not that it felt like a bad thing. He wasn’t unattractive as far as aliens went. Actually, kind of hot. The kind of hot you’d go for if it wasn’t for the fact he was massively evil, tried to kill all humans, and is currently being a bastard to your close friends. Something unique about his clapping. You did that when you were over excited.

He was dashing.

His eyes were large and just drew you in, mentally you knew every time he glanced over. Like he wanted to let you know it was for you and you alone. And he was fit, still soft. Something about the soft jaw, slight roundness to thighs and slight slouch of the tummy. The swagger and toothy grins? His skin looked soft and nice too. Crazy fashion sense. Maybe the inability to dress yourself was a Time Lord thing?

G-d, those lips, so round and full and a nice color. You shoved a thought about, other parts being that color away. Were you really here, having a team huddle, imagining the evil bad man’s cock? Desperation, party of one. You hadn’t been laid in a long time, but really?

“Y/N!” Yaz asked as you looked over and the Master smirked directly at you, like he knew you were trying to picture his cock at that moment. “What do you think?”

You groaned, “I don’t know!” your voice peaked a hoarse few octaves. The Master had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even touch you.

“He seems mega powerful.” You throw your hands out to exaggerate. He turned and pointed you out, “You have no idea what powers I have.”

“Man, shut the fuck up, or I’m gunna hit you.” You said plainly. Your eyes rolled back into your skull. You were suddenly your normal self again. He was just some dude, like any you’d see on the streets trying to undermine your confidence or get you to give him the time of day.

“No you won’t.” And he was right.

So you all just followed the lead of your fearless leader, the Doctor…

_________________________3 Weeks Later __________________________

You were back home. It was Corona Time. And definitely not the fun kind. You were worried absolutely sick. Was the Doctor alive? What about Gallifrey? What was all of that? So many questions raced through your quarantined mind. That and a few errant daydreams about the Master taking you with what you assumed had to be a massive cock. What was that overused phrase you’d seen the internet use? Big Dick Energy? The man had got to have had a set of cojones on him for the amount.

You couldn’t shake that son of a bitch from your mind.

He was hauntingly attractive. But evil. You were in a moral panic 24/7. You felt like those soulfully pained eyes followed you around your house all the time.

You were trying to focus on finding work from home jobs that were legitimate. You gave up your career to run around and play 5th wheel and now you were paying. Shelter inside? More like buying lots of unneeded skincare to fill a new void in you.

You were just ready to click “apply” on Indeed when those asthmatic engine noises started pounding in your yard. Was that the Doctor? Saving you from going insane and buying the 200 plus dollars in your cart on DHC’s webstore.

No, you didn’t see a kitschy blue box, but a stately match for your shed, but nicer.

Who should appear? But the rat bastard himself.

Boy, you were so screwed.

Suddenly he smiled politely and waved at you through the window. He pointed at your back door and was asking to be let in.

Cautiously you opened the window. “Go away, Master.”

“Is that polite to say? I’m your first visitor in weeks and you shove me-” He faux-shocked put his hand over his mouth “away?” You couldn’t tell if he was faking being insulted or for reals.

“I’d shove Timmy down a well if he killed my best friend and all her people.”

“Let me in, I just want to talk.” He opened his hand like he was caught red handed.

You slammed the window down harder than probably recommended. You felt the slam’s noise in your jaw. He’d get the message maybe. Or maybe you’d let him in and pin his ass to the living room carpet. Choices, choices. You went back and clicked ‘place order’, your bank account app dinged and said you had less than fifty dollars left. No one was going nowhere so it didn’t matter. You finished your tea in a few gulps. You made your choice.

Opening up the window, you shouted “Take off your jacket and place all of your weapons and your TARDIS key on the patio. Shoes too. Toss them into the Rose of Sharon.” You’d be damned if he was gonna kill you in your own house, surrounded by your own possessions, in your own damn town.

“What’s a Rose of Sharon Y/N?” He asked, genuinely confused. “It’s the dead bush that’s claimed the entire ramp up to my patio…” Sighing you pointed at it.

He giggled and obliged.

Always giggling.

He knocked as you were rooting for your sharpest whatever you could find. You opened the door and ushered him in. Almost comically, you began patting him down and weidling your weapon of choice. Excellent ass, you had to admit. Soft, yet firm.

“Having a good feel, love?” He asked as you were admiring it.

“Hey, you never know…” You off-brand sighed. He was nice to touch. It was addictive.

He paced around your home, looking at the photos of you and your family. The stack of bills in boxes, your life. Like he was examining art in a museum.

“I don’t appreciate you fondling my fruit.” You said when he’d made his way into your kitchen.

He grinned, “Isn’t it customary for you humans to offer a beverage or a snack to guests?”

Massaging your temples you handed him one of those nutri grain granola bars that crumble everywhere and a can of Coke.

“Not very much, huh?”

“There's a pandemic out there you dense motherfucker!” You shouted almost singing the words “pandemic” and “motherfucker”, throwing your arms upwards for examples.

You felt like you could swear around him. With the rest of your current social circle you felt like there was a PG-13 limit to your speech.

“Forgive me.” He rolled his eyes. Tit for tat matching you. He leaned heavy on his seat and opened up the can and drank politely. You almost believed him

“So why are you here?” sitting down across from him cracking your finger joints and wrists out of habit. “Run out of people to piss off in space?”

“Oh, always plenty there.”

You snorted.

“You seem very sure of yourself. Different from her other little pets.” He said. “Or, is it just a show…” He bore directly into your soul. “I’d believe it.” You glared at him, still holding your weapon, sure it wasn’t much. But to quote a legend “That’s my purse, I don’t know you!”

“You know what they say when you assume…” You put it out there.

“I don’t know!” He fumed on a hairpin notice. “Something about a donkey!”

“Relax, Jeeze.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

He grinned that megawatt, perfectly white smile with teeth better than most Hollywood actors.

“You’re bored.” He observed.

“I’ve been confined in my house for three weeks.” You stated.

“What if...you weren’t.” He weighed the words out. Almost physically with his hands. G-d those hands. How soaked in blood were they? But how dexterous were they? You swatted away thoughts of how nice they’d be buried in you, “Oy, gevalt!” You said. Noticing you had been staring at his fingertips for a second too long…

“You seem distracted...Is it me? Is the Doctor’s little pet wanting to try out some real leadership?” He mocked, but there was some other little tone to it. Care? Amusement? Yearning? A combination of all four? Who knows. You didn’t.

His eyes had the most whimsical gorgeous glow, and his eyelashes had the most attractive flutter.

“Ya caught me!” You barked with all the false sarcasm you could feign.

“Oh, I promise that I won’t blow up any planets, kick any orphans, wreck a ship carrying puppies and kittens for adoption... I’ll just show you the real way to see the stars. None of that running through corridors and fighting for your life. The way it should be seen.” He said, his nice waistcoat coated in crumbs.

“Or are you a coward? Afraid to see the other side of the coin? Y/N.” You were inherently a little bit of a coward. He crooked a crooked grin.

You pondered and helped yourself to an apple. Hoping that he’d see your teeth and that’d be another layer of “Don’t fuck with me, Please!” Though you desperately almost craved to be fucked with at this point.

You pause and consider this, is it betrayal? To follow your instincts and go off with a literal madman instead of your new “fam” because and called you on your self-sure bullshit?

“Is she alive? Is the Doctor alive?” You pleaded. A bit of tears threatening to come up.

“Yes, of course.” He assured you. It was very comforting. He slowly grabbed at your hand. “I may not be a man of a lot of truths, but I’ll tell you this. She always somehow comes out on top. It’s frustrating.” The warmth was real in his voice and in his eyes.

You closed your eyes and willed yourself sane. But the little nagging at your core said to. Give in, give up. Go with him.

“‘Kay.” You nodded. Suddenly sullen. “I’ll go.” The smile you gave was tired and you got up. You were almost shaking. He touched you and you came undone. This was not healthy. You’d blame the self-isolation, but deep down you knew it went deeper. Your jaw was trembling a bit. Self-preservation was gone.

You screwed yourself up again and poked a finger on his chest. “Try anything funny that gets me killed and I’m stabbing you.”

“No, you won’t.” This time, it was an order. An order wrapped in velvet and coated in chocolate.

You turned to go pack and he grabbed at your wrist. “No, you don't need that. I got a wardrobe department worthy of choice.” He grabbed at his shirt and brandished his look.

“Fine.” You said. So tired, but feeling more alive than you had in years at once.

Grabbing your hand and all his stuff out of your yard he pulled you into his TARDIS and it left. Off to the next….

#personal #i wrote this #dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #reader insert #doctor who #doctor who self insert fiction #fanfic #yes my life is a wreck #im a mess and i want to die a bit

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shinyobjectreviews · 4 years

Text

An In-Depth Analysis of my Observations Playing CROSSBOW: Bloodnight

CROSSBOW: Bloodnight looks like shovelware, and I don’t blame anyone for thinking that. There’s a lot missing from the game. There’s a typo in the launch announcement. However, the lack of standard triple A bloat means it’s rather easy to dissect the game. So I’m going to break apart some of what happened to me as I was playing and started to question the quality of the game only to determine it was my own skill lessening my experience.

Devil Daggers

Credit where it’s due, a lot of stuff in the game is a blatant ripoff of Devil Daggers. It will occasionally come up. If I say DD know I’m referring to Devil Daggers. The developers have said publicly the game is intended for fans of DD, so they’re not trying to hide it, and though the games are extremely similar, it’s still worth analyzing CB:Bn to see what they decided to keep, lose, or change. Originality is nice to have, but it’s not everything.

The Crossbow

Let’s start at the beginning. The crossbow is amazing. When sustaining fire the triple-chambered crossbow fires each chamber individually. When firing like a shotgun, they all fire at once. When firing the rocket, the center chamber pulls back further, and the prongs bend back considerably to emphasize the weight of the projectile. The appearance starts to resemble a modern-day compound crossbow, as though it is focusing the strength from other prongs into one. Your character also slows down: thematically this shows again the strain of this massive projectile, but practically it also helps you line up your shot better, since the rocket has more pinpoint accuracy and higher damage than the standard projectile and can therefore be used to fire at long distances. Something taken from DD is that the projectiles have a rather significant spread and a slow velocity, meaning that you can deal more consistent damage faster by being closer to your target, a dangerous but rewarding and skillful strategy. The crossbow also changes color as it upgrades, which you won’t miss due to the camera slow and bright glow, but it’s nice to see it on the crossbow itself as you’re playing. It’s an easy signifier, but it also just looks nice and feels cool.

The Introduction

The first half minute of the game is slow. A single zombie (The Restless One) spawns, then a couple more. You then get the big tentacle monsters (The Tainted Ones) that spawn the bats (The Hungry Ones). Of the few comments I’ve seen in the game, one was a complaint about this intro being slow and uninteresting after the first few runs. After all, while it does a great job at slowly introducing elements to new players, you learn pretty quick, but it can’t just be removed from the game because it would interfere with the time-attack scoring. I also disliked this part after my first few runs. However, I have come to love this part of the game. The end of a run can often feel dissatisfying, and most players will immediately want to try again. While most just want to rush to where they were at, the game forces you to wait, calm down, and get reacclimated. You also get to blow off some steam by obliterating the weak early enemies at almost no risk. I’ve also used this time to practice: learning exactly how long after the spawn animation takes until a demon is vulnerable, how close to the eye I have to shoot, rehearsing projectile timing, anything that I feel could use work.

The Spawning

This was one of the first issues I had with the game. I often died to demons spawning in behind me, or werewolves (The Feral Ones) using their long range dash to hit me from the other side of the map when I hadn’t even seen them appear. Even with the big red circles that appear before they spawn, However, there were two things I learned in short order. The first is that each enemy has its own unique spawn sound, each one roughly as loud as its importance (I wouldn’t even think the zombies had any if I didn’t hear it isolated during the introduction). The howl of the werewolves is especially notable, which is good because their dash has incredible range. The second thing I came to realize is that the game was pushing me to look where I was going. Shooters are all about circle strafing and firing while walking backwards, but not CROSSBOW: Bloodnight. In this game, you have to fire forward. Where you’re looking. It is safer to run towards one of the stationary Tainted Ones to try and kill them while letting the zombies and bats chase you from behind. The Feral Ones will dash at you, but you can pay attention to the noises they make to try and dodge them, or just turn and look if you dare. Once again, the game offers you a choice: run away from enemies while shooting behind you and risk bumping into guys in front of you, or charge at foes head on (remember the primary fire is better at close ranges) and try and thin out the herd later.

The Dash

If you check out the reviews on Steam, the primary difference between CB:Bn and DD is that the former has a dash. Once again, It didn’t really think of this while playing, and didn’t really start using it until after my first dozen runs. I actually started using it almost jokingly in the introduction as a way to get from the first spawning zombie to the second. I started learning the exact distance of the dash and it’s timing. Eventually, I started using it in game. It has the same issue as above, where dashing into a crowd of enemies is just as common as dashing away from them, but if timed well and planned well it can be a literal lifesaver. If you can properly perform it, you can also dash into the Tainted One and fire off a one-shot kill into the eye with the shotgun.

The Special

The game has an ability it grants you once every 60 seconds roughly where , if you press Q, it will slow down time a bit and show you a giant line the width of a house directly in front of you. Your crossbow is also aimed up and glows with radiant light. If you pull the trigger, every enemy in the highlighted area will be skewered with a holy lance and get one-shot. Like the dash, I was unsure of how best to implement it, but I have three theories. The first use is as a emergency clear. If you’re panicked and want to just get rid of some enemies, you can hit this to get a little space. It’s a nice way to bring the tension down if you’re starting to not enjoy it. The second option is as a time-saver. If you have multiple enemies you want dead, especially Tainted Ones whose weak points you can’t reach, you can line them up to hit at least two and maybe more. This is a use of skill and lets you try and optimize your runs. Lastly you can just show off with it. Use it for some dumb reason because you feel like it. Whatever the reason, the fact that it’s on a cooldown encourages you to use it aggressively rather than save it for a powerful attack, since the sooner you use it the sooner you can start charging up the next one.

The Enemies

I’m solidly impressed at the enemy variety. The Restless ones are bolt fodder, keeping you aware of your surroundings, but never dealing enough to kill you without you knowing it. The Tainted Ones are stationary to give you fixed goals, and they spawn bats to harass you but only until you give them a little attention. The werewolves are the first big threat: they do not exist to be killed, they exist to kill you. You must know where all of them are to stay safe. The Troubled Ones shoot shockwaves, and are the first true long-range foes. They force you to jump at the right time, forcing you to stay aware of your jumping, and punishing those relying too hard on bunny-hopping. Those are all of the enemies I’ve encountered for now, but they all come together in such exciting ways. Even the Tainted Ones themselves have neat interactions. Nearly all of them spawn at the edge of the map, making it harder to kill them form the other side and forcing you to get up close, but I also encountered one in the center of the map, whose positioning forced me into an awkward spot in order to get to its weak point.

The Map

I’ll be honest, I don’t have much to say about the map. It is donut shaped: big circle with a spot in the center no-one can get through. I much prefer it to DD because it has some landmarks around it that help orient you, allowing you to more easily remember where enemies spawn and where you are in the moment. The hole in the center also give you just enough of a safe space that your circle strafing doesn’t get weird with demons just sitting in the center getting constantly kited. I also expect a boss to spawn there at some point, making for a nice focal point.

The Setting

On a thematic level, the map is heavy with gothic arches and pointy spires. While I assumed this was an anachronistic stylistic choice, I did my research, and it turns out gothic architecture did in fact originate in the early 12th century, where the game is set. The opening text tells us that the game takes place close to 1193 AD, a time when the church outlawed the use of Crossbows against Christians. The game recontextualizes this as declaring the Crossbow as “ungodly” and “demonic,” which is a clever way of getting an excuse to use Crossbows against Demons. The crossbow in question, is mildly inaccurate not in terms of time but location. A triple-chambered repeating-crossbow seems far-fetched, but China had been using repeating crossbows (Cho ku nu) and triple-bed mounted naval crossbows for hundreds of years by this point in time. Firing multiple bolts simultaneously at the cost of reduced range and accuracy was actually a real tactic used at the time as well. The idea of either being hand-held requires some suspension of disbelief, as does the ammo storage, but that’s well deserved for an arena shooter like this.

The Story

There isn’t much of a story here, but it’s there if you look. As mentioned, the game declares the Crossbow ungodly, and implies that it is used in some form of demonic ritual. However, the glowing light implies otherwise. Each enemy is named after some form of torment: hungry, restless, troubled, tainted, etc., and with exception of the Restless Ones, each one releases a soul when slain that the player can “collect.” This implies that these demons may be corrupted forms of humans that are being slain to release their tormented souls from some form of punishment and collecting them for some unknown reason. The fact that the zombies and the bats don’t leave souls follows this logic, since the zombies seem more like animated lifeless corpses than living creatures, and the bats are, well, bats. They also spawn from the Tainted Ones, so they are kind of just extensions of that. The game also has achievements that I have yet to understand, and seem to imply I am either evil or not evil based on a statistic I have not found. It intrigues me, but I will have to keep playing I guess to find out what it means.

Minor things

I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t have anywhere else to put these so here’s some other stuff I just want to throw in there.

The first upgrade you get is from killing a werewolf, after which another werewolf immediately spawns, letting you directly compare how long it took to kill the last one and how long it took to kill this one.

You can actually see the werewolves jumping in from outside the map before they spawn.

When you’re hit, the screen goes bloody like any other game, but there’s already blood everywhere, so the game give you a scary tone that plays until you heal back up.

Conclusion

And that’s all I can really say about the game. I’m not here to convince you to buy CROSSBOW: Bloodnight, I’m not here to convince you it’s good, I’m not even trying to convince you to play it. I just wanted to talk about this. I’m not even sure if it’s my favorite game of the year, if only because Hades is about the toughest competition it could have faces. So if it’s not my favorite, not the best, and arguably not worth your time, then what is CROSSBOW: Bloodnight?

My best answer? It’s mine. This is a game I want to exist. This is a game practically built for me. I bought it, played it, I loved it, and I feel like I’m the only one who has, and that makes me feel special. So maybe don’t look too much into this review. Perhaps I’m overblowing it because I feel personally attached to this game in a way I never have before. But hey, if you’ve gotten all the way to the end, maybe you care about what I have to say. So here’s the summary.

CROSSBOW: Bloodnight is a really cool video game, and I really like it.

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mars-barssss · 5 years

Text

LAMP Mermaid!Au HCs

Virgil was an eel-like merman. His tail was a mix of silver and purple scales on his thin tail.

That, and his retractable teeth, much like an eel, separated him from others.

Most merfolk feared that merfolk like that were feral, and avoided them at all cost.

Beneath the water, Virgil only had a small group of two to be with, Remus and Damion (Deceit).

Remus was octopus merman, and Damion was like an angler fish with his tail and light that hung above his head.

The trio lived on the edge of a reef, near a small beach town.

They were just barely adults but they still often played just out of view of the main merfolk populations. (EX. through the kelp on the edge of town, or swimming into the deeper waters.)

(They were really close, Damion, the oldest, found Virgil when he was abandoned at a young age, and Remus when he was stuck in a fish trap.)

(No one knew where Damion came from or his story.)

One day, they were swimming somewhat close to the surface, when Damion heard some enchanting singing from above. When Remus dashed to flee Virgil, He grabbed Virgil’s arm, and pointed towards it.

“Don’t go up there-! That’s dangerous, you know that-” Virgil tried to convince Damion. When Damion decided to go up anyways, Virgil followed him, just because he didn’t want him getting hurt.

“For being the type to lure others in and trick them, you sure are a dumb*ss!”

They surfaced inside a cave on the beach. The sun was just dipping beneath the water.

(They knew not to go up to the surface at day time, they could get caught!)

Two legs were dangling from the top of the mouth of the cave.

The song echoed into the cave, letting the eel-like merman hear it.

Damion thought it was pretty on inspection, but Virgil thought it was incredible.

Eventually, another voice joined the other, and the boy’s singing ceased. The other voice went on for a bit, before they say the boy scramble up from the edge of the cave and leave.

In an amazed silence, the two mermen dove down and went home.

Remus was pretty mad they left him behind, but did take interest in the singing human they told him about.

------

The next day, Virgil headed out on a tall mound of rocks, looking up through the water towards were the cave was the previous day.

Damion swam over to him, concern etching on his face, before he realized why he was there.

“I was wondering if he would sing again. That’s it. I’ll be down there soon, I promise Dee.”

Damion didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “Virge, we’ll be going down to the sea bed later, are you going to come with us?”

“Yeah, of course!”

The merman dived down lower, leaving Virgil with his thoughts, and as Virgil looked up to the surface, a few other merfolk caught his eye.

Sparing a glance at them, he noticed them seeing him. He noticed their concerned glances. The lead one, one with an orange shark-tail, ushered the others back. Their fear and disgust were definitely there, and it made Virgil grow angry.

Just as Virgil was going to dive back down, to where he belonged, he heard something again.

The singing.

Instead, he made his way back to the cave, surfacing in the cave’s waters.

This time, the boy had located himself right in front of the cave, singing along with another person. Another boy.

(With how similar their languages were, Virgil could make out a bit of what they were saying. He just couldn’t speak it that well, because he had eel’s teeth, which causes him to have a bit more problems when talking to others of either kind.)

The other boy spoke up. “Roman-! You should totally be in the talent show!”

Then, the boy Roman spoke. “You think-?"

“Yeah! Of course!” The other boy shuffled a bit, soon deciding to sit down. “Trust me, Logan would say yes too! Although, I bet he’d be more like, ‘yes, that is a correction assumption of what turn of events you shall take~!’“ The other boy’s voice grew monotone, although Virgil didn’t understand why.

All of a sudden, the air erupted with the most beautiful laughter Virgil had ever heard. Roman curled in on himself, laughing without a care. Soon, Virgil faded out of the conversation thinking about it.

Eventually, the other boy left, and Roman began to sing another song this time.

Slowly, Virgil coaxed himself to quietly join.

And when Roman left, Virgil remembered one thing about himself.

When he fell in love, he fell hard.

It seemed like the others knew it too, Remus holding back snickers as Virgil told them.

“Virge, it’s ruining your dark persona-!” Remus wiped a tear, blending in with the water as he finished his laughter.

Soon, Damion spoke up. “But Virgil, you are the one who is always warning us about stuff like this? Isn’t this bad?!”

“Yeah, but-! Trust me, I’m just there for the music, nothing...”

That was such a lie.

------

Every day, he’d wait beneath the water for Roman to sing again. It seemed like he always did.

Every day, he’d hide in the cave and sing along.

To Roman, it felt like the cave always sung along with him, but he never checked.

Some days, he’d learn more about the singer. Others, it was just the normal music.

Some days, others came to say hi to him.

One day, Virgil went up in the cave, and didn’t hear any singing.

But he knew Roman was there, his legs dangling over the edge again.

And...

And he was sobbing.

Tears hit the water beneath him every so often. Small splashes.

And each of the impacts hurt Virgil to hear. He was devastated, with all that he knew, Roman was an incredible person, someone he always wished to meet.

And suddenly, without his best judgment, he tried something.

Edging near where the tears fell, he hummed a song. One that Roman had sang happily days prior.

A haunted echo followed it, but it was still the same song.

The hiccups and sobs stopped, only followed by silence.

Soon, Virgil realized something. He was listening.

Stuttering a bit, he continued, until the sun dipped all of the way beneath the horizon, and the boy got up and left.

But Virgil could hear no more tears fall.

Every day then on, he left the most beautiful shells on the beach side, where Roman sometimes sat.

Every night, no more shells were there.

------

A few weeks later, he went into the usual cave. A bit earlier, though, the sun was still up.

And this time, he was terrified of what he saw.

Today, there was already someone in the cave, for some unknown reason-!

Virgil recognized him. The same kid from before with Roman. Short, fluffy brown hair, large rounded glasses, and freckles on each cheek. He was holding a collection of shells.

He turned his head at the sound of Virgil reaching the surface.

“Oh-! I didn’t know anyone else was here! Hiya!” The boy waved excitedly at him.

Crap. His voice is pretty hard to do in the air like this, especially with his teeth. Oh god this is a human, he’s going to talk to a human, oh dear oh no-

“You okay? Don’t talk much?” The boy sat down on the edge of the ledge he stood on.

Virgil nodded slightly, making sure he was in a spot the boy couldn’t see his tail.

“That’s okay! My name’s Patton, you?”

“V... V-Vir-gil...”

“V...Virgil? Is that your name? It’s a nice name!”

He nodded again, a slight smile on his lips, although a bit of a nervous one.

They talked for a while, mainly Patton working through a conversation with his new mute-ish friend.

When Patton left, Virgil had a whole new thing to think about. This time though, he didn’t think he’ll tell the others.

It’s just one time, right?

It was actually just the first time.

Now, Patton seemed to always be in the cave, as if it summoned the other, despite never seeing Virgil enter.

Virgil grew attached to the Patton, he was so nice to him, for no reason. The only others that were nice to him had only been the other two. This was new.

They usually talked about animals surprisingly. And a bit about music, and other things.

Patton was surprisingly understanding about his voice problems.

He figured out a spot under the ledge to hide his tail from him too.

And always, after Patton left, Roman arrived. Eventually, Virgil didn’t just come for Roman, but Patton too.

God, they were just so wonderful, both of them!

At the end of another singing session with Roman, he heard the boy run off again, and what he knew now as Patton’s voice called him over.

------

That night, Virgil was just planning to sit around for about five minutes. He wanted to look at the ocean come in from above, instead of below this time.

When he spotted someone just outside of the cave.

It wasn’t Patton, nor Roman.

It was someone new.

They were stargazing, laying down on the sand. Their black hair blending into the sand. They wore glasses like Patton, but...

They had like an aura.

He swan slowly over, the sound alerting the person.

When they got up, Virgil got a better look at them as he hid his tail.

The boy was taller than Patton, actually. Glasses were just as big, but square this time. He stood with presence, and he was looking right at Virgil.

“I didn’t know anyone swam out here this late. Hello.” The boy stuttered slightly, but otherwise seemed calm, almost without emotion.

Virgil shrunk back slightly, waving at the boy. He was intimidated, but also nervous again. What if he saw?...

“Yes, hello. What’s your name, if I may?

Virgil shrugged slightly under the eyes of him, looking away.

“You don’t seem to speak much, is that correct? Alright. I am Logan. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

He raised his hand towards the other, and Virgil nervously put his hand in his, surprised to have it shaken.

Logan then explains that he was out there to see the stars, and asks Virgil if he was. Virgil shrugs, managing to say that he likes them, but he came out to see the ocean, although with some difficulty.

Eventually, the both of them begin to talk about stars, and the longer they speak, the more excited and happy Logan gets. And Virgil finds it adorable, or cute.

He wasn’t sure which was more fitting.

When Logan left, the small wave towards him made Virgil’s cheeks flush.

------

Weeks later, after coming home late again after talking to Logan, he was met with a very angry merman.

"Where have you been-?! I thought you went missing! For being the cautious one, why are you trying to be out there so much?"

“Chill out, Dee. I was just looking at the stars-”

“Chill out?! Hah, you are such a hypocrite! You are trying to tell me to chill out, when you’re trying to sing with a human!”

“Humans, actually, cause you know what?! I’m sick of lying, just so I can live my life out there! Down here, there is nothing! If I go slightly too shallow, everything hates me because of what I am, but them!

“Them?!”

“Yes. And you know what Dee? They are freaking nice to me. For once. They are.”

“Do they even know what you are?!”

“N-No, but-”

“They will toss you out the MOMENT they know what you are! Do you understand me? Do you?! They will tell the fishermen, and then you will be dead-!” With those words, he widens his mouth, revealing his sharp teeth.

“Dee-!” Virgil’s teeth were also bared, no longer held within, and sharp and furious.

“And you act as if I want you dead! I CARE ABOUT YOU HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND-” Damion’s light glew brighter with each word.

“HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND BOUNDARIES, DEE?! YOU NEVER LET ME OUT, AND I WANT TO KNOW OTHER PEOPLE TOO, YOU DON’T OWN ME-! I’VE KNOWN ALL OF THEM FOR MONTHS!” His jaw dis-articulated, showing each tooth as he yelled.

“NO-! YOU WON’T FIGHT ME ON THIS ONE VEE! YOU WON’T, NOT THIS TIME! YOU NEED TO BE SAFE, YET YOU ARE THE ONE RISKING EVERYTHING! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING RIGHT HERE, SO JUST STOP WHINING AND BE HAPPY FOR ONCE, YOU IDIOT!”

“THEY ARE NICE, NOT ALL HUMANS ARE LIKE THAT!”

“THIS ALL HAPPENED BECAUSE OF JUST SOME DUMB SINGING FROM A DUMB HUMAN THAT LURED YOU INTO A TRAP-!”

“IT’S NOT DUMB, HE’S NOT DUMB, DON’T-”

“I-I’M SO TIRED OF YOU, I HATE YOU VEE-!”

“STOP-!”

(It wasn’t the first time they had fought, either.)

Immediately, both voices drop. Their eyes jump to the sound, their mouths agape. Remus was crying, curling in on himself. His tentacles tightening around himself. Their moves to try to intimidate each other fell in that moment.

“Just... stop... please...” He wiped furiously at his eyes, his tears spreading around in small bubbles. “Stop fighting.”

“Remus...” Damion mutter quietly. His voice sounded oddly choked. “Virge, I...”

Virgil, who was already crying, just shook more. He looked out of the cave, and scrunched up his eyes, trying to stop the tears. He swims backwards for a moment, tears in the forms of bubbles being left behind. “Y-You... hate...”

In moments, Virgil swims away, deeper and deeper, anywhere to avoid the others.

“VIRGIL-!”

Remus just sobs. Damion...

He couldn’t even shed a tear.

(It was just the first that got stopped.)

------

After that, Virgil was almost in the cave all of the time. He didn’t go under during the day, or home at night.

Early in the day, he saw Patton run in, apparently play a game called, “tag”, with somebody. When Patton turned back to where he was running, he spotted the crying merman by himself, his body shaking with sobs and his tail visible.

His train of thought just stopped at the sight.

The person he was playing with went in, and he was shocked as well. Logan stepped gingerly beside Patton, looking at Virgil with awe and then concern.

One, mermaids have just been a myth. Two, they were rumored to be evil, and would drown you. Three, avoid the ones that look like predators, they’re worse. Four, they had both talked to this boy before.

Five, this one was crying.

Virgil heard hushed whispering from the two of them, too emotionally vulnerable to care anymore. The one person who took care of him his entire life told him that he hated him. And crushed his whole darn world.

The whispers were about how they both knew him. And about what to do.

Patton approached first, nervously touching the merman on the shoulder. “Hey, uh, Virgil?...”

That’s what surprised Virgil. The sudden touch. He jumped back, turning around and slipping away from the in the water.

“I-It’s okay Virgil! It’s just... it’s just us!” Patton waved his hands around nervously. He trusted Virgil, he was kind for the months he knew him, but this was new.

“Yes, Virgil. It’s alright, you don’t need to be scared.” Logan said calmly beside him. He sat on the ledge, and gestured for Patton to do the same.

“W-What happened? Are you okay?” Patton kept his questions about being a merman inside for a while. He didn’t want to overwhelm him! He was still the guy he met months ago.

“I-I-I...” After stuttering, Virgil merely shook his head at them. “M-M-My f-family, t-they... h-h-hate me...”

“Oh... kiddo, I’m so sorry, I...” Patton didn’t know what to say, looking at Logan. “You’re still a wonderful person kiddo! I know you, I just didn’t know about that...”

After a bit more of the conversation, Patton eventually convinced Virgil to come closer, and after Patton got into some shallow water, he pulled Virgil into a tight embrace, which surprised him, and he fought it for a second.

He wasn’t used to being hugged.

Eventually, it felt so nice and comforting, he melted into it.

Surprising both of them, Logan joined in as well.

------

As days passed on, Patton and Logan were there almost everyday.

They asked about how it was like being a merman when Virgil cheered up.

Virgil mentioned about Roman’s singing, which made both of them perk up.

“Roman always says that when he sings here, that the cave sings with him. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Logan was excited about anything mythical, so he kept notes. Not anything bad, but he was just happy, and who could blame him?

(Also now that Patton knows Virgil is a merman, let’s just say he made several fish-based puns, including Vir-gill!)

After Virgil told them everything over a few weeks, both of them looked at each other, in understanding. As time passed, they appreciated their aquatic friend even more than they already had.

Logan leaves early one day, not leaving behind much of an explanation. Patton shrugs it off.

While Logan was gone, Roman comes by to sing again, and with approval of Virgil, Patton calls Roman down.

Roman is confused, but he went anyways.

He’s amazed once he spots Virgil. A merman-!

“OH MY GOD, PADRE IS THAT A MERMAID- IT’S JUST LIKE ARIEL-”

“Shhh-! Roman!”

He’s also amazed that this one knew his name.

Patton explains Virgil to him, and he’s got this shocked expression.

But it’s not bad.

“You-! You were the one who always sang with me! I noticed the other voice, but I didn’t want to scare you off...” An unsaid sentence fluttered between them. You sang for me when I sad, right? And left shells for me?

Quickly, Roman became a part of the normal group to show up for Virgil every day. While he was the last one to know Virgil truly, they weren’t any less of friends. If anything, Roman was pining for Virgil a bit, unknown to Virgil.

Every day that passed, the closer they became, until they were almost family. No, until they were family.

They were all the same age, or close to. (18-21 range, Virgil being the youngest.)

------

Logan finally brought up what he went to look for that one day.

A myth, but if all of the myths about mermaids were true, this one could be too.

It was about a mermaid who became a human.

An irreversible change, but Virgil was desperate. He had nothing left here... and because in only three weeks from then, the three of them would move away in a house, miles and miles away.

They didn’t want to leave Virgil behind either.

So they read into the myth, Virgil pushing himself onto the land, to read it without damaging the words.

It read that a mermaid or merman had to take off two scales of their own, find a pearl, attach them together, and create a necklace of it. Mark a certain symbol on it, and sever the ties one had with the world undersea. Upon wearing it, the mermaid’s scales would fall away, giving them new legs and the chance to be human.

The scales were pretty painful to remove, but he had gotten a gray and purple scale in his hands. He marked the symbol on it, while the three of them tried to find a pearl and a small thread to use.

They only found the thread. There were no pearls.

That left Virgil with one place he could get it. His old home.

He snuck down there the next day, his nerves and guts twisting. When he entered, he swam to Damion’s chest. Opening it, he took the small pearl, holding it close. Remus, who had been taking a nap, awoke to him.

“V-Virge?...”

“R-Remus-!” Virgil gasped, holding the pearl, which Remus looked at nervously.

“Isn’t... Isn’t that Dee’s? Wait, are you trying to-”

“Y-Yeah, Remus. I’m leaving, and... And it’ll be for good this time.”

Virgil cradles the pearl. “I’m going to be human.”

“... Are these humans really good to you?”

“Y-Yeah. They make me feel loved. And... I care so much about them.”

Remus looked sadly at the ground. “If they make you happy, then go, okay Virge?”

“Thank you so much, Remus. Don’t tell Damion I was here, okay?”

“W-Why?” Remus shudder nervously. Virgil felt guilt climbing up his back.

“I don’t want him to be sad. He’ll get over me leaving one day, I know.”

“Virgil.” Remus hugged Virgil tightly, as if he’d disappear. “Don’t leave us...”

“I’m... sorry Remus. I have to leave the nest one day, right?” Virgil tried to joke, only getting tears from Remus.

“We love you Virge, don’t go...”

“I need to go. I need to.” Virgil squeezed Remus slightly, before breaking away, tears floating out of him. “I need to, I’m sorry. T-Tell Damion I’m sorry too, okay?”

Virgil gave Remus one last wave, before bringing the pearl to the others. If he stayed too long, Damion would come home and see him. The pain of leaving the past was great, but the love blossoming in Virgil’s chest was so much more. The guilt and love mixed together in a strange way. After a quick ritual, Virgil tumbled into the water with new legs.

And after being thrown some clothes, He stumbled upwards to stand. And almost fell again, if it wasn’t for his new family that caught him. And all that could be heard was laughter in the cave.

He had a family. And he had another. And no matter how much he blamed himself for leaving, the others held him close. Before moving away, Virgil swore he saw two silhouettes in the water, from where his home used to be. From where arguments came fast and harsh. From where love was held, through the fights. From where it got too much for many involved. From where lies were held close to someone’s heart. From where a merman tried to leave one day, only to be guilty. To where people who didn’t fight, who cared about him, found him.

And it was going to be okay.

#sandersides #sanders sides #lamp #prinxiety #deceit #remus #headcanons #mermaid!au

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inkstaineddove · 5 years

Text

For Convenience Sake

Ship: PruHun

Characters: Prussia, Hungary

Summary: Erzsébet and Gilbert have been relying each other for emotional support, with their intimacy increasing as the Cold War heats up. How does the purely physical interact with their repressed longing for each other?

This was a relationship of convenience. Well, for Erzsébet it was. Gilbert tried to force himself to feel differently, but it was impossible. He'd been in love for so long, yearning for her, how could he try to deny his feelings once he finally had her? But he had to deny. This was no time for romance. They were comrades - although they both loathed the term since coming under their Russian captor - in arms, fighting against an oppressive system that felt all-consuming. This was their act of rebellion in a society that punished love and compassion. Still, Gilbert hoped. He was hoping then, watching Erzsébet sleep, her naked back rising and falling as she breathed. He lightly ran his fingers down her sides, enjoying the tenderness of the action. Like this, when she looked so soft and vulnerable, he could almost forget what a fierce warrior she was. There were women like her in myths. The Valkyries in Norse stories, those women who fiercely chose who lived and died in battle. Or the Amazons of the Greeks, the whole race of fighting women chosen by the Gods. That was more like it. "My Amazonian goddess," Gilbert mumbled.

"Wha-?" Erzsébet yawned and rolled over, blinking sleep out of her eyes. She smiled gently at her Prussian companion. "You're still here." He shrugged, trying to make it seem as if he hadn't thought over the act extensively. "I was tired, it was easier than catching a train." He stood up. "Breakfast? I make a mean omelet." She nodded and he left. The Hungarian snuggled up under the blankets, annoyed at the cool that now settled in. It was the first time he had stayed the night. They'd never had a spoken rule about leaving, but it had become custom. Easier to ignore the strangeness of everything if you were on your own in the morning. Easier not to think about things. She sighed, choosing to accept his given excuse. Besides, it didn't really matter. It was better, Erzsébet thought. She knew he didn't like being on his own as much. Things haunted him, especially if he drank too much. This way she could keep an eye on him, make sure she prevented hearing from him in a panic the next day. Seeing him like that, it almost made her forget that he had once been one of the finest warriors in Europe. One of the sharpest military minds, able to take on any foe and triumph. Who would recklessly rush into battle against any opponent, even if the odds were against him. She chuckled and found renewed pride in all the times she'd beaten him on the field. "Ah, well I did say he was one of the best, not the best." She rose from the bed and wrapped her robe around herself. She shuffled into the kitchen, following the smell of fresh eggs. "I didn't know you were capable of cooking." Her tone was teasing, but didn't quite hide the amazement of seeing such a formerly feral man doing such a mundane task. "I had to feed Ludwig and myself somehow. Especially when my servants left with Wilhelm." He handed Erzsébet her plate and smiled. "You oughta give me more credit. I'm not a total barbarian." She rolled her eyes and bumped him with her elbow. They sat down and ate in peaceable silence. Erzsébet looked over the letters from yesterday while Gilbert scanned the newspaper. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her shift from Erzsébet to Hungary. "Something happened?" Hungary huffed. "When doesn't something happen. We haven't been receiving adequate bread rations for the last three months so I've been kicking up a fuss to get some. Those shipments are going to be delayed by another month and even then there's no guarantee of it all being there. Not only that, but we're not getting enough oil from Moscow because of some bullshit Ivan's trying to pretend is all sunshine and roses. That son of a bitch, I should really cut out his tongue and break his fingers to make it harder for him to lie." Gilbert watched her, knowing it was better for her to run her mouth off. No point in trying to calm her down, especially when he understood her frustrations. Not like they weren't experiencing similar problems in East Germany. But he didn't want to think about that. Not now, not when the bullshit of bureaucracy already occupied so much of his thoughts. "Try not to let it eat you alive. No point when it's always the same shit, different day." "Like you don't worry about your own people." "I try not to since Germany would be better off if I worried about it less. It doesn't seem to thrive anymore when I get involved." Hungary didn't know how to take that, but he laughed. "I'm not so fragile, geeze. Don't make me feel like fine China." Prussia smiled a toothy grin. "You've been helping me deal with this shit for all this time, you should know I can take a joke." She rolled her eyes. "Please, I'm not the only person you could talk to. You had Roderich as well. Which was weird, by the way. Seeing you two get along is uncomfortable." "Yeah, but he doesn't really count. That was just for convenience sake." Erzsébet scoffed. "And this isn't?" Gilbert couldn't hide his wince. She frowned. "I didn't mean it quite like that. We've always been friends...of some kind. It came out wrong." He had already hardened up though. "No, it's fine. We've always been a convenient thing. This is an alliance with an expiration date. I get it." His hurt was annoying her. What did he want from this, from them? What did he expect? That they were going to bloom into a loving couple, one full of tenderness and soft moments carried out without a second thought? That wasn't in their nature. She had given up on that dream sold to little girls long ago, long when she had first gotten married to Roderich and realized her place in his life wasn't as an equal and beloved partner. As for him, she could never recall a time when Gilbert ever believed in that stuff. He had always been so anti-marriage, against getting too emotionally invested in one person that it became a liability. Why would that change now, in a time when relationships were more costly than ever? "You can't tell me you actually wanted a real relationship. Like, with dates and all that mushy crap. I thought you liked this. I thought this was what was best for us both!" She was getting frantic now, not wanting to hear anything to the contrary from him. She did not want to suddenly see him in this new light. There was so much changing, how could her Gilbert change as well? He exhaled loudly through his nose. "Really? Do you not remember how pissed I was when you married Roddy? Do you think that was all completely selfless? All me not wanting you to be with a total square? Shit, Erzsi, I've been pining for you since we were kids! You know how relieved I was when I found out you were a girl? I thought I was going to hell!" A stupid smile spread across his face. "And now, I'm with you. Yeah, it's not the way I'd always hoped, but it's got it's perks. But I can't give up that childish dream of something more. Something where we both might actually be happy again after so fucking long." Erzsébet shot up. She began pacing. She couldn't deny there was something there between them, that there always had been. But why now? Why now, why couldn't it wait for a better time? When there was balance restored in the world and they could be free? She didn't want there to be a chance for this to be used against them. There always was blackmail potential, always a way of threatening to make you break. This would just be another liability. And their relationship and her friendship with Feliks was already so risky. Why add to it? Why enhance the risk? The reckless part of her, the part of her who grew up believing in those fairy tales of daring romance and dashing knights wanted to give it a chance. The world sucked. Their position was incredibly bleak, but what was the point in them denying such a simple pleasure? Finding some joy out of life, hadn't she missed that? It was so hard to be positive, to find the beauty in the world around her. It had been so long since she'd been able to do that. Maybe this would rekindle something in her. Maybe it would do the same for him, with his eyes looking so heavy and fearful of what he'd seen. Other people couldn't fix your problems, she understood that, but you could heal alongside someone. And that would be the most beautiful thing of all. Erzsébet hugged her robe tighter to her. There was still one nagging fear. "What if we lose each other?" Gilbert got up and gently kissed her cheek. "We've lost each other before, but somehow we always find each other again. We're hotheads, shit'll happen. We just gotta try, make things work and make each other smile." He sighed. "God, have I missed your smile." Slowly she turned around and took his hand. Gilbert brought it up to his lips, kissing it softly. "Promise me that this will be fine." Erzsébet's voice was barely above a whisper. "I promise you, everything will be fine. I won't let it work out any other way." For a second, they both believed it.

#aph prussia #aph hungary #pruhun #APH #aph fanfiction #aph fanfic #Axis Powers Hetalia #hetalia #Hetalia Fanfiction #hetalia fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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wilde-world · 6 years

Text

For @kylotrashforever -- happy birthday!!

😉😉

Prompt #19 - I could kill you right now!

A persistent buzz distantly flit through her mind, and she’s briefly aware that she had somewhere to be. Rose shuffled around in the other room, frantically readying herself for her three-o’clock study group (they met every Wednesday and Rey quietly loathed that group for always stealing her damn dark roast coffee grounds and never re-stocking them). Wait—Wednesday. 3:00. Class. Oh, fuck.

Rey jolted awake, throwing her covers to the floor in an instant. She slammed down the alarm button, silencing that persistent blare just in time to glance at the time. 2:45.

Great, she still has time. Quickly throwing her books, pencils, and everything else on her desk into her bag, Rey slams through their two-bedroom apartment, running (well, power-walking since running was forbidden) out of her apartment complex.

It was just like her, deciding to live fifteen miles off-campus just to save on living costs. And her car was tilting weirdly toward the driver’s side. Stupid, Rey, she mentally berated herself, physically shaking her head.

She less than eight miles from campus when, as expected, a giant clap of thunder engulfed her whole body, shivers running down her spine.

It’s fine, she reasoned. She would make it before it started raining down too hard. Her little car would be fine.

Nope. In less than a minute, sheets of rain came pouring down. She slowed down to fifteen-miles-per-hour (as she was inherently terrified of being pulled over and scolded my police officer) and continued on her way. Dr. Skywalker was understanding, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t be scolded for being a little late.

It would be fine, she soothed herself.

Nope. The slight stench of smoke rose to meet her, and was immediately followed by a loud sputtering sound.

“Fuck,” she hissed, pulling off to the side of the road. She sharply tugged her door open, stepping out into the cold, pouring rain to check under her hood.

She sighed, , and leaned dejectedly on the left side of her little Ford, finally looking over to see why her car was tilting.

Great, she thought, my fucking alternator hates me and I’ve got a flat tire.

She crawled into her car, hair dripping over her seats, and turned on her emergency lights, letting out a feral growl as her fingers tangled in her hair, banging her head on the dash.

A quick knock on the driver’s side window startled her, and she let out a loud shriek.

“Rey?” Of course her rescuer would be none other than Ben-Fucking-Solo. Of course he would fucking stop in the rain at the sight of her little car. He was Snoke’s previous TA (before Snoke had been fired off for sexually harassing one of his female students) and he had played the role of “knight in shining armor” for her many times. He had personally helped her study for a number of tests (it totally wasn’t a big deal, she had always bought the coffee so they were completely even) and he had nearly assaulted a fellow TA who had gotten too handsy with her at a house party. Still, she continued to listen to the countless tales of his assholery from Finn and Poe, allowing them to poison her perception. She leaned over and used the crank to roll down the window.

“Yes?” she deadpanned, raising her eyebrow. She raised her voice so that she could be heard over the roll of thunder that decided to make an appearence.

“What are you doing?” He had the fucking audacity to scowl at this moment? He was holding an umbrella, yes, but the waning sheets of rain continued to soak his very fitted t-shirt.

“Oh, you know. I’m just enjoying some alone time. On the edge of the road. In a thunderstorm. How about you?” She leaned her chin on her hands and awkwardly rested her elbows on the steering wheel, trying her best to convey her sarcastic interest.

Ben scoffed, opening up her door, “What’s wrong with your car?” He eyed her soaked clothes and dripping hair with more sympathy than was necessary and her jaw set in annoyance.

She rolled her eyes and straightened up, “Engine’s dead and my tire’s flat. I would call a tow, but I forgot my cell phone at my apartment.”

Ben nodded. He looked away from her, casting a bare glance at her hood. “My dad owns a repair shop not too far from here. You can wait in my car until he comes.”

Rey eyed her warily, “Are you sure?” As much as she loved her little car, it wasn’t exactly known for withstanding storms. She had been able to buy it at scrap-metal price from Han when it had suffered more hail damage that it was worth (according to Han, at least).

“I have towels.” He rolled his eyes and made a sweeping motion with his hand.

Rey settled wordlessly into his vintage silencer, subtly gawking at the chrome and leather interior. She breathed a quiet, “Shit,” and them turned to him, “What time is it?”

He glanced at his phone, “3:11, why?”

Irritably rubbing her eyes, she let out a quiet groan, “I’m missing class right now.” Ben let out a scoffing laugh, “Aren’t you in Skywalker’s program?” He’d set off her defenses, he knew. “Yes, what about it?” “Well, I don’t think you’re missing much to be honest,” he grinned to himself, as if indulging in a private joke. “Oh, what’s that supposed to mean?” she rolled her eyes.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he swore, “It’s just that Skywalker has been known to go on philosophical rants from time to time. It’s a bit strange. Especially considering that he works in the physics department.” A slight cackle left his lips, and Rey’s face flushed with anger.

“Oh, like you’d know anything about what Skywalker teaches,” she scoffed. Everyone had heard the stories of Ben getting thrown out of the department. Although, no one had ever really heard why.

His face darkened and he set his jaw, so Rey darkly smiled to herself, pleased to have gotten underneath his skin.

They sat in silence for nearly five minutes, gathering potential insults to hurl at one another. Things like goth beanstalk and Crylo Ren. (Okay, maybe it was just Rey gathering insults) Ben cleared his throat, “I left the program to study under professor Snoke. Luke and I didn’t see eye-to-eye, but that doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t expect you to understand how difficult family can be.” He didn’t know he hit the wrong wire until the entire building exploded.

Rey whipped her head to glare at him, fuming. Part of her was hurt, yes, but the more pronounced emotions stirring within her dictated that she was pissed. “What?” she asked him, her tone sharp.

“What?” he questioned, and his anxiety swelled, pronouncing his every possible fault in the conversation.

“Just because, what, I don’t have a family--that gives you the right to judge me?” Her voice became increasingly accusatory. Ben realized his blunder, and his eyes widened.

“Rey, no, that’s not what I meant at all-” but she was on a roll.

“The fact that people don’t have what you have. Does that register with you at all? Not everyone has families that they can just throw away, Ben. God, I could kill you right now!” She spit his name like venom, and he felt the guilt in his chest crack open and start to consume him. He couldn’t think of anything to say, just staring, open-mouthed, at the girl who he’d always perceived as flawless.

Luckily (or unfortunately, he didn’t know yet), a large star-fighter tow truck pulled up next to them, effectively ending any conversation.

Rey quickly exited Ben’s silencer, slamming the door shut for measure. She walked over to Han, accepting the fatherly hug that he offered and helped him set up the cables. The rain and cleared in their short wait, and Ben could see the sun beginning to peek out from the clouds once again.

Han offered her a ride to the shop so Rose could pick her up, and she was in the pickup before he could even finish his sentence. He turned to Ben, who had been quietly surveying his and Rey’s work.

“Thanks for taking care of her, Ben,” he only nodded reluctantly in reply.

“Well, I’m sure I caused more issues than I fixed, but that’s nothing new,” he frowned, staring after her.

Han chuckled. Like father, like son. “Just give her a while. She usually comes around,” he waved vaguely toward his truck.

Ben just nodded, so Han began to slowly walk back to his truck, “And call your mother!”

Ben gave her exactly two days. He had seen her around, each time receiving a death glare from either her or Rose. Now, he stood outside Skywalker’s class room, holding the sweetest cup of coffee he knew how to order (caramel macchiato, four shots, too much caramel) and wearing an expression not unlike that of a lost puppy.

When she saw him, she shook her head, stalking over to him only when he had held out her coffee. “I’m sorry,” he told her, a pleading look etched across his features. For a second, she was caught off-guard. For all her positive interactions with him, Rey had still taken Ben as the difficult ass everyone painted him to be. “I didn’t know about your family, and I’m sorry that my words upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He looked almost pained to say it, but Rey supposed he hadn’t had much practice. A small smile bloomed across her features. “I’m sorry too,” she told him, “I shouldn’t have said all that stuff about you and your family.” She cleared her throat daintily, “So...Han’s your dad?” He grinned slightly, “Yes, that would be him.” Rey shook her head, releasing a tiny sigh and smiling, “That explains...so much.” Ben grinned slightly, and he dropped his gaze so he wouldn’t get caught staring at the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

“Forgive me?” he asked after a pause, clearing his throat, his brow creasing adorably. She answered him with a simple smile before taking a sip of her coffee. -

They sat down at the student center, and it was seven before they even noticed the time. Ben walked her to her car and stared into her eyes a few seconds longer than he could handle without the tips of his ears burning red. She giggled, tucking his hair back to expose them. “They’re cute!” she insisted, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in reply.

“I’d like to do this again,” he told her, and he didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she grinned at him and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“I’d like that,” she whispered to him before sliding into her car.

He stared after her car until he couldn’t see it anymore. He was so screwed.

#kylotrashforever #happy only slightly belated birthday #you deserve it #oneshot #prompt

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a-king-reciting-hamlet · 7 years

Text

Blood Money

Cobbs Pond and Samuel Grant have spent more years than some get in a lifetime together. It’s true what they say about how some things never change. A strange, haphazard imagining of what Samuel Grant and Cobbs Pond's past might have been like. Also on A03 for your (hopeful) viewing pleasure. http://archiveofourown.org/works/13449000 Huge thanks to @littledozerbaby for their inspiring art and general awesomeness and @alighiery for their encouragement and patience. Come find me and send me Samuel Grant/Cobbs Pond talk, headcanons, and prompt!!!

Blood Money To whom all comfort is a dream; Cold is likely a bright shadow, Heat a darkened sigh, Art a vivid delusion, Love a distorted ‘mine’.

Mr. Grant smiles at the thin blue line of the horizon, which at this point has been changing hues with the rising sun to settle into a steady shade of bruised-knuckles blue. Mr. Pond is not watching the horizon. "Not a bad morning." Mr. Grant says it almost admiringly, but to the shock of their companions, Mr. Pond laughs as if it were a joke. It's a silent laugh, marked only by a sharp exhale through his nose. They have been traveling alongside these hired voyagers for three days now, down river. On their way to a trading post for business interests, they have another, longer journey onto Montreal ahead. The sun glints mercilessly off the water. Around them, men row. The trappers have learned not to assume their gossip cannot be understood by the American pair. Every conversation they have in English is to each other, and half of the ones in French might as well be, for all their subtle smiles and glances. Mr. Grant eyes the horizon with the easy calm of a tourist, masking his watchful disposition with grace. Mr. Pond is more open about his intentions, but his gaze keeps wandering. He keeps listening to the wildlife and watches Grant watch the scenery go by. This is a trip down memory lane. They will not return here for quite some time. Perhaps they may never return, if things go particularly well or especially wrong, and Samuel Grant and Cobbs Pond have quite a lot to remember. Younger men went into the valley looking for riches than came out. Pond breathes in the scent through his nose and Grant watches light pass over the water. “I’ve heard of you.” These are the first words he ever speaks to Cobbs. Cobbs Pond walks out of the woods surrounding the Hudson, emerging from the dour greenery as if coming into being fully-formed, and greets him with a little bow. His every move is economical and polite, clearly practiced. Still, there’s something around the eyes, something almost feral. When he smiles he bares too many teeth. Samuel already knows he’s been watching their traveling party for days- it shows in the sureness of his step, in the way he doesn’t fail to make and keep unwavering eye contact, in the steady, practiced sound of every word that leaves his mouth. He’s been rehearsing, Samuel thinks, and it’s almost a charming thought. How long has it been since he’s had company out in these woods? “Cobbs Pond.” The man offers his hand and Samuel takes it. The voice is sweet like rosewater, the hand worn smooth with work. Samuel decides not to think about what kind of work. “A pleasure to meet you.” He hadn’t expected a noted killer to be so dainty. It is the carefully constructed bonds he forges which get him out of Kentucky. What a man without money still has is his charm and his wit, and young Samuel is not lacking in either. He doesn’t sit in the collecting dust of an empty, abandoned home, devoid of life. He cannot- the wooden construction that has been his whole world is sold by the authorities to cover for his mother’s burial, to account for legal fees, and so those who might take him in could have the chance to pocket the rest. Still, hunger makes him agreeable. A solemn child with a distant, introspective face that brightens when he smiles- it takes time, but he makes politeness and unassuming grace a survival tactic. He leaves the care of those who he won with pity as a boy into the arms of those he's conjured respect from with practiced skill. His choice of words is artful. He secures himself passage away from the sweet, hot hell that birthed him. When he wanders into the woods of the Hudson Valley, it's not as a trapper but a man of business. He's an attache to a party which includes the son of the company's founder, a young man he's since befriended who couldn't have understood Samuel's thoughts and proclivities if he tried, but who has an affinity for collecting around him the bright and hardworking. It's not the largest company, nor the most successful, and that suits Samuel fine. He watches the river and not the boy, Arthur Haynes, whose money he would very much like to spend. He knows that this will be noticed. When Arthur announces, in the dim light of dusk, that he enjoys his company, Samuel is not in the least surprised. "The others are always looking for me to drop coin their way." The youth rubs his nose clean with the back of his hand. His eyes are sharp with uncomfortable sincerity. "You know you'd make it either way without me, Grant. Hell, I know you would. That's why we're friends, isn't it? Because we can be." Samuel says nothing, but smiles. "That's why I want you to come with me to visit my father in New York. There's got to be more you can do than keep books for the rest of your life." Samuel gives him a strange look and embraces him. "Thank you." He says, very softly. It's the right move to make, even if it makes Samuel uncomfortable. He can feel the breathing slow in the chest pressed against him. They part quickly, but the young man is satisfied with his choice. “It’ll be good to have you with me.” He grins. Samuel tries to not think about how utterly alone those words make him feel. Years later, he seeks out Cobbs Pond when the time is right for the help he knows he can provide. How easily convinced Cobbs is surprises him. It is not something Samuel has to try at. The whole thing takes on a natural feeling, as if they had always intended to carry out this plot of his, as if the plan had long since been agreed upon. As they float downriver, Cobbs Pond’s movements and sentences take on the quality of a man who fancies he might be dreaming. "I fought in the American war, you know.” Small words, said in passing, likely meant to be ignored. Birds chirp louder than Cobbs Pond speaks. "I bet you looked rather dashing in uniform." Samuel smiles. It’s a foolish thing to say, but something keeps him from berating himself about it, keeps him comfortable. Cobbs feels the tips of his ears burn in a most satisfying way. "I hope you would have thought so."

“Arthur.” Samuel calls to the rich man’s son when the boy’s had one too many to drink. “You’ll drown yourself in it before dinner if you don’t stop now.” Arthur smiles guilty, a bit abashed. He goes to taverns hungry for girls. It’s taken a year for the two of them to become close enough for Samuel to be invited along. It is here he learns to nod and smile, to say things like ‘a fine-looking woman’. One more reason he’s become so close with Arthur so quickly- he’s never any competition. Samuel never takes him aside and says ‘this one is not for you, this one is mine’. It’s important for the heir of a small fur trading company not to feel penned in by his compatriots. Arthur has light-auburn hair that shows when it’s dirty. He looks decent when he smiles, Samuel thinks, though it might be the kindness the man has shown him that makes him think so. Samuel politely defers to him in all things- the best whiskey, the best fashions, who is an insipid fool. “That one?” He pronounces shyly, as Arthur watches him select a coat. Friends of rich men must look the part, after all. Samuel finds himself nervous he’s enjoying this too much- Arthur must think him dull, or worse, awfully silly. They’ve been trying on different articles of clothing for hours. “Definitely.” Arthur nods sagely. “You’ve got a good eye. Now, a few more clean shirts and we’ll have you ready for the trip looking like one of the most eligible bachelors in New York. Besides me, of course.” He grins. “I’ll be too busy reading over finance papers to be casting any shadows, not to worry.” Samuel smiles, all grace. “You’d better be. Lord knows my father will want to know what I think of the books, and you’ll have to tell me what I think this time. I’m not risking that again.” Arthur massages his temples with one hand. “I swear, Grant, I don’t think there’s much worse than reading. Why would anyone want me to waste my time cooped up, smothering myself with a book when I could be out making a real difference in the trade? It’s the money that matters, not all the little numbers.” Samuel says nothing. He pretends he is too busy examining his reflection to hear. In truth, he thinks, there is something to be said for all this; rich fabric feeds a strange hunger in him, one less for sustenance and more for decadence. He knows now he wants to do more than simply survive. “Grant, did you even hear me?” “Hmm?” “I said all that paper stuff is terrible.” “That’s what you have me for, isn’t it?” He smiles, more at himself in the looking glass than at Arthur standing a good foot behind him. “For all the fine print and book-balancing and when you need the odd bit of poetry quoted for a girl.” “Now now, don’t sell yourself short.” It’s a sharp, barking, uncomfortable laugh. “I know you don’t mean it, Grant, but you’ve got a bad habit of making everything sound so clinical.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright.” Arthur’s hand finds his shoulder and Samuel nearly bites through his own tongue in shock and discomfort. “We’re friends, after all.” There are far cleverer women in this world than Arthur will ever be, Samuel thinks, watching with a kind of sideways glee as barmaids pick Arthur’s pockets and talk circles around his love-drunk head. Sometimes, when they take too much, Samuel reaches out a hand to stop them. He makes sure Arthur sees him do it. He likes the feeling he gets when Arthur looks at him, grateful. “You’re a good friend, Grant.” Arthur bursts out three months after he’s finally been allowed to join their little skirt-chasing escapades, a little tipsy. He’s a sentimental sort and alcohol doesn’t calm him the way it does Samuel. “That’s why my father likes you, you know. You look after me.” Samuel knows this is not the time or the place to tell him that his father actually thinks he’s a swindler and an upstart who should have been left to rot in Kentucky, and that they really ought to do something before his vague annoyance boils over into actual action. Instead, he tentatively threads his arm around Arthur’s shoulders with all the deep, primal discomfort and guiding grace of the blind leading the blind. “Don’t you forget it now.” He laughs. The pit in his stomach is only growing deeper. There’s something all of Arthur’s kindness and affection cannot fill. By age six he is an orphan in Kentucky, staring at the bloodied ground that marks the spot where his baby brother's head once laid. He does not tell the story as any kind of emotional ploy, and yet Cobbs says 'what difficulties you have endured' in that soft way of his, like lukewarm bath water. This Samuel does not expect. He blinks at him. "What?" "It must have been difficult for you." There is none of his characteristic mocking delight in his tone, only something like remorse. His brows are raised in the first sign of pure concern Samuel has ever seen the man wear. "I suppose it was." Samuel's gaze seems a bit distracted now, less present, as if he is trying to peer through river fog. Cobbs watches him drift farther away and settles a hand on his shoulder. He has never dared to reach out and touch him before. Samuel looks at without flinching. He does not say what he sees. Everything is such an awful blur. The trip up to New York, the trip back, the ugly way Arthur’s father’s bookkeeper looked at him once he knew who he was, the vague disdain, the caustic threat of dethronement from another fortune-seeker, this one hand-picked by the father himself- the way the whole world seemed to threaten to swallow him whole. He’d spent a long night in his rented room, alone, the door sturdily locked and without the candles lit, weeping at the thought of being forcefully shipped back to wherever they thought they would get rid of him, whiskey he couldn't afford by himself making him sick to his stomach, visions of his mother’s face and the clear, haunting pitch of his brother’s cries ringing in his ears. He can almost hear Cobbs Pond as well, warm arms enveloping his tired body, voice like the trickle of a stream. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.” He says, they way he knew he would. “You should have brought me with you.” He falls asleep like that, red-eyed and lonely, and wakes the next morning with a plan. They bring him a razor and water to wash with, unscented soap so he can clean without marking himself to the wildlife. Cobbs holds the straight razor to his own cheek. “What do you think?” He asks. Samuel, unsure that it has anything to do with him, shrugs. “Keep it. It makes you look...” He’s trying to find the right word. Cobbs watches him intently, close-lipped. “Formidable.” Cobbs smiles. “I just wish he’d leave me alone.” Arthur fumes quietly in the back of the room. Two years have told Samuel that his rival fortune-hunter isn’t going anywhere. Samuel wonders what it feels like to be chosen by a father for success. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s elbowed out, Arthur be damned. His father will call for him, and Arthur will not be able to resist, and Samuel will be left here, fenced out from wealth and friendship by the slow persuasion of time and distance. “Your father-” He begins calmly. “Fuck my father.” Arthur’s blood, impotent as it is, runs hot. “The whole company is basically mine anyway. The man never leaves New York. He can drop dead for all I care.” “Fair enough.” Samuel shrugs. The fortune-seeker is his own problem. Let Arthur take care of the larger issues himself. Less damning that way, really. He downs drinks Arthur has paid for and leaves the tavern to wait. "He's being obnoxiously stubborn." At his words Cobbs flashes him a rather pleased smile, like a cat who has just bitten into the backbone of a particularly stubborn rat. The look, as might a rat, falls to Samuel's feet, heavy with meaning. "Not tonight." There is a pleasing sensation that comes to them both as their eyes meet in the darkness, their slim faces lit up and then shadowed by the fickleness of firelight. "You know, Mr. Grant, I am beginning to find you quite exciting." "Only beginning?" He laughs. It's that kind of confidence that keeps Cobbs up at night. Samuel recalls, once the struggle was over and the upstart was dead, coming down with an ugly fever. He hadn’t wanted to see it happen, hadn’t wanted to know, intimately, that his rival would not rise from the earth. The sickness held out in him for four days. Sweating through his sheets, he knew half of it was nightmares, the kind of skull-haunting visions of death and decay that had fueled his late mother’s paranoia. The other half, Cobbs explains, is an infection. In the fragile darkness, he doesn’t know what he sees. Cobbs Pond sits by his bedside and brings water to his lips when he wakes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” His voice is quiet and Samuel is grateful- loud noises hurt his head and fill his mind with fear. “I didn’t think…” He looks vaguely distracted, guilty, as if he’s finally connected the symptoms and strain to the reasons why. “No matter. Just focus on getting well. It’s going to be alright, I promise.” He’s clear-headed quickly enough, but Cobbs doesn’t stop reading him poetry and bringing him food and helping him dress just because the fever’s stopped. In fact, he never does. He only explains, years later, what Samuel already knows- it was never about illness or delicacy in the first place. “Where’s-” “Your coat? I’ve got it locked in the wardrobe.” Cobbs smiles at him, full of calm delight. “That way no one else could get their hands on it.” “And my-” “You had money in the pockets, I know. That’s locked up in the desk with the rest of your funds.” “I’m sorry to have troubled you like this.” Samuel means to concentrate on looking shamefaced, the way part of him feels, but he can’t help but marvel at how his devoted caretaker has overlooked nothing. “You don’t have to apologize.” Cobbs pronounces sweetly. “There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.” Samuel looks up, expecting to read the joke written in his expression, and instead finds only care and sincerity. He’s been lying for so long there’s something blinding about looking into the eyes of truth. “Just try and rest, Mr. Grant. I’ll take care of everything.”

Arthur is delighted to see him again when he arises, feeling somehow stronger, from his lengthy sickbed stay. The man’s full of words when they meet, explosive with news. “My father- that is- I went to see my father. And he said I spend too much time with the tribes, and that I needed to spend some time in New York and find myself a wife.” Arthur cocks his head back and laughs, though not for the reasons Samuel might. “I told him I wanted to stay with the company and that I wanted to marry a native girl- better for trade anyway, and who wants a snotty New York bitch?” He sneers with the comfort of a man who is used to being agreed with. “He tried to tell me no, so I did something about it.” The two are quiet for a moment. Samuel tries not to shut his eyes, expecting the worst. Arthur takes him by the shoulders and Samuel nearly flinches. “The men sided with me, Grant. They chose me over him. I made the play and it worked- the company’s mine now.” Samuel stares at him, dazed. “What do you mean?” “What I mean is you don’t have to worry anymore.” Samuel does close his eyes now. It’s something between a wish and a prayer- oh please, that it would only be that simple. Please. The memories blur. Cobbs Pond on his back, in a bed or elsewhere, a smile that's entirely teeth, a lolling head. A laugh born on the tip of his tongue. It's feral and divine. Samuel Grant, whose mouth is raw from drink, moves over him as if to kiss him. New York cold shudders between them in their breath, and even now this isn't as new as it feels. An agonizing courtship of two bastards. He's bruised a knee. Cobbs’s eyes watch him, gleaming in the darkness, like the eyes of owls. He looks up at him delighted and a fit of giggles breaks over him. He's a punctured casket of wine, overflowing richly and red. His bottom lip is swollen from an off-color bite, which, as Samuel has already remarked, looks striking. He's flattered sick. "Who would have thought?" That soft voice, like a whisper of smoke, dares not to call too much attention to itself. A fragile hope. "Who would have thought that Mr. Samuel Grant-" This is part of the test. Samuel knows. He's been a lonely, frightened boy with a love of men too, he almost says, he knows what it is that they're doing. If he lets him finish his sentence, if he doesn't kiss or otherwise silence him, the damning words will be spoken. "-That Samuel Grant would care to go to bed with a boy like me.” It's a statement in and of itself. He lets the words hang in the air and he smiles. “I couldn’t imagine better if I cared to.” Cobbs kisses him. Really kisses him. With knowing reverence Cobbs leans upward into him deeply and runs a hand through his hair. He gently, centimeter by centimeter, wraps his legs around Samuel’s hips. “I’d do anything for you- you know that, don’t you.” Cobbs says it when their lips part like it’s something a whore might say, but Samuel knows he means it. He means it in the great and terrible way only Cobbs Pond can. The weight in his words makes Samuel’s blood run cold, then burn. “I’d do anything you asked.” “Who's this?” Arthur raises an eyebrow as he walks in from the rain, locating Samuel’s spot in the back of the tavern. Odd words coming from a man who hasn’t spoken to him in a week, but not entirely unexpected. “Ah, yes, I see you’ve noticed my associate here.” Samuel smiles at Arthur the same way he always has, only it likely seems a good bit more transparent than it ever did when they were boys. He’s been sitting warm and dry for an hour. “This is Mr. Pond. I thought he might act as a bit of a mediator between the two of us, calm our heads.” Arthur sits. “And what hole exactly did you drag this trapper out from, Grant?” Samuel is quick to open his mouth with an answer and a sharp, protective glance at Cobbs, but Cobbs gives a slight bow of a nod instead. “Mr. Grant and I met some years back while traveling, Mr. Haynes.” He holds out his hand carefully, and the richer man shakes it. “I assume he’s given your friendship with him the same dishonest care he’s given mine.” Arthur snorts. “One minute he’s for you, the next minute against, Mr. Pond. Don’t say you weren’t warned.” Samuel can feel his cheeks burn, and not from the whiskey. “Oh, I think I’ll handle him fine.” Cobbs pronounces it with all the sweet cordiality his voice can muster, but he smiles for a fraction of a second in an eager way Samuel remembers very clearly. It reminds him to be confident- he has the upper hand. “It’s our relationship that needs discussing, Arthur.” He chides. “I want to put this misunderstanding behind us.” “Not much to misunderstand.” Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You think I’m mismanaging the business.” “I know it can’t be easy to hear that-” “Easy? Fucking easy? I never expected this from you, Grant. I always figured our friendship was stronger than greed." “I wish it was just greed, Arthur, I really do. Greed I could ignore. But in truth I’m worried about you.” Samuel makes a point of sighing heavily. “I don’t want to see you throw away everything you worked so hard for.” Arthur is sullen in silence. “I was there, you know, from the beginning. I know how hard you worked. Your father-” “Don’t bring him into this.” Samuel blinks for a minute. It’s become baffling to him that the man from which he’d learned his fine manners could be so much more rude and tawdry than him. Had Arthur always been like this, and he just hadn’t had the sense to see it? Had he really outgrown him in five years time? Cobbs shoots him a glance, and Samuel continues. “I won’t, Arthur. I just want you to understand, I’m trying to help.” “Sure you are. Helping yourself.” “I wish you wouldn’t-” “Quit playing games with me, Grant.” He blinks again. He can almost feel Cobbs Pond tense in the seat next to him. “Alright, I won’t play games, Arthur. I know you don’t think I have your best interest at heart, but you deserve honesty. Maybe being straightforward with you, no matter how painful, will show you I care more about you than any greed you now believe has motivated my actions. I respect you too much to shield you for my own benefit.” Arthur frowns. This was not what he had expected. “I know you have been working hard on forming agreements with several other companies throughout the valley. You’ve met with tribal delegations and company heads alike trying to forge ahead, as have I. We’ve worked on advancing together.” Samuel let himself breath for a moment and then let himself savor his next words. “But Arthur, believe me when I say you are single-handedly poisoning our trade relations. You can’t just make offers without my say-so. When you aren’t sure what we can and can’t offer and don’t know which side we’re on, you make more enemies than friends.” Arthur turns the color of his insides. “We’re on our own side, you self-centered little prick. I’m on my side.” “So am I.” “Not anymore.” Arthur stands. “I’m writing you out. You are no longer my beneficiary.” “You what?” Samuel’s feels the color drain from his face. “Who knows about this?” “I wasn’t sure until now- I decided I was coming here tonight to make up my mind. But damn, if seeing you like this, sitting here as bold as brass trying to tell me how to run my company doesn’t sell me on it, I don’t know what will. Goodbye, Grant.” Arthur sneered. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure but I wouldn’t want to give you the satisfaction.” Samuel stares at him emptily. He watches five years of hard work and friendship walk out into the inky black. It only takes a little while for Cobbs Pond to find him. Arthur Haynes’s legal representation has, upon the burial of the deceased, no trouble finding the necessary paperwork for the transfer of company ownership. It’s all sitting neatly on top of his desk, in fact, as if placed there to be ready and waiting. It’s all delirium once Arthur is gone. The company is renamed to their taste, soon growing to overshadow anything it might have been. For the first time, Samuel and Cobbs have nothing to consider but themselves. The memories from this point on are sweeter. A honeymoon- a half-joke that, once told, fast becomes a fact. It’s not the first step they’d taken in their life together, Samuel agrees with Cobbs in hindsight, but the time they’d spent luxuriating in the sum of their choices. A brief crime ten years or more ago gave them the space in which to become comfortable. When they make their way towards Montreal, it’s in silent reassurance.

#samuel grant #cobbs pond #sobbs #frontier #writing #me

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ickaimp · 7 years

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[Rise of the Guardians] The Fall

@healingmichiko Have some more feels. And greek myths. And character undeath. And just weird brain stuff. 2800 words, crossposted to Ao3

"Heeeeey, Bunnny...." Jack's grin is small and crooked, the same silly fond one he always gives Aster in greeting. "-I never told you my favourite myth, did I?" Aster stumbles over his words, vowels and consonants in a jumbled mess. Jack wants to talk about a silly conversation they had hours ago NOW? Now, while Jack is... Jack is...

Aster glances away from Jack's smiling face, down at where a spear and several swords were sticking through Jack's chest and belly.

Possibly a few arrows as well. Aster had told North that leaving barrels of weaponry laying around the Pole was a bad idea, especially with the dratted Elves wandering around. A low whine emerges from the back of Aster's throat as he looks up at Jack's face, which is peaceful, almost resigned. There's no hope or denial in Jack's eyes, just a sort of fondness that makes Aster's insides clench and twist. He's seen this expression before, on the battlefield, a friend sacrificing themselves for their friends, blood staining their bodies, hands, and faces. The look that they know what's coming next and there's nothing they can do to stop it. A look that Aster has seen far too many times in his long life. Jack had stepped in front of Aster, shielding Aster with his own body. Aster hadn't even seen it coming, realised what the Elves running around with small fireworks might mean. But Jack, the Guardian of Fun... "Icarus." Jack says, and there's faint wheeze in his breath, like the air in his lungs is escaping somewhere else. Like from his torso, with the giant doru spear through it. For a moment, Aster can't think of why Jack is mentioning the tosser who flew too close to the sun, and then he remembers their conversation about myths back at the Warren before North had summoned up to the Pole to look at some new toys before Jack disappeared to where ever he went for the summer. Back before Jack was stabbed, when he had been safe underground, surrounded by the greenness of the Warren. Jack raises a trembling hand, fingers pressing against Aster's muzzle. Aster's breath hitches, bracing for the metal sweet scent of blood to wash over him- Only there's frost. Sharp, clean ice. Jack never touches Aster, never allows Aster to touch him. Ever. It's an unspoken rule between them... "Dark ocean would drag him down." Jack smiles sweetly at him. "-So he flew close to the warmth he loved." No blood. There's no blood. There should be blood everywhere, splattered all over Aster, leaking from all the holes in Jack's body, bubbling from Jack's lips.... Aster can feel Jack's fingers melt against his lips as the pieces suddenly come crashing together with a horrible sort of knowledge. Jack's smile widens. "See you in the F-" And Jack Frost liquefies and evaporates into the air on to the Workshop floor, like frost in the Springtime sun. His staff falls to pieces, scattering over the spear and swords that suddenly find themselves in midair with no support. North screams, and it's the only thing that keeps Aster from freaking out.

"Get out." North's voice is low and deep, a feral sounding thing. Aster swallows.

"North, I-"

"Leave." North swings an giant tree-trunk like arm in Aster's direction, and the pooka steps backwards, even though he knows he wasn't in striking range. "I can't.... I cannot look at you!" North spits out.

Aster sighs, closing his eyes and nodding. Phil nearly hadn't let Aster in to see North, and he kind of wonders if it wouldn't have been a wiser decision.

"Why did it have to be Jack?!" North whispers, his huge shoulders rounded in on himself. "You. You would have survived such a blow. But Jack-?"

"I know." Aster quietly agrees, his ears drooping along his back. As long as it missed both of his hearts, he would have been reborn again in the light. Aster, but different. It had happened before in the past, it would happen again in the future. Rarely did he keep the friends from a previous regeneration, he'd thought himself lucky to keep North, but now...

'It should have been you' hovers in the air. And Aster can't find it in himself to argue.

Aster turns and walks out of North's workshop. It's the third time he's tried to check on North since the incident, and North has turned him away every time.

He won't be back again. Not unless it's with Jack.

"Bunny." Tooth looks startled to see him. He can read the expressions flickering across her face, anger, guilt, sadness, resignation. "Please tell me you didn't try to see North again."

"Not after the last one." Aster shakes his head. He's kind of crazy in his old age, but not stupid. But it does his hearts good to know that Phil and Tooth keeping an eye on North. "He okay?"

Tooth shakes her head with a stern look and Aster sighs. She blames him too, but not as much. Hopefully enough that she'll answer him. "Got a question."

The crown of feathers on the back of Tooth's head flare up in surprise, then fold back down. "What is it?"

"You've got Jackie's memories here, right?" Aster gestures around to the millions of boxes she has stored here. "Got any of his from after he became Frost?"

Tooth's eyes go wide for a moment, then she curls slightly, bringing a hand up to her chin as she thinks about it. "No." She finally says. "He'd lost all his teeth as a kid before Manny called him."

"Dammit." Bunny mutters, looking down at the ground. He'd hoped... Well. It'd been a long shot anyway.

"Why?" Tooth asks, and this time there's only curiosity in her tone.

"Got me a hope." Aster shakes his head, looking back up at her. "I'll tell ya if it pans out. Less hurt if it don't work out."

Tooth gives him a crooked smile, and he can see her throat work a few times before she can speak again. "Hope it works out." She says roughly, but sincerely.

"Cheers." Aster nods, then opens up a rabbit tunnel and dashes away.

Sandy nearly grabs him with a dreamsand whip to toss him into the night sky when Aster appears. In Aster's defence, it might have been a bit of a surprise, but Sandy hadn't paid any attention to Aster's shouts, and therefore jumping onto the Sandman's passing cloud had seemed like the logical choice at the time.

In retrospect, especially after Pitch's attack that gained them Jack as a new Guardian, probably not the wisest of choices.

Sandy holds a hand to his chest, looking as if he'd had a heart in his sand formed body, it would have been attempting to beat its way out. "Sorry." Aster mutters, feeling bad for startling his friend that way.

Sandy waves it off, giving him a mock stern look for the scare. A question mark appears above Sandy's head, expression shifting to curiosity.

"Odd question bout yer dreamsand." Aster holds up a finger. "We all know Jack disappears in the summer. Did ya ever send him dreams?"

Sandy's eyes go wide, hurt flashing momentarily, then he shakes his head. Sand shapes appear, a sun, and Sandy attempting to send streams of dream sand to the a tiny sleeper, only to never find the sleeper. The sun changes to a snowflake, and suddenly the sand reaches the sleeper.

"Yer sand couldn't reach him in the summer." Aster breathes, reaching up to brush the tiny sleeping figure. "But ya could in the winter."

He gets a nod in return, Sandy looking sad. "Thank you." Aster picks up Sandy and gives him a tight hug before setting him down again. "You've given me hope."

Sandy looks slightly dazed and more than a little confused at Aster's comment. "I'll tell ya when it pans out." Aster grins, jumping off the edge of the dreamsand cloud, catching himself on a tree, before leaping to another until he's back on the ground and into the tunnels.

All he can do is wait now.

"Come on out, Jackie." Aster calls, sitting against a tree next to Jack's lake in Burgess. There's a bite to the air, a crispness that heralds the beginning of autumn. A touch of Frost in the air. There's a glimmer out of the corner of his eye, just a faint outline, and an echo of a laugh. "Figured it out, did you?" Jack's voice is barely a whisper on the breeze, Aster's ears twitching as he focuses on it. "It's yer name, ain't it?" Aster turns his head and tries to get the figure to become clearer, but it's like seeing the ice that usually covers Jack, without Jack actually being there. "Jack Frost." Made ice and snow, which is why he had no blood. There's a motion, like Jack is doing a slow clap, slow sarcastic applause, but there's no sound to accompany it. Not enough solid mass. "Got it in one, Cottontail." Jack's voice laughs. "The reason you're never around in Summer is that y'can't." Aster extrapolates, watching the outline of Jack wander around him.

He'd had a theory, but he craves more than guesswork, because even with Sandy verifying he couldn't send his dreams to Jack in the Summer, he hadn’t been sure at all until right this moment. "Took a bit to put it together, that we don't see ya after mid-Spring, and then not again for a few weeks after the first frost of the year." "It takes a while for it to get cold enough to put myself back together." Jack admits, circling behind Aster before making an appearance on Aster's other side. "But y'always come back." Aster verifies. "Yup." Jack laughs, and there's a bit of a bitter bite to it. "Not much can really permanently hurt me. If something happens during Autumn or Winter I just reform, but it's harder to stay together the later in Spring it goes." Aster files that away for later conversations, how many times something like this has happened. And how often Jack has tried. But it does mean that Jack, much like Aster, is effectively immortal. It's something that both cheers and saddens him. It’s a heavy weight, and a lonely one. "Always assumed ya did some sort of hibernation." Aster shrugs, turning his head so he can keep Jack in view. Jack seems to tilt his head to the side in contemplation. "I guess you could call it that." He agrees, circling back around Aster again. It’s a familiar pattern for Jack, and not for the first time Aster wonders if Jack knows what he's doing, what the circling signifies to a Pooka. "So I gotta ask." Aster resists the urge to grind his teeth together in a happy rumble. "Frosty the Snowman-?" Jack pauses, something annoyed about the set of his shoulders. "That was an extremely annoying year." He growls, cat-like, all lashing tail and wounded pride.

Aster laughs, something easing in his chest. He taps the ground with a foot, a tunnel opening up. He reaches in, pulling out Jack's staff. "Thought y'might like this." He says, tossing it in Jack's direction.

The staff flies through the air, then suddenly stops, Jack's silhouette solidifying a bit, and Aster barely keeps himself from preening. "Hope you don't mind.” Aster grins. “I grew her back together again." "Thanks!" He can see the bright grin on Jack's face this time, even as he can see the trees around them through Jack. Jack's voice is a bit closer to normal, no longer quite a whisper. "Usually takes me a while to find where all the pieces went." Aster huffs in amusement. Upon inspection, the staff was mostly ice, much like Jack is. "Ya tied here, or would a change in location help?" Jack's merriment fades. "I can't... the Warren..." He trails off, looking uncomfortable, cradling the staff to his chest. The springtime heat of the Warren would probably melt Jack gone again, if he's made of fresh snow and ice. "Was thinkin' the Pole." Aster gestures in a northerly direction. "North's bein' a right dill, thinking he offed ya." Something he hopes that Jack's reappearance will help with. "What?!" Jack exclaims, loud enough to almost be a normal speaking voice. Shock and horror flash across his face for a moment before settling on confusion. "...You didn't think I was gone for good." "I hoped." Aster shrugs. He'd hoped a lot. That Jack wasn't dead, that he'd figured it out correctly. That he'd see Jack in the frost, in the Fall. Jack stares at him for a moment, then starts laughing. "Of course you did." He says fondly, wiping at his eyes as giggles of mirth bubble out of him. "Kinda my schtick." Aster agrees, pulling out a globe and polishing it on his arm for a moment, before holding it up like an offering. Jack nods, a tentative grin on his face as his laughter fades away. "North's Workshop." Aster tells the globe, then tosses it, a bright explosion of light of magic blinding him for a second before the portal solidifies. Aster glances over a Jack, who is looking at the portal with an expression of blatant longing and worry. A few more weeks until he was solid, Aster remembers. He doubts any of Jack’s believers would be able to see him right now, as ghostlike Jack appears, leaving Jack trapped in isolation. Aster thinks of Icarus, who had been trapped in the labyrinth with the Minotaur and his father. And when given a chance for freedom, was warned not to fly too high or too low, but to stick to the of light. Jack's description, of loving warmth, not light, and thinks Jack's never really been one not to fly too high or to fast. They'll just have to be there when Jack falls. "Follow the path of the light." Aster offers, hiding his uncertainty if this will work. Better chance than the heat of his tunnels. "I'll follow." Not too close, or Jack would melt. Not too far, least weight of isolation and darkness drag him under. Jack nods, giving Aster a quick salute, then jumping through. Aster gives it a three count, then follows, ignoring the way lunch tries to make a reappearance in the back of his throat at the swirling magic, so strange from his own. He pops out at the Pole, looking around and immediately spotting Jack, who is breathing in the frost tinted air with a look of obvious enjoyment. The Guardian of Fun is almost completely solid, just a tinge of translucency on the edges.

"I've tried to get here before, in the Autumn." Jack whispers, giving Aster a delighted look. "But whenever I got too far from the lake, I'd just defrost and reform a few days later."

Probably not enough magic in the area outside of Burgess to help Jack become solid. Where as the Pole was filled with latent magic. Enough that Jack didn't have to wait weeks to get strong enough for the trip. Aster grins with satisfaction and delight as the portal winks out of existence behind him. One problem solved.

"OI, NORTH!" He bellows, making Jack jump. "LIKE HELIOS RISING IN THE DAWN, OUR PRODIGAL SON RETURNS!" "Helios, really?" Jack drawls, amused. Aster chuckles as North's footsteps pound in the distance, screams from the yetis echoing. "Didn't think North'd like references to me favourite Greek myth." Aster shrugs. "I'm a might more fond of Persephone." "-Whose appearance above ground heralds the return of Spring." Jack rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond at the mention of Aster's season. It's more about the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth that Aster likes, but that's for another conversation. North barrels past Aster to tackle Jack in a tight hug, laughing and crying all at the same time. Jack hugs North back, no sign of distress on his face at the contact, laughing and crying as well. and something eases in Aster's chest. Daedalus was a master craftsman and creator of wonders, Icarus’ father, and the one who gave Icarus wings that lead to his fall. Unlike Daedalus, North has his prodigal son back. Aster turns his head, letting them have their moment together. They're gonna need to talk about the fact that Jack is apparently immortal and made of ice later, figure out what they can do to help. But for right now, he can bask in the knowledge that they can do that later. -fin-

#jack frost #e. aster bunnymund #nicholas st. north #RotG #Rise of the Guardians #bunnymund #Icka fic

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