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goodneighborxfallout · 3 years

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Reaction: Having sex with the companions

Cait

At first, Cait would be an absolute animal in bed. No shame, no holding back, just raw, animalistic sex, and the more worn out you were after the deed, the more satisfied she was. Almost like she had something to prove. And she realized quite soon that that was indeed the case. Not that you had put expectations on her, but she had a reputation and though she trusted you enough to be open to you and even let you help with her drug problem, there were times when she - subconsciously - would slip back into her old defense mechanisms. Depending on how close you two were the first time you had sex, it might take quite some time or not at all for Cait to open up to you about all of this and tell you that she’d be down to take things slower if you want to do that. Wanting to make her feel loved, you of course take her up on that offer and the first time you two took things slow in bed was for the both of you probably the best sex you ever had. Though she wouldn’t likely want to admit that, and keep these moments of slow love making for special occasions.

Curie

Curie would be pretty much down for anything as her curiosity almost always got the best of her. That same curiosity would make things awkward sometimes though as she’d ask very non sexy questions during the deed or explain the more biological processes that went on in your bodies while you were just trying to make her feel good… Overall, sex with Curie would include a lot of experimenting and getting to know each other’s bodies from head to toe.

Danse

Danse would be quite new to the concept. Him being a man of protocol, not personal relationships, made the whole thing quite nervewrecking for him. But soon he would lose himself in how good it felt, how good you felt. He’d love to be close to you, holding you or burying his face in your neck, but always making sure to be gentle with you throughout the whole experience. If the events of blind betrayal had already taken place, it would take Danse a lot longer to get to this stage. No matter how much you reassured him that you loved him no matter what, there’d always be this little voice in the back of his head reminding him that you deserved so much better than someone… something like him. He wouldn’t say no to you if you wanted sex, in fact he’s probably do everything you wanted him to, because being as flawed as he was, the least he could do was obey your every wish and command. Sex would revolve completely around you, with Danse almost forgetting to enjoy himself whilst busy making you feel good. If your relationship kept going strong however and you kept reassuring him of how much you loved him he would eventually try to push his insecurity and doubt away and Danse would start behaving like I described in the beginning of this reaction.

Deacon

Deacon isn’t the kind of guy to mindlessly have sex with people ever since Barbara died. The few times he had were always mere days before a facial reconstruction surgery, so he’d never have to actually “face” the people he’d share a bed with. So it can be safe to assume that if you’ve reached the point in your relationship where Deacon is willing to have sex with you, he already trusts you 100%. Deacon will be rather careful the first few times you two have sex. He’d want to make you feel good, as it had been a while since he has cared about the pleasure of the person he shared a bed with, never mind his own pleasure. So the first few times would be all about you. Only after you’d both discover each other’s turn ons, kinks and/or sensitive spots would Deacon try some light teasing. If you’d react positively to it, the teasing would get worse over time, until eventually pushing your boundaries would become almost routine during sex. He didn’t mind you doing the same to him, though if he could choose, he’d definitely prefer to be in control.

Hancock

With Hancock it’s neither trust nor experience that’s the problem. He has enough experience to last him a lifetime (or two), and if you say you love him, he wholeheartedly believes you. What was holding him back however was his low self esteem. Sure you said you loved him, but you’d never seen him naked before. Did you know what a ghoul’s body looked like? Probably not and whatever you were imagining, it probably wouldn’t be nearly as pretty. He’d ask you a few times whether you were 100% sure you wanted this and if you insisted that you were, he’d end up fulfilling your wish. If he noticed that you weren’t grossed out by his body he’d become more confident and sex would become a much more frequent occurrence. Hancock would be open for trying literally anything you wanted, but he’d never push his own kinks onto you (sure he’d talk dirty to you and tease you occasionally, but he would never ask if he can blindfold or tie you up for example, though he’d never refuse it if you suggested it).

MacCready

Sex with MacCready would be unpredictable. He’s open to trying a lot of things, he has no preferable position or location, and on top of that, he’s still really young so his need for sex would pop up in the most random of situations. If you’d have a particularly weird or uncommon kink, he’d might take some convincing before he’d be down to try it, and most of the time he’d take most pleasure just doing things vanilla.

Nick

Doesn’t take you seriously at all. He thinks you’re either joking or completely out of your mind the first few times you tell him you’re down to have sex with him. He doesn’t think your humor is great, but he’ll just brush off whatever you said without going in on that. It’ll go so far that you actually get upset with him about his dismissive demeanor that you just straight up ask him: “What is so wrong with me that you don’t want to have sex with me?” This is the moment Nick actually realizes that you’ve been serious all along and he wouldn’t believe what he just heard you say. “Wait a minute, do you honestly think you’re the problem? Have you seen me? All this skin and metal is just going to make this unpleasant for you.” You’d remind him that if you’d have a problem with any of that you would have never gotten together with him in the first place and for the first time in a quite a long time, Nick felt incredibly stupid for not figuring that out himself. Though still not convinced that you’d actually enjoy it, the sex would be slow and careful and it wouldn’t happen all that often.

Piper

Piper is not one for one night stands and random flings. If you two were to have sex, you’d already be in a relationship. That’s really the only requirement for her. Once you two are together and she trusts you, the sex could be as slow and soft or wild and crazy as you’d both see fit. She’d be down for it. Weird kinks? “Um, okay, hadn’t seen that one coming, Blue, but hey don’t knock it before you try it I guess.” New position? “Let’s hope I’m flexible enough for this…”. Different location? Okay, here she might draw the line. Public sex would really depend on the location, the more risk of getting caught the less likely Piper would give the ok sign. After all, sex was still a private thing and she didn’t want anyone walking in on you two.

Preston

Sex with Preston would be pretty vanilla. This boy isn’t into anything weird or extreme, and not much into dom/sub play either. Things would rarely get wild inside the bedroom as he’d see sex more of an act of showing how much he loves and cares for you. (Sorry this one bad, I really don’t like Preston rip.)

X6-88

The concept of relationships is foreign to him and before you openly ask him to have sex with you, he’d never even thought about it. He’d say yes very casually, because he doesn’t understand that sex for couples can be a very special moment. Even if you tell him that it is something couples do when they love each other, he wouldn’t put much mind to it. You love him, he loves you, great, let’s have sex then. Though he’d definitely understand way better why people like having sex so much after actually doing it, he might never grasp the emotional bond that can form when two people who love each other have sex.

Bonus! Maxson

As elder, Maxson is used to showing dominance, ordering people around and demanding respect. At first, he’d take these things with him into the bedroom, because sex puts you in an vulnerable position and he was not vulnerable. No matter how much he trusted you, there was this irrational little voice in the back of his head that stopped him from letting down his walls. At least, that was what he was like at first. It would take him some time, maybe even a very long time, maybe it would actually take so long that you’d have to be the one suggesting it instead, but he’d finally be down to trying to take things slow. Keep in mind, this would only happen if he trusts you 100% and knows for certain that you haven’t breathed a word to anyone about how Maxson is in your relationship. He’d end up enjoying taking things slow a lot, but one night really changed everything. This one night was the one when you decided to take control. It was the first time in a very long time that Maxson let someone else do the work, where he could just lie back and enjoy being submissive, and enjoy it he did. But boy had you done something now. Maxson would always come to you after having a particularly stressful day and let you take control, to the point where him being dominant in bed would almost be a rare treat.

Oh boy why did I choose to start off with this? Haha

Also I only added Maxson because almost every blog sees him as a dom and I’m just not sure if I agree. But apart from this reaction, he’ll only be included if someone specifically asks for it.

#fallout 4 #fallout 4 reactions #reactions #cait #curie #danse #deacon #hancock #maccready #nick #piper #preston #x6-88 #maxson #smut

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sanguineness-wings · 3 years

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Why are you running?

(read on ao3)

Pairing: Hawks x gn!Reader

Rating: SFW

Warnings: bird traits/instincts

hawks/raptors have this instinct to chase and attack if you turn your back on them, so what if you accidentally trigger it 👀

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The sun was dipping low on the horizon, sending amber rays of light between the tightly packed skyscrapers. You shield your eyes from the light as you step out of the convenience store, your groceries in hand. After you take a moment for your eyes to adjust, you note a small crowd gathering just up the sidewalk from you. And from the center of it sprouts a large pair of crimson wings.

It’s a dead giveaway, those wings were plastered everywhere across the city, on billboards, on buses. There’s no escaping Hawks’ image.

As you watch on, the man himself suddenly hovers above his adoring fans, stretching out his impressive wing span leisurely. Leaving you with a perfect view of his wind tossed hair kissed with dying sunlight and a lopsided smile on his lips.

It makes your heart clench as you look on with awe. He’s so effortlessly beautiful it hurts to look at him. It’s also incredibly intimidating. How can those fans just talk to him like it’s nothing. You couldn’t even imagine.

Your staring must have caught his attention as suddenly his gaze turns and locks onto yours. You feel your stomach lurch, frozen with embarrassment. Hawks has the audacity to offer you a softer smile, making your cheeks heat up instantly.

Your brain screams at you to leave now. Your shyness urging you flee the unexpected attention. So you sharply turn your back to the crowd, and the gorgeous Pro Hero, and hurriedly make your escape.

Without consciously knowing why, you take a final glance over your shoulder. Even with Hawks’ signature visor over is eyes, you can see his pupils dilate, nearly completely blown black before constricting to tiny pin pricks in a split second. His smile has fallen from his face, leaving behind a cold blankness. A shiver runs through you and a cold sweat breaks out under your collar.

Your brain unhelpfully supplies, “Haha, I’m in danger!” Adrenaline courses through your veins and you run. A full sprint down the sidewalk in panic. It’s a ridiculous response in hindsight, but you’ve never seen such an inhuman look on Hawks’ face.

You barely make it a few feet before you feel a gust of wind behind you and suddenly your vision is nothing but red. Massive wings envelope you entirely as powerful arms lock around your waist, almost bruising in their strength. You’re dragged to your knees as the body behind you curls over your spine. You feel the prickle of stubble against your neck and jaw, hot puffs of breath against your skin. You’re utterly trapped.

All logical thoughts are thrown out the window with your heart thundering against your ribs. You don’t dare move a muscle.

An indiscernible amount of time passes before you hear a huffed laugh next to your ear, making you shudder.

“Well, isn’t this embarrassing, damn. I’m really sorry about all this. Are you alright?” Hawks says in a tight voice as he slowly releases you from his grip.

You’re shaking as you awkwardly stumble to your feet, Hawks aiding with a gentle, gloved hand on your elbow. When you finally get the courage to glance at his face, your heart does a somersault in your chest. A light blush dusts the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. He has a hand behind his head sheepishly, using the other to steady you on your jelly-like legs.

“I haven’t done something like that since I was a teenager in training,” he admits, bashfulness coloring his voice.

“…and what was that exactly?” You finally find your voice, wincing inwardly at how shaken it sounds.

“Oh you know, like…bird stuff? Well, hawk stuff? Like predator instinct?” Hawks shifts from foot to foot, looking anywhere but you.

“Like...you thought I was prey?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. Well, I mean kind of. But not really? It’s hard to explain. You turned your back and I just…couldn’t help myself. I’m really sorry. Did I hurt you at all?” Seeing this level of uncomfortableness on Hawks was so jarring from how he normally carries himself in the public eye. It was like all of his confidence was parred away.

“I’m okay, really. Just gave me a fright, that’s all.” You’re really trying your best to sound casual, adding a weak laugh to hopefully defuse the tension.

He humors you, offering a half-hearted smile as he stoops down to gather up your groceries that you didn’t notice had spilled across the sidewalk.

"Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I should be off. A hero’s job never stops.”

And with that he’s gone, taking off into the sky. You stand there dumbly on the sidewalk in shock for a few beats.

You then hear murmuring, whispering, and the click of photos being captured. Horrified, you realize Hawks’ fans were watching everything and recorded every second of it. You curse under your breath as you start rushing home, ignoring the growing crowd behind you. If Hawks wasn’t going to eat you alive, the internet certainly was.

---

Get it together, Hawks. What the hell was that?

The winged hero cursed at himself with gritted teeth and a furrowed brow as he shot across the sky. He shouldn’t have done that. He was trained not to do that. The Commission pushed him hard to ignore the animalistic pull to hunt and another traits they deemed unsightly or dangerous. And he had gotten good at suppressing those instincts. He passed all of their tests and drills after years of intense training. He never had a slip up since starting his Pro career.

His mind was racing as he tried to pin point what made him react like that. Did he let his guard down? Got too comfortable in the moment?

He thought of the way you trembled in his arms, immobilized with fear. The thundering of your panicked heart and the quiver of your voice. A shiver crept down his spine, making his hair and feathers stand on end. He liked it. The thrill of it all lighting up parts of his brain long neglected.

A frustrated growl escaped his lips, lost to the roar of the wind around him. He really shouldn’t be entertaining those thoughts, even for a moment. He felt gross.

He dug his phone from his pocket, sending a text to his PR manager. The least he could do was give them a heads up. Though pictures and videos of the whole incident were probably already circulating. His PR team had their work cut out for them, it was a seriously bad look for the hero.

Almost immediately after he sent the text his phone buzzed angrily with replies from his team and an incoming call from the Commission. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a long night.

---

The days following were a nightmarish blur of embarrassment and anxiety. Your brief brush with Hawks was plastered across every social media platform. You couldn’t escape all of the memes and GIFs. You wanted nothing more than to blink from existence.

Most people thought the whole thing was funny, even wishing it was them tackled to the sidewalk by Hawks. Your coworkers teased you mercilessly, constantly asking if you at least got his number afterwards.

There weren’t many, but a few comments filled you with anger. They were using this to fuel for their hatred towards those with heteromorphic quirks. They claimed that this proved they were dangerous, nothing more than animals. Which, of course, was ridiculous.

But you did your best to keep your head down and ignore the notifications on your phone. You kept reassuring yourself that this would all blow over soon. And sure enough by the end of the week the internet was distracted by “leaked” selfies of Hawks in grey sweatpants, posing in front of a bathroom mirror.

---

Hawks had just started an early morning patrol as he glided and weaved through the streets. He’d been taking on extra hours lately, finding it easier to distract himself on the job rather than staring at his bedroom ceiling. Who needed sleep anyway. If he stopped, all he could think about was you. The fear on your face. Your frantic pulse against his skin. Guilt gnawed away at him. He didn’t want to scare you, what type of hero would he be if he did.

Instead of dwelling on the thoughts eating at him, he focused on the streets below him. It was relatively quiet, only a scattering of people going about their lives. He swooped lower, maneuvering between lamp posts just for his own entertainment. He pulled up short abruptly, nearly smacking into one of them.

His heart lurched in his chest, recognizing you immediately as you made your way down the street. He had a little mental battle with himself. Half of him wanted to talk to you, just reassure himself that you were truly okay after all this madness. The other have was telling him to leave you alone, that he’d only made it worse.

After hovering awkwardly for a few moments he made his decision. He made a show of circling ahead of you before landing, trying not to startle you.

---

Having Hawks appear in front of you was the very last thing you expected on your walk to work. You had convinced yourself that you’d never see him again and that, even if your paths crossed, he wouldn’t want to be seen with you.

Yet here he was, with a charming smile on his face and feathers gleaming in the sun.

You approach him cautiously, pulling out your earbuds. “Um, hi?” you start apprehensively, not sure what the hero could possibly want from you.

As you catch up to him he starts walking beside you, joining you on your commute. His wing stretches out behind you and curls around your side. Smart, you think. Even if the two of you catch someone’s eye, you were largely blocked from view.

It’s comfortably warm beneath his wing, with your shoulders brushing against each other as you walk. Your heart speeds up a little, being this close to him is a little overwhelming. Especially with the memory of him being pressed over you still fresh in your mind.

“So, I wanted to start over, if that’s alright with you. I don’t think I gave you the best first impression,” Hawks explains, his eyes fixed ahead.

“Definitely a memorable one,” you quip lightheartedly. You were more mortified by all of the unwanted attention. You knew deep down you were never in any real danger.

Hawks snorts, making you glance at him. You watch him roll his eyes. “Not my best moment. I’m really sorry I scared you so badly. I swear I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone.”

It makes you pause as you stare at the side of his face. “I know you wouldn’t. And you didn’t even leave a mark. We can just say it was a...weird, unexpected hug. Leave it at that.”

Hawks’ gaze catches yours for a brief moment before looking away quickly, a serious look sliding onto his features. “You know that’s not what it was.”

“I know but...I’m not going to judge you for your bird stuff, or whatever it is. You’re still human. Even with the wings. We all have weird, awkward tendencies. I’m a mess of them too, and I don’t even have a Quirk. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.

“So don’t beat yourself up too much,” you say, gaining a bit of confidence the more you speak. “You’re not a monster.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, both lost in thought. You surprise yourself when you are the first to break it.

“Besides, I thought we were starting over. I’m y/n,” you begin, nudging his shoulder with your own as you offer him a warm smile.

“I’m Hawks, but you already knew that. Say, why don’t I treat you to some coffee. There’s this great little cafe not far from here. They have these pastries that are to die for. Trust me, you’ll love it!” The hero chatters away, with you still safely tucked away under his wing.

#hawks #hawks bnha #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x reader #echo writes

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

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“Nightcall” Harrison Eo Wells x reader

Chapter 3

Summary: As you taunt the devil another criminal may be ready to strike.

Gif credits go to the owner, I found this one on google.

Author’s note: let me know what you all think, if you have any suggestions, I hope you like it!

Once again, you were all brainstorming ideas about the man in yellow, nothing concrete, but the team had been stuck for a few days without making any progress.

“I just don’t believe that he doesn’t go somewhere after,” Barry commented.

You were sitting on Cisco’s desk and as you saw Wells roll into the cortex you decided to chip on your own ideas. Even tho he had specifically told you not to.

“You know I bet he has a day job too,” you said while noticing from the corner of your eye how Dr. Wells moved his head to look at you and rub two fingers over his lips, how he tended to do when he was thinking, probably how to get rid of you without attracting heat to himself.

“He seems smart, I bet he is some kind of doctor,” you spurred on. “I mean his suit seems pretty legit so he probably is very smart.” Now you were sassing him up. Oh boy were you sassing him up. You knew this risky comment had the potential to blow up on your face, but honestly it was a risk you were willing to take just by the look of Wells’ eyes.

“Very interesting idea y/n.” Wells said looking at you with that fake smile he gave people. God how you wanted to whip it off his face.

“Actually Dr. Wells I was wondering if I could talk to you about something” you asked him as you hopped off the desk.

He only nodded and signaled you to follow him. This plan could very much make you or break you. You were hoping for the first one.

“Those two seem to be talking a lot lately” Cisco commented once you were out of earshot.

Once in Wells’ office you reclined yourself against his desk and looked at him.

“So I have been thinking about your proposition.” You began to speak.

“My proposition? I don’t believe I have proposed anything to you” he said, the look on his face was unbelievable, you had some nerve to be sassing him up so much, and the worst part was that he couldn’t kill you or get rid of you just yet without making it obvious and drawing attention to himself.

“Yes, your proposition about me not speaking and you not killing me” you continued.

“I have thought about it, and I’m willing to accept with one condition.”

He couldn’t believe you. He just couldn’t believe that you were either stupid enough or brave enough to face him.

“I don’t believe I gave you a choice or that you have one, what part of dying was not clear to you?” He added.

“Trust me it was very clear to me since you literally stuck a hand in me, but killing aside, I will keep your secret on a condition, so please at least humor me, we both know you can’t kill me, for what reason is unclear to me but if you really wanted me dead I would be by now.”

You would be the fault in his plan if he didn’t do something about you fast. You were too smart and too fearless of him to be scare that easy. Or too stupid as he had previously thought.

“What is that condition?” He would humor you, play your game and let you think you had the upper hand until he could get rid of you.

“I will play along with you and keep your secret safe, going as far as making sure no one else suspects of you, only if you promise me that once this is all over, and you get whatever it is you are trying to achieve that you will leave a confession freeing Barry’s father of the murder of Nora.”

Now that wasn’t that hard, he would be gone, it wouldn’t affect him in any way, and if that’s what it took to keep you quite then he would oblige.

“Fine, I give you my word.” He said.

“And you won’t hurt Barry badly, or anyone else in the team” you added, feeling a wave of bravery.

“Don’t push your luck little one or you will find out what happens when you taunt me.” he said through gritted teeth, he was a very patient man, but you had a way of pushing his buttons like no one that he had encountered in a long time.

After your little conversation with Wells you felt more confident than ever, you had managed to at least get something out of it and the enjoyment of messing with him, it made you feel powerful.

“Well someone is in a good mood” Cisco said as you entered the cortex smiling and more relaxed than they had seen you in a long time.

“What happened back there?” Cisco insinuated as he looked at you suspiciously.

“Gross Cisco! Gross!” You screamed at him with a fake look of disgust.

“I’m just saying!” He added raising his hands in the air in an apologetic manner.

“Alright you guys,” you called everyone’s attention.

“I’m going to get some coffee, anyone wants anything?”Everyone made their orders and you left to Jitters.

It was getting dark by the time you were getting out of Jitters, walking to your car with your hands full, you struggled to get the key out of your pocket, and as you placed the coffees on the roof of your car and looked at your window to open the car you screamed in fear as a hand covered your mouth with some kind of clothe and the other one grabbed your neck beginning to drag you away.

Back at Star labs, the team had began to wonder what was taking you so long. It was normal to take some time since Jitters wasn’t exactly a street away, but you had been gone for almost two hours.

Just as Barry was about to tell Cisco to try and call you for the twentieth time, a message was being broadcasted on the tv.

“Cisco!”Caitlin urged him as she pointed to the monitor. “Put the volume up!”

“Flash!” The knowing voice of Captain Cold came through the speakers. “I have a friend of yours. If you don’t come and surrender yourself, she will die.” He added in his typical singsong way of speaking.

“Flash don’t come for me!” You could be heard screaming in the background, the focus changed to you as the image showed another man putting a gag in your mouth while you were tied to a chair.

“We need to do something fast” Barry said as he raised his hands to his hair in desperation. In that moment doctor Wells who had seen the whole ordeal from the entrance to the cortex spoke.

“We need to be careful Mister Allen, we don’t know where they are keeping her or if Captain Cold still have the cold gun.”

“Dr. Wells is right, we need to be careful, acting on impulse may not be the best call right now.” Caitlin added.

“I know but we can’t just stay and do nothing! He has y/n” he desperately added.

“I’m aware but I do caution restrain.” He added.

They planned a strategy, as Barry made it to the meeting point, Cisco and Joe would go to see the location where they suspected you were being kept.

As Barry struggled to defeat Cold and Heat Wave. Dr. Wells and Caitlin stayed behind guiding them through the operation. When Barry finally manage to neutralize Cold and Rory a bigger problem arose.

“Guys!” Came Cisco desperate voice through the comms. “She isn’t here, this was a decoy” he added.

Barry looked down on Cold, and as he grabbed him by his shirt collar he shook him.

“Where is she!?” Desperation could be heard in his voice.

“Flash, you really thought it would be that easy to find her? I hope you said your goodbyes earlier since in a matter of around two minutes your little friend will blow into the air.”

Dread came over Barry as he realized that no matter how fast he managed to search the city it wasn’t enough time to find you.

“I will give you a hint, why don’t you start in the East side?” Cold added as he smiled sarcastically at Barry.

Back the labs Wells excused himself from Caitlin and went to his time vault. He needed to find you fast. It was true that this was the perfect chance to finally get rid of you, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let you die by the hands of Cold.

You were seated in some kind of abandoned warehouse. In what part of town you had no idea, but you were painfully aware of the ticking bomb at the bottom of your chair. And as you heard the ticking get faster you were sure that was it, this is how you were going to die. If Barry hadn’t found you yet, you doubted he would on time.

As the seconds came to cero time seemed to stop all together, and in flash of red you were whisked away as the bomb went off and the explosion resonated all around you.

Your eyes watered as your mouth opened to let a sigh of relief come out. You squeezed Barry’s neck and placed your forehead on his shoulder as you breathed him in only for a second later to recognize this particular smell. This wasn’t Barry. As you opened your eyes you were met with a yellow suit and a pair of red glowing eyes. Still in his arms you hugged him again, adrenaline controlling your actions.

“I have never been happier to see you” you said, he only nodded and put you down on the floor.

As he speeded away you saw Barry coming to you fast. Relief could be read all over him the moment his eyes landed on you.

“She is safe” is all he said through the comms to the team.

“How, how did you managed to escape?” He questioned you once you were all back at Star labs as Caitlin checked you over.

“ I am not sure, I managed to free myself from the ropes but the bomb may have glitched as I had enough time to run as far as I could” you explained, trying to sound convincing.

“I mean but you don’t even have a scratch on you” Barry kept questioning you.

“I think I just had a lucky star tonight.” You said as you looked over at Harrison, who had just entered the med bay area.

“I think we should let Miss y/n rest for tonight Mister Allen.” Dr. Wells added.

“Yeah, I am just glad you are okay.”Barry added as they all walked out to let you rest for the night.

Wells was the last to leave and as he was about to roll out the door you stopped him. You had so many questions to ask him. He could have easily let you die and get rid of you without being suspicious, but he hadn’t.

“Why did you save me?” You asked when you were sure no one was close by. He only smiled at you and turned around, leaving as you sat there with now more questions about the man than ever before.

@mintchipcupcake

@nellethiel-aranel

@saltykidcreation

@twilightlover2007

#the flash imagines #eobard thawne fanfic #eowells fanfic #eowells x reader #harrison wells fanfic #harrison wells x y/n #eobard thawne x reader #harrison wells fanfiction #harrison wells imagine #harrison eo wells fanfic #harrison eo wells x reader #eobard thawne x reader fanfic #the flash fanfiction

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Impersonation

A Haytham Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Sexual Humor

Author’s Note: Since my last Christmas fic was with Shay, I had to give y’all a Haytham one! DAY 11 OF TCF’s! Enjoy! -Thorne

“This…is an incredibly terrible idea, Shay.” she stated, resisting the urge to direct him away from the doors of the mansion. The music and laughter could be heard all the way outside, and each step only heightened her nerves.

He chuckled. “Relax, (Y/N).” he smiled at the couple passing them. “No one’s gonna know.”

“Someone is,” she couldn’t help but retort, heart pounding out of her chest as they walked up to the British officer at the door.

The man smiled politely at them, but she knew it was a smile that screamed, ‘I hate my life and I certainly hate you as well’.

“Invitation, please.” He said, and Shay dug inside the coat he wore.

He handed it over, watching with slight concern as the man looked it over. (Y/N) could feel the sweat drip down her spine, feeling like the man was reading it with suspicion.

Finally, he looked at them. “Lord and Lady Sheamus O’Kieran?”

They grinned and Shay murmured, “That’s us.” He rubbed the back of her hand. “It’s been a while since me and the Lady attended a ball. We’ve been traveling.”

“I understand, sir.” He nodded, handing back the invitation. “A pleasure to have you here tonight.” Turning, the Redcoat gestured inside. “Please enjoy yourselves.”

(Y/N) and Shay tipped their heads politely and stepped inside, immediately breathing heavy sighs of relief.

“Oh my god, I was sure we were going to get in trouble there.” She remarked, a hand massaging her chest.

“I told you we’d be fine.” His coffee eyes scanned the ballroom, taking in the sight of at least a hundred or so people all laughing and drinking. “Is this what upper-class parties are like?”

She huffed. “This place is boring compared to Callaghan’s on a Friday night.”

Shay snorted. “Agreed. It seems the people who govern us little ones don’t know how to party.”

He spied a servant walking past with a tray and grinned, snatching two champagne shoots. “Here you are, Lady O’Kieran.”

She took the drink. “Thank you, Lord O’Kieran.” Raising her glass to his, she warned, “Now remember, the whole point of tonight isn’t to get piss drunk. We’re here to—”

She narrowed her gaze as he started drinking. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”

Shay eyed her. “I heard, ‘get piss drunk’, and decided to follow the instructions.”

“You’re a dipshit, Shay.” (Y/N) griped, taking a sip of her own. Her face scrunched up and she inconspicuously spat the champagne back into the glass. A shiver ran through her and she gagged. “Ugh.”

He chuckled. “It’s surprising that you don’t like that, considering the fact that you drink whiskey.”

She smacked her lips awkwardly, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. “Yeah, but whiskey actually tastes good.” (Y/N) glared into the shoot. “In the wise words of your dearly departed father, this tastes like horse piss.”

Shay had to fake a cough to hide his bark of laughter. “He’d be proud of you.”

They lapsed into silence, simply strolling around, and observing the party and décor. Stopping near one of the giant glass windows, she took to scrutinizing the gentlemen of the party.

A nudge to her side, followed by a whisper caught her attention. “Lady O’Kieran, you’re supposed to be a married woman. Are you searching for a lover?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and looked at him. “Well, someone has to satisfy a woman’s needs and you’re not.”

Shay actually seemed offended by that one, placing a hand to his chest. “That hurt.”

“You’ll live,” she retorted, eyes following the men until she landed on one talking to an older woman. He was handsome, strong facial features, broad shoulders, definitely fit under all those layers, and his eyes. Oh, his eyes were drop dead striking, like gunmetal. And she wanted to know them. Badly.

She tapped repeatedly at his arm. “That one. I want that one.”

Shay shoved his face against hers, his facial hair scratching her cheek as he asked, “Which one?”

(Y/N) nodded at the dark-haired man, taking in the crimson ribbon that neatly tied his hair back. “The one with the tricorn.”

His face pinched. “You mean the one that screams, ‘I’m a pretentious asshole that has a stick shoved up my arse’? That one.”

A smirk grew on her lips. “Oh yeah.” She sighed. “I want to climb that man like a tree.”

He gagged. “Gross.”

“Are you kidding me, Shay?” she questioned, nodding at the man who’d begun to look around. “Look at his hands. And his thighs. And his really…firm…body. That is a man who knows what a woman wants and how to give it to her.”

“I’m really glad you’ve finally found someone to break your celibacy vow, but please, please, please, understand that I am not as interested in men as you are.”

“From what I’ve seen in Portugal, you’re a damn liar,” she countered.

Shay scowled at her. “I thought we agreed to not bring that up.”

(Y/N) turned to him. “No, you said, ‘don’t bring this up’ and I nodded.”

“That means you agreed.”

“No, I would have to verbally express understanding to agree. I never did.”

Shay leaned forward, but before he could say anything, someone cleared their throat, making them slap smiles on their faces and turn.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm at the sight of the man they’d been talking about, suddenly standing in front of her.

His steely gaze was focused on her. “Good evening.”

The two of them bowed politely. “Good evening, sir.” She replied, Shay following in suit.

He held out his hand to Shay. “I don’t believe you and I have ever met. Haytham Kenway.”

She watched Shay take Haytham’s hand, firmly shaking it. “Shay—” (Y/N) elbowed him in the side with a cheery smile and he corrected. “Sheamus. Sheamus O’Kieran.”

He let go and gestured to (Y/N). “This is my wife—”

Holding her hand out, she said, “Temperance O’Kieran. A pleasure to meet you.” She giggled as Haytham pressed a kiss to her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady O’Kieran.” He murmured, and she could palpably feel Shay rolling his eyes at them.

Haytham freed her hand and eyed them. “I’ve made a habit of knowing the guests of this party, and while I know the regulars, I’ve never seen the two of you.” His gaze was kind, but she could see the suspicion brewing within. “What do the two of you do?”

Shay’s mouth opened, but nothing came out and (Y/N) quickly intervened. “We work for a businessman over in New York. He usually attends the parties, but he came down with a cold and asked us to fill in for him.”

“Rather unusual,” Haytham remarked, but left it alone. “Is this your first time?”

“It is,” Shay said. “First in a while, that is. We’ve been traveling.”

“Oh?” It seemed the man’s interest had been piqued. “Where to?” The question was directed at Shay, but his eyes were on (Y/N).

Her friend rolled his eyes. “My drink is empty. I’m going to get another one.” He looked at (Y/N). “You should stay and talk.”

Her brows pulled together as she eyed the drink in his hand. “What are you talking about? You have a glass full—”

She pulled an unimpressed look as Shay tipped his head back and downed the whole thing, before handing her the glass.

“Look at that, my drink is empty.” He remarked with a smart tone.

(Y/N) let out an unladylike snort, and though a grin came across her lips, she wheezed, “I hate you, so much.” Shay winked and stalked off, leaving her to turn back to Haytham who wore an amused expression.

“I take it that Sheamus knows when to have a moment to himself?” he inquired.

She huffed, fumbling with the two champagne shoots. “Only when I tell him off.”

Haytham laughed, taking the two glasses from her, though hers was full.

“Oh wait, I wasn’t—” she started, but he cut her off.

“You didn’t like it anyways.” He said and she felt her cheeks heat up.

“You…saw that?”

He chuckled. “Only the ones who were watching.”

(Y/N) felt a smirk cross her lips. “Oh? Were you watching me, Haytham?” she tutted at him. “Shame on you for eyeing a married woman.

He pulled a coy smile, holding out a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Her heart dropped. “I can’t dance.” She blurted out, and when he cocked a brow, she added, “Well. I can’t dance well.” (Y/N) motioned to his boots. “I’ll step on toes.”

Haytham took her hand anyway, pulling her to the floor. “Step on them anyway, Temperance.”

“Ho boy.” She muttered, then upon seeing other couples coming their way, she asked, “What dance are we doing? Please be a Riverdance. Please be a Riverdance.”

He glanced to the orchestra. “I believe it’s a La Bonne Amité.” Haytham smiled at the anxiety on her face. “Follow my lead.”

“I’ll try,” (Y/N) ground out.

Haytham turned sideways, her following and took his hat off, bowing low. She quickly curtsied, then faced him, giving him one as well.

They tapped opposite hands, and when they came together, he murmured, “Remember to smile.”

***

By the time they were finished, her feet were killing her, and Haytham knew it, leading her away.

“Tired you out already?” he teased, causing her to huff.

“Oh please, dancing is a different type of game than se��running!” she corrected herself, a warmth spreading across her cheeks as she internally cursed herself.

Haytham chuckled at her. “You’re a curious woman, Temperance.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “And how many women have you twisted that line to?”

His steel eyes narrowed. “Just the ones who intrigue me.”

“Haytham, I hate to make you unhappy, but I’m a marr—”

“You’re not married,” he abruptly stated, making her go silent, jaw slack. “And your reaction proves it.”

Before she could say anything, her eyes caught sight of the Redcoat from the door pointing at her and muttering something to the guard next to him.

Her eyes went wide, and she gulped. “Uh oh.”

Haytham’s eyes followed hers. “What is it?”

She didn’t respond, quickly bypassing him. “Time to go.”

(Y/N) hurried off, searching wildly for Shay, but he was nowhere to be found. “Motherfucker, where is he?” she cursed to herself.

Darting into the hallway, she was met with a row of doors and she groaned, hurriedly opening them. After the fifth one, she swung open the door and saw Shay bent over a desk, a woman on top of him.

She blinked at them, then spat, “Hey!” Their heads snapped to him. “You’re supposed to be married, you dumb fucker.”

Shay scoffed, sitting up as the woman turned her face away. “Way to ruin the moment, (Y/N).”

She shook her head, running over to him. “Doesn’t matter, we have to go. Now.”

“Why?” he questioned, and she reached over, snatching him by the ear.

“Because they know! We have to go now!”

He batted her hand away, gently lowering the woman to her feet. “I promise if you come to the pub downtown called Callaghan’s, I’ll be there.”

The woman smiled and (Y/N) leaned over, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Sis, this man is a damn fool, do not trust a word that comes out of his mouth.”

“HEY!” Shay shouted, but she was too busy, yanking him off.

“Come on! I do not wanna hang because we impersonated lords and ladies!”

They stuck their head out the door and saw a pair of Redcoats down the hallway. The woman walked out of the room, ignoring the guards and (Y/N) shut the door.

“Okay, we need to leave.”

“Out the window?!” Shay yelped and she nodded.

“That’s our only option!” She started towards the window but stopped and yanked at her dress. “Shit! I can’t climb in this thing.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “Do you have a knife on you? I need to get out of this now.”

Shay shook his head. “No, I don’t have one on me.”

“Why not?!” she hissed, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, I have one.”

“Where?” he asked, and she fell silent. “(Y/N), where’s the knife?”

She swallowed thickly, starting to bunch up her dress. “Strapped to my thigh.” Her eyes met his and she waited.

His face streaked crimson. “I am not crawling under your dress.”

“Shay Cormac get this knife from my leg or we’re fucked!” she ordered.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned, kneeling in front of her to feel up her thigh. She felt an uncomfortable feeling welling in her and she looked down at him.

“Hurry!” she spat. “And don’t stick your hand up my drawers or I’ll bloody your nose.”

“Not like I haven’t seen anything up there before,” he retorted, then his hand stopped. “I think I’ve got it.”

However, before he could remove it, the door opened and they turned their gazes to the man entering, afraid it was a Regular. It wasn’t.

“Haytham?” (Y/N) exclaimed, and his eyes drug over the two. “I swear to God this isn’t what it looks like.” He cocked a brow and she sighed. “I have a knife strapped to my leg and I need it to get the dress off.”

He hummed. “It seems to me that two Regulars are chasing after a supposed lord and lady.” Crossing over to them, he extended some blade from his wrist and cut the ties on the back of her dress, shirking them down. The skirt fell with it, leaving her in her drawers and bodice.

If she hadn’t been terrified of being caught, she would’ve been embarrassed. Haytham helped her step out of the fabric and Shay hurried to the window, propping it open.

“Come on!” he commanded and (Y/N) hesitated, drawing her eyes from Haytham to him.

“Why aren’t you turning us in?” she questioned, staring him down.

His eyes narrowed. “Because I’m curious.”

Before she could say anything, Shay complained, “Hey, Cecilia Celibate, are you done trying to get into his pants yet?”

She whirled around on him. “As a matter of fact, no! I’m not done yet!” (Y/N) spun and grabbed Haytham by the lapels of his cloak and yanked him forward into a searing kiss.

Pulling away, she breathed, “God, if you and I ever meet again, I want to bang you like a door in a hurricane.” Haytham choked on his spit and she let him go, chasing after Shay, who’d already descended into the garden.

(Y/N) winked as she climbed the railing and vaulted over the side.

***

“So, Shay, tell me about your friend who’s been running with you for some time now.” Haytham’s question was barely audible over the howling of the snowstorm, and Shay had to crane his neck to hear.

“(Y/N). She’s my best friend sir. The unofficial-official first mate of the Morrigan.”

“Oh?” The Grandmaster hummed. “I thought Gist was.”

Shay shrugged his shoulders and grabbed the tavern door handle. “Well, he is, but the crew knows to take her orders as if they were mine.”

“You trust her quite a lot then.” Haytham surmised.

“Aye, I do. Especially now that she’s joined me with the Templars.” The Assassin-Hunter held the door for him, following inside after.

The warmth of the fireplace reached them, a stark contrast from the absolutely frigid temperature outside and Shay nodded to a woman at the counter.

“That’s her,” he murmured and Haytham looked over, seeing a familiar woman.

***

(Y/N) tapped the counter, eyes following the old man behind it. “Callaghan, can I get three shots of whiskey? Irish, please.”

The silver bearded man turned to her, placing the shot glasses down. “Is someone joining you and Shay?”

She watched as he poured the amber liquid. “Yeah, our boss.”

“Ah,” Callaghan remembered. “The one Shay’s been under.”

(Y/N) nodded. “For a while. He’s been running it and working on getting me in. He said that the boss would meet me tonight and decide if I was material for the outfit.”

“Of course you are lassie. Look at you.” His calloused hands waved at her. “You and the lad would be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

She smiled and looked down. “Yeah…tell me about it.”

“(Y/N)!” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes meeting Shay’s, then to the man beside him, and her heart stutter, eyes going wide.

She blinked, then turned to the bartender, deadpanning, “Callaghan, I’d like to change my order to a large glass of whiskey. Actually, just give me the bottle, because I’m gonna to go dive off a cliff and I don’t want it to hurt so bad.”

“Recognize him?” the bartender whispered.

“More than you know.” She replied, immediately grabbing the first shot glass. She downed it, then the other two went with it.

(Y/N) shuddered, then spun on her seat, grinning at the man. “Haytham. Fancy meeting you again.”

He smiled knowingly at her. “Merry Christmas…Temperance O’Kieran.”

She coughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Actually, me and the feller,” her eyes darted to Shay who wore a shit-eating grin, “divorced.”

Sticking out her hand, she introduced herself. “(Y/N) (L/N). A pleasure.”

Haytham took her hand, kissing the back of it. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #shay cormac

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rainbowsky · 3 years

Text

More on the Fan Fic issue

I have a few more asks about the issue raised the other day, some of which are long and go into detail on the 'wars' that have been happening on Twitter and AO3.

Sorry for grouping these but I wanted to put it all under a cut because these are long, and also in case people don't want to dig into these issues (which would be understandable).

Anonymous 1 asked:

"I am very strongly of the opinion that the BJYX term is still a fandom umbrella term" I agree. Mainly because Bjyx is the most popular. Many antis always say bjyx, and have no idea the others. So sometimes it's easier just to say bjyx instead of explaining all three. I myself more like "who cares as long as they happy." So I enjoy Yizhan in all contexts. Many bxgs I know also like that, mostly ibxgs. I think deep down all bxgs (no matter which position they prefer) just want Yizhan to be happy

Not sure we can be so certain about that last part, Anon (I think for a lot of people GG and DD are just characters in a smutty story they have in their heads), but I agree about the term being popular regardless of the type of fans people are.

From what I can see the BJYX term seems to be used 80-90% umbrella, 10-20% dynamic in both international and c-social media (for every 10 times you see the term used, only one or two of those usages - probably less - are referring to a dynamic). This is my totally unscientific estimation, but I think even 10-20% dynamic is being generous. The number of people who are fixated on a sexual dynamic aren't nearly as large as they'd like to believe.

Anonymous 2 asked:

about the promptfests - i’ve been on twitter since early 2020 and what i’ve noticed is that this influx bjyx-only promptfests started gaining speed once lots of rational voices started leaving the fandom recently either because a) new interests have caught their attention or b) the toxicity of the popular bxg circles on twitter have become too much to handle.

gdgdbaby was usually the organizer of dynamic-inclusive events, and she’s received lots, and lots, and lots of backlash by bxg, sometimes even by accounts with thousands followers, for using bjyx as a catch-all term. and as her interest in yizhan has since waned—hopefully for reasons unrelated to fandom toxicity—many of the people who were attracted to the welcoming environment she created distanced themselves as well.

zsww/lsfy fans have become an outnumbered circle who try their best to create exclusive events to avoid the “is bjyx a catch-all term” discourse, but never seem to gain as much traction as gdgdbaby (who has a sizeable following) or those who host bjyx-only events (who also have sizeable followings).

meanwhile the dynamic war has only become more and more hostile and bjyx is clearly the more populated group… ao3 is simply a battlegrounds, if i may dramatize the situation a little for the sake of humor, and the promptfests are a reaction to this irritating t/b discourse that has made bxg twitter completely inhospitable for me…and lots of other fans too.

(i’ve also noticed a huge reinforcement as of recently where ppl will call gg laopo, a milf, an omega, etc even outside of rpf (i.e. posting pictures of him at events and saying he looks pregnant or he’s going into heat) and it’s just… uncomfortable.)

(also please note i have a biased account of all of this drama bc many of my friends were harassed over it, and anyone who disagrees with my take may feel free to interject.)

I took the liberty of adding paragraph breaks because they are pretty important for some readers, particularly ND readers like me.

It's sad to hear how fucked up everything has become, but I'm not even remotely surprised. Toxicity leads to toxicity, and the whole idea of dividing up a RP fandom by sex position was misguided from the outset - no matter why it was done or how good the intentions might have been.

And yes, like I said, these people aren't just framing things this way for fan fic. This is how they talk about IRL GGDD.

I had written a lengthy essay here about homophobia in the fandom but deleted it all. Perhaps I'll post it separately at some later point. Suffice it to say that this stuff creates a climate that's often hostile for queer people. So much of it is deeply homophobic, whether people are aware of it or not.

It's really sad to hear about gdgdbaby being mistreated in any way. Anyone who steps up and sticks their neck out to help organize and coordinate activities that benefit a broader group of people should be celebrated and supported, not run out of town by an angry mob.

I've read some of her stories and even have one or two on my rec list. And here's someone who is not only writing good works, but also supporting others to write more good works. Such a shame.

Anonymous 3 asked:

Hello Mr. RBS! I think I can chime in a bit about the fanfic topic as I’ve watched this all unravel on twitter (where a majority of authors/readers are). I apologize if this gets long but it’s been something that’s also been on my mind.

I want to preface this by saying that I’m not a fan of the distinctions of dynamics as, like you said, the supposed line between real life and fanfic is long gone, so I’m not trying to be biased against one group over another.

Short answer to the question of, “is this retaliation?” : I do believe it is. (From here onwards I’ll be using bjyx as the dynamic term just for the ease of simplicity.) To understand why, I’ll have to explain with a bit of background info. On twitter, I’d say that there’s a quite large divide between bjyx and zsww/lsfy. That itself isn’t really a problem because people are free to like what they like and associate with whoever.

However there is a big problem where bjyx people are not just bjyx but also anti-zsww/lsfy. To the point where I’ve seen people say that they feel physically ill when they accidentally read zsww. I don’t think this type of behavior should exist in any dynamic bc in the end GGDD are real people with a real relationship behind this content and it’s just a gross fetishization at that point.

With all this happening, zsww/lsfy people have gotten more outspoken on how GG is often portrayed in those types of scenarios, mainly the over-feminization of him, bc it’s not just done in the context of fanfic but regular discussion of GGDD at this point. This tension between the dynamics kind of boiled over when the pregnant xz fest was announced, as you can take a guess at how that went over with zsww/lsfy people. lol.

But around that same time, another zsww/lsfy event was announced (I’m not sure if it’s the one anon was talking about) but the creator of the event suddenly got a ton of backlash for excluding bjyx, with the reasoning that bjyx is technically a part of lsfy. But the event was done to highlight zsww/lsfy (as all specific events are) bc the community and content for these dynamics are much less than bjyx.

Which is how we come back to the starting point of, is all this recent bjyx stuff retaliatory. I believe so bc the events (preg fest, dark event) are very specific prompts that target exactly what zsww/lsfy people have been outspoken against.

As to the point anon made about trying to drown out the tags, keep in mind that zsww/lsfy content is very minimal compared to bjyx and has only just recently started to gain more traction. I think most people would love to just peacefully exist in their own circles but I don’t see this problem between dynamics disappearing anytime soon.

Like I said with the above Anon, I've added paragraph breaks for ND readers.

What a mess.

I have absolutely nothing useful to say here about the fandom on AO3 and how it's managed by community members, but I do think it's unfortunate that people choose to be war-like rather than make space for diverse voices, and I think it's a real shame that some people have been essentially run out of the fandom because of this garbage.

Thanks for giving some context for how/why the major shift in tone of fan fic lately. I had no idea any of this was going on.

I urge people to work hard to give space for all voices and perspectives, and not just the ones they favor. I'd also urge people to reflect on how their thoughts, behavior and actions in the fandom might affect queer people in the fandom.

As always, we have no control over what other people do, say or think. All we have any control over is how we respond to what other people do, say or think. Hopefully we'll chose the path of peace and try to avoid fan wars or fights that only ruin the experience for everyone.

I guess one thing I'd ask any of the Anons who have written me about this issue - or anyone who has thoughts about it - is, what can we as readers/fans who care about diversity of voices and perspectives do to support that here and on AO3, without getting involved in any kind of war?

#fan fiction #fandom reflections #top bottom #ask

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memurfevur-archive · 2 years

Text

Jaded Gold

Character(s): Rutaci Faurux, Liahne Zaleae

About: In the times before Omnius’ intervention, here lies a story of two Trolls falling in love. A farmer and a wanderer who must learn to be open with each other.

Word Count: 4,485

You asked for a farmhand. With your choppy spelling and grammar, it was a surprise anyone could read the ad at all, but she came. A young and sweet Jadeblood with bright eyes and an innocently shaped face. Her laugh was something like chimes tingling softly in the breeze, and her smile was soft, sweet. You were uncertain if she would be cut out for the work you do, but the least you could do was humor her for coming all this way.

You showed her the basics. You explained to her the routine. She made faces at the gross chores, but she never complained. Her hands were too soft; she had never done this type of work before. She spoke gently to the animals, as if they could understand, and she would caress the crops softly when she tended to them. You couldn't tell if you were overcome with curiosity or admiration.

She worked diligently until dawn, lasting the whole night, which took you by surprise. She wasn't strong, that's for sure. You had to do any heavy lifting and helped her by setting things up for her use. Her calmness always made you bite your tongue about how you could've just done the work yourself. She never raised her voice, and when she spoke there was never uncertainty. You weren't sure how to feel about her.

"Thank you," she approached you after clean up. The work day was over, and soon it would be time to retire. A warm meal, a hot shower to loosen the stiff muscles, all things you looked forward to with relief. You were itching for it, rather, and looked to her impatiently as she spoke. "I learned a lot today. I think I will do better tomorrow now that I know what to do here. Thank you for having me here."

Thanking you? For making her work?

"I have yer check inside, if that's what yer probing for," you answered gruffly.

"Oh no! I mean, the money is appreciated, and is why I'm here, but I'm thanking you for this opportunity. It was nice."

You studied her for a moment, then disappeared inside your hive leaving her to blink after you and wondering if she had upset you. You soon reemerged with the aforementioned check in your hand. "I got it here. I uh, I'm not good with names. If ya can just remind me, I can address this here right and send you on ya way."

"Liahne," she said. "Liahne Zaleae."

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Dusk of the second day. To your surprise, she returned. The brightness in her eyes never dimmed, remaining the same as it was the day before. She was as willing as ever to work.

And work she did, ever so silently, movement quick and clumsy but able. He took her to the barn, showed her how to feed the cattle, and handle the moobeasts' udders. She would make an excellent student; quiet, observing, aware that mistakes were inevitable yet that never slowed her down. You watched her carefully and guided her hands where they needed to be, moving her through the motions. Your hands are much larger than hers, calloused, an ugly contrast. When you were comfortable with the thought of leaving her to finish off the moobeast, you moved on to the next one and placed a pail under. You would notice the slight blush on her cheekbones, but neither of you said anything of it. Tch. City folk.

"Do they have names?" Liahne spoke. It was after a long, comfortable silence. You tossed her a glance from the corner of your eyes.

"No." You never had a need to name your animals. From working with them for so long, you knew how to distinguish each one from the other. This one had a heart shaped splotch on its side.

"Oh."

Another stretch of silence passed.

"How long have you been a farmer?"

"Long." You weren't much for conversation. People were always too hard to talk to. They always carried some sort of expectation, and you could never figure out what kind it was that you were meant to settle into. You were afraid to know what Liahne's expectations were. She seemed so soft and sweet, perhaps she had none at all? You cast her another glance; her eyes were focused on her task. You press your lips into a thin line, "Ya from near here?"

She looked up, a pleasant look of surprise on her face. She smiled, "Not at all, though I can't say I'm from afar either." When you gave her a blank stare, she added, "I don't have a hive of my own, Sir."

You tilted your head, "Ain't Jades like you s'poseta be in the caverns?"

Her features slackened and you immediately regretted your words. Though she tried not to show it, you could see the difference like night and day even though you've only known her for one. She was upset, but you couldn't figure out why. You opened your mouth to take back what you said, but she cut you off.

"I wanted to take a vacation. See the world and everything." Her eyes fell on you in such a way that your breath became caught in your throat. "Do you ever feel like there's something bigger than you, and you've got to go see it for yourself? Maybe life might mean something more if you find a way to live it?" You swallow a lump in your throat. Of course you've felt it. "I'm still trying to figure out how, is all."

"And if there ain't? A way to figure it out, I mean, or if there ain't somethin' big out there after all."

She tilted her head, looking at you through her lashes. It was a knowing look, as if she was in on a big secret you were never made aware of. You found yourself hanging on her words. "I don't believe in destiny, Mr. Faurux, and I don't believe in fate. I think only I can know what it is when I get there. Ya never know," she turned and continued milking the moobeast. "Maybe the things that are so much bigger than us are the small things after all."

Later that day, you invited for her to stay in the spare guest room you had in your small hive. Your hive wasn't anything with much grandeur, and you lived rather practically with few major comforts. Despite this, Liahne seemed eager and thanked you continuously for your generosity. She even kissed you on the cheek in gratitude, an action that left your face ablaze.

"You can stay here as long as ya need, as ya work for me," you watched as she ran her delicate hands over te surface of her new coon-side dresser.

"Thank you so, so much! I'll do my best not to disappoint you!"

You? She didn't need to impress you, she just needed a place to sleep. You rub the back of your neck and give her a silent nod, then turned and let her be. You hoped she didn't catch the flush that heated your face.

++++++++++++++++++++

Moons have passed. Her hands had grown surer in their tasks, and she was able to do some of the heavy lifting herself. She had grown comfortable in the hive, and sometimes she would make lemonade and bring it out for you both to enjoy. She's met your poker buds, and despite the endless taunts, teases, and jabs about the two of you being lovers, Liahne always smiled and laughed about it. You never made a comment to suggest otherwise, either. Everyone knew they were good faith jokes, even if you and Liahne had grown closer than originally intended.

This closeness always took you by surprise. She would touch you so casually, placing a hand on your shoulder or embracing you. Though sometimes overwhelming, you've grown to enjoy them. She seemed to understand you, too, in ways you can't fathom. She'll hum you lullabies on days when physical contact makes you an anxious stimming mess. She wraps you in blankets, has even gifted you some plush toys, so that you can relax with something soft. She's learned your favorite meals, and has made it known how she plans to master them. Maybe it's just a caring nature she adopted from her time in the caverns? Maybe all Jadebloods are like this, who knows? It brought a flush to your cheeks everytime, however. Even your buddies never made as much of an effort to understand you as much as she did. They'd tease you about your insecurities, mess with you over your fears and difficulties with socializing. You loved them, but they weren't her. Liahne was somehow different than anyone you've ever known.

You noticed things about her, too. You learned how the light from the moons illuminated Liahne's form differently depending on their phases. You learned of her love for flowers, and had started a small flower garden in front of the hive just for her. You noticed how often she would bring her hands to her face, skirting the edges of sheepishness. You've counted the freckles on her cheeks, you've watched all the different shapes her lips would form when she talked. You learned that she liked her teas with three sugar cubes and a splash of milk. She's quick to laugh, quick to tease, and as kind and careful even though she holds an ounce of sass in her spirit that you've grown to admire. It was nice to see her joke like one of the boys and deliver roasts that leaves them quietly stunned. Sometimes, on nights where you two couldn't talk, or one has to go to market while the other stayed behind to work, you found yourself miserable. Time would slow down considerably, the echoes of her quips a haunting specter in your mind until her presence could exorcise you once again.

When the end of the season drew nearer, this unsettling feeling crept into your chest. It reverberated in your hollow veins, made your mouth run dry the more you thought about it. You couldn't shake the looming date out of your mind, no matter what task you distract yourself with.

Liahne was washing dishes from dinner. She didn't have to do that, but she always seemed to enjoy picking up the mundane hivehold chores. You never stopped her. How tidy she kept the place always brought your stress down. You weren't sitting by idly though; you dried the dishes she handed you with a small hand towel. A few times your fingertips brushed, and you couldn't decide if the heat in your cheeks was from that or from the beer you and your buddies consumed from that night's game. Liahne seemed so content in the silence, her eyes caressing the dishes lovingly. She treated everything with love.

You're not sure why you broke the silence. "So, do you have any plans?" Your breath caught in your throat when she looked at you with those bright eyes. You cleared your throat and trained your eyes on the plate you were drying. She was expecting an explanation, a continued story to what you just asked. Your grip on the plate tightened, "It's near the end of the season." You said this gruffly, as if it was a statement rather than a prompt. When Liahne didn't answer, you added, "Your work here would be done."

"Oh!" Liahne smiled and laughed at herself, and you wondered how she wasn't dying from embarrassment. You would have. "I'm not sure. There's so much to see out there, I suppose I'll just go where the wind takes me."

"Would that be nearby?" you asked, stealing a glance at her.

"It might be. Or, it might be very far away. I do not know yet."

There was a moment of silence. You weren't satisfied with these answers. You were looking for something else, but you didn't know what. So, you pressed; "Could you ever be convinced to come back? For work, I mean. When the season comes back around."

"I can't promise that. Why? You gonna miss me or something?" She jested. Jested! Anxiety laughed at your heart, and she was jesting. You don't know what this feeling was that shot through your chest. Your face burned, and you wanted to run out of the room. You wanted to retire and forget you said anything. Would it be so bad to admit it? Would it be so bad to say that you would, in fact, miss her?

"Nothing that I can't find again." You hoped this was the wrong thing to say. You wanted to see her grimace, to speak up about how rude that was. You hoped to hear the disappointment in her voice. You hoped for any evidence that she would miss you, too.

Instead, she smiled and turned back to the sink.

++++++++++++++++++++++

It's strange how when one thing goes missing from your life that you don't see as many colors as you used to. You have plenty of work to keep you busy, but the lack of giggles and Liahne's warm voice did not go unnoticed. It was hard to get out of the recuperacoon in the evenings, knowing there'd be no humming in the kitchen to wake up to.

It created such a void that it gripped everyone else that you came into contact with. They made comments, jests, jokes about how you had lost your lover. But you two weren't lovers. Quadrants were never a question between the two of you. Yet, it had still hurt, their words. You wished they would shut up. You missed her. That's all there was to it.

Even though you and her had spent nights together in each other's arms. You had cradled her, protected her against the harsh thunder and vicious lightning in the sky. You hushed her to sleep. She held your hands.

Even though you both had shared your dreams, your ambitions. You never bother to tell such ideas to others. It would get you killed, your desire for peace, freedom, and equality. Dreams of being something bigger than what you are. Dreams of rebellion. Dreams of war. You had saw the look in her eyes. You had seen how they had brightened, widened, buzzed excitedly as her gaze landed on you. You. The lowly peasant farmer.

Even though you both had exchanged secrets. Liahne was a runaway, a deserter, a renegade on the run from her post. She was never meant to leave the caverns, and yet, through the steady hand of her mentor she broke free. And that left you: the mutant that nobody was certain of. Were you yellow? Bronze? Your blush and blood are bright, and yet the veins run brown along your skin. You shimmered under the light of the twin moons, like you could be made of gold. Could be. Yet, none bothered to see for themselves. The Government had assigned you Bronze when you had emerged from the caverns, landing you this life you now live. You had never complained of where you ended up, your qualms only present over the maltreatment of others like you. The known ones. The ones that couldn't hide.

Both you and Liahne harbored the most dangerous weapon inside of yourselves: the will for freedom. The love of the fight. You were both aware these urges will be your demises, and yet you both still dreamed like the fools you are. One of the most exciting things about these dreams? They never once had excluded her.

But she's gone now; all of those excited whispers in the light felt empty now, like they had never happened at all. Like they didn't mean a thing.

"Bullshit," muttered Graern when you finally caved. Graern was always a man of few words, a guy whose silence made one wise. A champion of poker who enjoyed his reign, and when he spoke everyone would listen. He was the eldest out of all of you in your small social circle. You were surprised at his reaction. "Boy, I've seen young couples come and go but I ain't seen anythin' like what you and Liahne shared. Almost un-Troll like, y'all's were, in each quadrant an' beyond. Why you so damn shy f'r?"

"Shy...?"

"I know you have a special noggin' but ya ain't gonna ever live your life limiting yourself over these anxieties. Go git her."

"Get her...?" You didn't understand.

Graern fixed you with a look, as if he was sizing you up. "Rutaci, do you flush for her?"

Any other time you would remain silent and endure the teasing. You never found it deep within you to have the desire to object to it. But now? It was addressed so directly you didn't know how to answer. You no longer wanted to talk about this topic, but when you shrugged away Graern caught you by the arm.

"Listen 'ere bud, I care f'r ya like a lusus or a kin. And I've been seein' ya tear y'rself apart since the day she left. Tell me now, boy, does she make you happy?"

You're not sure how to feel about this. This was a side of Graern you've never seen before, and you know that since he spoke at all this must be true-- that he deeply cares about you. And Liahne? "Well, yeah."

"And ya likes her a hells of a lot, don't'cha?'

"I..." It is true; you admired her fiercely. A hot burning flush erupted over your face. "Yes."

"Boy, it don't matter whether ya land with her in your arms or not, ya care 'n' respect her an' that's good enough. Don't let her go, boy, ya hear?"

+++++++++++++++++

The bells rang on the kitchen phone. You huff, wrapped in a towel from your bath. You don't often get calls here, unless it was pay day or to go out with the boys. You were never a fan of being interrupted during anything, even if the task was small and trivial, unimportant. You couldn't change mindsets so fast; quick sudden changes of action or plan never were your friends. Regardless, you pick up the phone.

"Faurux residence."

"Rutaci?"

A great chill ran a marathon over your body. You squeeze the phone hard enough that you heard cracks begin to form on the receiver's plastic covering. "Liahne?"

"Hello! How have you been?"

"Oh, uh, okay. It's .. been a while." A full sweep and a half, to be exact.

"It has been." There was a small moment of silence on the other end. "Will you be free today?"

"Uh, yeah," you had finished your chores earlier than usual today.

"Are you perchance looking for a farmhand at all?"

You didn't expect the corners of your lips to slowly pull into a smile, "Well, s'long as the guest room is free there's always room for one."

"Then I'll see you soon?" Your heart skipped a beat and it soon became hard to hear her through the thundering in your ears.

"Of course, Flower."

You could feel her smiling from here, "Can't wait, Rutabaga."

++++++++

It was like she never left. You treated each other to dinner; while you had prepared a warm meal for her just in case, she also had brought you some morsels that you were too eager to gulp down. You ended up trading each other, laughing over the predicament among other things. She rambled about her travels and you were content in showing off a few dad-jokes you've picked up in her absence-- all that she laughed at with glee. It was a joyous reunion. The only time you were brought back to reality was when she admitted that she had missed you.

"Missed me?" You blinked in surprise. Then, you offered her a smirk, trying to play coy. "There's not much to miss, ya know." Despite the attempt to laugh it off, that statement was genuine.

"Hush now," Liahne said. "I've missed you. I've thought about you often while I was gone. It always brought a bittersweet sadness. I'd wonder how you've been, how the crops are faring, if you're still terribly bad at poker with the boys. I'd wonder if you missed me, too."

You swallow a lump in your throat as heat rushed to your face. "That must be horrible to have such an ugly mug taunt your thoughts like that." You laughed it off, but it didn't shake of the feeling of flutterbeasts in your stomach.

"Have you?"

Your smile dropped, "Have I what?"

"Missed me."

You start fidgeting in your seat. It's never easy to face the beast that carried its emotions on its back. Would it be wrong to say no? Would it be safe to say yes? How could you ever describe how you feel? It wasn't so much that words would get in the way, but that they were never clear to you. When you speak, you go in blind. Like a ship without a lighthouse, you crash and burn and sink. There's nothing safe to say here that would guard your pride.

Liahne's shoulders sank, her sails hit by the cannon balls your hesitance shot. Hurt shone in her eyes, even though her face remained calm. She bowed her head, feigning fancy in her food, "I-- forget I said anything." You didn't know how to fish shipwreck out of the sea.

The rest of the dinner lasted in awkward silence. You wanted to run. Hide your face. Escape from all this burning you ever seem to cause. But you were scared; if you were to turn your back for a split second, would she be gone again? How long would it be until you'd see her again? Will you ever, after a mistake like that? Damn it, what are you supposed to say?!

"That was... Nice." Liahne stood up from her chair after wiping her face with a napkin. The movement made your heart race, fearing what would come. "I think I should be going now. It was good to catch up." Her words of departure stung your eyes. Your throat tightened. You couldn't say anything even if you tried. All these things within you wanted to come out all at once, but instead it stacked on top of each other blocking the way out. You watched as she gathered her things. You watched as she gave you a faux smile before heading to the door. She placed a hand on the knob.

Suddenly, you sprang from your seat, a pitiful cry tearing from your throat. You didn't mean to look so desperate, you didn't mean to sound in pain. You hated how vulnerable you felt, but you couldn't let her go. Not like this.

"I'm sorry!" You and her were in the doorway. She had one foot outside, and that spurred a flash of hot white light. You lost control. The captain steered blindly as the navigator panicked. "I-I missed you. The goddesses know how much," you blurted. That wasn't enough. "It don't feel th' same without ya. Nights pass and I find m'self wishin' you were here. With me. Together.

"And I-- I..." The words were starting to die again, the fog an untameable beast. Your face was burning, not one inch of skin left unmarred from the heat. It was overwhelming, and the panic stabbing your chest did little to help. You kept opening your mouth to speak, but only grunts and croaks came. You were choking on your words, sounds refusing to be dislodged from your throat. Liahne gave nothing away as she looked at you, and you were terrified of what she was thinking. The lack of response startled you into a cry. Hot tears began to leave your eyes. Why was socializing so damn hard?

You summoned a flame and began to twist it in your hands. A little stim toy for you to focus on. Everything else felt too damn hot. Too close. If it weren't for the threat of Liahne leaving, you would've back off by now. Hold close to you the stuffed animals she had left for you before. Try to avoid the stings and uncomfortable void that filled your limbs whenever anything touched you. Liahne used to be good at calming you from these flares. She would hum to you, allow you rest, bring a potted plant near to you-- you always seemed to enjoy looking at the leaves. Green and rich, cool to the touch, familiar.

As if seeing the flame reminded her of those times, Liahne stepped inside and closed the door. Her expression had changed from something unreadable to that of soft and understanding with a spark of realization. She guided you by the hand to her old respite block. She sat you down and hummed to you a melody fit for songbirds. Then, she left, but only momentarily as she fetched a damp rag. She placed it on your forehead first, then softly dabbed around, cooling you down. The cold felt nice, and it helped to keep the void feeling away. Her gestures were nice. Familiar. Gentle. The anxiety in your chest began to settle. In its place was exhaustion, but as long as she was here, that's okay, too.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly. "I hadn't realized I overwhelmed you."

"M'sorry," you managed to squeeze out, guilt beginning to weigh you down like lead.

"No. I realize now that you were too overwhelmed to speak. It was a miscommunication that could've ended horribly. I am sorry."

You didn't care. You didn't care about any of this. You just wanted her. Reaching out, you slowly gathered Liahne into your arms and sighed when she willingly nestled against you. This. This was familiar. Except there was a tightness in your chest, an urgency that possessed your tongue, "I'm flushed for you." The captain must've been thrown overboard by then. You tried not to betray the surprise you felt, the utter shock and horror of the words that had spilled out of your mouth. You began to feel hot again.

And then her words brought chills, "I know." She shifted in your arms to look up at you, bright green eyes meeting gold. Had you made it that obvious? "This is sort of an awkward time to come out about it, but since you said it first: I'm flushed for you, too, Rutaci."

It felt as if the wind got punched out of your lungs. Your face burned, but it was uncertain whether it burned from stress or excitement. Your hands shook as you held her. You weren't sure what to say. The crew sailed blind in the fog again.

The two of you sat like that for a while. Liahne, curled up in your arms with her head resting on your chest. You by this point were pacified but still ever so anxious to know what this all meant. The silence was nice. Her cool, smooth skin was grounding to the touch. She stilled smelled like blossoms and apples, from soaps and shampoos whose brand names you will never remember. You could spend forever here.

"I... I need you," you eventually broke the silence. Your voice was gruffer than it usually was, laced with exhaustion and desperation. "In my life. It's sad, I think, without you here. The guys won't shut up about it."

"If you want me to, I'll be around."

"Do you want to?"

It took a moment for her to reply as she thought it over in her head. Then, silently, she looked up at you. Oddly she seemed to melt in relief, and time stood still as she reached up and kissed your cheek. Her hand found its way to your hair and started playing with the locks and twirling between the fingers. You couldn't help it; you let out a purr. A goofy smile stretched your lips and a face of relaxation never seen before covered you. Liahne let out a chuckle, amused at how you had unwind at just a little gesture. "I think, perhaps, I would. It's your hive though, you call the shots."

"I'm flushed for you. Being without you is agonizing. Things don't shine as bright. The color around here loses so much vibrancy, but you give it all back as if you owned the colors all along. I never realized how good we had it until the season was over."

"You had never left my mind, either. I... Should've called sooner. I was scared."

"Scared?"

"Feelings are hard to confront, you know." And boy, didn't you know it.

You look down with a heavy flush. She had more guts than you did. If it wasn't for her, you probably would have never tried. These things were too scary, too overwhelming, too draining to do on your own. But you'll try, now.

"Liahne?"

"Yes, Ru?"

"...Can we hold hands?"

There was a snort of laughter, but before long your hands were locked in promise.

#Rutaci Faurux #Liahne Zaleae #fevur writing

3 notes · View notes

alphadaddyderek · 3 years

Text

Not all math puns are awful, just sum (sterek fic, high school au)

ao3 link: click if you dare

summary: ’what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100’

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

AU where Stiles and Derek have to share a textbook and they write terrible math puns back and forth to each other.

Stiles sincerely, genuinely, regrets taking AP classes.

Well, kinda.

They would look great on his resume. Colleges wouldn’t even second guess accepting him and he would receive so many scholarships which would help his dad big time.

AP classes will also raise his GPA crazy high which, again, looks great to colleges.

Sometimes they just suck.

His AP Statistics class is definitely #1 on the ‘classes that suck straight ass list’.

It’s boring and it can be kinda hard. Plus it’s math so it’s automatically gross.

Stiles is good at math, but it’s not his forte, that’s more Lydia Martin’s thing.

Anyway, Beacon Hills High had to have some budget cuts this year, like, serious budget cuts. The sports teams are lucky that people care about people throwing balls all over the place, otherwise they would’ve gotten cut too.

Since the school has had budget cuts, the students don’t get individual textbooks anymore. Meaning, that they can only use it during class and then they have to leave it in the classroom for the next class to use.

So, yeah.

It’s the third week of junior year, AP Stat is as boring as always. He has Lydia to talk to sometimes but she has other friends in the same class, so he's not always entertained.

The teacher didn’t really care about whether or not students did the work, he just played chess on his computer the whole class anyway. He gave the page number that we were supposed to work on and that was that.

Stiles prefers that to lectures, but still. When he’s done the work there’s nothing left for him to do. He could go on his phone, but even that gets boring eventually.

What he’s trying to say is that he’s bored, okay?

Turning to the page that the teacher assigned, Stiles is shocked and wildly amused, to already see writing on the margins of the page. He figured it would take at least half the school year before people started vandalizing the textbooks. Although, it’s written in pencil so it’s easily erasable.

When Stiles actually reads what was written he snorts. Luckily, it’s loud in the class so the most attention he gets is when Lydia shoots him a weird look which he ignores.

'what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100'

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

Should he write something back? Stiles doesn’t know if the person who wrote this is hoping for a response, or if they wrote in the book because they’re just as bored as Stiles is.

Eh, fuck it. Why not?

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

Stiles snickers at his equally bad math joke before finally deciding to focus on the actual work. He didn’t want to be one of the ones who didn’t pass the class, because that would suck. So he does the work and for the remainder of the class he lets out a giggle or two every once in a while because even though he’s 16 years old, he apparently still has the sense of humor of a child.

π π π

It’s the next class and honestly, Stiles kind of forgot about the writing in the textbook. After he left that class he went to AP Geography where there was immediately a test, which he nailed by the way. Plus, with all his other classes, he just didn’t think it was important to remember a bad, but still funny, math joke in a textbook.

The teacher assigns them another page number full of questions to work on. And, just like last time, there’s writing in the margins.

‘i’m sorry, that was pretty mean of me to say’

That one has Stiles laughing out loud. Not too loud though, because he doesn’t have that much of a death wish. He just laughs loud enough to make Lydia send him another weird look, except this time Lydia questions him about it.

“What is so funny?” she asks, twirling her hair with her pencil.

Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing really. Just somebody writing lame math jokes on the book pages.”

“Well, you’re laughing at them. So doesn’t that make you lame as well?”

Stiles dramatically gasps.

“Wow, Lydia, that was pretty mean of you to say,” Stiles replies before bursting into more laughter.

At this point, Lydia is looking at him like he has brain damage but he really can’t bring himself to care. It’s hilarious and if she doesn’t think so then oh well. Her loss.

Well, she doesn’t know that that was the joke inside the textbook, but still, whatever.

It’s funny.

π π π

By this point, it’s kind of like Stiles and this unknown jokester are pen pals.

It’s been a week filled with terrible math jokes and Lydia probably losing more and more respect for him as the days pass.

He’s told Scott about his little pen pal and of course, Scott doesn’t really get it, but he’s supportive nonetheless.

It’s a Friday night and Scott is at Stiles’ house. They’re playing video games and eating so much pizza that Stiles will be bloated for an entire week.

Thankfully, his dad is on the night shift, otherwise, he would be heavily judgmental of Stiles’ life choices.

After several rounds of Mario Kart, they take a break to eat said pizza and talk a bit.

“So,” Scott takes a huge bite of his slice. “how are you and your math buddy doing?”

Stiles takes a bite of his own slice. “Why are you asking? Jealous?”

Scott laughs. “Oh yeah, I’m so jealous. Please, Stiles, make terrible math jokes with me.”

Stiles flips Scott off. “You only mock because you really are jealous.”

Scott rolls his eyes and then the topic is dropped.

At least for the next hour or so. Then after that, it gets brought back up.

“Do you think it’s weird to have a crush on someone you’ve never met?” Stiles asks, playing with a loose thread on his jeans.

Scott looks at Stiles, and Stiles does not want to see the weird look Scott has on his face so he continues looking down.

“You have a crush on this person?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re funny, and obviously, they’re smart if they’re in AP Stat. I would like to meet this person though, maybe. I don’t know.”

Stiles feels his cheeks heating up.

Scott nudges Stiles with his elbow. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not weird at all. It’s kinda like online dating, but like medieval style.”

Stiles can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. “What?”

It’s like medieval style! ‘Cause, it’s in a book. Instead of online.”

Scott is always able to make Stiles feel better, no matter the situation. His goofiness especially lightens his mood.

“Okay, Scott. Are we going to go jousting next?”

“I don’t know. What you guys do on your first date is none of my business,” Scott says with a sly smile.

Stiles snorts and grabs a pillow off the couch behind them and smacks Scott in the face with it, resulting in a pillow fight ensuing.

And if anybody asks, Scott did not win. He didn’t!

π π π

2 weeks after he and Scott had that talk, Stiles continues talking with his pen pal. Although, maybe Stiles is looking too deep into this, but it kind of seems like flirting now?

Hear him out.

In the margins, the person started adding smiley faces and winky faces after every message.

Ooh and they actually put their initials! D.H.

Stiles doesn’t think he knows anyone in school with those initials. Granted, Stiles isn’t exactly a social butterfly so he’s not doubting their existence at all.

AP Stat only has 5 minutes left in the class. Stiles has already embarrassed himself in front of Lydia more times than he can count, so he decides to ask Lydia if she knows someone with those initials.

She purses her lips. “Why do you ask?”

Stiles sighs inwardly before answering. “Uh, well. I was just...wondering. Ya know. Trying to expand my friend circle.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. And Stiles sighs outwardly this time.

“Fine. You know the jokes that were in the book?”

“You mean from like a month ago?”

“Well...we’ve kinda been continuing to exchange jokes and notes and stuff. And then recently they put their initials. Or, at least I think it’s their initials. I don’t know what else it would be. So, yeah.”

Lydia looks at him for a moment before her lips curl up into a smile. “You mean you’ve finally found someone who has a worse sense of humor than you?”

Stiles returns the smile. “I’ll have you know, my sense of humor is advanced. Way too advanced even for you.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the only name that comes to mind is Derek Hale.”

Stiles chokes on his own spit. “Derek Hale? You mean the star of the basketball team? The guy with eyes that are like fifty different colors and bunny teeth that would look ridiculous on anyone else but he somehow looks gorgeous with them? That Derek Hale?”

“Yes. Other than that, I don’t know anyone else with those initials.”

“Does he take AP Stat?”

Lydia shrugs. Stiles takes that as a no.

There’s no way that Derek Hale is the one writing these notes. No way in hell. Stiles isn’t that lucky.

Plus, even if Derek is the one writing these, hypothetically speaking, Derek wouldn’t be interested in him. Don’t get Stiles wrong, he knows he’s a pretty attractive guy. But nobody in this school is as attractive as Derek Hale. Let's be real here.

Okay, maybe Danny. Danny is kinda gorgeous.

But besides Danny, nobody is even on the same level as Derek.

Well, Lydia is too.

Okay, dammit. People are on the same level as Derek Hale. The point is that Stiles isn’t.

Stiles sighs for what seems like the eighth time in. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lydia gives him a scrutinizing look before nodding and getting on her phone.

Stiles sits there and ponders why his life is like this before deciding that he must've done something to piss off fate in a past life. Pleased with his conclusion, Stiles shoves his notebook and pencils into his backpack just in time for the bell to ring.

π π π

Okay, so, Stiles must be going crazy.

When he saw that his pen pal had written his initials he figured, ‘hey, I might as well do the same. It’s only decent right?’ so he had, and ever since then Derek Hale has been shooting him looks in the hallway.

Maybe he’s hallucinating, because Derek Hale is, well, Derek Hale. Out of everyone in the hallway, why would he be looking at Stiles?

Also, Stiles can’t be the only person in the school with the initials S.S. although, he probably is the only S.S. that’s taking AP Stat so there’s that.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do, should he wave? Shoot him a smile?

Actually no, he should do neither of those things because if he does, and Derek actually wasn’t looking at him, that would be so unbelievably embarrassing. So embarrassing that Stiles would have to transfer schools immediately.

Stiles shakes his head and opens up his locker to gather his things for his next class. When he closes the locker Derek is standing right there like they’re in a horror movie and Stiles jumps so hard that he drops his notebook.

“Shit. Sorry,” Derek says and bends down to swipe Stiles’ notebook off the floor.

“No, it’s okay. You’re awfully quiet for an athlete.”

Stiles holds his hand out for his notebook but Derek doesn’t seem all that interested in returning it to him just yet. Derek looks at the front of his notebook.

“Hmm. AP Stat. Interesting.”

Stiles bites his lip and nods. “Yep,” he says popping the ‘p’. “it is interesting. Well, actually it’s not. AP Stat is yuck sometimes and it can get boring but it’ll look great on my resume so.”

Derek nods. He looks at Stiles for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth, and the second he does, Stiles’ stomach fills with butterflies.

“What is the probability that anyone will pass that fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100.”

Stiles bites his lip to stifle his smile. He doesn’t want to cheese like an idiot in front of Derek Hale but he thinks that ship has already sailed cause Derek’s lips stretch into a big smile.

Stiles clears his throat. “I think there is statistical data to back up your theory.”

“Oh, is there?” Derek asks, smile turning into a smirk.

Stiles nods then looks at his notebook that is still in Derek’s hand. “Can I have my notebook now? I’m not sure what exactly you’re plotting but I don’t like it.”

Derek scrunches his face up. “Wow, that was bad.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes. “Like yours were any better.”

Derek shrugs, smile returning to his face. “I thought my mean joke was pretty hilarious.”

“Yeah, hilariously bad. I didn’t laugh at all, not one bit.”

Derek looks like he doesn’t believe a word Stiles just said, which is fair, he shouldn’t.

“So,” Derek begins, eyes boring into Stiles’— seriously, what is up with Derek’s eyes? — “what is the probability that you will give me your number?”

Stiles pretends to think about it for a second. “I'm thinking 100 in 100.”

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #Sterek #sterek fic #high school au #quite possibly the worst math jokes ever in existence #my fic

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stxphxn-strange · 3 years

Text

i found the one, he changed my life (what now?) [i’d love it if we made it, pt. 3]

a/n: holy SHIT i am so happy about the way this turned out, this continues the story of college AU!tony dealing with his ex and the pressure he puts on himself to be honest with his friends. (title from “what now” by rihanna) TW: discussion of abusive relationships, mention of surgery, unhealthy/stalking behaviors, and i think that’s it but pls lmk if there’s anything else i should tag

summary: “He’s obsessed with you [...] I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky elaborated, leaving Anthony at a loss for words.

“It’s a nice day, seasonal allergies aside,” Anthony remarked.

“I would put flowers in your hair and be all cute and shit but I’m trying not to make you sneeze,” Stephen replied. “That would be unfortunate.”

Anthony laughed lightly and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. “You can still pet my head though, that would be nice.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrible at subtlety?” Stephen asked, beginning to play with Anthony’s hair.

“I think you did this morning,” Anthony replied. “Because you’re obnoxious.”

“Isn’t that why you love me?” Stephen teased, batting his eyelashes.

“It’s one of many reasons,” Anthony said, a soft smile on his face. “It is really nice out though.”

“Listen I know I’m always on time, but can we make an exception today?” Christine sat across from the couple, her auburn hair made extra bright by the sunlight as she pulled it out of her face. “Sorry I’m late.”

“The way that you’re literally not sorry at all makes that apology for me,” Stephen said. “Don’t worry about it though, we’ve just been hanging out. Where’s Hope?”

“Inside, for some reason,” Christine replied with a shrug.

“Probably because it’s allergy season,” Anthony commented, rolling his eyes as he sneezed again.

“He complains, despite begging me to sit outside with him,” Stephen added.

“That doesn’t sound like me, but go off I guess,” Anthony replied, picking up his phone. “Hey Rhodey, what’s up?”

“Are you running errands by chance?” Rhodey asked.

“Nope, I’m sitting outside with Steph and Christine,” Anthony said. “Why, do you need something?”

“I was just going to ask if I could send you a short list of things I wanted. Not a big deal but I’m out of cereal,” Rhodey replied.

“Text it to me anyway, I don’t think I’m going out but if I do I’ll get whatever you want,” Anthony said with a shrug.

“You’re the best Tones. By the way are you feeling better?” Rhodey asked.

“A little bit. It’s nice just sitting outside,” Anthony replied. “I dunno. I’m not thinking about it.”

“Fair enough. Enjoy the fresh air, don’t worry about the cereal though! See you later.”

“Bye Rhodey, everyone say bye!”

Christine and Stephen shouted their goodbyes as Anthony ended the call.

“You good?” Christine asked kindly.

“Yeah, sorta.” Anthony shrugged again. “I just didn’t sleep a lot last night, so that wasn’t fun. I’ve been stressed out about… things. Turns out it actually is weird to have one of your friends dating your ex.”

Christine hummed. “Tea. I thought there was something bothering you, like more than just the awkwardness. I can read you well enough by now. So what’s wrong?”

“Honestly I don’t want to tell you this exact minute because I feel like the only person who should hear this privately is Bucky. I’ll have to see how I feel after I talk with him, and if I’m okay then I’ll probably tell everyone in the group all at once. I just don’t want to repeat the same story over and over again, that’s going to wear me down,” Anthony replied. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh my god dude that’s fine! No stress,” Christine rushed to assure him. “You just seem sad and I want to help but I also don’t want you to make yourself feel worse, that’s not fair to you.”

Anthony breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks Christine.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Christine said.

Anthony sneezed again, not seeing the need to reply beyond that. There was just nothing else to say.

“Let’s go inside,” Stephen suggested. “It’s getting kinda gross out anyway.”

“Oh sorry, that’s because I’m out here. I’ll leave.” Anthony jokingly moved to stand up, laughing raucously when Stephen pulled him into a hug before he even stood.

“Nooo, you’re good! You stay,” Stephen replied. “The sun is out because you’re here.”

Anthony blushed and buried his head against Stephen’s collarbone. “Oh hush.”

Christine stood up. “I may as well go inside while you two idiots keep flirting, now my allergies are acting up.”

“You’re not allergic to pollen,” Stephen remarked, standing up and offering Anthony his hand.

“I’m not allergic to most things, but I’m allergic to your bullshit,” Christine quipped. “I feel like I tell you that at least once a week.”

Anthony laughed and stood up, smiling as he wrapped his arms around Stephen’s waist.

“In all seriousness, you’re cute together,” Christine continued.

“Oh we know,” Anthony said. “How was your day Christine?”

The trio headed inside as Christine thought about how to answer.

“Honestly I don’t think anything even happened today.” she finally said. “Hope and I had breakfast together and I quite literally ran into Carol in the library. It was nice to catch up with her though because I feel like I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Now that I think about it, I also feel like I haven’t seen Carol in a long time,” Stephen said.

“We didn’t talk for too long since we were in the library, but she seems good,” Christine replied. “I think she and Val are still unpacking so they’ve been focused on that, y’know?”

“Makes sense. Props to them for moving in the middle of the year, that’s too much for me. That’s why I’m making everyone wait until the summer,” Anthony said.

“You’re not making anyone wait, you’re just making sense,” Stephen corrected him. “Moving is stressful enough, I don’t want to deal with it during exam season and neither does anyone else.”

“Can I plan your housewarming party?” Christine asked, opening the apartment door.

“Who said anything about a housewarming party?” Anthony replied.

“Wong said I could throw one once you’re all moved in,” Christine explained. “We don’t have a contract in writing yet, but that’s because—”

“Because I never said you could throw us a party!” Wong shouted from the living room. He was sitting in his usual armchair by the window, half paying attention to whatever show Bucky and an all too familiar blond were watching. “Also Bucky is here again, and he brought a friend.”

“Boyfriend,” Bucky chimed in. “We’re going to dinner soon, I just left my jacket here the other day and then I decided I’d introduce Steve to you guys. So yeah, this is my boyfriend Steve. Steve, this is Christine, Stephen, and I think you know Tony. I heard there’s a history there or something.”

Bucky was trying his best to prematurely make the best of an awkward situation, but Steve was the only one who found any humor in what he said.

The offending blond laughed and nodded, his expression unreadable in a way that made Anthony freeze. He was looking with condescension at their entwined hands, like he didn’t approve of Stephen and Anthony finally being together. With an arrogant sniff, he got off his high horse long enough to respond. “I know him and Stephen, actually. You both look good.”

“Thanks,” Stephen replied, his teeth bared in a forced, blatantly hostile grin.

Anthony rubbed at his eyes, tearing up from the situation and his allergies. “Yeah good to see you too, if you’ll excuse me I need to take some allergy medication.” He couldn’t run and hide in the bathroom fast enough, and he knew everyone in the room could see him trembling.

Stephen let his genuine emotion break through his façade for a moment, frowning as he watched Anthony retreat. His steely look of disapproval returned a minute later as he sat down in the kitchen, eavesdropping on the group’s conversation.

“Mind if I get some water? I didn’t get to hydrate as much today,” Steve asked.

Stephen, pretending to be busy, glared at his phone like he was reading a poorly worded email. He paid little attention to the blond as he bumbled around the kitchen, following Wong’s directions on where to find cups and the Brita and other shit.

“So you’ve finally come back to the city, hm? Tony used to tell me about how you both grew up here and how New York never left you,” Steve asked Stephen. He was making an extremely poor attempt to sound friendly, but all he did was make the med student extremely uncomfortable.

Stephen gave a forced laugh. “Yeah, they couldn’t keep me away.”

“Seems like you couldn’t keep yourself away from Tony either, not with the amount of times he cheated on me with you,” Steve remarked.

“Listen, we both know that’s not true and I barely want to give you the time of day. You know damn well he never cheated on you and I don’t have to justify myself to you. After all, you were the cheater. If you think I’m just going to roll over in my own apartment and let you run your mouth like that, especially knowing how badly you treated my Anthony, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Stephen snapped. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Clearly anyone who thinks I’m aggressive and controlling hasn’t met you,” Steve said, closing the fridge and leaving Stephen fuming in the kitchen.

After 15 minutes of ignoring some small talk, Stephen had had enough. Anthony was still hiding somewhere and Stephen was just over Steve being in his apartment. He was trying not to be too angry, because Bucky didn’t know about how Steve and Anthony’s breakup or relationship went. Stephen couldn’t, and didn’t, blame him.

But Steve was a coward and a jerk, and Stephen wouldn’t touch him with an 11 foot pole. Stephen wouldn’t even get close to him to shove him headfirst out the door, actually.

“I’m gonna be in my room studying if you guys need anything, enjoy your dinner Bucky!” He said, waving at his friends in the living room and pointedly ignoring Steve.

“Thanks man! If you want to hang out later, maybe on a double date or something—”

“Oh I’d love that!” Steve chimed in, unprovoked and uninvited.

“Depends on what Ant’s doing, I know I’m pretty busy tonight but if he wants to go out then we’ll let you know,” Stephen said firmly. He heard the bathroom door open behind him and Anthony’s light footsteps in the hall.

“I think I’ll just run to the bathroom before we leave, if that’s alright?” Steve asked.

“Are you asking me?” Stephen replied, ignoring him and heading in the direction of his bedroom. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

Anthony was standing nervously outside Stephen’s room, staring at the floor. He looked horrified and meek, pressing his back against the wall and hoping he’d disappear out of Steve’s gaze.

But of course he wasn’t that lucky. Sometimes it felt like he’d never truly get away from the way Steve used to look at him and was apparently still looking at him.

Anthony looked up as Stephen gently tapped his shoulder. “Hey… you alright?”

He forced himself to nod, tears still pooling in his eyes from either anxiety or allergies. Maybe both. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just—”

“Oh there you are Tony! Bucky and I are leaving, so I thought I’d say goodbye,” Steve said, lingering in the doorway to the bathroom. “Maybe we could go for a double date later? If you’re allowed to, that is. I always said Strange was a controlling downgrade, didn’t I?”

“Good thing I never listened when you said that, because I’m much happier now,” Anthony muttered.

“Aww, don’t be a bad sport! It’ll be just like the glory days.” Steve appeared to be ignoring his current relationship to flirt with Anthony, stepping out of the doorway and leaning closer (read: too close for comfort) to him.

“I don’t know about that,” Anthony said, his voice taut. “I wouldn’t want to be around you for much longer. Seeing you is already making me think about our… could you call it a relationship?”

“You’re so funny Tony, just as funny as I remember.” Steve sounded like a content house cat as he quite literally purred at Tony. “I miss that humor. I just miss you.”

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

++++

“Not to state the obvious, but I hate that guy,” Stephen muttered, storming into the kitchen a few hours later.

“Is Ant okay?” Wong hadn’t moved from his seat in the living room, except for the fact that he was laying across the armchair sideways and there were three more mystery novels next to him.

“He’s sleeping. Even before all of that shit went down,” Stephen began, gesturing to the air in front of him, “We were outside for long enough that even if he won’t admit it, his allergies are bothering him.”

“How long were you outside for before I came to sit with you guys?” Christine asked.

“Maybe 90 minutes? Long enough to be considered too long,” Stephen replied. “It doesn’t matter. Did you guys eat yet?”

“No, we were waiting on you and Pepper. She said she’d be back by 7,” Christine said.

“What do you want? I’m open to suggestions,” Stephen asked. “I kinda want to make pasta but I know I’m not good enough at it so it wouldn’t make Anthony happy.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stephen. It absolutely would, and you know that,” Christine scolded him. “Do whatever you feel like! And I think pasta sounds nice.”

Stephen nodded. “Fair enough. I’m making ravioli and none of you can stop me. We deserve it.”

“Oh no Stephen don’t do that, don’t make something that you like to cook and that we all like to eat,” Wong teased. “Christine, he’s too powerful, we have to stop him.”

Stephen humorously rolled his eyes. “Anthony is the one who gave me a good recipe, so technically we all have him to thank for enabling me. Except not right now. Let him sleep.”

++++

“Oh by the way, I told Bucky that I’d get coffee with him later and we’re going to talk about whatever the hell happened this weekend,” Anthony said. “Do you want me to bring you back anything while I’m out?”

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” Stephen drew a heart on the back of Anthony’s hand with his thumb, something he noticed himself doing a lot.

Anthony always rewarded him for the gesture with the smallest, shyest smile that Stephen thought was the most adorable thing ever. “Text me if you change your mind, yeah?”

“Okay, I will.” Stephen smiled back at him, lovingly brushing Anthony’s hair out of his face. “Also if I send you a list will you help me decide on a movie for tonight?”

“Not sure you’re asking the right person, but sure,” Anthony replied.

“That’s subjective. I think I’m asking the right person,” Stephen said. “You’ve never steered me wrong before.”

“I hope I never do.” Anthony pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Stephen’s lips. “But knowing you, you’ll definitely change your mind about wanting a tea or something.”

“If I do, I’ll tell you,” Stephen replied, smiling into the kiss. “Promise. Have a good day, and good luck later.”

“I think I’m going to need it,” Anthony said with a little nervous laugh.

“Would a kiss help your luck?” Stephen couldn’t keep a neutral face. “I never imagined myself saying that. Or getting to kiss you.”

“Stop it, don’t make me blush this early in the day,” Anthony replied. “In all seriousness, I love you. And your kisses are magical, who’s to say they aren’t lucky?”

++++

Anthony couldn’t say whether or not he felt lucky later that day, because the only thing he felt was nervous. Bucky looked just as nervous and sheepish as Anthony did, and his internal monologue had already switched to guilt. They exchanged small talk and pleasantries while they waited for their coffee, their mutual discomfort becoming more and more tangible by the minute.

Most people joked that Anthony talked to hear the sound of his own voice, but today he was so nervous he couldn’t hear himself think. He didn’t know what to say or even where to start. Thankfully, Bucky blurted out a question before Anthony thought about how to start the conversation.

“How long were you two together?”

“Two and a half years, give or take. And I didn’t cheat on him with Stephen.”

“I didn’t think so. I wasn’t even going to ask about that.” Bucky smiled, trying to somehow calm Anthony down with his expression. “Who broke it off?”

“Me. Sometimes I feel like I did it a lot later than I should have, honestly.” Anthony shrugged. “I wasn’t ever happy in that relationship. I wanted to be, and I did everything I could to make it work even at my own expense, but eventually I had to end it. I’m happier now, but sometimes I still… I shouldn’t say any of this to you, not if you’re happy.”

“You know what bothers me, though?”

Anthony wasn’t expecting that. “What’s up?”

“I don’t think he’s over you. And that doesn’t bother me in a jealous sense, I’m not like that, but I feel almost used. Especially after this weekend,” Bucky said.

“What do you mean?” That worried Anthony for a lot of reasons, and he couldn’t decide which one was the most important.

“Tony, he's obsessed with you. The entire time we were driving Sunday night he wouldn’t stop talking about you, to the point where it was weird. I started to feel like he used me to see you,” Bucky replied. “One time I showed him a group picture, this was like six months ago, from that time we went out ice skating and ever since then he’s been pestering me about you. I don’t even think it has anything to do with me, if that makes sense.”

“I’m not following,” Anthony admitted. “Not entirely, anyway.”

“I think he loves me, I feel certain that he loves me. But he feels some kind of way about you, and it’s creepy,” Bucky said. “Now as I said it’s not jealousy, I just think it’s a bit disturbing that he’s so hung up on you.”

Anthony nodded slowly. “Yeah, I don’t like that. He didn’t want me to dump him but I had to, there’s no two ways about it. What happened Sunday?”

“We had a disagreement. I told him I felt used and he wasn’t happy about that, but he didn’t deny it either,” Bucky replied. “I was hoping he’d drop the whole thing but I don’t think he’s going to. I don’t think he’s going to ever get over you, honestly.”

“Damn. I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that.” Anthony nervously ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to pull at it. “Um… yeah I don’t really know what to think or what to say.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky admitted. “I really want to try things out with him and see how they continue, but I also don’t think he’s going to change. Now that he’s actually seen you, I feel like it’s only going to be more awkward.”

“Oh about that, I’m sorry I didn’t want to go out the other day,” Anthony said. “I was going to try and make myself power through it, but… just being around him for however long you guys were in the apartment was way too much. I got really anxious and just hid in Stephen’s room. And then, on an unrelated note, I ended up sleeping for 14 hours or something.”

“I’m sorry if I was forceful. I didn’t know how to subtly ask if he was making you uncomfortable in the moment, but I could see it,” Bucky replied. “I don’t blame you.”

Anthony shrugged. “Dude I’m at a loss, generally speaking. I don’t know what to say about everything you just told me, but honestly I’m feeling a little sick.”

“Are you going to see Stephen? I’m meeting Christine, so if you want I’ll walk with you,” Bucky offered.

Anthony nodded. “Sure.”

“I really am sorry, Tony. For everything this weekend, and if something I said upset you after your wisdom tooth surgery,” Bucky said.

“It’s not your fault. I’ve been stressing about how to tell everyone about that relationship for too long and the way I felt when I woke up just reminded me of something I still don’t really want to talk about,” Anthony replied. “There’s a lot I’m holding back, even from you, but I’m just not ready to go into all of that yet.”

“I won’t be upset if you tell me,” Bucky tried to comfort him.

“It’s less about that and more the fact that I don’t want to even think about it. I don’t want to think about him,” Anthony said. “I don’t want to hear his voice, or see him, or even hear about him, if I’m being honest. And I feel bad, because I know you love him, but—”

“But you’re my friend, and I care about you. Plus you’re way too polite to be direct when something or someone upsets you and I think that does more harm than good. You just end up keeping everything to yourself, and you don’t have to,” Bucky interrupted. “You don’t have to be a closed book all the time.”

Anthony smiled at that. “Stephen’s said that to me before. I don’t know why, but I like that phrasing. I’m not one to open up in general, even though I trust everyone in our friend group, but this feels like it’s too much to get into the open right now. Someday I’ll be ready, but not today. It doesn’t help that this weekend was honestly too soon.”

“That’s fair man,” Bucky replied. “I don’t have to tell you that Stephen loves the shit out of you, and you deserve that.”

“I could go on and on about Steph probably endlessly,” Anthony said, hiding his face as he blushed.

“Everyone knows that, even people who have never met either of you know that!” Bucky teased. “But honestly, are you okay?”

Anthony shrugged. “Yes and no. I just need time.”

“I understand. And I am really, really sorry about this weekend,” Bucky replied. “Forgive me?”

Anthony shook his head. “Do I need to? It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not, but still… I’m sorry. I hope that means something, at least.”

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @taruyison @chocopiggy @majesticnerdynerd @spooky-n-spunky @merlynthedisasterchild @kitkatfat15 @maya-custodios-dionach @katninjagirl97

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #my ironstrange college au #protective stephen strange #james rhodey rhodes #wong #protective Bucky #james bucky barnes #christine palmer #implied christine/hope #implied valcarol #not steve rogers friendly #implied anti stony #implied anti stucky #ok off to dream about part 4

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phroyd · 3 years

Text

One of our Great Comedians leaves us this day! Rest In Peace, Jackie! - Phroyd

Jackie Mason, whose staccato, arm-waving delivery and thick Yiddish accent kept the borscht belt style of comedy alive long after the Catskills resorts had shut their doors, and whose career reached new heights in the 1980s with a series of one-man shows on Broadway, died on Saturday in Manhattan. He was 93.His death, at Mount Sinai Hospital, was confirmed by the lawyer Raoul Felder, a longtime friend.Mr. Mason regarded the world around him as a nonstop assault on common sense and an affront to his sense of dignity. Gesturing frantically, his forefinger jabbing the air, he would invite the audience to share his sense of disbelief and inhabit his very thin skin, if only for an hour.“I used to be so self-conscious,” he once said, “that when I attended a football game, every time the players went into a huddle, I thought they were talking about me.” Recalling his early struggles as a comic, he said, “I had to sell furniture to make a living — my own.”The idea of music in elevators sent him into a tirade: “I live on the first floor; how much music can I hear by the time I get there? The guy on the 28th floor, let him pay for it.”

The humor was punchy, down-to-earth and emphatically Jewish: His last one-man show in New York, in 2008, was titled “The Ultimate Jew.” A former rabbi from a long line of rabbis, Mr. Mason made comic capital as a Jew feeling his way — sometimes nervously, sometimes pugnaciously — through a perplexing gentile world.“Every time I see a contradiction or hypocrisy in somebody’s behavior,” he once told The Wall Street Journal, “I think of the Talmud and build the joke from there.” Describing his comic style to The New York Times in 1988, he said, “My humor — it’s a man in a conversation, pointing things out to you.”“He’s not better than you, he’s just another guy,” he added. “I see life with love — I’m your brother up there — but if I see you make a fool out of yourself, I owe it to you to point that out to you.”He was born Yacov Moshe Maza in Sheboygan, Wis., on June 9, 1928, to immigrants from Belarus. (Some sources give the year as 1931.) When he was 5, his father, Eli, an Orthodox rabbi, and his mother, Bella (Gitlin) Maza, moved the family to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where Yacov discovered that his path in life had already been determined. Not only his father, but his grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfathers had all been rabbis. His three older brothers became rabbis, and his two younger sisters married rabbis. “It was unheard-of to think of anything else,” Mr. Mason said. “But I knew, from the time I’m 12, I had to plot to get out of this, because this is not my calling.”

After earning a degree from City College, he completed his rabbinical studies at Yeshiva University and was ordained. In a state of mounting misery, he tended to congregations in Weldon, N.C., and Latrobe, Pa., unhappy in his profession but unwilling to disappoint his father.Hedging his bets, he had begun working summers in the Catskills, where he wrote comic monologues and appeared onstage at every opportunity. This, he decided, was his true calling, and after his father’s death in 1959 he felt free to pursue it in earnest, with a new name.He struggled at first, playing the Catskills and, with little success, obscure clubs in New York and Miami. Plagued by guilt, he underwent psychoanalysis, which did not solve his problems but did provide him with good comic material.Nevertheless, he found it hard to break into the nightclub circuit in New York — in part, he claimed, because his act made Jewish audiences uncomfortable. “My accent reminds them of a background they’re trying to forget,” he said.

While performing at a Los Angeles nightclub in 1960, he caught the attention of his fellow comedian Jan Murray, who recommended him to the television personality Steve Allen. Two appearances in two weeks on “The Steve Allen Show” led to bookings at the Copacabana and the Blue Angel in New York.Mr. Mason’s career was off and running. He became a regular on the top television variety shows, recorded two albums for the Verve label — “I Am the Greatest Comedian in the World Only Nobody Knows It Yet” and “I Want to Leave You With the Words of a Great Comedian” — and wrote a book, “My Son the Candidate.”

After dozens of appearances on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” Mr. Mason encountered disaster on Oct. 18, 1964. A speech by President Lyndon B. Johnson pre-empted the program, which resumed as Mr. Mason was halfway through his act. Onstage but out of camera range, Sullivan indicated with two fingers, then one, how many minutes Mr. Mason had left, distracting the audience. Mr. Mason, annoyed, responded by holding up his own fingers to the audience, saying, “Here’s a finger for you, and a finger for you, and a finger for you.”Sullivan, convinced that one of those fingers was an obscene gesture, canceled Mr. Mason’s six-show contract and refused to pay him for the performance. Mr. Mason sued, and won.The two later reconciled, but the damage was done. Club owners and booking agents now regarded him, he said, as “crude and unpredictable.”

“People started to think I was some kind of sick maniac,” Mr. Mason told Look. “It took 20 years to overcome what happened in that one minute.”His career went into a slump, punctuated by bizarre instances of bad luck. In Las Vegas in 1966, after he made a few ill-considered remarks about Frank Sinatra’s recent marriage to the much younger Mia Farrow (“Frank soaks his dentures and Mia brushes her braces,” one joke went), an unidentified gunman fired a .22 pistol into his hotel room.A play he starred in and wrote (with Mike Mortman), “A Teaspoon Every Four Hours,” went through a record-breaking 97 preview performances on Broadway before opening on June 14, 1969, to terrible reviews. It closed after one night, taking with it his $100,000 investment.He also invested in “The Stoolie” (1972), a film in which he played a con man and improbable Romeo. It also failed, taking even more of his money. Roles in sitcoms and films eluded him, although he did make the most of small parts in Mel Brooks’s “History of the World: Part I” (1981) — he was “Jew No. 1” in the Spanish Inquisition sequence — and “The Jerk” (1979), in which he played the gas-station owner who employs Steve Martin.Rebuffed, Mr. Mason set about rebuilding his career with guest appearances on television. His new manager, Jyll Rosenfeld, convinced that the old borscht belt comics were ripe for a comeback, encouraged him to bring his act to the theater as a one-man show.

After attracting celebrity audiences in Los Angeles, that show, “The World According to Me!,” opened on Broadway in December 1986 and ran for two years. It earned Mr. Mason a special Tony Award in 1987, as well as an Emmy for writing after HBO aired an abridged version in 1988.

“I didn’t think it would work,” Mr. Mason said. “But people, when they come into a theater, see you in a whole new light. It’s like taking a picture from a kitchen and hanging it in a museum.”In 1991 Mr. Mason married Ms. Rosenfeld, who survives him. He is also survived by a daughter, the comedian Sheba Mason, from a relationship with Ginger Reiter in the 1970s and ’80s.“The World According to Me!” generated a series of sequels — “Politically Incorrect,” “Love Thy Neighbor,” “Prune Danish” and others — which carried Mr. Mason through the 1990s and into the new millennium.He published an autobiography, “Jackie, Oy!” (written with Ken Gross), in 1988. He also found a new sideline as an opinionated political commentator on talk radio. In the 2016 presidential campaign, he was one of the few well-known entertainers to support Donald J. Trump.Mr. Mason’s forays into political commentary caused him trouble. He was reported to have used a Yiddish word considered to be a racial slur in talking about David N. Dinkins, the Black mayoral candidate, at a Plaza Hotel luncheon in 1989. Mr. Mason was a campaigner for Mr. Dinkins’s opponent, Rudolph W. Giuliani. Mr. Giuliani said the incident had been blown out of proportion but nevertheless dismissed Mr. Mason from the campaign. Mr. Mason at first refused to apologize but did so later.

He drew attention for using the same word regarding President Barack Obama during a performance in 2009.Appearances on the cartoon series “The Simpsons,” as the voice of Rabbi Hyman Krustofski, the father of Krusty the Clown, confirmed his newfound status, and earned him a second Emmy. Not even the 1988 bomb “Caddyshack II,” in which he was a last-minute replacement for Rodney Dangerfield, or the ill-fated “Chicken Soup,” a 1989 sitcom co-starring Lynn Redgrave that died quickly, could slow his improbable transformation from borscht belt relic into hot property.“I’ve been doing this for a hundred thousand years, but it’s like I was born last Thursday,” Mr. Mason once said of his career turnaround. “They see me as today’s comedian. Thank God I stunk for such a long time and was invisible, so I could be discovered.”

Michael Levenson contributed reporting.

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