#i already have most of the equipment i'd ever need but i still feel warm and fuzzy having this old gal's stuff too

[noirandchocolate]

Several weeks ago one of my coworkers called me over into her cubicle and gave me a very unexpected gift. Her mother passed away recently, and she'd been packing stuff up at her condo to give to relatives and sell, so the home could be sold. The mother was an avid knitter and crocheter, and when my coworker came upon her stash of equipment, she told me, she "immediately thought of me as someone who might get some use out of it."

So, I have inherited a varied collection of knitting needles and crochet hooks, cable needles, sewing needles, and, best of all, now-out-of-print pattern books, mostly for blankets, because that was what this lady loved to make most. Plus, I also have a bunch of gauge swatches she made, pinned to little bits of card covered in perfect schoolteacher handwriting setting out the patterns they were made to test.

And also...

My coworker brought another bag, full of yarn and...knitted blanket squares. Her mother's last started project, before she got too sick to continue. And she asked if there was anything I could do with it.

It turned out, there are twelve completed squares, and I quickly located the pattern book they are from amid those given to me. It's a book of 60 patterns, meant to be put together however the maker wishes into blankets of 20 squares. I figured out which of the numbered patterns were already made, and selected eight more that I thought might go well with them.

So now! I am working on completing! My coworker's mother's last knitting project!

And I really am feeling very good about doing it.

[doodlekoo]

I'm sorry? - jjk

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for a while... you think he doesn't like you back and well Jungkook is just a nervous wreck.

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

rating: PG

genre/warning: best friends to lovers, FLUFFF, kissing, swearing, some anxiety symptoms

word count: 1.6k

note: hi! this is my first ever one-shot/ff ahhhh!! I'm always having scenarios in my head so I thought I'd just go ahead and write one out for once! pls be nice and enjoy some cliche fluffy stuff :)

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“Noo stop because did you see the look on his face!” You exclaim over the phone.

“It was absolutely priceless” Jungkook admitted. “I'm in so much shit tomorrow though!, ___ you're going to have to guide me through it!’ 

“I'm sure it will be fine. Just buy him another pair of headphones. he'll forgive you.” You try to reassure jungkook. 

“Oh, ___ if only it were that easy.. I’m sure yoongi got the most expensive pair out there” Jungkook painfully chuckles.

It's a rainy night in Seoul, you and Jungkook are thinking back to the day he accidentally spilt his coffee all over Yoongi's expensive music equipment. Listening to his voice in situations like this was incredibly comforting. After a long day of working till you were barebones, just hearing Jungkook blather on warmed up your heart in such a soothing way.

You absolutely fell in love with Jungkook around a year ago, and you weren't reluctant to admit it. You eventually caved into his adorable nonsense after years of friendly teasing. Despite the fact that you had already established this, it hurt to think about your feelings. You can't help but have a big fear of losing him because of this. What if he doesn't view you in that way? If he thinks you're too unattractive? Your smile suddenly starts to fade, and the call gets awkwarder.

“Hey ___?” Jungkook breaks the silence.

“Mhm yes? Sorry I zoned out for a bit” you awkwardly giggle.

“I know it's late and you want to catch up on whatever series you were planning to watch.. but I thought maybe you could come round mine? We could watch that Akira film. I know you've never watched it and you can leave as soon as possible if you want to. No dilly dallying.” Jungkook rambles so quickly that you almost miss half of what he actually said.

“Of course kook. I don't mind at all. That sounds quite nice actually” You chuckle even louder at his foolishness.

“Great! So I'll see you in a bit?” Jungkook let out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I'll be there in ten!” you felt so conscious that jungkook could sense yourself beaming with joy on your side. Any time where you are close and cuddly with him your heart did somersaults. It wasn't good for you at all. But you just knew you couldn't help but crave his touch. 

After the call ended you stood up from your couch frantically searching for the missing umbrella. 

“Where are you, you little shit!” With each passing second, your impatience increased. Still grinning so widely.

Hurrying out the front door in the pouring rain you made your way over to Jungkook's as soon as possible.

On Jungkook's part however, everything was a lot more on edge. Twiddling with his thumbs, sweating excessively, Jungkook's heart felt like it was about to pump out of his chest. So stupid. He thought.  What is wrong with you?! You idiot! Why didn't you offer a ride?! Jungkooks mind was going round in circles and he felt so dizzy. Is my bed comfy enough? I haven't left anything out so she may trip over?? No! I need a towel for when she arrives! She must've got soaked. Ahhhhh! 

“God, I'm so hot I need a drink..” Slowly rising from the dining chair, Jungkook drank some water to drown his worries.

A startling flurry of knocks on Jungkook's apartment door began ten minutes later. Once more, his heart rate accelerated dramatically. Oh, how you drove him insane.

“___!” In a tight hug, he engulfed you. As you struggled to breathe, you made a few little noises that caused Jungkook to realise that he was nearly suffocating you.

“Nice to great- see you!” You chuckle at his odd behaviour. Is he okay??

“OH! You're so wet, hold on! I got towels! Let me get them!” Although this is somewhat typical for Jungkook, I'd say he was acting rather abnormally.

You enter Jungkook's moody but warm home after he abruptly fled to the bathroom. Almost like a museum, Jungkook's home was filled with random items and mementos from the many places he had travelled. You laugh aloud when you recognize particular items that are tied with memorable events.

“Here.. I'm so sorry I should have offered a ride..” Jungkook confessed apologetically.

“Oh no no it's okay your apartment isn't that far. Plus I don't mind the rain.” Although the silence wasn't deafening, it was nonetheless awkward. It was unusual for you two to feel embarrassed in each other's company given how long you and Jungkook had been friends. It seemed as though you had both acknowledged something all of sudden.

You were led to Jungkook's bed. As amusing as that might have seemed, this scenario was in no way sexual. In reality, it resembles the awkward first date of two teens.

Jungkook clasped his hands together and then abruptly lifted his finger as if he remembered something while his preferred movie was showing on the television opposite his bed.

“Snacks! We need snacks!” Because Jungkook was so cute, you couldn't help but fall more and more in love with him every day.

“Do you want me to help?” You made the offer to ease his nerves. This evening, he appeared to be quite anxious. But you didn't think much about it.

“It's okay, just stay here and get comfortable. I’ll be quick.” He paused for a split second before fleeing out into the distance once again.

Yet again, you sat quietly. Up till a faint whine and a patter patter was heard. It was Jungkook's Doberman, Bam. Your eyes lit up.

“Hello there! Aww you're so cute!” Soon after bopping his nose and giving Bam some much-deserved pats, Jungkook came back carrying all of your favourites.

“So Bam found you huh? I swear to god he loves you more than me.. My feelings are hurt” Jungkook frowns. You can't help but feel a little proud. You love all of his dogs so it's reassuring to know they like you back.

Jungkook made his way to the bed, sitting beside you. Exhaling, he started to lay out all the snacks in front of you both. You shuffle yourself closer to him to receive his warmth. Smiling like an idiot, Jungkook stays stiff as a board. 

“Shall we begin?” you say as you reach for the remote to press play.

This felt wonderful. With Jungkook by your side, he found himself sinking into your side throughout the first 15 minutes of the movie. The sound of 80s anime is playing while rain is still pattering on the window. You could get used to this. You turn to your side, Bam is curled up in his dog bed, snoring slightly. You then turn your attention to Jungkook. He was paying close attention to the film. Not even a blink. You exhaled a sigh and reached into the bowl of popcorn wedged between your legs for more. Although it wasn't popcorn, what you felt was soft. When you look down, Jungkook's hand is slyly stealing your portion of popcorn. When he saw, he immediately withdrew his hand.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry that was yours! I'm sorry!” Jungkook abruptly begins to apologise ferociously. You didn't understand why he behaved in such a dramatic way. You started to experience some self-anxiety because you know yourself. You were misguided in thinking that Jungkook only sees you as a friend because of your worry that he felt the need to pull away so quickly after your hands touched.

“It's okay don't worry” you gave him a slight smile. Did he really just see you as a friend?

For the following ten minutes, Jungkook becomes quite restless. He kept shifting positions on the bed and moving the snacks around. Was the impact on him truly that serious? Why does he seem so surprised? Suddenly you jumped at Jungkook's unexpected outburst, which came out of nowhere,

“___!” He spoke out loud. Your eyes grew wider. something has possessed him. For the umpteenth time today, he swiftly averted his head away from you while still feeling humiliated.

“Yes?” you laugh. 

“I'm sorry i didn't mean to startle you i just- well nevermind im sorry..” What is it with Jungkook and him apologising today? 

Jungkook begins to breathe heavily. As he becomes progressively more agitated, you watch. Okay, I'm certain that he has something on his mind.

“Hey is everything okay? You seem on edge today.” you ask concerned.

“I- yes I just, I think I need to say something..” Wondering why you tell him to go on. Jungkook's breathing suddenly becomes very strained.

“I like you! I always have I just recently you've been doing things to me and it's gotten too much I just- I'm sorry... I can't keep it in anymore. I want us to be more ___” You gape openly as you stare at him. You are overwhelmed with happiness to the point where you could run around in circles outside in the rain. But Jungkook responds to your silence in a very different way, scrunching himself up and covering his face.

“Oh no i'm sorry! just please forget everything i said.. I should've never confessed.” You lightly chuckle.

“You're such an idiot” You cup his cheeks while removing his hands from his face. As you get closer to him while maintaining eye contact with his lips, you give him a gentle, passionate kiss.

Jungkook appears to be a bright red tomato while simultaneously looking at you with relief. He quickly reclines back into his pillows and lets out a big sigh.

“God you're so adorable.” You say as you watch the rest of the film with huge grins on both of your faces, you sink into him with his arms wrapped around you.

[mightyavngrs]

don't do that again | poe dameron x reader

summary: a broken promise and a mission gone wrong

warnings: mentions of a panic attack (stay safe <3)

a/n: hope you guys had happy holidays! here's a belated christmas gift :)

masterlist | taglist

You laid silently in your bed, heavy eyes trained on the alarm clock that stood in your nightstand. 1:45, 2:36, 3:18... the time passed and you couldn't help the voice inside your head telling you that every hour gone by the probability of Poe coming back safe and sound lowered.

He was supposed to come back a week ago. Maker, you knew it. You knew this mission wasn't going to go well.

Your legs carried you through the resistance base as you furiously made your way to Poe's quarters. It was late and most people had already retired to their rooms but the few members in the hallways threw confused looks your way. As you got to Poe's room, closed fist ready to bang on his door, the thing opened before you revealing a very excited Poe Dameron whose smile disappeared the second his eyes met yours. You caught his wrist, pushing him back inside the room with you before closing the door.

"Y/n, what happened-"

"Tell me you didn't take that mission." you demanded, your raised voice unrecognizable to your own ears.

"Wait, what? This is the most important mission of my career i thought you'd be happy i-"

"Poe this is the most dangerous mission anyone in the resistance has been assigned in years."

"You think i can't do it? Is that what this is about?" he questioned in shock, failing to keep the disappointed look that formed in his face.

"No! Maker, Poe, you're one of the most skilled people this rebellion has seen but this mission could just be an ambush for all we know! I mean collecting intell in heavy-guarded enemy territory from someone the resistance hasn't even heard about? Do you realize how dangerous that is?"

"Yes, y/n, i do. You know i think you're forgetting i've been a part of this rebellion for far longer than you have." he snapped, voice dangerously low and your eyes couldn't help but widen at the hostility in his words.

"Why are you being so aggressive? I'm just worried about you." you stuttered, trying to hold back the tears already forming in your eyes. Your anger for his stubbornness now fully replaced by concern. "I know this is important to you and you know i wouldn't be saying this if i didn't actually mean it but i have a bad feeling about this mission, Poe. Please stay. Just this once." you practically begged, hand moving to cup his cheek before he harshly brushed it away.

"I think you need to go, y/n."

And with those words you were out the door and on your way back to your room. Although hurt, you weren't too worried about Poe's outburst. You guys had promised each other long ago never to leave for a mission without saying goodbye, even if you were mad at each other. He wouldn't break that promise. "Just needs to cool off." you thought to yourself before allowing yourself to drift off to sleep.

When you woke up the next day it took you a second to process what had happened the night before, but once you did panic filled your senses. You quickly got out of bed, clumsily getting ready before starting to make your way to the hangar, your eyes frantically searching for any sign of Poe or the falcon.

"Hey, y/n! What's wrong?" Rey's voice broke you from your thoughts as the jedi made her way towards you.

"Where's Poe?" the question left your mouth without hesitation and the look that formed on your friend's face told you all you needed to know.

"He left for his mission an hour ago."

"No. He wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye. We promised we wouldn't do that." you muttered feeling Rey's hand on your arm as she gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I'm sorry, y/n."

After hours of staring at the alarm clock you sighed. "No way i'm gonna get any more sleep tonight." you thought to yourself, swinging your legs over the side of your bed after deciding a walk through the hangar would be a much better waste of your time. The hallways were deserted and if all the equipment didn't look so modern you would've thought you were walking through an abandoned resistance base.

Finally arriving to the hangar you started your walk through the area before your eyes landed on a beaten up millennium falcon. You violently shook your head, figuring the sight was just another trick pulled by your tired mind to torture you a bit more, but when the image of the spaceship didn't disappear you felt your blood run cold.

And then you were running through the hangar and towards the beloved ship, quickly punching in the code to open its door and before you could call out for your best friend's name you were met by an obnoxiously loud BB-8. Between the mess that were the noises produced by the small droid you were only able to pick out three words. Ambush. Poe. Shot.

You only had time to scream for BB-8 to go and get help before you were sprinting through the ship. Once you finally arrived to the cockpit your eyes landed on your best friend lying on the ground. You fell to your knees by the pilot's side, releasing a shaky breath once you confirmed he was, in fact, still breathing. Tears were starting to cloud your vision by now, and you felt your chest getting heavier by the second. You tried your hardest not to let the panic settle in. This was most definitely not the time for a panic attack; Poe was injured. He needed you. He needed you applying pressure to whatever blaster wound those bastards had given him but your body was frozen, you couldn't move. You could only stare at your best friend's beaten up face as a pool of blood grew around his body. You don't know how many minutes had passed when you felt someone pull you away from Poe and against their chest startling you in the process.

"Y/n, it's ok. We got him, he's gonna be okay." hands you could now recognize as Finn's were rubbing your arms in an attempt to ground you and bring you back from your state of panic. This wasn't your first panic attack but you usually had Poe there to help. Stars, Poe. He always knew what to do; how to help you, and now you couldn't even help him. You closed your eyes, trying to avoid the sight of his bloodied body being carried away by the medics and finally, after a couple of minutes, you gained enough strength to get on your feet (with Finn's help), and start your walk to the medbay.

7 hours. The longest, most painful 7 hours of your life and you were finally let inside the room. A sweet doctor had come to get you letting you know that, although stable, Poe was still unconscious but she hoped hearing your voice could help him. After a quick nod of reassurance from Finn and a hand squeeze from Rey, who'd met you at the medbay only a few minutes after you'd gotten there yourself, you stepped inside the room.

Poe laid on his hospital bed, face still dirty from the mission he'd barely made it out alive from and a thick bandage on his torso. You closed the door behind you, moving to take a sit next to the pilot. With a sigh you brought your hand up to his hair, brushing the brown curls away from his bloodied face.

"If only you had listened to me just this one time." you mumbled with a sad smile, your hand now moving to hold his. "I'm sorry i couldn't help you. I tried to move but seeing you like that i just- i thought i was going to lose you and i couldn't focus and i-" and then you were choking on your words and there were tears running down your cheeks again and you couldn't believe you were this pathetic because if you couldn't even help your dying best friend then what the hell were you good for. Then you felt a squeeze in your hand.

"Please don't cry." Poe's tired voice filled the room and you couldn't help but do the exact opposite, lifting your teary eyes to meet his own.

"Poe." you were barely able to mutter out before you were engulfing him in a hug. The pilot ignored the pain in his abdomen, focusing instead on how warm your embrace felt and on how happy he was to be back in your arms. His favourite place in the galaxy. "I thought i'd lost you." you confessed just above a whisper, and he hated that he could hear how mortified you were in your voice. He hated that the tears now staining his shirt were a result of his stubbornness and most of all he hated himself for breaking your spirit like this.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." he muttered into your hair, trying his best to hold you as tightly as the pain would allow it. "You were worried and i snapped at you and then i left without saying goodbye and you were right about the whole thing. It was an ambush. Maker, y/n, i'm so sorry." he kept apologizing while rubbing your back, trying to bring you as much comfort as he possibly could. But you shook your head no before attempting to reassure him.

"You had no way of knowing. It wasn't your fault Poe just- don't do that again ok? Please don't ever leave without saying goodbye again..."

"I won't. I promise."

Poe had always found amusement in complaining about the resistance beds but now, as his bare back laid in fresh sheets for the first time in weeks, he couldn't help but sigh in content.

"Alright! You're all bandaged up." you exclaimed happily, putting away the gauze you'd been given before laying down next to the pilot. It'd been a few days since the incident and the doctors had released Poe from the medbay as long as he promised he'd change his bandage daily, job you'd gladly taken. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm happy i'm alive." he replied with a smile, staring at the ceiling above, but something about his tone of voice and the slight frown still visible in his features threw you off.

"You know you can tell me anything right?" you asked softly, bringing your hand up to caress his face when he flinched at your touch. "Look at me, Poe. Please." And then his eyes were on yours. You were used to hearing the fear in the pilot's voice, no matter how much he tried to hide it through his comlink you could always sense it but this... you'd never actually seen fear in his eyes like this. He was still terrified. Terrified that he wouldn't come back home one day. That he wouldn't come back to you.

"Hey, you'll always come back home." you assured him, and you sounded so confident in your statement, so faithful that, just for a moment, he allowed himself to believe your words. "You'll always come back home because you're the best pilot in the resistance, Poe Dameron. You'll always come back home because this rebellion needs you. I need you, ok?"

Poe swallowed the lump that'd formed in his throat. "Say that again." he pleaded and Stars you could never say no to him.

"I need you, Poe. I can't do this without you." Your fingers were tracing his skin in an attempt to get him out of his head. To get him to calm down so he would finally get some proper rest. But then he was scooting closer to you, resting his forehead against yours.

"I love you." the words left your mouth before you could stop them. You pulled away from the pilot, eyes widened in fear of the rejection you knew was to come but Poe's hands found your face and pulled it towards him closing the space between you. Your eyes fluttered shut and you ignored the tear you felt running down your face as they did so. It felt right. His lips on yours that is. And when you finally had to break the kiss for air he pulled you gently into his arms. "I love you. And i really can't do this without you either."

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a/n: i'm so excited to finally post this! i've had this idea for a year now but my first attempt at writing it went so bad i gave up haha i think i've gotten a lot better ever since so hopefully you guys enjoyed! don't forget to leave feedback if you'd like and treat people with kindness <3

taglist: @buckysbeloved @justanotherblonde23 @lbuprofiend @etherealsanakin

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (December 14, 1974): 51/?

QUEEN KILLING THEM SOFTLY IN FRANKFURT

IT WAS, said the tall and studious Brian May, like playing to a vacuum cleaner. "We were just pouring it out and they (the audience) were sucking it in, with nothing coming back. I tell you, for the first time in many months I felt like I'd done a hard day's work when I came off stage."

May, along with the rest of the band, is sitting in the diner of Frankfurt's Why Not club reflecting on Queen's second date in Germany. The mood is not bad, but there's an undercurrent of steely determination following the difficulties of that night's gig.

The fact is, support band Lynyrd Skynyrd. were exactly what stoned-out Frankfurt wanted. As in England with Golden Earring, so in Germany with Queen, Lynyrd Skynyrd make an over-poweringly succesful support band. Here In Frankfurt there were even more difficulties for the English and. Most of the audience are American GI's, looking like inmates from the local borstal with their cropped hair and rippling muscles.

As you enter the 1100 capacity hall, the air is stuffed with the stench of dope — an intermingling of hash and grass and the sweat of a crowd at least 300 over the top.It's a strange place, former stock-exchange for farmers, complete with balcony, and surrounded by tropical plants.

Up on the balcony above the stage a group of Queen supporters self-consciously tap their feet to Skynyrd's rhythmic weave. Roger Taylor, ever grinning, appears to check on th band, notes the wild applause and disappears, no doubt to plan strategy.

There's a long break between sets leading to the dissipation of part of the crowd. Heidi, the whizz-kid of EMI Germany, explains the local GI's problem: "Zey have to report back to camp by 11.00 pm". So when Queen's little rock 'n' roll drama explodes, there are considerably fewer people end even less enthusiasm.

Presence

Mercury, the self-styled rock supremo, looks unabashed as Queen open with as much presence as a band can muster. Lights, tapes, and screaming dynamics combine to counter the audience apathy. It's ahighly professional first assault. Procession, Now I'm Here, and Ogre Battle make a promising start which draws warm applause. But unlike many gigs, this one did not cook to boiling point. If anything the crowd were almost undecided when Queen departed after an energetic stab. It took fully two minutes before muted applause turned to a good old stmp and chant, bringing the boys back on stage for a stirring finale.

Freddy stalks the stage with controlled aggression as they bash into Big Spender and you realise that here's a rock artist who can sing, cavort, and write songs with an almost contemptuous level of excellence. He is a classic rock star — complete with costume changes and bare hairy chest. Seems, his only real need is to develop that outrageous off-stage campery into the act. He's very much the mincing Queen, yet on stage this seemingly natural personality is overtaken with host of: "Right now we'd like to do" type announcements. Roger Taylor, a veritable demon on the drums and very fine musician, has more idea when he tells the crowd to get off their arses. Nevertheless there were those in the company who felt Queen showed too much aggression in the face of audience apathy.

Anyway, by all account there's a huge row in the dressing room afterwards which sends the EMI rep scurring away with cries of: "Don't let them break the windows."

The Swedes were apparently as wild as English audiences, but in Germany it's different.

Next stop is Hamburg with Skynyrd supporting for the last time.

Unapproachable

More talk on the way back to the hotel suggests the band will be unapproachable and there's even talk of spending the rest of the evening with Slade, who just happen to be staying at the same hotel. The word is that Queen are THE most fastidious band and no matter how good the gig, they (or Freddy paticularly) will find fault.

Eventually Brian and John walk into the bar. They look cool but not too unnerved and they're all prepared to go clubbing.

According to them there've been a few problems already on this, still young European tour like the incident which decapitated their equipment truck. Apparently some hapless roadie was hurtling through the Swedish night when he failed to notice a low-bridge warning. The lorry went on through, losing its root and half the amps in the process. Two gigs had to be cancelled while another truck was driven out from London in time for the Munich gig, a first in Germany. According to Heidi, Munich was a smash: "The audience just didn't know what had hit them," she says, adding that tonight's comparative failure does not over concern her: "Queen will be huge," she says confidently, "I'm sure they are going to be enormous, but it will take a year."

None of the boys seem overly worried and the general feeling in their road party — and among the visiting journalists — is one of disdain for the Frankfurt crowd. A crowd of dopers into boogie rock is hardly likely to appreciate futuristic guitar pyrotechnics and 1975 flash a la Mercury.

"Still," muses May, now installed at the night spot, "they could have returned something. The more an audience feed back the better we play — naturally — but there I just felt like I was wasting my time."

Electronic

He's a musician of the electronic school, very much on top of the latest developments in the uses of amplified sound. On stage he uses two American Echoplex units. The guitar he built himself over two years: "There's nothing special or different about it, it's just a good instrument." The amplifiers, he draws from a good old British tradition. Back in the days when The Shadows were the inspiration for every rock group in the country (they were celled rhythm groups then) Vox amplifires were renowned. Now, in contrast to almost all of his contemporaries, May uses the good old Vox AC 30, or to be more precise, nine of them (three are spare). 

Over a crab cocktail and non alcoholic drink (he's still recovering from Hepititis) Brian quashes the popular misconception that Queen are just a studio band manipulated by highly professional technicians. The truth is self-evident in the stage act. They compare favourably with their recorded sound. But Brian goes further. 

"Do people really believe it's all down to the studio?" he asks indignantly. 

Well, er, yes Brian, Trident Studios has got a reputation for expertise, and you must admit there's a lot of production goes into the Queen discs.

"OK," he returns, "but most of that studio direction comes from us.

"We think of all the ideas. We love being in the studio. We're full of thoughts on how the songs should come out."

Fair enough. But what about being on the road? There are nothing but tours ahead for the band. Can they all cope? What will they do to keep sane?

"I suppose this," he looks unimpressed. "I can't drink more than a couple of pints so there's no danger of me getting wrecked. I must admit though it's going to be long haul. It'll be really good for us but I'd prefer not to be away so long. We're just going home for Christmas then we're off again to America." 

Meanwhile on the next table, Freddy Mercury is being his ourtageous self: "When we were in Copenhagen dear, we went to a Russian restaurant where naturally I ordered the speciality of the house. It was delicious. I said 'what in this' and they told me I was eating bear. Bear, dear, I loved it."

Freddy and Roger Taylor seem to be taking Europe in their stride, and a few indifferent gigs won't stop their growing style in this band. Freddy's voice is on the way to giving out, yet he still has time to confide that he simply must do something about his hair. Perhaps he should send for his personal hairdresser? 

The Queen has her eyes on an entourage no doubt, and what's the betting she gets it...?

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 37

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Five more chapters to go, guys. This is coming to an end 😭 I enjoyed writing it so, so much! In this chapter we have fluff. Literally only fluff and snark, because my babies have suffered enough. And the remainder is gonna be the same. Because fuck pain.

Coulson was mad. Outwardly, of course, he seemed as level-headed as ever, handing out orders and signing papers out left and right, but coming to sit within five feet of him seemed like the worst mistake I had recently made. His phone was ringing practically non-stop and he answered every call, sometimes speaking in different languages I didn't understand, sometimes in rapid-fire English that sounded like Morse code to me.

I'd never been sent to the principal's office but I imagine that's how it feels like. Finally, his shoulders sagged and the breath he took in left his lungs slowly, deflating his body into a tense ball of quiet fury.

"You and mister Brock ruined months worth of investigation and undercover work," The agent finally spoke. "But I can't even be mad at you properly. We've apprehended the main culprit, detained all of his followers except select few that Dr. Xavier took upon himself to handle," His words shocked me; not at all the scolding I was expecting. A deeper part of me was even afraid I'd be taken away and buried under so much red tape not even Tony's seemingly endless money and influence could have gotten me out. "I... Really don't know what more to say." Coulson folded his hands atop the desk, looking over me with a blank look.

"A thank you would be nice," I let my mouth run before the words even really registered in my brain, the cursed thing.

The agent chortled, "Perhaps, we really do owe you a solid one," Before standing up and walking over to the coffee machine in the far corner of his office. "Coffee?" He motioned to a pile of empty cups next to it. I nodded and he set to work. "The guys should be back in two hours, tops," He remarked off-handedly, watching me out of the corner of his eye. There was no way he had missed how my body relaxed into the uncomfortable office chair at the news. "Nobody is hurt except Rogers but I think he'd find how to hurt himself even on recon duty." The man laughed, bringing over two cups of dark, delicious, steamiy hot bean juice. Nhghhgg.

"Steve is a dumbass," I agreed amicably, blowing over the rim of the cup. The stone of coffee on it's own seemed to wake up my previously anxious, half-empty half-racing brain. The past twelve hours were full of urgency, the team being called in for assistance in mere minutes after my and Venom's return to the tower.

They barely had time to wipe their tears and shelf their worries before the suit-up call came, haste hugs and kisses being traded on their way to the quinjet. Coulson showed up not much later after that, a quinjet of his own and a stack of papers for Eddie to fill out, stern instructions for me to follow him and stay glued to his side at all times. I didn't need to ask: it was obvious there was a rat in SHIELD, again. Thankfully, the rat was discovered before they could come and try to increase their odds by doing something to me; I'd hid out in Coulson's office, crashing down into a strange, most likely Venom-induced sleep as footsteps raced past the door.

I'd woken up anxious and disoriented, the owner of the office pacing along the furthest wall and pointedly whispering into his cellphone. The rest was history.

"Your father called," The agent remarked, watching my reaction carefully. "Said to call him back whenever you can."

I was drained, beyond wrung out, and not just from my latest stunt as a parasitic symbiotic alien's host. The past couple of months were a nightmare, an anxiety-riddled, paranoia-spiced mess of a shit show. I was very much looking forward to breathing freely and enjoying my science without hiding my WIPs, enjoying my relationship (s) without fear of being abducted and sending my men into a panicked, destructive spiral.

My voice remained even as I carefully contemplated and spoke my next words. "He can go fuck himself. Him and that harpy of a woman," I sighed: disappointed in my parents, but not surprised. "I'm freshly out of fucks to give. I'm done."

Coulson, if he even was surprised, didn't show it. His expression remained neutral and supportive. "I understand you. There's enough basis for us to aid you in creating a new identity for you, if you'd like," He pushed a stack of papers towards me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. It would be handy, sure, I could be rid of the curse that became of my family name and my parents couldn't legally do anything at all to me; on the other side there was my name plastered on several inventions and projects I'd done over the years. In all my years, I was taught that my name is to be my business card.

The decision was obvious. "No, thank you," I looked at him, hoping to convey the sincerity. "I think I will be okay."

He smiled and went back to his paperwork, all but verbally dismissing me. As soon as I finished my coffee and washed the mug, the couch called to me once again and I curled up under the fleece blanket Coulson had thrown over me while I slept, alternating my attention between sneaking glances at his concentrated form and my cellphone and the few meager games it had. There was no signal and no wi-fi access on the Helicarrier. Security reasons, blah blah blah...

A knock sounded out, startling me out of my sluggish thoughts; one of Coulson's hands crawled down to one of the drawers on his right side where I assumed he had hidden a gun. "Come in," He called out, shooting me a pointed look. I sat up, alert.

"M'here to pick up - uh - a Baby," A tired but amused, familiar voice called out. Clint stepped into the room, still wearing his dirty and bloody uniform, and, as my eyes briefly scanned him, the archer appeared to be unhurt save for a few bruises here and there. His eyes landed on me immediately, visibly relieved.

"Waa," I deadpanned indignantly, raising my hands like a toddler would do when they wanted to be picked up. The only thing Clint was missing was a courier's ball cap.

"I assume the mission went smoothly?" Coulson asked, a soft grin and even softer eyes landing on our interaction.

Clint nodded affirmative, walking over and picking me up with ease, disregarding my shierk completely and stopping only when I poked him in the ear - closest appendage to me - in retaliation. His eyes were laughing and his tone was flat. "Caw caw, motherfucker," He announced to me flatly, waving goodbye to Coulson.

We passed more than a dozen agents giving us the biggest side-eye as I dangled over his shoulder, ass up in the air, fiddling with the numerous straps of his gear as Clint power-walked us to the Avengers quinjet. I'd even stuck out my tongue to some dude pointing a finger at us.

My family was already loaded into the vehicle, all in various stages of dirty, bloody and undressed. Coulson's words were true - only Steve sported a wide bandage over his shoulder, neck and head - one look at Bucky and I just knew the Captain would be regretting his stupidity in a few hours time. Even Stephen was there, looking unhurt but very annoyed and tired, as he hovered a few feet off the ground with Cloaky majestically swaying behind him.

"And what the fuck was that little performance for?" I asked once Clint deposited me in the very front row, between a dozing Bruce and a tinkering Tony.

"I had strict instructions from the Hulk," The archer grinned, pushing a few buttons on the dashboard of the vehicle. In seconds, we took off home.

"Oh, hi," Bruce must've heard his green counterpart being mentioned; his eyes cracked open just as I smiled at the scientist and reached over to brush his curly mop of hair out of his face. "M'yes, Hulk is demanding you do not set foot on the ground these days," Bruce was sleepy and warm, so soft when he kissed my hand, I felt my heart swell.

"Gonna spoil me rotten, you lot," I snorted, keeping the happy smile and the warm feeling as Stephen came back from the Astral world, opening his eyes and giving me a grin of his own.

"That's my job," Tony mumbled, still very occupied with a part of his suit. I turned around expecting a kiss; I had to stifle an ugly snort upon discovering one of the parts of his Iron Man suit got damaged and stuck, making a part of the chestplate render one of his arms temporarily immobile. Tony looked like a frustrated toddler building Legos.

"Someone get me a screwdriver and some pliers," I gently pried away the calloused fingers away from the jagged piece of metal, kissing Tony's cheek in the moments until Natasha handed me the required instruments. Tony was free, grimacing in discomfort as he stretched and rotated his arm, in little under ten minutes. "What happened to the nanosuit?" I asked, not remembering the last time I'd seen Tony in one of his older, clunkier creations.

"They had some sort of technopath mutant," He grumbled - I had discovered the source of his ire. "Turns out, Bruce snuck in my special anti-mutant suit I'd made ages ago. Nanosuit got destroyed in seconds and Hulk had to carry me back to the quinjet for a change of equipment," Despite his sour mood, Tony was visibly more relaxed than since the day I confessed I'd been drugged. "Brucie-bear, this is exactly why it remained a prototype."

"It's better to get stuck in a suit than to be a meat pancake on the sidewalk," Used to Tony's tantrums, Bruce merely blinked and continued eating the chocolate that he procured only God knew where.

I locked eyes with Stephen, both of us shaking our heads in almost identical, semi-fond semi-annoyed way. Ah, sweet sweet normalcy.

There were towers of pizza boxes as we arrived in the tower; a couple of agents got all but yeeted out by Tony, with little to no thank you as they had been the ones that arranged the food for us - still, I understood Tony's dislike of the super-secret organisation and merely paid the two for the pizza, politely waving goodbye as they side-eyed Tony with disdain.

Then, I had to tow both Clint and Thor as they attempted to begin eating, still wearing muddy bloody clothes - of course, I did not possess the physical strength required to handle two adult men, so I merely began a small lecture on parasites (Stephen gleefully joined in) and both of them scattered towards the showers like two spooked little first-graders.

I also used the brief moment of stagnation to hug Loki; these days he didn't freeze in surprise but rather warmly hugged me back, whispering something cheeky to me as I buried my face in his chest. Stephen was the one to cough extra-loudly to attempt to separate us - it was, once again, unanimously decided to have a family dinner and a cuddle pile straight after. Food coma had never sounded nicer.

"So, what'd Coulson say to you?" Clint asked curiously as we all settled in, freshly showered and those who needed it, re-bandaged. I was warm and toasty between Tony and Stephen, wearing the former's gym shorts and the latter's hoodie, Bruce's t-shirt underneath it. The scientist himself was drooling onto Tony's shoulder, somwhere between sleep and awareness, glasses askew.

"He basically thanked me and offered me a new identity," I shrugged, polishing off the last of my smoothie and handing the second bottle over to Loki. As usual, no food was wasted and I always had someone to finish my leftovers, especially since Bucky tended to think I could eat as much as him and kept trying to overfeed me like a foie gras goose.

"Congrats, you've been adopted," Natasha snorted from her place between Clint and Steve. Only the red of her hair was visible behind the man-bulk and the blankets.

"Uh," My response was, as always, deeply informative and astute.

"He likes to take in strays," Clint full-belly laughed. "Me at first, then Natasha. He's got a soft spot for Tony and Bucky but he won't admit it."

My eyebrows rose. "That's... That's my job?" I remembered the whole Venom/Eddie situation, our rogue wizard. Coulson was aiming for my place- the audacity! "He can't just do that!"

"And you can?" Stephen's finger booped my nose, making me huff and cuddle up to Tony, turning my butt towards the sorcerer to show him exactly what I thought about his observations. He only laughed harder. "Sounds like someone's a little jealous."

"Okay, boomer," I rolled my eyes. Stephen Strange, a supreme troll is what he is.

"But that's why you love me," He continued as others around us groaned and snorted, too used to us teasing each other about our age difference and my old man kink. Whatever, I got to bang my hot old men anyways.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias @warrior1-19 @toomanyrobins @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming

[madasthesea]

what about the remember me one? seen a lot of fics with peter getting amnesia but never one of tony forgetting anything? could be a nice switch to see how peter would deal with that + tony trying to figure out how he went from a wild playboy to a supposed superhero with a teenager. I'm sure I'd cry lmao

Guess what, anon. I already had 2000 words written on this very topic. Hence why this is so very long.

Tony wakes up. He blinks around at the well-lit room around him—softblue walls, clean sheets on his bed. There’s medical equipment around him,beeping steadily with his heartbeat.

He isn’t worried, but he is confused.

He has no idea where he is.

A hospital, he thinks,but he doesn’t know how he knows that.

Actually, the more he thinks, the more he realizes that he doesn’tknow... anything.

His name is Tony. He’s in a hospital room. There’s a dull achebuilding at the back of his head.

That’s it. He closes his eyes and concentrates, tries to rememberhow he got here, but there’s nothing before he opened his eyes.

“Tony?”

Tony jerks his eyes open, looks at the dark-haired woman suddenlystanding in front of his bed.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she replies, smiling a little. “I’m Dr. Helen Cho.”

Tony tries to think if the name is familiar. Or if it should befamiliar. It isn’t, so he says, “Nice to meet you.”

Dr. Cho hums. “Yes. About that. I suspected based on the MRIresults from this morning, but this confirms it. Tony, you have full retrogradeamnesia. It is temporary. We’re finding a solution.”

Tony frowns. “How do you already know it’s temporary if I’ve justwoken up?”

Dr. Cho doesn’t seem surprised by his blunt question. In fact, herlittle smile grows just a bit.

“The cause of your amnesia is not from blunt force trauma or a deteriorationin the hippocampus, but another source that I feel is best not to disclose atthis time. I’ve consulted another doctor with your case and he assures me thatthere is a solution that will fully restore your memories, it will just take afew days to take effect.”

“That sounds suspicious as heck, but I guess I’ll take your wordfor it, Doc. You seem like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I do. That’s why you hired me,” Helen says simply. That’s news toTony. He thinks about his response for a moment.

“And the other doctor. I hired them, too?”

“Dr. Strange is a... colleague of yours. He wanted to help.” Tonyraises an eyebrow, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Cho keeps speaking. “Wouldyou like to see your family now, Tony?”

Tony freezes. He... he has a family? Are they worried about him? Dothey know he has amnesia... that he can’t remember them?

What if they get mad that he can’t remember them?

His mouth is suddenly dry. He swallows hard.

“Do they know?” He whispers.

“I’ll warn them before they come in,” Helen assures him. When Tonycontinues to stare at the door with wide eyes, she adds, “They’re very worriedabout you, Tony. They’d like to see you.”

“Right. Ok. Umm... bring them in, I guess.”

Helen leaves. Tony tugs at the blanket over his lap, his stomachfluttering with nerves as he waits for someone else to show up. He has no ideawho to expect.

Does he have a spouse? Are his parents alive? Siblings, maybe? Noneof those feel right, but does that mean anything?

The door opens again and Tony’s jaw drops a little bit.

The woman walking toward him is easily the most beautiful personhe has ever seen. Her long strawberry blonde hair falls over her shoulders, herblue eyes wide as she hurries over to him.

“Tony,” she murmurs, sitting on the edge of his bed. She puts onehand on the side of his face, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Umm,” he breathes intelligently. “Hey.”

The woman smiles a bit, her eyes filling with tears. The sightmakes something in Tony’s gut clench, icy dread shooting through his veins.

He sits up a bit, presses his hand over hers.

“Don’t cry,” he says without thinking. “Please don’t cry.”

Her face softens. She rubs her thumb along Tony’s cheek.

“Hi, Tony,” she whispers. “I’m Pepper.”

“Pepper,” he repeats quietly, hoping that it will feel familiar inhis mouth. It doesn’t. “That’s a nice name,” he offers, smiling a little.

Pepper laughs, a soft exhale of breath. Tony likes the way hernose scrunches up when she does it.

“Thank you.” They sit for another moment, hands still overlapping.Tony looks at her intently, hoping that if he looks hard enough he’ll remember something about her.

Finally, he has to ask. “And you’re my...?”

Her smile is a little sadder this time. “I’m your fiancée.”

Tony gapes at her for a second. “Holy crap.”

Pepper laughs again, an actual laugh that makes Tony smile justfrom hearing it.

His breath catches in his throat when she leans forward and kisseshis cheek. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, his stomach swarming with butterflies.

“Even with amnesia, you’re still my Tony,” Pepper says like it’sthe greatest compliment in the world.

He smiles at her, a dopey grin that makes her laugh again. It’sofficially his new goal in life to make her laugh as much as possible.

Although he wants her to stay, after a few minutes, he can’t helpbut wonder if there’s anyone else out in the hall, anxiously waiting for theirchance to talk to him.

“Is... Dr. Cho said ‘they,’” Tony starts out haltingly. “Arethere... more people?”

“Of course,” Pepper assures him. “I’ll go get him.”

Without any explanation as to who ‘him’ is, Pepper kisses hischeek one more time and leaves. He watches her go, his nerves mounting again. Hehalf hopes she’ll come back with the next person. Her presence is starting tofeel familiar and comforting—like his body is remembering her before his brainis.

 To Tony’s surprise, the next person that walks in is a kid.

He’s scrawny and a little short, and could be anywhere between thirteenand sixteen. His brown hair curls over his ears, his forehead.

When he saw Pepper for the first time, she had felt like a totalstranger. But as soon as he sees the kid, something in him seems to perk up, avoice in his head repeating I know him. Iknow him. How do I know him?

Tony sits up in his bed, watching the boy with furrowed eyebrows.Why does this kid seem so familiar?

And then their eyes meet.

The boy’s eyes are a warm brown. Tony doesn’t know how he knows, butimmediately he thinks ‘just like mine.’

Tony’s heart skips a beat. His breath catches in his lungs.

Oh mygosh.

That’s myson.

The thought comes with the quiet certainty of fact. And then there’sa rush of emotion so intense Tony is dizzy with it. A sense of awe fills him atthe thought that this living, breathing person is Tony’s kid, and with it an innate need to protect him from anythingthat could possibly hurt him.

The boy stops at the foot of the bed. Tony can see now that hiseyes are red from crying, and it feels like being punched in the stomach, animmediate cry of fix it resounding inTony’s mind.

“Come here,” Tony says, numbly patting the bed where Pepper hadsat before. The kid hesitantly settles himself next to Tony, their legsbrushing through the thin blanket.

Tony swallows hard, tries to take in everything about his son’sface. He’s beautiful, really, and he knows most fathers say that about theirnewborns, but this is Tony’s first time meeting his kid and he’s shaking andscared and already so completely in love with this kid that he doesn’t even know.

He raises a hand to the boy’s cheek, just like Pepper had done tohim. His eyebrows beetle as he looks at Tony, an almost pleading expression onhis face.

“What’s your name?” Tony whispers, hating himself for having toask.

Tony can almost hear the sob his son chokes back.

“Peter.”

Peter.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“What for?”

“For being such a terrible father that I forgot my own son,” Tonyexplains.

To his surprise, Peter freezes. Maybe he had hoped that Tony hadn’ttruly forgotten him, had still remembered who he was even if he couldn’tremember his name, only to be disappointed.

Tony almost apologizes again, but Peter stops him by slumpingforward and hugging Tony around the middle.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter assures him, his voice breaking.

Tony wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders, buries his nose inthe kid’s hair. It’s comforting, if not familiar, and Tony is content to sitthere for a long time.

Pepper comes back with Dr. Cho and two other men who introducethemselves as Rhodey and Happy. Tony makes a face at their weird names and theyboth laugh. Peter is still tucked into his side and Tony is happy to keep himthere, combing fingers through his curly hair. He wonders for the first timewho Peter’s mom is. She must have curly hair just like Peter’s, he thinks.

To his surprise, Cho says that he’s free to leave. He’s even moresurprised to learn that this isn’t actually a hospital at all, but a medbay ina tower that he owns and lives in.

“Am I rich?” he asks at that, and everyone laughs so hard theycry, which Tony doesn’t understand at all.  

Pepper and Peter lead him to the elevator after he’s changed outof the hospital gown.

“FRIDAY, take us to the penthouse,” Pepper asks politely.

“Of course, Miss Potts,” a woman’s voice answers. Tony jumps andlooks at the ceiling where the voice came from.

“That’s your AI, FRIDAY. You made her,” Peter explains.

“An AI?” Tony asks, his eyes alight in curiosity. “And she runsthe tower?”

“And a load of other things.”

“That’s amazing,” Tony says, grinning. Peter and Pepper both smileback at him.

“Wait until I show you your lab,” Peter promises.

 The day speeds by to Tony. After Peter shows him around the lab,which had Tony feeling like a kid in a candy store, they mess around for acouple hours, Peter’s jaw drops and his eyes go huge as he realizes something.

“What?” Tony asks, self-conscious. As fun as the day has been, Tony’samnesia is a stumbling block in most of their conversations, a handicap theyhave to work around.

“You’ve never seen Star Wars,”Peter gasps.

“Umm... no,” Tony agrees, because he definitely doesn’t rememberever seeing it.

Peter grabs his wrist and doesn’t even wait for Tony to put histools down before starting to drag him from the room. “Come on. The only thingbetter than watching Star Wars forthe first time is watching someonewatch it for the first time.”

“That good, huh?” Tony asks, laughing, letting his kid tow himalong.

Peter stops dead and stares at him. “They’re the best movies inthe world.” Then he keeps pulling him along.

And so he spends the evening sprawled on the couch with Peter andPepper, eating pizza and watching Star Wars and Tony thinks maybe he doesn’tneed his memories back if this can be his life from now on.

When Darth Vader reveals himself to be Luke’s father, Tony isappropriately shocked.

“He just cut off his son’shand?” Tony asks, outraged. Peter nods against his shoulder, seeming pleasedwith Tony’s reaction. Tony uses a finger to tip Peter’s chin back so they’relooking at each other.

“I promise, even if I go dark side, I will never cut off yourhand, ok, baby?” Tony tells Peter in faux-seriousness.

“Good to know,” Peter laughs, tucking himself closer to Tony’sside. Pepper, on his other side, is watching them, and when Tony looks over ather she doesn’t clear the confusion off her face quite fast enough.  

He wonders if maybe he and Peter don’t usually act like this, ifmaybe Peter is just relieved that he’s ok and is humoring his more tactiletendencies.

He thinks maybe he should be more concerned about the fact that hecan’t remember the previous years of his life, but there’s something... freeingabout it. He can just exist, in this moment, with his fiancée and his son, withno recollection of any past tension or grief or worries.

He isn’t sure why, but he has the terrible suspicion that a lot ofhis memories are not good ones.

That night he dreams of monsters and flying and fathomless spacespread out before him. Someone is screaming, and it’s him and Pepper and Peterall at the same time.

He wakes breathless, the void of his past a welcome reprieve.

 The thing he finds weird, he decides as he wanders around thepenthouse the next day while Peter’s still asleep and Pepper’s at meetings, isthat there are no pictures of Peter as a child.

There are plenty of recent pictures, where Peter looks the same ashe does now, and Tony’s in many of them, but if the kid was his son, wouldn’the have baby pictures around? The kid with a trophy of some kind, a Christmas,a birthday?

Maybe they were estranged for a long time?

The thought that Tony could have had a son and not been allowednear him makes him sick.

There are no pictures of anyone that could be his parents either. Hegets a sinking feeling he knows why.

He almost asks FRIDAY, which is still the coolest thing he’s everheard of, but he doesn’t. He has a hard time admitting to himself it’s becausehe doesn’t want to know.

 When Peter is finally up and dressed, he comes to Tony with a grinon his face.

“I have a surprise for you,” Peter says.

“Kid, I have no memories, everything is a surprise.”

Peter laughs and takes Tony by the wrist, leading him to theelevator. They go down past the labs, but stop before the Medbay. Tony waitsfor the doors to open with baited breath.

The room Peter leads him into covers the entire floor, and islined on every wall with gleaming metal statues in shades of red and gold.

“Woah,” Tony breathes, stepping out and turning slowly so he cansee more. “What are these?”

“These are your babies,” Peter says simply.

Tony arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re my baby. These are...awesome.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but he seems to be blushing a little, whichTony again finds odd. He was just stating a fact, what was there to beembarrassed about?

“You know what I meant,” Peter says.

“I... I made these?” Tonyasks. Peter had told him that he’s a world-class genius and a mechanic, but it’shard to believe when he has no memories of being either of those things.

“Every one.” Peter sounds proud, and Tony preens a little internally.His son is proud of him. It’s a good feeling.

“What are they for?”

“Brace yourself,” Peter warns, smiling. Tony waits. “Along withbeing a genius and a billionaire, you’re also a superhero. Called Iron Man.These are your suits.”

Tony looks again at the suits, walking slowly around the room andtaking in each one.

“I... I’m a superhero?”

“You’ve saved the world a few times,” Peter admits, tipping hishead against Tony’s shoulder as they stand together, looking at a clunkiermodel of the suit. The plaque under it reads “Mark III.”

“Wow,” Tony breathes. And then he notices the one suit differentfrom all the rest—instead of a robotic suit of armor, it’s more form-fitting,metallic red and blue with a spider emblem on its chest. He walks toward it. “Isthis mine, too?” He asks, confused.

“No, that’s actually... that one’s mine,” Peter tells him. “I’m asuperhero, too.”

Tony whips around to look at Peter. “I let you fightsupervillains?” he asks, suddenly appalled at his own parenting.

Peter shrugs. “You tried to stop me. It didn’t work. So now youprotect me, instead. You made this for me.”

“Are you... is it just the suit? Like me? Or do you...?” He doesn’treally know how to ask his kid if he has superpowers, so he trails offawkwardly. Luckily, Peter gets what he was trying to say.

“Want to find out?” he asks, grinning slyly.

 If Pepper were home she definitely would have stopped them. But turnsout Tony’s decision making is very easily swayed when Peter’s enthusiastic andexcitable, and before he knows it, he’s suited up in one of the Iron Man suits,Peter’s in his Spider-Man suit, and they’re both exiting the tower from thebalcony on the 98th floor.

Tony nearly falls to his death the second he takes off, but FRIDAYhelps, and Peter gives him pointers as he swings along next to him, and soon he’sflying like it’s second nature. And maybe it is, to him, buried in his muscles,so deep that even amnesia can’t make him forget it.

He and Peter explore New York from the air, laughing and whoopingas they go, and Peter shows him what he can do: the strength, the wall-climbing,all of it. Finally, breathless, they both sit on the edge of the roof of askyscraper, their feet dangling hundreds of feet above the pavement.

Gosh, how could he ever forget this?This life, this amazing family, this job.

Or maybe his life wasn’t actually like this. Maybe he didn’t spendhis days flying around the greatest city in the world with his son at his side,happy and carefree. But the possibility of it is there now—he’s gotten a tasteof it and wants more. Even when Dr. Cho’s miraculous solution comes through, hecan’t imagine he’ll ever choose to go back to what he was before.

Peter’s rambling next to him, talking about a time when the two ofthem had stopped a bank robbery together. He sounds a little wistful. For thefirst time, Tony feels guilty about not remembering.

“This must be hard for you,” Tony says when Peter pauses.

Peter looks at him. He’s taken off his mask, figuring they’re sohigh up no one can see his face. He shrugs, bouncing his heels against theconcrete below him.

“I... I know I don’t... know you super well right now. I can’tremember when your birthday is, or your favorite food, or what you like to do.”

He stops and takes a breath, before reaching out and turning Peter’sface toward him. The kid’s eyes are wide, and there’s something sad about themthat makes Tony’s heart break.

“But I know I love you. I just look at you and there’s this weightin my chest and I just know that Ilove you so much.”

To his dismay, Peter’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, jeez,” Tony says, hastily moving to wipe the tears away asthey fall. “Do I not tell you that enough or something, Pete?”

“No, no, I just... I love you, Dad,” Peter whispers, and there’ssomething in his voice that Tony doesn’t understand, something guilty and sadand afraid.

“I-I’ll get my memories back soon,” he promises, hoping that willfix it.

“I know,” Peter says. He smiles sadly, than yanks on his mask andstands, leaping without hesitation off the building. Confused and a little hurt,Tony follows.

As they make their way home, all Tony can think about is how Peter’svoice broke when he called him Dad.

 In his dream, Tony is holding Peter in his arms, cradled to hischest, looking down at his son’s face.

Peter’s crying. Tony’s crying, too.

He watches his son slowly turn to dust, and at the same rate, hisheart shatters into pieces.

The fragments coat his hands.

 Tony wakes up and can’t breathe.

Whatever sick joke his imagination was playing on him, he wasn’thaving it. He stood from his bed and tiptoed down the hall. With a little helpfrom FRIDAY, he found Peter’s room and slipped inside.

He could hear the kid breathing and was instantly soothed as if itwere a lullaby.

Did Tony sing lullabies to Peter when he was a baby? He wonderswhat his favorites were, which ones Peter would babble to, which would calm himdown when he was crying.

Tony steps forward and crawls into his kid’s bed.

Peter stirs next to him, the shift in the mattress alerting him toTony’s presence. “M—Dad?” Peter asks groggily.

“Hi, baby. Sorry I woke you,” Tony whispers.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Tony assures. The fear of the dream is behind him, the detailsslipping away. It wasn’t real, obviously. Peter’s here, warm and sleepy, andnot ash on his hands. “I had a weird dream, is all.”

Peter blinks himself into alertness. “What happened in it?”

“It doesn’t matter, it was just a dream.”

“Dr. Strange said to tell him if you access your memories in yourdreams. I need to know,” Peter insists, sitting up.

“Well, I know it wasn’t a memory, cause you died in this dream,alright? And clearly, you’re not dead, so not real,” Tony says, propped up onhis elbows.

Peter’s face goes pale, then he sighs. He lays back down, restinghis head on Tony’s chest and getting him to lay down in the process.

“You were holding me,” Peter says quietly. “And I started turningto dust in your arms.”

“How—” Tony starts, butPeter interrupts.

“That really happened. I... I died.”

“Oh my gosh,” Tonybreathes, horrified, wrapping his arms tight around his kid. He remembers thedream more vividly, all of a sudden, remembers the horrible red dirt and thepain in his chest and the absolute, desolate grief. “Oh my gosh.” There are tears in his eyes.

“It’s ok,” Peter whispers. He curls into Tony’s side like he wasmade to fit there. “You saved me.”

“My son. My son.” Tony holds Peter so close he can feel his heartbeating against his own chest. It’s the only thing that lets him sleep againthat night.

If his lifeis anything like his nightmares, he thinks before he falls asleep, he doesn’t want his memories back.

 Apparently, the single memory is all Dr. Strange needs to bringthem all back. He explains, in a rather pompous way, that he’s a sorcerer whois going to retrieve Tony’s memories from where the other sorcerer who did thishid them.

That sounds like the most absurd thing in the world to Tony, buthe thinks about Peter yesterday on the roof, of Pepper that morning when she’dgone to kiss him and he’d stiffened in surprise and she’d turned away, tryingto hide her frown, and forces himself to sit still.

And just like that, his memories are back. It’s overwhelming atfirst, all the information pouring in like a computer rebooting. Then he’sjust... there.

He opens his eyes and sees Peter across the room and thinks, Oh, crap. Amnesia Tony was an idiot.

Now that he has his memories and knows that Peter is not, in fact,his son, he is absolutely mortified. And, judging by how much Peter’s avoidingeye contact, he’s not the only one.

Dr. Strange leaves in a spray of golden light and then Pepperlooks between the two of them and excuses herself and suddenly it’s just Tonyand Peter, not looking at each other.

Tony thinks he should be the adult here and speak first, but Peterbeats him to it.

“So, we’re all good now, right? I should probably go back home,May’s been wondering,” he rambles, already halfway out the door.

“Kid,” Tony calls. “Come on, we should, um... talk? About this?”

Peter’s shoulders slump. He seems to steel himself before he turnsaround and forces a smile. “It’s ok, Mr. Stark. I get it, you don’t need toexplain. Why else would a kid be hanging around, it was natural for you toassume...”

“Pete,” Tony tries to say, but Peter just plows over him.

“—And about what you said, it’s-it’s alright, I know it’s just causeyou thought I was-“

“Peter,” Tony saysloudly. There’s a beat.

“I’m sorry I called you ‘Dad,’” Peter whispers. Tony stopsbreathing for a moment. “It was selfish.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asks, his heart beating loud in his ears.

“I just wanted to see how it felt.” Peter’s voice is small,ashamed.

Oh, kid.

“Come here, Pete.” Peter doesn’t move. “Alright, I’ll come to you,”Tony says, and crosses the room until he can rest both hands on Peter’sshoulders so he can peer into his eyes.

“Kid, you have this all backwards. I didn’t love you because Ithought you were my son,” Tony murmurs. It’s strange how much easier it hadbeen to say when he had no memories of his father telling him he was weak, ofhis team leaving him beaten and bloody, of betrayal after heartbreak afterinjury. He tries to channel that Tony, the one that lived in the moment becausethere was no past to dwell on. He takes a breath and plunges on.

“I thought you were my son because I loved you. Because you walkedinto that room and I knew you, evenif I didn’t remember why.”

Peter’s expression cheers up marginally. “Really?”

“Yeah, buddy. Really. And I,” he hesitates for a second cause it’sfeelings and not necessary, but it’llmake Peter feel better. “I liked you calling me ‘Dad.’”

Peter gives him a watery smile. “I liked having a dad. For alittle while.”

Tony chucks him gently under the chin.

“You’ve always got me, kiddo.”

[gretavanfleetlife]

Only Time Will Tell:

Chapter 7

AN: hey! Sorry about that last heartbreak of a chapter, I’d promise it gets better but I might have to break my promise like reader lol���� Anywayy i hope you like the symbolism and metaphorical sense a certain part of this chapter, a bit deeper than it may seem on the surface... lol enjoy babes!!💖💖

Warnings: swearing

Word count: 2,200 words

"I'm sorry."

Sam looks at you, his face miserable. His eyes begin to water and he fights hard to hold back tears. Your heart truly feels shattered. The way he looks at you makes you think of Josh.

"Oh Sammy," you sigh, your words heavy as a side effect of your broken heart. You step towards him and give him a brief hug, as if I'll apologize for what you've done. You know that you still have feelings for him, but you also know that it will only make things worse if you embrace them before he leaves. You pull away from Sam's gentle touch and gaze sadly into his eyes. Looking at him reminds you too closely of Josh, both images being enough to make your eyes water. Ever since you were younger you've absolutely hated seeing any of the boys cry. It didn't happen often, but when it did it almost always moved you to tears. Sam looks at the ground, refusing to meet your eyes.

"Look at me," you whisper. Sam does as you say, lifting his head and gazing down at you. "I-I'll wait for you, ok?" you hear yourself sniffle. Sam nods, running a hand through his long hair.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he whispers, his voice cracking. He turns, running a hand across his face and walking out of your room. Moments later, you hear him leave your house by the creaking of the front door echoing throughout your home. You sink back on your bed, lying down into the mattress as you begin to think about everything you've caused in such a short amount of time. You bury your face in your pillow and cry softly, eventually falling into a heavy dream by accident.

You dream that you are back at the creek, sitting next to Sam on the smooth rock just as you did last night. You rest your head on Sam's shoulder as his arm is wrapped around you gently. Everything seems to be happening in the same way as it had the night before. When he pulls away from you, you no longer feel disappointed at the loss of contact, because you know what's coming. You look up at him and gaze into his deep brown eyes, dreading to hear him speak.

"Beautiful," he whispers. Your heart falls, remembering what came after Sam uttered that word the night before. He leans in closer to you, but instead of pulling away like you know you should, you close the gap between the two of you and kiss him. Your lips danced sweetly with his, but unlike the night before, it was Sam who pulled away first, quickly ending the kiss. You look at him, confused and suddenly unsure about what's to happen next.

"I thought this was what you wanted," you wonder aloud to Sam. He looks straight into your eyes but doesn't reply, his face a blank canvas void of expression. He leans closer to you again and you brace yourself for another kiss, but are stunned when you feel him suddenly push you strongly into the creek. You crash into the water, the stream becoming as deep as an ocean as you sink like a stone. You swim back to the surface and you splash about the water, unable to stay afloat against the sudden heavy current. You desperately scream out to Sam for help but watch in horror as he stands up from his place atop the rock and walks away through the trees. You are left alone, thrashing about in the water. You feel exhausted from fighting against the crashing waves around you, so you tiredly let the water crash over your head, submerging you completely under the water. You reach your hand above your head as a tired final attempt of hope. You feel water begin to splash into your lungs as you feel a sudden tight grip around your hand. You are pulled strongly out of the water, crashing down onto a soft bed of grass. Sam must have come back for you, you think, coughing up seawater. You look back at the water that you just escaped from and realize that the deep ocean you had almost drowned in has turned back into the shallow stream that ran through the creek.

"You alright?" a familiar voice asks. You glance upward, expecting to see Sam but instead locking eyes with Josh, who sits in soaked clothes beside you. Sam is nowhere in sight.

You startle awake from your dream, breathing quickly as you attempt to relax into the comfortable mattress beneath you. You roll over onto your back and notice that your pillow is still damp with your tears. You rub your eyes and glance at your phone. The time reads 4:38 p.m., but that's not what catches your eye. Instead, you notice a text appear, sent to you about an hour ago.

'Sam: Josh just talked to Jake and Danny without me and convinced them to leave today instead of tomorrow :( '

Your stomach drops as you lie still on your bed, too stunned to move. You reread the message a couple of times before snapping out of your haze and rushing to reply.

'Y/n: What time?' you type. Seconds later, Sam replies.

'Sam: In like 10 mins'

'Y/n: I'll be right over'

'Sam: Hurry'

You roll out of bed and rush to change out of your pajamas, throwing on a loose pair of shorts and a large hoodie. You hurry out of your house and walk quickly over to the Kiszka house. Approaching their driveway, you see Danny and Jake loading a large van with bags and equipment. Danny sees you first, delicately placing a red snare drum into the trunk of the car.

"Y/n!" Danny yells, causing Jake to look to you as well, "I thought you weren't coming!" He pulls you into a giant bear hug, lifting you off the ground and causing you to squeal.

"I fell asleep, but I'd never miss saying goodbye!" you reply with a genuinely wide smile as Danny carefully places you back on the ground. Danny never fails to make you grin like a fool. He mimics your smile as Jake approaches you, holding his precious red guitar in one hand and a reaching out to you with the other. You hug Jake closely as he rubs your back with his free hand.

"We're gonna miss you y/n," he says softly, "don't forget about us while we're gone, ok?" Jake lets you go with a smile.

"Only if you don't forget about me."

"Deal," Jake grins, holding out his hand to shake yours as if to solidify the agreement. You shake his hand but instantly regret it.

"Ew, Jake! Why's your hand wet?" you ask with a disgusted look on your face. You carefully smell the sticky substance on your hand and recognize the scent immediately, laughing in relief.

"I dropped a case of beer when I was loading it into the van. I may have spilled a little bit," he laughs, motioning to the driveway at pieces of shattered glass and a puddle of beer. You shake your head jokingly.

"Clutz," you tease, "where are the other two?"

"Josh and Sam are inside doing who knows what," he says, waving his hand dismissively towards the house.

"Alright, I'll be right back," you declare, walking up the driveway towards the front door. You hold your breath and walk up to the door, already ajar. Just as you are about to walk inside, Josh pushes past you, giving you a short glance before quickly returning his focus to the ground ahead of him. You feel a familiar pang of disappointment return but you let him go, seeing Sam waiting just inside the house. He lets out a heavy sigh of relief when he sees you. You step inside and Sam ruffles his hair nervously while shoving his other hand in his pocket.

"Hey," you begin.

"Hey, I'm glad you made it over before we left, I was starting to get worried," Sam admits.

"Me too, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself if you left without saying goodbye."

"Yeah well we shouldn't be leaving today anyway," he complains.

"It's alright Sam, I'm sure Josh has his reasons," you say unconvincingly.

"Pfft, I don't give a shit about his reasoning, he could've asked me," Sam rants, clearly upset.

"It's ok, don't worry about it," you try to calm him, knowing it's definitely your fault that Josh wanted to leave a day early. Sam opens his arms to you and pulls you into a hug. Your heart flutters but sadness still seeps through you. He adjusts his grip on you, pulling you tighter to himself as he buries his face in your neck.

"I'm gonna miss you so fucking much," he says, his voice muffled by your hair. You smile sadly. You rub his back in response, not wanting to speak in fear of your voice cracking unevenly. He lifts his head away from the crook of your neck and you feel his warm breath against your ear. "Promise you'll wait for me?" Sam whispers softly into your ear. You remain still for a moment, unable to avoid remembering the last time that you made a promise. You nod against his chest.

"Of course," you breath softly. He pulls away from you but you can't bring yourself to look at him. He reaches out to you and gently lifts your chin, forcing your eyes to reconnect with his.

"I need to hear you say it," he asks, "please." His eyes are still swimming with sadness, reminding you of your earlier conversation with him.

"I promise, Sammy. I'll wait for you," you whisper.

As you help Sam grab the last of the bags from the house you feel the former uneasy tension between you and Sam drift away. You load the luggage into the van, saying a quick goodbye to Sam before he hops into the car. Recapping in your head, you've hugged three of the four of them goodbye, and you know that the last will be the most difficult. You walk around to the driver's seat and knock on the car window. Josh doesn't open the door right away, and you begin to wonder if he'll even get out to say goodbye before they leave. You're put slightly at ease when the car door opens and Josh steps out, closing the door strongly behind himself and turning to face you. His eyes stare into yours, his face emotionless and impossible to interpret, although you know for certain how he's feeling on the inside.

"Do us both a favor and leave me alone," Josh says urgently in a deep voice. Your heart drops lower in your chest at the harshness of his tone, this is not going to be easy. You shake your head slightly, denying the possibility of meeting Josh's request.

"I know you're upset, and you have every reason to be," you begin, your voice low and desperate, "But I need you to know that I'm going to miss you with every piece of my heart. I'm sorry, you have no idea how bad I feel about this."

"Oh, I understand perfectly how terrible you must be feeling," Josh scoffs, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at you, "I'd even say I'm feeling quite similar myself."

"Right, um sorry," you stumble, feeling idiotic. Of course he knew how you were feeling, how could you say that to him. "Anyway uh, I'm gonna miss you," you stutter, feeling very unsure of yourself after Josh's last comment, "can I... can I have a hug?"

He hesitates for a moment, but eventually opens his arms towards you and you hug him tightly. You close your eyes, feeling tears begin to form and trying not to let them fall.

"Please remember that I love you, Joshie," you whisper into his ear. He pulls away from you.

"Don't call me that," he says, opening the car door and swiftly getting inside. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying. You gave Josh that nickname when you were seven years old. Since then, Josh has gotten mad at anyone other than you who called him it. You both know that the name is reserved for only you to call him, or at least it was until now.

"Bye y/n!" Danny calls from the back of the van, bringing you out of your daydream while the car makes its way down the driveway. You cross your arms and wave back at the car. Jake leans over to the wheel and honks the horn, waving to you and earning a serious slap from Josh. You laugh, continuing to wave as the van backs onto the road and drives away. You hear another honk and you giggle at Jake's second attempt at a goodbye. Soon, the van disappears over the horizon. Wiping a small tear from your eye, you begin to slowly walk home in the middle of the road.

Taglist: @aliensforleaders @kiszkaboi @greta-gvf @rogers-wristbands @strawberry-fieldsssss @gretavanqueen @spngvf @goodoldfashionedqueen @mutantpanda54 @allons-ytomyworld @diggrycedric @sammysgirll @rogerinascigarette @thaliamessi @pazmonkey @yesmynameisbelle @a-queen-and-her-throne @grapesarepurple @cherrrywitch @edgeofdrkness @livcappolella @ohsososophisticatedd @lunautica13 @oddolive @daydreamqueenjaycee @jenjenhill @neonslushies @fruityfreddie @izmo16 @gwilsbri @safarimama @thicchardy @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank 💗💗💗

[lunaraen]

G'morning! (It's 00:30 where I live, ahaaaa...). If you're still taking requests, I'd quite like to see something about F. Jesse and Ivor having that first awkward encounter/conversation after the Witherstorm. I've always wondered what would be going through each of their minds in that circumstance. Thank you in advance :D

It should hurt.

A distant part of Jesse is verycertain it does.

For the most part, though? She’snumb. Everything lasts too long and yet each moment blends into the next in atwisted blur, something in her chest stinging, sharp and painful, while shefeels nothing, her entire body cold and limp. She walks, she smiles, she givespep talks, and her lips strain with every motion, her legs aching with everystep.

(Jesse’s so tired.

Maybe sleeping would help, butthere are too many people and there’s too much to do and she can sleep later, not now,any time but now even if now won’t end,“later” never quite coming.)

She wants to go to bed, collapsebehind some rock or tree, and wake up back home, in her tree house with Reuben.She wants, above all else, to wake up in bed with him at her feet, rather thanrocks digging into her back and Reuben haunting every other thought.

It’s just not possible.

Admittedly, Jesse’s more and moretempted by the idea of just falling asleep and never waking up.

But that’s not a whole lot morepossible. Not when her friends need her, when countless strangers are lookingto her for guidance and confidence she doesn’t have.

That’s part of why she’s where sheis now, stumbling more than walking, trudging not into the darkness but awayfrom the main part of their camp. Jesse’s not looking to fight anything, swordat her side just in case anyway, and stays within the dispersed ring ofhundreds of torches they have spanning so many meters in every direction. Shejust wants to be somewhere a little less blindingly bright, somewhere where’sshe’s not so closely surrounded by exhausted and sleeping people who deserveevery bit of their rest.

An equally big part may have todo with how she can smell coffee, a desperate and curious part of her clingingto that. If she can’t sleep forever, well, the dramatic opposite is that shewon’t sleep at all, and coffee helps with chasing away the sleep andnightmares.

Jesse pauses, freezing with onefoot midair, as one of the people sleeping on the ground twitches, theirsleeping bag pulled up enough to cover their head.

It’s not until they settle againthat she finishes stepping over them, shoulders relaxing as she exits one ofthe most outer throngs of sleeping people and keeps quietly walking, doing thesame silent march through whats little more than a field of torches andsupplies abandoned for the night.

Step, step, pray there’s not atwig to snap under a boot in her next step, keep stepping.

(This would, in hindsight, beeasier without her armor, but taking it off would be disrespectful to Ellegaardand feels too final and vulnerable an act. They’re safer now, but they’re notdone yet.

Every step, one and then two, alittle more hesitant but no less routine, feels as much like its own challenge,its own risk, now as when its broad daylight.

She hears monsters that aren’tthere and screams people are no longer making. She feels almost ready to drawher sword on the smallest of shadows, and certainly feels ridiculous about itall. It’s nearly over, and the hardest part, the hardest actual battle, isover. She doesn’t have the right to jump at monsters that aren’t there, likesome traumatized adventurer or amazing hero.

That’s the sort of trauma thathappens to people who have survived incredible things, and while Jesse’s plentytraumatized, she’s no hero. Now’s not the time to start acting like it.)

Jesse’s not actually planning ondisturbing whoever else is up and brewing coffee in the middle of the night,but she’s curious all the same. The smell is stronger away from the heart ofthe hundreds of sleeping people, and if someone wants their privacy, she canrespect that. But if someone else is having trouble, they also deserve ashoulder to lean on.

It’s the most Jesse can do rightnow, unable to return to building without making too much noise or doingsomething wrong when it’s better laid out in stored away plans.

Still, all plans of comfort turnto dust and ash, uncomfortably stuck in her throat when she sidesteps aparticularly large pile of equipment to find Ivor on the other side, legscrossed as he sits by a makeshift fire. The kettle’s no longer boiling, a lazy,never-ending plume of steam and the smell of coffee still slowly wafting off ofit from where it’s set beside him.

The silence is not pleasant.

Really, it’s stifling and plainawkward, more awkward than she was already preparing for. They aren’t just twopeople who deserve their rest and are up far too late; they’re two peoplewho’ve been part of this disaster since the beginning, albeit starting ondifferent sides.

Funny that they should be two ofthe people to see the entire thing through.

Jesse doesn’t think they’vereally spoken since the battle, even as Ivor’s diligently worked alongside therest of them to provide healing potions and whatever other aid he can brew up.

Ivor shifts without a word,moving to the side and patting the grass beside him. It’s a small invitation,as unexpected as it is silent, but Jesse takes it, settling where he sat not amoment ago. It’s better than having to stare at each other from across thefire, but the discomfort doesn’t exactly vanish with the two of them sittingside by side.

Her eyes are stinging and herattempt at a greeting isn’t almost anything, a choked sound lodged in herthroat that doesn’t manage to make it to words.

Ivor, in turn, forgoes a greetingof his own.

Instead, he cuts painfully closeto everything Jesse was planning to never talk about.

“There’s nothing to beashamed of, in grieving.” Maybe it’s written over her face now, maybe it’sbeen written all over her since they started traveling and rebuilding. “Italways hurts to lose someone.”

And there’s a wistful quality tohis voice, one that nearly everyone seems to have, that tired, hollow look inhis eyes that Jesse’s seen over and over in so many people lately, eyes withdark, nearly purple circles under them, and she’s speaking before she reallyknows it.

“I’m sorry for your–”No, it’s wrong, that’s wrong, it’s too mechanical (she’s said it too many timesto too many people in the past few days but something like that should neverever sound routine) and it’s the last thing she has the right to say. Jesse’smouth closes fast enough she nearly bites her tongue, back rigid and her nailsdigging into some part of her skin, past the gloves into her hands (her palms?They’re still too sore from building to tell, too numb from everything else).

I’m sorry for your loss.

People have lost homes, beenseparated from friends, lost livestock and pets, had precious mementos rippedfrom them and exploded into nothing. Loss is everywhere. Even the peopleinsisting they’ve lost nothing have had something or another ripped from them;she doesn’t think one person’s really kept their peace of mind.

There’s been a lot of mourning, alot of moving forward, and a lot of condolences. That won’t work here, now, atthis time with Ivor.

Apologizing for his loss would bedistancing herself from it, acting like Ellegaard’s death wasn’t directlyJesse’s fault. Begging for forgiveness is more appropriate. A million otherapologies spring to mind, scramble their way onto her tongue as her body staystoo stiff, and Ivor manages to beat every single one.

“And I’m sorry foryours.” Jesse feels something warm, something akin to rage or pain, spark atthat, and she smothers it before it can become anything. Ivor’s voice hitchesas he tries to continue, and she thinks he’s expecting that warmth, expectingher to lash out at him with it. “I–”

He swallows, and Jesse waits.

“I regret so many things. Icould spend an eternity lamenting so much of what I’ve done, what I’ve said,the things I never acted on but should have. All the things I never should haveconsidered but did.” His voice is gentle, still, but his hand is by farsteadier as he picks up a mug Jesse didn’t notice and the kettle, motionssmooth in a way his words aren’t as he begins to pour. “And yet, I havenever regretted anything more than stealing that blasted block, or using it tomake that abomination. I can’t give back what I took, Jesse. If I could, Iwould.”

Ivor presses the mug into Jesse’shands, the coffee swirling without spilling and just as steamy as the kettle,and it takes her several moments too long to realize the drink’s for her.

“I know.”

His voice turns the sharpestshe’s heard in–days? weeks?–a while, his scowl as stern and nearly as bitteras his words.

“Then stop apologizing likeyou had anything to do with it– with herdying. With the world being turned on its head. With losing Reuben.” Ivorpauses, pinching at the bridge of his nose with fingers thin enough to almostbe skeletal, and the venom eases away as quickly as it came. “I killed oneof the brightest, most creative, inspiring people to have ever spawned. She wasone of my best friends, once, and I ended up bringing about her doom. I killedEllegaard. Just as recklessly and unintentionally, I killed Reuben. You lostone of your best friends.”

It’s relieving in a way it shouldn’t be to have it addressed as it is. 

Reuben might have been a pig, but he was never just a pig to her. He was the best pet anybody could ask for, and to hear Ivor talk about him that way makes her choke up for different reasons.

“Maybe you should stopapologizing like you had anything to do with it.” There’s a ghost of asmile from Ivor at the echo, and Jesse counts it a success even as her own weaksmile crashes and burns. “You didn’t sneak Reuben aboard with me, or tryand have him land anywhere but the lake. I should have noticed. You didn’t failto grab him, didn’t take Ellegaard’s armor.”

“But I uprooted your life,didn’t I? All our lives? Shook the very foundation of what you knew, yes, butalso what you had? Your home? Your friends?” He looks away. “Petra’sridiculously fortunate to not have any lasting nerve damage.”

Jesse hears the unspokeninsinuation: they’re not sure she doesn’t.Petra doesn’t seem to, and that’s enough for Jesse now, but it’s a worryingthought.

She looks up at the moon, asbright and speckled as ever, and she wonders why it gets to stay the same. Howit dares be the same moon now, glowing as much in their darkest moments as itdid when they were happy, when Jesse’s biggest adventures involved forestescapades and building competitions.

There are better sources to bebitter at than the moon, and while she doesn’t find Ivor guilty the way heapparently does, Jesse knows she herself makes a plenty fair target. Evenstill, she didn’t act without reason, just like Ivor didn’t.

“…none of this would haveeven happened if Soren hadn’t lied about the Ender Dragon.”

Jesse doesn’t really know whatkind of response to expect, but Ivor’s chuckle, worn and weary and so close tobeing a bark of a laugh, isn’t it.

“It would be easy, to blamehim. He isn’t exactly here to defend himself.” In Jesse’s eyes, there area lot of other reasons for why it’s easy to blame Soren, but Ivor’s the lastperson she needs to explain that to. “I’ve spent a good deal of my lifeblaming him for things. Things he played a hand in, certainly, but not thingshe could entirely control. How different would it be, I wonder, if just one ofthem had sided with me. How different would things be if I’d never objected atall? How different if any of us had noticed him taking the command blockalong?”

If anyone has answers, it isn’t Jesse.

Ivor doesn’t seem to know muchbetter himself.

“I thought he was beingclever, however vile and manipulative the cheating itself was. Of course he’dnever intended to let us do our part. Of course he’d want to orchestrate theentire thing just to his liking, with everyone safe and used like pawns.”Teeth are the first to show as his lips twist into a snarl and the first to behidden as Ivor’s expression softens. “Of course he’d want everyone safe.That was something Soren would never negotiate on. However wretched a light Ipaint him in, he deserves credit for that. He’d never let Ellegaard die, not ifhe had any say in it, never let anyone get so close to death.”

Not himself, certainly.

“He didn’t care enough aboutus being in danger when it meant saving his own skin.”

“Fair enough. He’s acoward.” Intended to be funny or not, it’s straightforward enough tostartle a small laugh out of Jesse. “He recognized the risks and decidedthey were too much. But he’s not the master manipulator I’ve seen him as for solong. He’s flawed; human. Who wasn’t scared, then? I’m hardly any better; Iabandoned you in the nether, and brought this entire mess down upon us to beginwith.”

By Ivor bringing it back to them,trying to center it on him, Jesse’s reminded of how this disaster in particularis still her fault. Ivor had a fail-safe, after all, a means to end what wassupposed to be a short demonstration, and he was hardly to blame for saidfail-safe being nabbed.

“…it wouldn’t have been aproblem for anybody if I didn’t steal your potion.”

“Jesse, you saved the world. That’s not something totake lightly, not when leaving it to somebody else would’ve been easier andsafer for you. My safest course of action was not making a monster. Instead, Itore what remained of my best friends apart, killed one of them, and let herdie in Soren’s arms.” Ivor glances over his shoulder, briefly, and Jessedoesn’t wonder what he’s trying to see past the pile.

Magnus and Gabriel have beendiligent in their help, and she appreciates that too, but there are a number ofless than pleased people among them. The two of them tend, more often than not,to set up camp further from the heart of wherever they set up for the night.

Gabriel’s armor gleams decentlyin the moonlight, and she can see it glinting from here.

Ivor clears his throat in whatmay be a huff, and he’s watching her now.

“It’ll be a miracle if theyever speak to me again. Magnus might eventually run out of steam, but Gabriel’salways had a very strong sense of justice.”

…that’s an interesting way todescribe an old friend who betrayed him, pushed Ivor away and ignored him as ifhe were a stranger, someone who lived the life of a respected hero and lied tothe world for years even before Jesse’s spawning.

“Not enough to keep him fromlying.”

“If I know him half as wellas I once did, it’s been eating at him every moment since.” Ivor’s legsshift, one straightening before bending to allow him to rest his elbow on itsknee, and he’s smiling weakly as he turns his head to look at her. There’s awarmth, a tired, mournful sort, in his gaze, hidden as it is by the long bangsgripped in one hand, barely kept from shifting in front of his face. “I’mnot going to try and make you forgive them or see them in a kinder light. Youinherited our mess, our lies and schemes, and fixed it far better than we evertried to.”

“It doesn’t feel thatway.” Disheveled as Ivor seems right now, he still has more control,visibly, than Jesse even halfway feels. “You all seem so experienced, andeven my friends seem to know what to do, how to do it. They’re great at helpingpeople, and I’m so scared of making things worse, Ivor. What do they need mefor?”

“Jesse.” The stern toneis back, gentler but not without an edge. She gets the feeling he’s had enoughof the circular pity cycle they’ve been going through. “…ultimately,even in the most pessimistic and cruel of lights, it’s obvious they need you astheir leader. They need you as a friend, as someone to lean on and to catchthem before they fall. They all trust each other, and you, to make sure no oneelse gets hurt. And truly, you’ve done so much already for all of us that youseem the most experienced for guiding, for making the tough decisions no onewants to.”

“Great.” Jesse’s tone,in turn, is as quiet as it ought to be this late, but it’s not without its ownbackbone. “But I’m not. I don’t know anything about helping or leadingthis many people. I don’t know how to tell them things will be okay when theysaw their homes, their towns and cities, everything they’ve ever known, getripped to bedrock.”

“It’s not a situation mostpeople are prepared for.” Ivor’s boot shifts, nudging her own. There’sanother rush of shame, of feeling lesser. How must he feel, seeing her paradeday after day in his dead best friend’s armor? “You’ve done remarkablywell all the same.”

“I–”

“Well, save for your poorsleep schedule. You’re worried about your friends counting on you? Maybe makesure you’re awake, healthy, and ready for when they do, rather than fallingasleep on your feet.”

“Hey, I’ve been doingwell.” Ivor raises an eyebrow as he lifts the mug from her hands, raisingan eyebrow, and Jesse’s nodding before she’s even trying to figure out when shedrank all the coffee in it. Her throat doesn’t feel like it’s in any pain, butit’s about as numb as the rest of her.

Ivor, apparently, wonders thesame for slightly different reasons.

“You have. I’m amazed youhaven’t burned yourself with your coffee yet.” He pours himself a fullcup, and, hypocrite that he is, downs it in one swift movement without wincing.Jesse’d be impressed if she weren’t busy pouting. “At this rate, though,you’re going to fall over dead or start slipping up at dangerous moments. Do usall a favor and catch a little shuteye.”

“…you too.” Shenudges his foot back before pulling herself to her feet, limbs feeling asstretched and stiff as her armor. “We’re not going to get very far veryquickly without some amazing potions.”

His grin is as sly as her own,his voice with a different, more sarcastic edge.

“Ah, of course. I can assureyou you’ll have them.” There’s one last pause as she dusts herself off,and his voice is gentle once again. “And I’ll try and rest, Jesse. Youshould really do the same.”

…she will.

If only for her friends, shewill.

[captainbaneberry]

Forgive me, but if you only could write something sweet-but-lewd about Trepan and Lobe, I'd be very happy. They are... a rather underappreciated pairing to me. Maybe Lobe comforting his conjunx after a nightmare or something sad in a loving and sexual way is something we miss?.. Thanks in advance.

The pressure was building.

The Decepticon riots had garnered enough attention that the Council had no choice but to give the Rodon Police warrants to thoroughly search every single Relinquishment Clinic. Looking for malpractice cases, any connections to the so-called Institute, Hell, dirty or reused equipment, didn’t matter–any evidence they could use to shut these places down. Proteus was furious, and took all his aggression out on Trepan and his employees–his demands were getting more and more dangerous, burdening the doctors and surgeons when they already had enough work on their hands.

Lobe was with Trepan during the council meeting, when the news was broken, when the warrants were issued. Lobe wasn’t much of a public speaker, nor very good at socializing, so Trepan was left to do all the talking, to smile and pretend he had nothing to hide, that he secretly didn’t want to stab his needles into the optics of every bot in the room, enemy and secret ally alike.

Trepan kept up this professional, nonplussed facade all the way back to their private quarters. Once the door shut behind him, Trepan screamed out a string of obscenities and punched the wall. A quick outburst before he was bent over a slab, frame shivering, venting hard.

Lobe wasn’t very good with words, either. He preferred to let his hands do the talking. And Lobe knew nothing he could say–anyone could say–would comfort Trepan. Oh, he’d get over it soon enough, but right now…

Lobe was a great listener. But Trepan didn’t want to talk.

Lobe was also pretty creative, and he knew Trepan the most intimately. So intimately it would be.

Trepan didn’t acknowledge Lobe at first, the taller, slender bot wrapping his arms around him, dragging his claws lightly down the front of Trepan’s chest, mouthing a scope. But Trepan didn’t push him away, which meant Lobe was allowed to continue–he just needed to push a little more.

Easy enough. Pushing his finger into the sensitive seam along Trepan’s hip usually did the trick. Trepan groaned, sinking back into Lobe’s arms, and that was it. He turned, furiously taking his partner in a kiss, lips and teeth mashing. Lobe guided him up onto the empty slab; he palmed Trepan’s codpiece, and the smaller bot was all too happy to open.

Lobe swallowed, heat swelling in his spark; he took Trepan’s unit, pumped it in his hands. Trepan whimpered, arms hanging around his partner’s neck.

It didn’t take long before the unit was stiff and warm in Lobe’s hands, and he eagerly released his pressurized unit.

“Nn!” Trepan chewed on the edge of a needle, watching Lobe split his channel open, ever so delicately, with two fingers. He rocked into the digits, moaning and mouthing desperately along Lobe’s chin and cheek.

Lobe smirked at the way Trepan’s folds and mesh fluttered around his fingers, trying to pull him in deeper. Lubricant spilled out on the table, as did transfluid in beads down both their shafts. Lobe pressed Trepan against the slab on his back, pinning his arms down by his sides. Trepan was fond of using restraints, but Lobe didn’t want to break momentum or mood to stop and fetch some; this would have to do.

Lobe pushed inside Trepan’s channel, grunting, the walls clenching down on him. Still pulling, still wanting and needing more. He fit himself easily to the hilt, and after Trepan started venting again, Lobe started pumping.

“Frag!” Trepan gasped, head thrown back. His fingers twitched, scratching at the table, but he made no effort to struggle.

Lobe bent forward, face to face with the smaller bot; he smiled, extending his long pointed tongue. Trepan blinked, open-mouthed venting; he choked on his whimper as Lobe kissed him, that abnormally lengthy tongue plunging down his throat. Trepan started rocking and swaying on the bed as Lobe picked up pace; their lips remained sealed, but less in a kiss now. Lobe twirled and thrust his tongue inside Trepan’s throat and mouth, much as he did unit in channel.

The gurgled whines and moans sent shivers down Lobe’s backstrut, right into his unit, and thank God his partner liked things rough. Lobe started moving faster now, harder. Too much and too quick for other bots; given his size, he might have even torn something. But Trepan adored the burning, if not evident by the increasingly loud (albeit sloppy) whimpers and his optics rolling back into their sockets.

Trepan overloaded first, loose transfluid and lubricant dripping from his thighs. Lobe never once broke or slowed pace. It would start to hurt now–just like they both preferred. Trepan gasped and groaned and coughed on the tongue filling and driving down his throat, hips undulating into Lobe, arms still pinned at his sides.

Lobe sat back, withdrawing his tongue; with a snarl he overloaded, holding his hips into place as he climaxed. Trepan winced, channel walls twitching. Lobe exvented, and for a few seconds, neither bot did anything.

Trepan cleared his throat, and Lobe obediently pulled out, releasing the excess transfluid. Looked cute, all messy on Trepan’s thighs.

“Feeling better?” Lobe asked, licking his lips.

Trepan massaged his temples. “For now,” he said, a smile slowly creeping on his face, “but I might need a second round in a few minutes.”