#i also know the moment i start selling well i’ll get immediately burnt out and won’t be able to keep making the shit for months. again.

[dagasinfilo]

i do not think i can mentally handle having no income anymore but i do not think i can handle literally anything that’ll give me an income

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate. 

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods. 

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game. 

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang. 

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.  

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband. 

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it. 

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable. 

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile. 

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

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[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

 "What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

 The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

 If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

 "Of August?" she asks.

 "Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

 "Duh."

 Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

 "Good, because we have plans."

 She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

 "No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

 Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

 "Our Smarter House thing won an award."

 "No shit?"

 "Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

 She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

 Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

 "Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

 "No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

 "Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

 Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

 Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

 Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

 She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

 "I thought I had until two."

 "That was before I had the best idea."

 The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

 "First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

 Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

 Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

 Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

 Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

 "Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

 She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

 When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

 Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

 "The guy you've been seeing."

 How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

 She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

 Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

 "How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

 "Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

 Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

 "That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

 "So, for a few hours?"

 She shrugs. "More or less."

 "I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

 "Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

 Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

 "Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

 "Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

 "Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

 Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

 "Another business bro, I assume?"

 "He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

 She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

 "Ballet."

 Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

 “I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

 “Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

 “I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

 “The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

 Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

 “Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

 Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Congrats.”

 “Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

 Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

 “Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

 “You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

 She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

 Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

 “Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

 “2019 fall/winter?”

 Annabeth nods.

 “Styling?”

 “Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

 Throwing her head back, she groans.

 “What? What’s wrong?”

 “You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

 “Well… yeah, I was.”

 “Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

 Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

 “That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

 Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

 “Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

 Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

 “I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

 “Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

 Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

 “I don’t know…”

 “You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

 “What did you have in mind?”

 Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

 Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

 “They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

 Well. They are pretty cool.

 “It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

 Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

 “I haven’t even done anything.”

 “I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

 ***

 “Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

 “Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

 “Oh.”

 “Why?”

 “Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

 She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

 The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

 “Annabeth Chase.”

 She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

 Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

 Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

 “And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

 “You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

 “Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

 She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

 Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

 “Seriously?”

 “Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

 She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

 “Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

 “Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

 He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

 “I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

 This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

 “I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

 He frowns. “You sure?”

 Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

 “You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

 Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

 There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

 Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

 “It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

 From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

 She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

 “As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

 She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

 “But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

 Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

 Hey, it’s her night, too.

 After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

 Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

 Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

 “...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

 “I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

 “You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

 “Rehab? Really?”

 “What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

 Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

 But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

 Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

 The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

 Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

 Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

 Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

 The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

 She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

 That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

 Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

 She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

 She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

 It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

 She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

 Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

 It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you  

[catboycafe]

I Will Now Express Every Thought I Have About Pacific Rim: The Black 

⚠️ spoilers for the whole thing baby

I actually forgot Pacific Rim: The Black was premiering today until I saw it in an article this morning! When I first heard about it months ago, I was decidedly not sold on a Pacific Rim anime. Uprising burnt me the fuck out and I don’t have a lot of trust left in me for new entries to the franchise. But I had heard rumblings of Raleigh and Herc being referenced after going into #pacificrim and I decided I may as well check out to see what was up! I binged it in 4 hours and it sure was a whirlwind, I’ll tell ya

The Plot

I really enjoy the setting and initial concept! We’re so use to seeing Kaiju/Jaegar shenanigans play out within these major cities with helpless civilians everywhere that spending so much time in a lonesome desert and these destroyed civilizations was really cool and indicative of the changes Pacific Rim has undergone in the last few years. I also looooved the Desert Settlement from the beginning!! It seemed really homey and picturesque; I wish we’d spent more time with the other survivors and got to see more of their day to day aside from farming and sitting. 

I also found the first episode set up to be really tight and well written! I was hooked during the initial flashback, Hayley and Taylor’s fight was really poignant and well acted, and the reveal of Atlas Destroyer felt really huge and epic!!

But once we left the Desert Settlement and the plot started actually moving along, the pacing becomes suuuper rough. We spent way too long in Bogan with Shane and Mei; there’s only 7 episodes and we spent, like, 3? 4? within the confines of that camp and I felt it weighed the plot down. Boy is introduced in the 2nd episode and, because the narrative spends so much time on Shane’s evil machinations and Mei’s back story, we still don’t know anything concrete about his origins or purpose 3 episodes later! That felt frustrating to me

The story beats overall were very predictable. I was able to pick up on Mei’s backstory via her dynamic with Shane in their introductions, so her memories felt too built up and too hollow once they were revealed. The same with the reveal of Boy’s Kaiju form; he was in a big green test tube in a PPDC base - I assumed immediately he was a part-kaiju experiment and again his reveal felt hollow, especially after the glacial pace of it’s development. 

Even when events weren’t predictable, they lacked weight. The appearance of several Kaiju Breaches in “Boneyard” felt very cheap for some reason; I wasn’t scared and I didn’t feel tense about these odds mounting against the protagonists. This was just happening and I was just watching. 

The Art Direction and Animation

I’m very obsessed with all the new Kaiju we got from this; I love how Copperhead is rendered, they’re a joy to see on screen!! The Rippers are also very cute and deserve little plushies...i love these neat little dogs. Boy’s Kaiju Form is very intimidating with an interesting color palette and I loved seeing him next to Copperhead’s highly saturated design!

That’s unfortunately all that I liked however; All the human character design is unmemorable to me. Every character looks exactly like another easily identifiable anime character from a different property (Hayley looks exactly like Zero Suit Samus to me, for example. And Mei kept reminding me of both Bernadetta Fire Emblem and Motoko Kusanagi from GitS. The list goes on). 

I can sort of understand why they’re so bland? A franchise going from Live Action to something as heavily stylized as anime is probably a really difficult transition and these designs are probably meant to be more lowkey than more unique anime designs in order to help that transition. But realistically stylized designs can still be recognizable and unique! These feel uninspired and bare bones.

 I have no problem with the switch to CGI animation that modern anime is doing because I know it’s a lot cheaper to produce and it can still be really unique and striking! But The Black’s model animation felt very stilted and inconsistent. I don’t have a lot of knowledge about animating so I don’t think I can accurately describe what I disliked? Wooden is probably the best term. Character movements felt wooden and things like hair and clothes felt plastic. 

Impacts also had very little weight. The fight between Tayler/Mei and Copperhead reminded me of when you’re in a dream and trying to punch something, but you can’t punch hard. It was simply too floaty and too soft. The final showdown in “Showdown” was better, but not by much. It was very immersion breaking seeing these Giant Robots and Giant Monsters unable to throw a real solid hit!

Characters

My favorite character was unequivocally Joel Wyrick. We love Joel Wyrick in this house! Joel’s character has real charisma and charm. I love his flirtations with Loa, how his cocky disposition is juxtaposed with his drinking problem and later insecurities over his lost memories, and his genuine kindness shown to Mei, Taylor, and Boy. No one ever plays with Boy, they just run after him and drag him around...but Joel has this moment in “Escape from Bogan” where he kneels down to Boy and helps him collect rocks. It was sweet!

So of course, when Joel dies for absolutely no reason 5 minutes later - pissed! I was pissed! I yelled “COME ON” aloud in my studio apartment! I was genuinely so excited to see him interact more with the rest of cast then, poof. No More Joel.

His death felt like it was for shock value to me rather than actual narrative development. Why kill him when we still don’t fully understand his and Mei’s relationship? Why were they so close? Were they childhood friends, or just coworkers that happen to become friends? Why did he specifically know all the details of Shane’s abuse towards Mei before she did? 

What did his death accomplish? It made Mei sad...ok? She was already...very sad. Her running away from Shane already had consequences - the consequences of Shane coming after them for revenge in the future. Why did Joel have to become a causality? 

His death is ultimately tied to Mei’s character arc which is, unfortunately, my least favorite :c I find Mei to be a really one dimensional character with a personality, backstory, outlook, and motivation that I’ve seen done a million times before with a million other characters. She feels very out of place in the franchise as a whole - Pacific Rim is, at it’s core, a story about connecting with others. Her self-centric arc and lack of desire to connect outside of drifting really alienates her from the story at large and it frustrates me how long The Black’s narrative spends on her. 

Hayley and Taylor were otherwise very interesting in the pilot episode, but become similarly one dimensional at the story chugs on. Taylor’s unflinching (bordering on unhealthy) faith in their parents was really interesting next to Hayley’s complete acceptance of their parents’ death. But once the two of them make up their differences, they lack an interesting dynamic and become very passive protagonists.

 Taylor especially has no personality - how would you describe Taylor? He’s...brave. He’s the older brother. He’s a leader? He’s nice? There is nothing noteworthy about him at all, which is sad considering I think he has the potential to be a really interesting way to explore the original movie’s influence on The Black’s story.

Hayley’s grief and self-blame are more interesting than Taylor’s...nothingness, but she still falls into this one-note trope of being the naive, excitable little sister. I guess I feel abnormally frustrated about this flat character writing because Pacific Rim’s incredibly unique cast has always been an inspiration to me! It feels sad that this new iteration into the series is full of what feel like stock characters. 

Then we get to Boy. How come Boy can’t have a person name? It’s specifically written in a dialogue between Taylor and Hayley: “I’m not going to call him Chad or Barnaby or one of those names for a baby brother you wanted as a kid,”

Why?

He’s by all accounts a human child when they find him. Yes, he was found in a big green test tube - but he walks and acts just like a human child. The only difference, seemingly, is that he is non-verbal and engages in strange/annoying behavior (running off, eating bugs, etc). So he isn’t deserving of a name?? I don’t know why that makes me so mad, it just does. it’s like they refuse to treat him as a human even before they find out he’s a Kaiju  - it’s super weird! How can the story sell me on the three of them becoming found family (like they’re seemingly trying to do) if the protagonists won’t even treat this kid like a kid??

Misc. Thoughts

The callbacks to Stacker, Herc, and Raleigh were cool! I also like that Herc is a major plot point! We love Herc Hanson and it’s what he deserves. I also find Loa’s connection to Horizon Bravo very interesting...and the fact we’re getting Kaiju cultist lore! Love that! Love that!

Fucked up that the only two dark skinned characters were: 1) removed from the story 10 minutes in with no call back yet, 2) Killed after having 1 line of dialogue and fridged for the character development of the blonde white girl. I really need to know what the deal with those 4 characters leaving in the beginning was about - I absolutely thought we’d see them again by now, but no dice

I don’t know how to feel about Ajax and have no clue what their purpose in the story is. They’re cool, but whats the point? 

If Mei and Taylor are paired up together romantically, I’m putting Craig Kyle and Greg Johnson in the time out box. Very tired of seeing random hetero romance B plots in stories that can’t even get their A plots together

Overall, it’s kind of subpar! It has the foundations of a really interesting story, but the pacing and characters really took me out of it. I’m interested in Season 2! I know season 2 is already ordered and I’d love to see how things continue to develop, see if the character writing gets any better - but I’m not too hopeful unfortunately. I really really love Pacific Rim after all these years and I’m happy to still be getting content and world building! There’s just sooo much I would change about this however. At least fanfiction’s free! 

Thanks for reading all this, I have ADHD and just go on and on if u let me. hmu if You Too have thoughts about Pacific Rim: The Black and have no one to talk abt them with

[kybervisions]

a taste of life [kylo]

summary: ben solo is brought back from the dead by a force-sensitive pirate and is given the opportunity to start a new life as part of her crew. 

author’s note: hdjfkj i love the idea of a pirate!reader so here is my contribution,, so this takes place a few weeks after the battle of exegol in which the first order was defeated ,, if you’ve played jedi fallen order than reader’s ability is exactly like cal’s ,, lmk what you think :)) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Isao muttered as he navigated the ship through the wreckage. The ruins of Star Destroyer fleets decorated Exegol, evidence of the New Republic’s victory. And There was so much to loot! You chuckled. The Scorpion landed near a weird-looking throne. It was so dark that Isao landing the Scorpion was a miracle. 

“Well I see a very fun trip to Canto Bight in our future,” You said with a smile and ran out of the cockpit. It had been a while since you last visited the city and partook in the activities of wealthy individuals. You so desperately wanted to gamble and drink credits away, so you quickly strapped your belt on and grabbed a blaster before exiting the ship. Nori ran after you. 

“Canto Bight? I thought we were going to Jedha and see the remains of the Jedi temple there,” Nori expressed disappointment with your desire to return to Canto Bight. She had become obsessed with learning more about the Jedi after learning about your Force sensitivity. 

“Jedi Temples don’t have open bars,” You reminded your Twi’lek friend, “or casinos,” Nori sighed in frustration. “I’m just trying to be plastered and gamble,” You smiled. “No need to get ourselves involved in Jedi business,” 

You’ve known about your connection with the Force your entire life. You were a member of the Blazing Chain — an organization of nomadic raiders made up of Force Adepts that wandered Unknown Space. With no loyalty to the Sith or Jedi, the Blazing Chain simply utilized their Force abilities to make raids easier. Three wars occurred, and each time, for better or for worse, the Blazing Chain remained neutral. You had no intention in breaking that tradition. 

As you walked, you found a cube. The strong fog made it nearly impossible to see, but your foot gently kicked it. A faint blue glow radiated from the cube and you felt a compulsion to pick it up. You knelt down, and as your fingers touched the cube, a scene played back in your head. And then, a blinding white light. 

“Ahh, dank farrik!” You shouted and crawled away from the cube. Nori ran to your side. 

“What happened? Are you okay? Did it happen again?” Nori asked frantically. By ‘it’ she was referring to one of your ‘echo episodes’ in which an object gives you a memory by touching it. You were one of two adepts cursed with that ability from the Blazing Chain. It was referred to as a Force Echo. 

“I’m fine,” You groaned, feeling a sharp pain in your head. “That kriffin’ holocron was part of the battle here,” You informed Nori, crawling back to the cube. It wanted to be opened and only you could do it. 

“Whoa,” Nori marveled at the unique gold design on the cube. You held the cube in your palm of your hand and closed your eyes. Within seconds, the holocron levitated and opened. “That is so cool,” Nori muttered. 

A white ball of energy emerged from the holocron. You opened your eyes and a bright white light shined. You appeared possessed, and it terrified Nori. She screamed. You began muttering words in a language she couldn’t understand. 

The energy ball dispersed. The holocron closed and fell back onto your palm. 

“What the kriff was that?!” Nori exclaimed. You stood up, completely unfazed by the recent possession.  

"No clue,” You told your friend. 

A tall man dressed in black emerged from the fog. The light from the Scorpion beamed on the man. He was very pale and bloody. His black sweater bad a large hole and was absolutely filthy-looking. 

You would not be caught dead wearing that. 

“We don’t want any trouble, um, sir,” You attempted to de-escalate the interaction. The holocron must be worth thousands and there was enough on the Star Destroyers to share with the beaten-down man. 

“Do you know who I am?” The odd man asked. 

“Oh...um, no?” You replied. You looked to Nori. She shook her head.

“Where did you get that?” The man looked at the holocron in your palm. 

Immediately you tossed the cube to Nori, who put it inside her bag. “Get what?” You played dumb. “Do you need any help? A new outfit perhaps?” You asked him, looking at the large tear on the chest area of the sweater. 

His right hand reached for the hole in the sweater. His fingers touched his bear chest. He stared blankly at you, “I’m lost,” He felt a strange comfort when looking at you.

It was you that gave him life. 

“Well you are in luck!” You said with glee. “We are pirates and there isn’t anywhere we can’t go,” You informed the stranger. As a child you learned all the best traveling routes to bypass First Order and New Republic checkpoints. With the power struggle and chaos that followed the fall of the First Order there was no better time to be a pirate.

“Coruscant,” He replied rather quickly. With Alderaan destroyed, his mother would be buried at the capital. Coruscant had been in open rebellion against the First Order, and he was certain the New Republic would restore peace. 

Your smile dropped, “Coruscant? Why would you want to go there? Are you part of a gang?” You questioned and reached for your blaster. “Like I said, we don’t want any trouble,” You said cautiously. 

“What do you have in Coruscant?” Nori asked, aiming her blaster at his head. 

Truthfully, nothing. Kylo had nothing. 

“Where are you going?” He asked you, and your smile returned. 

“The Smuggler’s Moon,” You replied. 

Kylo remembered hearing Han mention Nar Shaddaa throughout his childhood. It was an entire world filled with pirates and outlaws. It was also the homeworld of the Hutts. Leia would threaten Ben with a visit to Nar Shaddaa when he would not behave. It terrified him as a child. 

“Got some people that might be interested in that glowing cube,” You mentioned. 

“You can’t sell that!” Kylo exclaimed. Both women took a step away from him, but they weren’t scared of him. They appeared rather annoyed with his outburst and demand. 

“First of all, I’m the captain, so watch your tone,” You pointed at him, unamused. “Second of all, I can sell whatever I want,” 

“That cube is an ancient Jedi artifact,” Kylo informed you. 

“Oh, well in that case,” You smiled. Kylo smiled too then, believing he had convinced you to keep the very thing you used to bring him from the dead. “I know just the Hutt to sell this to,” 

His smile dropped instantly. 

“Are you a Jedi?” Nori questioned. 

Was he a Jedi? Ben had been a padawan when Snoke tainted his mind. He spent more years of his life as a pawn for the Sith than he did as his uncle’s student. He blankly stared at Nori before his attention returned to you. 

“Doesn’t matter,” You answered the question for him. He was beyond grateful for your reply. “The cube is getting sold, and you, my friend, have three options,” Ben knitted his brows and slightly tilted his head in confusion. “You can remain lost on this hellish planet, I sell you, or you can join my crew,” 

“Why?” Kylo asked. Kindness was not virtue he experienced often. There had always been strings attached to the kindness of others. Snoke disguised his actions as a way of helping Ben. Oh, how stupid the mind of a child is. 

You had already done more than you knew — you brought him back to the land of the living, unknowingly it would seem. Offering him a spot on your crew was you giving him a chance to truly live. Joining your crew would also give him a chance to figure out how you gave him life.

“Tall, broad-shoulders beast like you, figure I could sell ya for some pretty New Republic credits,” You smiled, taunting Kylo.

“Isao said to hurry up or he’s going to leave without you,” A B1-series battle droid exited from your ship. The droid was in pristine shape, despite its mismatched torso and right arm. "I don’t know if he was being serious,” The droid added. 

Nori walked toward, “I’ll hold him off,” Both she and the droid boarded the ship. “And I’ll adjust your sarcasm setting,” Nori smiled at the droid. 

“So, what d’ya say?” You asked him. “Roger could use help cooking and cleaning,” You laughed as the words left your lips. You were filled with genuine happiness. Kylo could feel it, and it was intoxicating. 

He gave you a simple nod, “I will join your crew,” 

“Great, do you like Canto Bight?” You asked and began walking toward the ship. Kylo was hesitant to follow you. You felt his hesitancy and stopped walking to face him. 

Kylo studied you for a brief moment. Nothing about you screamed danger, but he was almost certain your hands were drenched in blood. “I’ve never been to Canto Bight,” He replied and took steps towards you. There was so much Ben had yet to see. So much of the galaxy still left to explore, and somehow, you blessed him with the breath of life. 

“Oh, you are in for a treat, big guy,” You stated, more than happy to show off your favorite vacation destination. “But first we are gonna need to buy you some clothes,” You said and boarded the ship. Kylo followed after you, and the scent of burnt cookies touched his nose. 

“Sorry!” Roger apologized, attempting to get rid of the smoke by frantically waving his arms.

[ererokii]

Sweet Like You || Eijirou Kirishima

Eijirou Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Warnings: cursing (?)

Word Count: 2462

Synopsis: Class 1-A decides to help a local animal shelter by doing a bake sale, and you and Kirishima are in charge of the baking.

Taglist (message to be added): @shoutodoki @shoutosteakettle @sugacookiies @saltie @fryingpanitachi @kingtamakimurder

➺ Note: This is for @bnhabookclub​‘s bingo event! The prompt is Baking Sweets. This is also for @pixxiesdust​‘s birthday! I know it’s a day early but I wanted to post it now cause I couldn’t wait! Happy birthday Ze! I love you so much and I’m glad we became friends, enjoy your day bb <3

Bingo Masterlist

You couldn’t remember how you ended up in your position. You came out of your room, sleep still flooding your body as everyone started yelling at you for no reason—well, there was a reason behind it.

Aizawa thought it would be a good idea for his class—you guys to hold up some fundraiser for anything, but nothing dumb. He said it would give you guys a good insight on what it would be like when you got to be pro heroes, always helping those in need. Without a choice of course, you all had to decide what would be best.

“Why are you yelling at me?! I just woke up!” you yelled, furiously rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand to erase the remnants of sleep within your body. “I didn’t even get a good morning!”

“There’s no time for good mornings, Y/N! While we’ve been trying to figure out who we should help while you were sleeping your ass off! What kind of commitment is that, huh?! Do you care?!”

“Oh, shut up, Kaminari!” you groaned and plopped on the couch, not caring if your shirt rode up slightly. “I’m here now! Get it over with then!”

“She’s right! Stop the yelling, and we can get on with it!” Iida fixed his glasses as he held a clipboard in his arms, tapping a pen against it. “Alright, so far, we have some good ideas! There’s a local soba shop, a bookstore, an animal shelter, a beauty salon, and… a grocery store?” he trailed off at the end before shaking his head. “Alright, let’s vote! Who wants the soba shop?!”

Only Todoroki raised his hand, his face slowly falling in the area of disappointment when he noticed no one else was raising their hand. 

“Book store!”

No one raised their hand. 

“Well, that makes it easier,” Iida muttered, crossing the word out with his black pen. 

“An animal shelter!”

You shrugged and lazily raised your hand, noticing a handful of your classmates also raised their hand.

Iida nodded and counted each of you, his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration. “Twelve of you! Alright, beauty salon!”

Mina’s hand immediately shot up in the air, a goofy smile on her face. Iida breath hitched as he shook his head, erasing the other topics as well. “Animal shelter it is! Okay, that’s settled! What should we do to raise the money?”

“Sell cold soba on the streets.”

“Icy-Hot! No one is going to buy your soba! Especially on the streets!”

“Well, do you have anything better?”

“It doesn’t matter. No one is buying your stupid soba!”

“How about a bake sale?” you threw the idea out there and immediately regretted it. Pairs of eyes kept their gaze on you as you slowly cowered back into the couch. “W-What? Stop staring at me like that!”

“Oh yeah, that’s a good idea! I’m with Y/N on this one!” a certain redhead said from behind you, his hand grazing your shoulder. You tilted your neck upward and caught a pair of vermeil eyes, a vivid grin sent in your direction. You could feel bursts of heat erupting in your cheeks as you smiled back quickly. “Y-You mean that Kirishima?”

“‘Course! Baking sweets has to be one of the manliest things out there!”

“Well, is everyone okay with that?” Iida asked, turning around to face the rest of his classmates. There were nods of approval, spoken words of support, or just silence. 

“Then that settles that. Since both of you were so happy to take this on, I’m leaving the baking to you two!” A finger was pointed in your direction. 

You stopped your mouth from moving as your eyes gazed at his finger. “J-Just us?! How many would we need then?!”

“Well, if you make popular sweets according to the web, plus traditional based ones…” Iida paused for a moment, his mind wandering to calculate. “I would say maybe fifty for each.”

“Fifty?!”

“Uh-huh! Best get started now!”

You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, tossing your head back as you were met with the couch's cushion. You slowly opened your eyes, cerise orbs gazing back at you. 

“It can’t be that bad, right?! Come on, you were made for this Y/N! You’re a great baker! I love everything you make!”

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you scratched the back of your neck, feeling the flesh there heat up from his compliment. “T-Thank you, Kiri! It shouldn’t go bad, right?”

☽✧ ✦ ✧☾

The kitchen smelt of raw eggs, flour, vanilla extract, and a hint of something burnt, which was just a batch of cookies in one of the old ovens. Splotches of white powder were scattered across the wooden floor, some residue from the eggs forgotten on the counter. The buzzing of the electric mixing bowl could be heard from the other room along with your shrieks.

“C-Cover the top with a towel, Kirishima!”

“Right! Sorry, Y/N!” 

A small ding went off, indicating that the second batch of sugar cookies was ready. You rushed to the oven, your oven mitts on already as you opened it, watching the smoke emit from the interior. You quickly grabbed the baking pan and shut the oven door, placing it on a stand to cool down. 

“Kirishima, did you finish with the brownie batter?”

He grunted in response, pouring the molasses-brown substance into a glass pan, making sure to scrape the leftovers off with a spatula. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay, while those cool down, we can work on the cupcakes,” you muttered, slicking the small strands of hair that fell in front of your face back to where they should have been. In the corner of your eye, you noticed Kirishima putting the batter into the oven after fixing the timer.

“Cupcakes, you said?”

“Mhm,” you sighed, grabbing a new glass bowl. “Can you hand me the ingredients while I mix?”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind doing this one instead, you’ve been making different batters since we started. Why don’t you just hand them over to me.”

“A-Are you sure?”

He nudged you with his shoulder, a goofy grin on his adorable face. “I offered, didn’t I? Come on, just do it, Y/N.”

“Fine, fine! Just don’t mess ‘em up.” you huffed playfully, taking a seat on the stool beside the redhead. He nodded, placing the bowl in front of him. 

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you handed him the correct measurements for each ingredient. 

You watched him mix the substances carefully, his eyes squinted as he concentrated. His tongue peeked out and licked his lower lip as his whisking only got faster by the second. The muscles on his bicep flexed with each flick of his wrist. 

“Kirishima, I think you’re mixing it too fast.”

“Nonsense! This is the perfect pace—“

You scooted back, wincing when the batter splattered onto his shirt and the marble countertop. 

“—for it,” he whispered, finishing off his sentence, the whisk falling from his hand as he let it rest in the bowl. “...maybe that was a bit too fast.”

“Ya think?” You huffed and grabbed a towel, handing it to him. “Hurry and clean it before it stains your shirt.”

“I think it just did,” he sighed, taking it from you as he dabbed the mess on his clothing. “I’ll just change when we finally finish, whenever that is.”

You grabbed the bowl and brought it in front of you, wiping the handle from the excess cupcake batter and began to whisk slowly. “You see, if you move your wrist too fast, it’ll go everywhere just like it did. You have to have slow and precise flicks,” you told him, feeling the warmth from another body behind you. 

He leaned over your shoulder, looking at your movements. “Can I try again?”

You realized how close he was to you. You stopped your movements, licking your lips nervously as you nodded. “Y-Yeah, here you go.”

You shakily handed him the utensil, your hands brushing against his larger ones. You quickly moved out of the way once more, allowing him to sit there. “H-How about you do that, and I’ll make the frosting?”

Before he could reply, you rushed away from him with your head down as a blush tinted your cheeks. God, he was so close to me. I could practically feel his muscles on my back, you thought, clumsily taking the needed things out. 

You turned your back to him, taking a deep breath before slowly exhaling. “Okay, just brush it off,” you muttered and unwrapped the butter, placing it in the electric mixing bowl. Soon you added everything that was needed. You set a towel to cover it, preventing another incident like last time and flipping it to the lowest setting.

The sound of something snapping caught your attention as you looked up quickly. Kirishima stood in front of the oven, wearing your strawberry mitts, too small for his big hands. He caught you staring and rubbed the back of his neck, his face becoming as sanguine as his tufts. “I finished, so I put them in the oven.”

“O-Oh, that’s good!” you chirped, looking away from him as you focused on the frosting being made. Kirishima’s smile faltered as he walked over to you.

“Are you okay?”

“‘Course! I’m fantastic! Why wouldn’t I be okay?! Do I not look okay?!”

“N-No!” he gasped, placing his hands defensively in front of his body. “You just look off is all! Like you’re thinking too hard about something!”

“Oh,” you whispered and rubbed your temples slowly. “Just seems like a bit of work when it’s only two people is all.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But I’m glad it’s only us, though.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I like spending time with you, Y/N.”

Your mouth went dry at his confession, staring at him with confused eyes. Your heart felt like it could leap out of your chest and let him grab hold of it. “Y-You do?”

He nodded, slowly walking in front of you. Kirishima peered down at you, noticing the twiddling of your thumbs. 

You could smell earthen savors of cedar and lambent notes of mandarin peel when he stood close to you. He was driving you crazy without him even knowing. Kirishima was the puppeteer, and your heart was his puppet. He continuously pulled at the strings of your heart, and you let him. 

His scarlet orbs gazed into your own before quickly glancing at your lips, then back at you. Your eyes widened when he leaned closer, shakily bringing a hand to rest on your elbow. Knowing his next move, your finger dipped in the buttercream frosting as you scooped some up and placed it on his nose, shocking him in the process. 

“I—”

“I am so sorry! I have no idea why I did that,” you said quickly, out of breath, but did not attempt to clean it off him. 

His confused look got wiped off, a naughty one taking its place. “You wanna play like that then, huh?” He suddenly reached in the bowl, scooping a handful of the cream and smeared it across your face. Your eyes widened as you stared at him, dumbfounded. White streaks of frosting covered the area from your nose and below. You brought your hands to your nose, wiping the substance from your nostrils from blocking one of your airways.

“It’s on, Eijirou!”

Squeals and laughs resonated through the kitchen, each shout of the latter’s name bouncing off the walls. Bags upon bags of flour and baking soda was thrown across the room. The room was becoming more of a mess than it already was when you got in there.

You coughed into your elbow, waving the area from the fumes of powder that was fogging the air. “T-Too much!” You squint your eyes, hands reaching up to your head, and immediately patted it down, shaking your head to get the powder out of your hair. Trails of melted butter dribbled down your face, the baking soda sticking on like glue.

Kirishima wasn’t far behind you. His clothes and hair were dusted with white. 

“Wow, you look bad,” he blurted, pointing a finger at you. 

“Me?! Have you seen yourself?!” you laughed, wiping the dried crumbs off your arms. “We both look like crap, I bet.”

His thumb caressed your face as you quieted down, your orbs locking with his. “You know..” he trailed off, “you look adorable, especially like this.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

His eyes widened as choked noise left his mouth. “H-Huh?!” Oh, he so desperately wanted to kiss you. 

“I said what I said,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck and bringing him down to your level, your lips grazing his honeyed ones before intertwining. His arms encircled around your lower back, bringing you flush against his chest. You ran your fingers through his rubescent tufts, lightly tugging on them. His grip around you tightens. His heartbeat could be felt against your chest, your beating heart matching the rhythm of his. You felt like you were on the highest mountain in the world and could scream to anyone who had to know about your vibrant, romantic feelings for Eijirou Kirishima. 

Unfortunately, oxygen was a thing. You slowly pulled away, small, balmy puffs of air fanning your face. Both of you had equally flushed cheeks and a small goofy smile on his end. 

“Hey, Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Didn’t you just do that?”

A pinch to your side caused you to whine and shift in his arms. 

“Can I take you out this weekend?”

Your face brightens as you nodded frantically. “I would love that!”

Your nose twitched as you sniffed the air, your eyebrows furrowing. “What is that?”

“What’s what?” Kirishima asked, following your eyesight that landed on the counter. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffed the air again, pulling away from him. “It smells.”

“Wow, if you’re gonna talk about me like that you can do it nicely—” he murmured sarcastically before you let out an agitated cry.

“No, not that!” You huffed and scratched your head in thought. Kirishima seemed to notice your thought process as he began to think of any possible outcomes. Was it the kitchen that just started smelling? Was it the both of you covered in raw egg and baking products? Was it—

Oh no.

You gasped in unison as you grabbed Kirishima by his shoulders, shaking him violently. He seemed to be on the same page as you, placing his hands on your elbows to steady himself.

“We forgot the cupcakes!”

[dumb-little-trans-writer]

Rust and Black Thorn Trees. Chapter 2.

The girl tiredly wandered, getting increasingly exhausted.

She didn’t know where she was.

She knew nothing.

What Miranda neglected to focus on, however, was the fact that she also transformed when on the brink of death, to attempt to find something, anything, to eat, or to wear.

She saw a pack of lycans.

She silently transformed, as how Mother taught her.

Or, more accurately, beat into her.

She stalked the lycans for the perfect moment.

They grabbed bunnies as though they were chips, the high-pitched screaming echoing through her ears.

As one of the lycans had a rabbits leg in it’s mouth, Dasha struck the lycan closest to her, slashing it’s throat. She quickly moved from lycan to lycan before they could react.

As she transformed back, she immediately started tearing the flesh from the lycans with her teeth. She found that eating right after transforming prevents the nausea and the puking, it doesn’t prevent the leaking of the liquid from her eyes and nose, though.

She binged, knowing that this may be her last meal for a while.

She could smell winter on the horizon, and this was her life for the next six years.

Over these six gruesome years, she was able to find the occasional lost tourist or hunter in the forests surrounding Heisenberg’s Factory.

She stole their weapons, and their clothing.

She found that she preferred men’s clothing.

The girl would transform less and less, using the limited ammo and resources she had.

Karl Heisenberg watched her last hunt, as it was the closest to the factory she’d ever been.

Risky.

Hmm, he thought as he watched her dance with the lycans.

With a shotgun shell to the face, of course.

“Hey, you know, there isn’t anyone who can sell you ammo around here,” Heisenberg said, walking toward the girl. She jumped, cautious, “if you run out, you’re kinda fucked.” he stated, putting out his cigar.

She had heard of Lord Heisenberg. Never met him though.

“What are you implying?” she spat.

“All i’m saying is that running out of shotgun shells during the wintertime, when it’s nearly below zero, can be deadly,” he paused, spitting on the cold leaves, “especially for someone as tiny as you.” he laughed at her glare.

“Don’t call me tiny.” she replied, walking past him.

In the recesses of her mind, she was okay with it.

Heisenberg led Dasha to his factory.

It was loud.

The metal clanging against itself, the periodic releases of steam, and the...chainsaw revving?

Heisenberg opened a hatch, and screamed “SHUT YOUR HOLE, ROTTEN CUNT.”

The revving stopped.

“Is one of your failed experiments down there, Karl?” she teased, taking off her jacket as the humidity made it extremely warm, and uncomfortably sweaty. It revealed how muscular she had grown. She was still slim, but a little buffer from when she was with Her.

He seemed taken aback by her calling him Karl, instead of Lord, or even just his last name.

He liked that she didn’t pay his status any mind, he knows he didn’t give a fuck.

“Maybe. I’ll throw you down there if you decide to say some shit.” Heisenberg said with a slight growl.

“I could take it, i bet.” she purred.

“Don’t tempt me, bitch.” Heisenberg whispered, emphasizing ‘bitch’

The girl lightly skipped down the hallway, amusing Heisenberg.

“If I didn'thave a spare room I'd make you sleep outside.” Heisenberg called. She turned and nodded, “It’s right over here.” he pointed to a door on the side of another hallway. The room they were currently in had the bare necessities, albeit it was a mess.

She really didn’t mind though.

She walked to the room he was talking about, and opened the door to a bed that seemed to be collecting dust.

In fact, everything seemed to be barely touched.

Despite her past with cleaning, she needed to at least dust everything down.

“You got something i can wipe this shit down with? Looks like a tomb in here.” she yelled.

“Yeah, gimme a sec, christ” Heisenberg seemed to be struggling with something. She left the room, confused, and then amused at the sight before her.

He seemed to be trying to fix his oven, or cleaning it, whatever he was doing, he was struggling with it.

“Pfft, need help?” she asked, smirking.

“I’d rather kill myself than get help from you.” he coldly replied, sighing as he took his head out of the oven. His face was slightly stained with ash, and he was sweating. She leaned up again the counter, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Now that she had a closer look, he seemed to be cleaning to oven judging by the ash stained rag soaked in water he was holding.

“This isn’t how you do it, let me help you.” she demanded. Heisenberg was slightly surprised by this, but silently swallowed a bite of his pride, and stood up, arms crossed.

“So how do YOU do it?” Heisenberg asked in a condescending tone.

“You got baking soda?” she suddenly asked, “’cause we’re gonna need a decent amount.” she added, taking out the oven racks.

“I have a lot of it, i guess.” Heisenberg replied, slightly confused.

“Do you realize how much of a fire hazard this is? I might scrub your entire fucking house down at this rate.” Dasha exclaimed, “where’s the baking soda?”

“There.” he pointed to a cabinet. She opened it and grabbed the tin, holding it for a moment to see if she’d need another one.

“Vinegar?” she asked.

“In the same cabinet.” Heisenberg said, annoyed and impatient.

“This is gonna take a day, I hope you know.” Dasha laughed.

“Fucking WHAT?” Heisenberg asked, shocked.

“Yeah. I have to-”

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME AND YOU’RE CLEANING MY OVEN.” Heisenberg said, frustrated.

“...Do you wanna know my name?” she asked, pouring baking soda and water into a cup, “or how to clean your own fuckin’ oven?” she said, sarcastically.

“Both’s fine I guess.” Heisenberg rolled his eyes.

“Dasha Jelíneková. That’s my name.”

“Dein Name ist schön...” Heisenberg muttered.

“...what?” Dasha asked, confused.

“Nothin’. Explain why it’s gonna take a day.” he quickly changed topics.

“Well, wiping down the interior with a soaked rag might get some of the grime off, but it won’t get it all off,” she paused as she mixed more baking soda in with the water to make a paste, “deep cleaning your oven like this also helps heat disperse evenly.” she explained.

“Seriously..?” he muttered, thinking about how his last meal was damn-near raw in some spots, and burnt in others.

“So, you take baking soda and water, make a paste with it like this,” she stuck the cup in his face, “you got rubber gloves, right?” she asked.

“Take a fuckin’ guess.” Heisenberg laughed at the question.

“Hand ‘em to me, dickhead.” she said, making a poor attempt to hide a smile.

“By the way, dunno if this has anythin’ to do with you, but i’ve been finding pretty large lycan carcasses that are either brutally killed and then eaten, or seemingly killed in self defense, all of ‘em had gnarly claw marks,” he paused, “know anything about that?” He asked. Her blood ran cold, but she tried to keep her composure. 

“Maybe it was a mutated Lycan.” she quietly said, applying the paste to every crevice in the oven. Heisenberg was confused as to why she was acting strange, and more importantly, how she knew the Lycans were caused by...that.

“Well, uh, keep an eye out, yanno?” Heisenberg uncomfortably laughed in the awkward silence.

“Can you plug the sink, and pour some baking soda on ‘em? Then pour the vinegar on ‘em.”

“Okay...what now?” Heisenberg asked.

“Wait for it to stop foaming, and stick em under the water. In the sink, i mean.” she explained, finishing applying the last of the paste.

“Okay...” he muttered.

“Now, we wait for at least ten hours.”

“...Are you serious?” Heisenberg asked, seemingly shocked.

“Why wouldn’t i be?” she replied, confused.

He looked down, “That doesn’t seem reasonable-”

“You don’t seem to be either, Mister Heisenberg.” she smirked at him.

“You know...” he started, “You should be happy I haven’t chucked you down that chute.” he threatened, towering over her small frame with a hand in her hair, mimicking a ponytail, pulling her close to him. He outwardly smelled like cigar smoke, gasoline, and sweat. His breath reeked of whiskey, his hot breath on her cheek. But she smelled more than just that, due to the experimentation with the Cadou.

She could smell what people feel, she always sort of could, but this was heightened by the experimentation.

This was new, it smelled like a heavy, rich devil’s food cake.

It smelled like sin.

She glanced downward at his crotch, and he was definitely pitching a tent.

“You really don’t want this, Karl.” she whispered. It was true, at least in her mind.

No one should want a monster.

She didn’t even know what she wanted, outside of Her dead.

Staring directly into his eyes, she gently placed her hand on the hand he was using to grip her hair. He violently let go, glaring and walking outside.

He hated how similar, yet different they both were. He wanted her to stay with him, despite barely knowing eachother.

It was a bag of mixed emotions.

Dasha followed behind, she found Heisenberg collecting firewood.

“I’m makin’ hotdogs.” he stated.

“On a fire, I’m assuming?” she asked, “i had to learn how to make a fire by myself. Got good at it too.” she bragged.

Heisenberg ignored her comment, “Can you get the ‘dogs and the buns for me outta the fridge?”

“Sure, what rack are they on?” she asked.

“Figure it out.” he coldly replied.

She scoffed, and went back inside, muttering to herself.

Heisenberg thought for a while while she was inside.

Why did she know about the Cadou? Why does she live in the forest? Is it by choice? I wonder if she’s useful...I wonder if Miranda- he thought. He zoned out, and realized his hands were dangerously close to the fire. He nonchalantly pulled them away, added a little more wood, and grabbed a chair. He thought for a moment, and pulled another chair over from the wood pile.

She came back, hot dog buns and hot dogs in tow.

Heisenberg used his powers to make two metal sticks come to him.

“What the fuck.” she whispered, taken aback.

“Oh. Here.” he said, handing one to Dasha.

“No, what the fuck was that-?” Dasha nervously laughed.

“Oh, yeah. I can do that. Only metal though.” Heisenberg explained.

“Huh.” she replied, giving a bun and a hot dog to him. He stuck the tapered metal point through the middle of the hot dog, and stuck it over the fire.

Dasha did the same.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like a hour, but really was five minutes.

Heisenberg, obviously, was the first to break the silence.

“So I know you’ve never really mentioned it, but I’m thinkin’ you LIVE in the forest, right?” Heisenberg asked.

“Yeah. Why?” she asked, holding the hot dog above the fire.

“Just haven’t really seen anyone willingly live in the forest.” Heisenberg shrugged. There was another period of silence between them as the fire popped and crackled.

“Do you live in the forest willingly?” Heisenberg asked, taking his hot dog off the metal stick, placing it into the bun.

She looked at him, and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words to describe her situation. She blinked a couple times, trying to find the words.

“I don’t know.” she furrowed her brow, and had an unmistakable look of i’m-remembering-things-i-don’t-want-to-think-about. Heisenberg wasn’t amazing with emotions, despite being able to read someone like a book.

“Sorry.” he quietly said, looking away from her.

“You had no way of knowing. It’s fine.” She leaned towards him. Then, she took her hot dog away from the fire, and just ate it off the stick. This sight amused Heisenberg.

“How long have you lived in the forest?” Heisenberg asked with his mouth full.

“Around six years? Hard to keep track.” she said, after swallowing a bite.

“Damn. So how old are you now?”

“I don’t know, around twenty-three, i think?” she replied.

“That checks out.” Heisenberg smugly joked.

“At least I don’t look like I’m from World War II.” she retorted, laughing.

“And what if I am, huh?” Heisenberg joked, knowing he was in fact born around when WWII ended.

“I was kidding, shut the fuck up.” she laughed. Heisenberg realized that he really, really liked her laugh. Maybe it’s from the isolation in the factory, and now he finally has someone that seems to enjoy his company. This feeling scared him, just a little bit.

“Yeah, sure.” he laughed. There was silence again.

“This might be coming out of nowhere, but could you...refer to me as a boy? I know this is strange coming from someone who looks like me, but-” he got cut off.

“I get it, it’s alright. No worries. You got a new name?” he asked.

“Dimitri.”

“Still a pretty name.” Heisenberg muttered.

“I heard that.” Dimitri laughed.

“Oh.”

The both of them finished their hot dogs, and they went inside. It was getting cold.

“Starting tomorrow, you’re gonna help me around the factory. Otherwise I won’t hesitate to throw you out.” Heisenberg threatened.

“Alright, you’re gonna have to show me how it works around here though, depending on my job.” he replied, taking his jacket off. He got into his room and rummaged through his bag, looking for a tank top or something. He found a black one that he looted off of a tourist, and swapped into it. Even when it was freezing outside, it was mildly uncomfortable to wear a sweater like he was. He didn’t even think about his immense number of scars being visible, from various creatures and pitiful self-defense attempts. One benefit from the Cadou was that it gave him a healing factor. The only downside, in his eyes, was that killing himself was impossible. He walked out of the room, and into the living room. Heisenberg was making multiple small metal parts like gears and screws float in a certain fashion, making outlines of various things.

He sat on the couch that looked as though it was about to fall apart.

“You’re almost as scarred up as me,” Karl laughed as he pulled up his shirt, revealing a multitude of scar marks, and a happy trail.

Fuck, okay maybe I do know what I want... he thought. He felt a small tingling around his cheeks, as he laughed. He turned around and pulled up the back of his shirt to reveal some of the worst scars he’s gotten. Heisenberg felt himself tense up, his cheeks went red too.

“Can i..?” he asked as he reached his hand out halfway.

“Touch them? Sure.” Dimitri replied, scooting backwards.

He felt his calloused hands gently trace over all of his scars, even the smaller ones. Despite Karl’s rough and mean demeanor, he was so gentle. His hand gently ran down to his waist. He was surprised, but it was calming.

Karl pulled away, fearful of being intimate with him. He had just met the guy, why did he feel this pull?

“I was okay with that, you know.” he said, facing him and letting his shirt fall back to it’s place. He moved a bit closer, wanting the closeness of someone that he never had. “...Please?”

Heisenberg was confused. He was reluctant because of trust issues, yet Dimitri was the polar opposite?

Why did he come here..?

I wanted to use him as an experiment, why-?

“No.” he stated, “I can’t.”

He wordlessly left, Dimitri assuming into his room.

He sighed, and left into 'his' room too.

"Shit." he muttered, thinking about how bad that was. Dimitri went to sleep, trying to forget the entire damn day.

[lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie]

A Supernatural World: Chapter 2

Prev | Next

Summary: Fleeing their hometown of Miami, Florida due to it growing far too dangerous, Roman and his vampire brother Remus move to Detroit, Michigan. Remus hopes it’ll be safer here for his human (or so he thinks he’s human) brother. Roman only wishes to start anew after a traumatizing incident in his last college, hoping to make new friends and maybe even find love. They don’t know what this city or the future holds but it’s going to be quite the adventure as they explore their new surroundings and the…interesting people that live in it.

Pairings: Eventual roceit, Eventual Intrulogical, slowburn roceit, slowburn Intrulogical, romantic roceit, romantic Intrulogical. BROTHERLY CREATIVITWINS (rem/rom shippers fuck off)

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, IMPLIED ABUSE, TOXIC PARENTING, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL HARRASSMENT, IMPLIED SEXUAL HARRASSMENT, POSSIBLE IMPLIED RAPE, SLIGHT BLOOD MENTION, SLIGHT MENTION OF MURDER, MENTIONS OF FOOD POISONING

Taglist: @mychemically-imbalanced-romance

(If anyone else would like to be tagged, let me know!)

________________________________________________________________

Moving to a new apartment after being on the run for so long had been exhausting but they made it and they were a lot safer now. For the first time in a long time, Roman finds himself waking up with little to no worries in his mind. He sits up and yawns, stretching his arms. He takes a deep breath and perks up a little when he smells breakfast in the air. With a rumbling tummy, Roman slips out of bed and ambles out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, finding Remus at the stove and making breakfast. Bacon and eggs sizzle away in the frying pan.

“Morning, Ree. Where’d you get that?” Roman asks, plopping down at the dining table.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I wasn’t going to go grocery shopping until some time later but I figured we could use a good breakfast after all the shit we went through to get here. So, I went out and bought a few things at the convenience store across the street.” Remus replies, plating up the food.

“I do miss having good breakfasts like this.” Roman giggles before making a face. “I don’t think I want to eat more yucky hotel food or disgusting gas station meals.”

Remus huffs a laugh and gives Roman his plate.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“I got food poisoning twice in Alabama and Kentucky.”

“Okay, fair point.” 

Remus shakes his head fondly at the memory of poor Ro throwing up in their motel room. He hadn’t meant to make his twin sick but he couldn’t exactly order anything fancy. He was trying to save up for an apartment. He did feel bad for Ro. His twin had been eager to try KFC when they got to Kentucky. Turns out that the KFC they ordered from was a bit, well, unsanitary. Oh well, at least they don’t have to worry about that now. Remus gets his own plate and sets it on the table before turning to the fridge to get juice for them both.

“So, did you sleep okay? I know I used my magic on you but it can’t always block the nightmares.” Remus says, setting the juice bottle on the counter and moving to get glasses.

Meanwhile, Roman eagerly starts eating. He makes a delighted noise and eats more.

“I did. It feels nice to wake up without worrying if someone broke in or freaking out because you thought the cleaning lady was an intruder.” he grins, taking another bite.

“That’s good. And don’t worry. I’m sure there’s no scary cleaning lady here this time.” Remus chuckles, pouring him and Roman some juice.

Roman giggles and goes back to eating, humming in thanks when Remus gives him his juice.

“I know, Ree. So, what are you going to do?” he asks.

“Well, since everything is mostly unpacked, I’m going to explore around the city and see what’s there to see. Maybe find a job too. We can’t exactly live on our money forever.” 

“True. I’m going to see if I can enroll in theatre after breakfast.” 

“Ooh, good luck with that. I know you’ll kill it out there.

“I know. Promise you won’t kill anyone out there?”

Remus huffs a laugh. 

“Promise, Ro.”

The twins share a laugh and continue talking, Roman eagerly telling Remus all the stuff he’s excited to do again. Roman used to be in theatre in high school but it wasn’t fun. He had constant pressure on his shoulders to be a star performer in their parents’ eyes. He’d spent restless nights rehearsing and practicing under his mother’s command. He’d endure other nights where his mother would reprimand him for even the smallest slip up in his plays or when he didn’t get the lead role she demanded him to get. He’d been forced into diets and dressed uncomfortably to look perfect for his parts. Theatre was ruined for him then and he endured it until high school was over.

Then there was his first year of college. Roman had been happy to have at least a bit of distance between him and his abusive home. He had tried for theatre again in hope it would go well this time. It didn’t. The professor who led the whole theatre crew was a creep along with a few techies. Roman was the poor victim who was constantly targeted, getting groped or hit on whenever he was alone with either a techie or the professor himself. At first, Roman had been clueless, thinking the groping was an accident and the flirting was all in good fun. Then it kept getting worse and worse until one day, the professor and his techies cornered Roman in the dressing room and left him a wreck with his costume torn. 

Remus found out when Roman came home crying and told him. They tried to get justice but the professor and the techies left no proof so their case fell flat and was never opened again. All they could do was leave that college. Of course, their parents didn’t side with them, accusing Roman of ‘asking for it’ and punishing him for ‘selling his body’. That’s when Remus had enough and broke out of the basement he was forced to stay in. He went to Roman and comforted him, telling him they weren’t staying here anymore. After waiting for their parents to leave the house for another drunken night at some bar, the twins packed up and left. Roman hasn’t tried theatre since. The funny thing is, that was only a year ago.

Now, Roman was feeling a bit confident and wanted to try theatre once more. He even wanted to help with costumes and makeup or maybe even make props. He also missed singing on stage so he was excited to do that again. Eager to try out again, Roman eats a little faster. He really wants to enroll and step up on the shiny stage floor again. 

Meanwhile, Remus huffs a laugh, seeing how eager his brother is.

“Easy, Ro. You have plenty of time to sign up for theatre.” he says, patting his twin’s head.

Roman smiles bashfully.

“I know. I’m just so excited, Ree! I miss the stage! Now that we’re free from our parents and those creeps, I feel like I can do theatre again without all these problems!” he exclaims, grinning.

“I know but you can’t do that if you choke on your breakfast.” 

Roman giggles.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman slows down but keeps eating, babbling about theatre stuff in between while Remus listens along. It’s not long before Roman finishes and puts his dishes in the sink before going back to his room to get his laptop from his bag so he can start enrolling. His eager humming can be heard around the apartment and it makes the atmosphere a little bit more warm and peaceful.

Meanwhile, Remus quickly did the dishes then went to get ready to explore. He cleaned up as best as he could before getting changed into a black t-shirt, grey ripped jeans, combat boots, and a dark green leather jacket. He then returns to the bedroom and finds Roman sitting on his bed, already with his laptop on. Remus chuckles and ruffles his twin’s hair.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out now. Will you be okay with being alone for a bit?” Remus asks, watching for a moment as Roman reads through some search results.

“Yeah! I’ll call you if anything happens and Janus is upstairs too!” Roman beams.

“Good. I’ll be back later, Ro.”

“Kay! Stay safe!”

Remus gives Roman a lazy salute and leaves him to do his college hunting. He grabs his bat and his pocket knife from his backpack along with a pocket flask filled with emergency blood. Then he slips out the door and heads down to the lobby. He waves hello to Jeremiah as he exits the building, Detroit’s cool and smoggy air hitting his face. After making sure no one is around, Remus sneaks around to the back and jumps his way up the apartment building using the fire escapes there. He then climbs onto the roof. Sure, he could have taken the stairs but that wasn’t as fun. Remus takes a deep breath and walks over to the edge, taking in the view and plotting out a path.

Remus sees the bridge and the old freighter. In the distance, he can just make out the edge of Belle Isle in the morning fog. He can see a nearby police station too. Immediately, he makes a note to avoid the station for safety purposes. It takes a few more minutes but he figures out a route through a mostly empty street that leads to a cluster of small businesses and restaurants. Taking a deep breath, Remus turns and runs before leaping over a gap and landing onto the next roof. His speed picks up and he keeps moving, jumping from roof to roof.

To Remus, it always felt thrilling to go on a rooftop run. He liked the feeling of cool air on his skin and the rush he gets when he leaps high into the air. It’s almost like he was flying. He liked watching the cars and buildings rushing by him. He liked being able to explore and see new places, especially the ones with good views or creepy vibes. 

Maybe he’ll explore the burnt down mansion in the outskirts of Detroit some other time. He hears it’s haunted. Maybe he’ll explore that old tech company that shut down and became abandoned due to a lot of bad business incidents. He found some rumors online that the company was going to create an android before it fell apart and shut down. He also heard of an abandoned mansion hidden somewhere in an isolated location of Detroit. He heard rumors of the last owner being a rich CEO who was murdered by his wife and her sister. Others say his remains could be found at the bottom of his dried up indoor pool. 

The thought of it all excited Remus more. It felt nice to be in a new place so once he and Roman were settled in enough, he decided he’ll explore those places in the future. For now, he jumps to another rooftop and pauses to catch his breath. He may be a vampire but not even the undead can run without tiring. Remus decides to hop down from the roof, exiting through an alleyway and slipping wordlessly onto the street. He carefully weaves between some people and hums as he starts walking, passing by a grey haired man and his companion walking a Saint Bernard. 

Remus looks around as he walks. There isn’t much here. There’s a homeless man on the street corner, begging for change or food. There’s a stray cat sniffing at something in the garbage cans by the alleyway. There’s a small convenience store selling party decorations and supplies. Across it is an old bar with a flickering neon sign. A faded ‘Help Wanted’ sign sits in the window, asking for someone to come work as either a cleaner or to work behind the bar. Remus knew he had no skill in working behind the bar but he figured he could try for the cleaner position. Cleaning isn’t usually his thing but he’s willing to try so he can at least make enough money to pay for rent and for any funds Roman may have for theatre. Taking a deep breath, Remus steps inside.

“Oh! Welcome to Jimmy’s Bar! I’m Jimmy!”

[karajaynetoday]

these arms would not be taught to hold another's, 'cause we're the special two | ashton irwin

image credit

Hello tumblr pals! Hope you’re having a wonderful day. As promised, here’s a little epilogue for it’s not the pain they’re getting over, it’s the love. i’ve tried to make it as soft and loving as possible, because i feel that these characters deserve a bit of that after everything they’ve gone through. thanks for all of your support and feedback on this little series, it’s always going to be special to me, and i love knowing how much it has resonated with you <3 

Here is Part One, Part Two,  Part Three and Part Four if you’d like to revisit them first. This part is inspired a little by The Special Two by Missy Higgins, and the italics in the piece are lyrics from the song. 

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mention of death of a parent, mention of exhaustion, anxiety, depression

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

I've hardly been outside my room in days 'Cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays

It’d been two months or so since Ashton had driven away from you on that rainy, gloomy morning. You’d tried your best to push through the overwhelming loneliness that you felt once he’d gone, and you were back to being by yourself in your mother’s house again. Your siblings were pushing through their own grief by keeping busy and moving forward, making plans to move out and pursue university studies or travel the world, and it warmed your heart to know that they were going to be okay. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you were losing that sense of being needed that you’d held for so much of your life, and a sense of hopelessness was beginning to creep into its place.

This time around, the distance was made less painful by daily text messages and weekly video calls. You thought you’d feel awkward talking to Ashton through a screen, after such an intense time together in person over the last little while, but it felt so comforting and natural that neither of you ever missed a call. Ashton was somewhere in Europe, France maybe? And he’d be criss-crossing over the continent for the next few months. You saw the excitement in his eyes when you mentioned that you’d always wanted to visit Europe, Italy especially, but you stopped him mid-sentence when he offered to book you a flight. You weren’t ready to leave here, not yet. You just needed more time to feel like yourself again. Ashton reassured you and said he understood, like he always did, and that he would be waiting whenever you were ready. 

When you're young you have this image of your life That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife

You’d started to feel increasingly out of sorts. At first the fatigue felt like an overdue episode of being burnt out, which was understandable given how draining your life had been lately. But then there were other mysterious symptoms too, that didn’t quite add up, so you managed to drag yourself out of bed and to a doctor’s appointment. They couldn’t diagnose you with anything unexpected, and there were murmurs of exhaustion, anxiety, depression, too much stress. They sent you on your way with referrals and prescriptions, and you spent the next few weeks being put on waiting lists and at appointments and trying new things, until slowly the haze began to lift. It didn’t clear entirely, and you knew from your past experiences that it would never totally fade, but you were able to get out of bed in the mornings for no other reason than because you wanted to, which was an achievement within itself.

The lawyers had dealt with your mother’s will swiftly, noting that the house and belongings were to be split equally amongst you and your siblings. After a few emotional days revisiting old belongings and the old memories that came with them, you’d all agreed that selling it and moving out to newer places was the best way forward. It would be hard to part with the place that you’d grown up in, and it’d be strange to come home to somewhere new, or celebrate Christmases or birthdays around a different kitchen table, but it also felt like that was exactly what your mother would have wanted for her loved ones: to cherish her memory by living their lives as brightly as she shone down on them. 

But I will fight for you, be sure that I will fight Until we're the special two once again

The house sold quicker than you’d anticipated, and all of sudden you were surrounded by moving boxes with no real sense or desire to move them anywhere. Your heart had always belonged here, in the familiar streets and secret hideaways and creature comforts of home, but lately it had longed for something else. Something more. Some sort of adventure, some sort of change of scenery. It was one of those now or never moments, and you were torn over what to do. Stepping away and recognising that your family would be alright without you constantly by their side was a hard pill to swallow, but it was also so freeing. 

One afternoon, Ashton’s mother had invited you out for coffee. You could tell she was keeping a watchful eye on you, no doubt out of loyalty to your mother and love for you, but you also had a suspicion that a certain son of hers had asked her to make sure you were doing okay. You were chatting away, talking about your dilemma about where to move house next, when she pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and slid it across the table. You immediately recognised it as Ashton’s tour itinerary, and four days off in Italy had been circled in pink highlighter.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. 

“Absolutely not. I cannot fly to Europe, not now. I don’t have anywhere to live yet, and there’s forms to sign, and boxes to sort out, and…”

All she did was fix you with an amused stare, and you could see the mischievous glint in her eye that you’d seen in Ashton’s many a time before. 

Within a matter of hours, your flight was booked. Your moving boxes would go to storage for now, and you could sort them out whenever it was that you returned. You’d been sworn to secrecy, and added to a WhatsApp group message of some people that you hadn’t spoken to in years, but they were thrilled to hear you were on your way. Apparently Ashton had been missing you much more than he’d let on in your video calls, and your heart leapt when you realised how soon you’d be reunited.

And we can only see each other, we'll breathe together

These arms will not be taught to need another's

'Cause we're the special two

The flights were long but uneventful, and before you knew it you were on your way to a hotel in Italy, trying not to bite your nails out of nerves. The band schedule had a few days off after today, but in their messages to you, Michael, Calum and Luke had explained that you were welcome to join the tour for as long as you’d like. It seemed silly, to feel so close to people who were virtually strangers, but they also felt like family, and you felt like you were ready to embrace something new.

The plan was to surprise Ashton after the show, because if you arrived beforehand, you knew he wouldn’t want to let you go when he was called to stage. You met Kat, the tour assistant, in the lobby, and she was so kind and warm that you felt immediately calmer in her presence. That was until the elevator doors opened onto the band’s floor, and she handed you a key card and wished you luck.

Fuck. This was happening. You’d just flown half way around the world to surprise someone that you were even officially in a relationship with. Who were you? It felt bizarre, and surreal, and so unlike you, but at the same time, something propelled your feet down the corridor. Your heart was pumping, and your hands were clammy, but your knock on the door was firm and strong. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply in the few moments you had to yourself before the door swung open, and Ashton stood in front of you for the first time in months.

Watching his reaction would’ve made you laugh, if you didn’t immediately start crying from the overwhelming sense of relief. He was confused, and then shocked, and then speechless, and then there was that smile. The smile that could power a thousand suns. He reached out his hands towards you, and when you took them he immediately pulled you into his arms. You were both whispering nonsense to each other, and clutching on for dear life, and breathing each other in like you’d had a lifetime apart.

“I’m so sorry it took me this long to come home to you.” This time, it was your turn to offer this apology to Ashton, who immediately shook his head before pressing his lips to yours softly. 

“Never apologise, my love. It could take all the time in the world, and I’d still be waiting for you just the same.” 

“Is now a good time to tell you I bought a one way ticket?” You said quietly, eyes darting up to meet Ashton’s gaze. He was looking at you incredulously, and you had a moment of panic about whether or not that was the right decision to have made.

“Are you kidding me? That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard in a long time.” 

There was that smile again, and more soft kisses, and being pulled into the hotel room with giggles and clashing limbs as Ashton tried to maneuver you and your belongings inside, as well as closing the door behind you both. 

A quick shower and a call down to room service for some late night pizza, and then you were settling in under the covers as the lack of sleep on the flights and all your hours of travel started to hit you. You were trying to stay awake, because you didn’t want to miss a moment, but Ashton could see right through you.

“Sleep, my love. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow.” Ashton murmured, absentmindedly drawing small circles into your back as you settled into his chest with a yawn.

“You promise? How about the day after tomorrow?” You asked, cracking one eye open to glare at him in jest.

“The day after, and the day after, and every single day after that until you get sick of me, which will be never, because there’s no one in my life I’m more intertwined with, and it’s my favourite thing about the entire universe.” Ashton explained matter-of-factly, and it made your heart soar.

He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and you were bathed in darkness. Sleep overcame you quickly, and instinctively you found safety, and security, and wholeness in Ashton’s arms, as he found in yours. And all you needed was that moment, over and over again, forever. 

These arms would not be taught to need another's

'Cause we're the special two

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is!  @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash  @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie  @becihadshawn  @allthestarsandthemoon​

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 10

On the morning of Winter Solstice Selene found Eli outside exercising; in fact, over the last three weeks that's how Eli had started her mornings.  She knew the woman wanted to get back to her pre-tube physique but she hadn't been pushing herself this hard before -- discovering her dead husband had triggered the change in her and Selene didn't know what to do about it.

'Hopefully Dr. Xu is making headway...' she found herself thinking as she headed over to the corner of the yard that Eli had taken to exercising in.  It was a fairly flat area, mostly shielded from the sun in the afternoon and evening, and would have thick grass coverage once the seasons changed; it also was outside of the stable area so there wouldn't be animal droppings to worry about either.  Maybe she could pave a small area to give Eli something solid to exercise on too?  And when spring arrived with its downpours a paved spot would keep her out of the mud as well...Selene mentally stuck it on her To Do list. ((Continued below cut))

Eli was currently doing push ups, and doing them really damn well -- far better than Selene could ever hope to do.  She didn't look up as the builder approached, and Selene waited silently and counted out 52 push ups (and who knew how many she'd already done before Selene had even come outside) before Eli finally came to a stop and shifted her legs around to sit cross-legged in the cleared area of frozen grass.

"Did you still want to go to the Solstice gathering?" Selene asked. For a long moment Eli was silent, then she simply nodded; Selene returned the nod and smiled at her.  "Yay, all right -- did you want to be the bringer of cheese or the meats?" She took a step back as Eli got up; once the woman was up and out of the shadow of the edge of the nearby stables Selene could see sweat droplets sparkling in the woman's eyelashes and a thin sheen of it over her face -- she'd need to get inside and get dried off before she froze.

"Cheese, I guess."

It wasn't enthusiastic but she'd take it.  "Ok then - I'll go get the foodstuffs while you get cleaned up.  We've got a couple hours before everything starts but usually people gather early to watch Django get the hot pot started.  It'd be a really good time for you to meet and mingle, talk to people."

"I don't know that I feel up to mingling."

"Oh.  Well, uh..."

Eli gave her a strained smile.  "Sorry.  Don't mean to make things awkward, I just..."

Selene didn't press her to continue; instead she nodded and led the way back into the house where Eli disappeared upstairs to her room and Selene turned into the kitchen.  She'd bought some nice cuts of beef and chicken and a very soft and delicious white cheese from Sophie and Emily a day ago.  After her first Solstice in Portia Selene had decided to vary what she brought each year; the first time she'd brought diced up layered carrots and last year she'd brought cornballs from her own garden which had turned a small spot of the pot into a spicy chowder. This year would be the first time she'd brought any meats.  Hopefully they were sliced thin enough that they'd cook up quickly once they were in the pot...maybe she should have checked with Django first.  Oh well.

Eli should at least be well-received for bringing the cheese; the soft white was a Portia favorite and it tended to sell out quick when Sophie had a new batch ready to go.

A quick glance in the fridge showed that the wax paper wrapped around the meats hadn't leaked, and there weren't any grease marks on the paper bag that the cheese was in - it was nice to see that she wouldn't need to put them into other containers or worry about the bags ripping on the way in to town. Selene grabbed a potato fruit fritter out of the bag next to the cheese (she liked Sophie's pies and fritters, what could she say?) and retreated to a chair, slowly munching on the fritter as she waited for Eli.

She was washing grease off her fingers when she heard Eli coming down the stairs; the Dubei woman was combing her hair off to the side as she walked, and was wearing a sweater Selene hadn't seen before - it was a burnt orange color with goldenrod colored trim along the sleeves and collar.

"That looks nice.  When did you get that one?"

Eli glanced down and smoothed down the sweater's hem.  "Couple days ago.  Carol was nice enough to tailor it a bit so it fit better across my shoulders."

"Going to need a lot of tailoring soon, huh?"  That got a faint smile from Eli; Selene grabbed the meats and cheese and led the way out of the house toward Portia's gates.  "What were celebrations like, in the Old World?  Were there a lot of holidays?"

"Saying there were 'a lot' would be a massive understatement. You could find a festival or holiday going on almost every other week," Eli answered.

"Wow... That sounds hectic, but also fun."

Eli shrugged.  "Isn't that true of any holiday?"

"True.  Oh, here-" Selene briefly spun around and walked backwards, holding out the bag with the cheese in it.  "Best cheese anywhere around."

Eli took the bag and tucked it into the crook of her elbow.  "So...how does this festival work?"

"Well, we have a giant hot pot that Django gets started with a broth base.  We wait 'til it gets boiling, then everyone starts tossing ingredients in.  Everyone is welcome to eat as much as they want and because of how big the pot is you'll find little pockets of dozens of different flavors -- and, when we're done, all the leftovers are divvied out to everyone to take home, or available to eat for free at the Round Table for the next couple of days.  After we've all eaten we have a snowball fight -- or, WOULD have a snowball fight.  What snow that's out in the fields right now isn't all that packable since it's not fresh so I'm not sure if Gale has something else planned instead. And THEN, after that, we all take pictures together."

"...'all,'" Eli repeated.  "Who does that include?"

"Everyone in Portia, if they want to," Selene giggled.  "I help build the riser platforms each year.  When we're done with the hot pot and everyone heads off to the snowball fight I, Paulie, and a couple others move the pot out and get the risers in place for when it's picture time."

"Are the pictures just...for free? For anyone?"

Selene nodded.  "Yep.  And a lot of the pictures get printed in the newspaper too so even if you don't manage to grab a copy today you can clip it from the paper later."

They were approaching the central plaza now and Selene could already smell the vegetable broth; Dawa and Paulie were standing near the massive hot pot helping Django feed logs to the fire burning beneath it.  Gale, Gust, Ginger, and Russo were already there too, and so was Carol and Martha and standing with them were the triplets, Toby, and Jack as well.  Their arrival immediately caught the attention of the children; Selene subtly moved Eli around the plaza's edge in the opposite direction.

They stopped at the benches over near the Research Center and Eli sat down, and sat the bag of cheese on the bench beside her.

"That is definitely a large hot pot."

"Yep.  No idea who first forged it but it's been in use for awhile - not sure what they used before.  Maybe just a giant cauldron or something."

They sat and waited, and watched as more of Portia's residents began to show up.  There were a lot of curious and uneasy looks tossed their way; few people seemed willing to do more than nod or wave, and Selene was pretty certain most of the friendlier gestures were aimed at her and not Eli.  Really made her wonder what Lee might have been telling others since Eli definitely hadn't done anything to warrant the weird looks she was getting.

Eventually, as more people showed up and more greetings were exchanged, Martha's attention wandered enough that Toby broke away from the group they were all standing in and as Selene suspected the boy made a beeline toward them.

He stopped just short of the bench, eying Eli for a moment or two; despite having a heavy coat on along with his backpack he had managed to also strap a wooden practice sword to his back and the handle jutted awkwardly over his left shoulder.

"Hi!  Are you really three hundred years old?"

Eli blinked at the boy for a moment, then sat up a bit straighter.  "I think I'm closer to 370, but yes."

"What did you do in the Old World?  Were there adventurers?"

Selene watched as Eli's gaze moved from the boy over to where his mother was standing and chatting with Carol and Alice; after a pause Eli looked back to Toby.  "I was a ranger.  It was a type of soldier."

"Ha!" was Toby's response.  "Django said there was more to you than it looked!  Did you fight in the war?  Did you shoot robots with guns?   Was there really robots everywhere you looked? Did you use only guns or did you still use swords and stuff?  Do you know how to use a sword?"

"Toby, one at a time," Selene interrupted dryly.  Eli got bombarded enough as it was thanks to those nosy scholars.

A small smile crossed Eli's face.  "I didn't fight in the war - I was already injured and inside that tube by the time the Calamity hit.  I'm not even sure what event started it.  As for AIs - yes, we had a lot of them.  They did a lot of the work for us, but not ALL of our work.  We didn't use swords but we had some long-handled machetes as part of our camping kits and if we fought in close combat we had bangsticks.  They were these metal rods of varying length that, if you swung and hit something with it, would release a little electric shock with a loud bang, hence their names.  And, I know how to dance with a sword but not how to fight with one."

Selene had been listening quietly as Eli rattled off the answers to Toby's rapid fire questions but the last answer caught her attention.   "Dance?"

Eli nodded.  "Dubeian saber dancing.  Was a hobby I picked up when I was a teenager and carried it along while serving - I wasn't especially limber or graceful but it was still fun."

Toby pulled a face.  "Dancing?  That sounds boring."

"Maybe, to someone who hasn't ever seen it.  You started out with plastic practice props, worked your way up to wooden ones, then blunt metal, then sharpened metal, and the last 'rank' was sharpened metal with a middle, inner strip that you lit on fire."

THAT got Toby's attention.  "You danced with fire?"

"Me?  No.  I only made it up to the sharpened metal rank - live steel, as it was called.  Once I was out of school I only got the chance to study and practice when I was on leave from active duty."

"That sounds pretty neat, actually," Selene mused.  "Sounds kind of dangerous too though - a sharp edge AND fire?"

"It WAS dangerous, and that's why it was fairly challenging to work your way up the ranks.  You learned the basic moves with the plastic, then added weight and balance with the wooden ones.  From there you began picking up the advanced stuff with the heavier but blunt metal props, and you needed a perfect score from a certified instructor to move on to the sharpened ones.  When you got to the sharpened rank you had to have so many hours of supervised practice as well as a certain number of dances performed and scored by eight different instructors, all perfect scores and with no injuries or else you had to start over and put in the time and effort again.  Being as it became something I did on the side to keep myself busy when I was on leave I never had the time to put together the dances or log the hours needed."

"Are you bothering Eli?"

Selene jumped at Arlo's voice and spun around to find him standing behind her with his arms crossed and his attention squarely on Toby.  

Toby jutted his lower lip out at Arlo.  "No!  I'm learning about the Old World."

"Fine, but your mother is looking for you either way."

"Aw man..." Toby slouched off through the crowd back toward Martha who greeted him with a glare and what Selene imagined was a very short and to the point lecture on running off when she clearly wanted him to stay put.  He...did that a lot, and could probably recite any lecture by heart now.

When he was gone Eli leaned back against the bench and stretched her legs out.  "He wasn't bothering me.  Just asking questions."

"Fair enough. Martha WAS actually looking for him however."

Selene shifted around to perch on the arm of the bench, looking up at him.  "Are the scholars going to work today too?"

"Not that I know of.  Gregory and Adam are going to stay out at the sinkhole just in case they do, and also to keep guard.  Mali and the others planned to come take part in the festivities but I've no idea if the scholars will too."  Arlo glanced over a shoulder and skimmed the crowd, then returned his attention to Eli.  "I did want to mention that Lee gives a sermon every year before we eat - whatever he might say today know he's more or less said something similar every year.  This might be the one time I can honestly say it shouldn't be personal."

Eli nodded but didn't say anything in response.  After a few moments Arlo moved to sit on the bench with the bag of cheese between himself and Eli, and not too long afterward both Sam and Remington found them and stood about chatting as they waited for Django to signal that the broth was ready; it already appeared to be boiling and Selene spied what she thought were vegetable bits floating around in it.  Shouldn't be too long now.

"-Eli, I had a question about Stewart," Sam suddenly asked, abruptly changing the subject away from the weather.

"What about him?"

They'd all had a chance to talk to Stewart at least once now; the All Source AI was polite and helpful but Selene found his constantly shifting facial projection to be massively distracting.

"What are we going to do with him?"

That was a question Selene had thought about too.  Wendy, the other All Source AI they'd found, was currently in the Research Center and wouldn't be able to ever leave it now that her original power supply had been damaged beyond repair -- she'd always be tethered to the power supply they'd rigged up for her.  Stewart, on the other hand, had been specifically built to be mobile; his inner battery needed repair due to the ravages of time but he was confident they could fix it even with limited technology, and that would leave him with about three months worth of power if he was forced to go without his docking station. Could they move his docking station out of the facility and figure out how to power it up here?  It seemed like a huge waste to leave him down in the facility or for him to walk back and forth between there and town.

"I'm not sure yet," Eli answered after a lengthy pause.  "He seems convinced the reactor is still fully functional for now, so we've got a bit of time to figure something out.  But he'll have to be moved somehow -- the fuel inside a reactor has an expected lifetime and to be honest I'm surprised it's still working after all this time.  It won't last forever though, and there's no way we can make more of what fuels it."

"We were able to make a new power source for Wendy," Selene said.   She glanced toward the Research Center -- Wendy had seemed satisfied with the power output of the high voltage dual engine set up they'd put together.  "Could we move the docking station and make do like we did with her?"

Eli was silent for another long moment - Selene could only imagine the calculations going on in her head.  "--it's...possible, I guess.   But it'll need a lot of room, first and foremost - we'd need his docking station for sure, along with his memory cores and server banks, and then space enough for whatever power source we come up with to run it all.  He might need his own dedicated room entirely."

Remington's eyebrows shot into his hairline.  "He really needs that much power?  That much room?"

"Yeah, that seems-" Sam paused, then shook her head.  "Wendy didn't need that much of either.  What's the difference?"

"They're different models," Eli answered.  "They might both be All Source AIs but their duties are drastically different and they have different specs.  And I bet if we could find Wendy's original memory cores and servers her power and space requirements would shoot through the roof too."

Selene huffed out a sigh at that.  "Man...we've lost so much, haven't we?  I hope we haven't damaged Wendy on accident."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Eli replied, looking over to her.  "If she says she can manage with her current power level then she knows what she can and can't safely process."

"What would happen if we got her hooked up to more power?"

"Probably nothing.  Her memory cores aren't attached and she's not connected to anything else to warrant more power right now."

"She DID say that she couldn't teach us anything because all she did was give orders, but she's given us a few blueprints since she said that," Selene said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin as she thought - what did a memory core or server bank even look like?  "If she had her memory cores, would that make a difference in what she could teach?"

"A huge difference.  You can't teach something if you don't remember knowing it in the first place.  With her it's likely she DID know the inner functions of certain technologies but that information was stored in a separate memory core than what she's carrying onboard now.  If we separate Stewart from his servers and cores he'll lose a lot of what he knows too."

"Which seems like a poor idea," Arlo broke in.  "Having those medical texts is helpful but having something on hand that actually knows it and could teach it to others is way more valuable."

Sam shrugged. "The clinic DOES have that storage room upstairs, and also the space around it to add on another room or two - it'd make more sense to install Stewart in the clinic than it would here at the Center, since he's a medical AI.  I think it was just last year that Dr. Xu was talking to Albert about a possible expansion too."

Remington shook his head at her.  "He only did that because Phyllis wants to open her own office.  I think the plan was adding on and giving that space to her to start out with but she found a place out in South Block that she's trying to buy instead. He probably wouldn't say no to an expansion to house Stewart but I don't know that any plans or budget from before would be useful now since he wasn't factoring in an All Source AI's needs."

Selene stood up and stretched as she noticed Gale taking his place at the center of the crowd.  "Eh, leave it for another day - looks like it's about time to start."

Portia's townsfolk had all clustered around the hot pot and Selene and the others were basically at the back of the group; Gale was a little hard to hear but, as he did every year, he greeted everyone and then invited Lee to start his sermon.

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

Eli listened quietly as Lee detailed how, after the Calamity, the sky had darkened and sunlight had disappeared.  AIs had gone rogue, crops were failing, people were starving - humanity already pushed to the brink was getting even closer to extinction.  To hear that finally, in a moment of need, people came together to ensure survival was nice...even if the story as a whole was very bleak.  

'To think I outlived all that because of a stupid tube and science I can't understand...'

One of the first things she'd asked Stewart was why she was down there - why she was in that tube - and the AI couldn't tell her.

Not because he didn't know but because he'd been ordered not to tell anyone outside of the project involving the tubes.  And what that project was was also something he couldn't share, and no amount of administrative access he could grant her would give her access to those files.  He couldn't go against his orders or his programming and had been very apologetic but ultimately she'd gotten nowhere with that subject.

The rest of her questions had been directly answered, at least, and it painted chaotic, terrifying, and destructive final days for the facility and the people of Dubei.

First had come a bombardment from orbital railguns.  Eli hadn't even known there WERE railguns up in orbit, and if they had fired freely on Dubei she imagined no one in charge had known they were there either (or if they HAD known, why weren't there defenses in place?).  Who could have gotten railguns into orbit without anyone detecting them?  Maybe they were inside something else...hidden, so that no one would suspect. And if that were the case then it could have been any nation behind it, and while Eli knew diplomacy had been breaking down she didn't think the Generals would have kept something this potentially devastating a secret...

Then Stewart had detailed how, in the immediate aftermath of that first attack, a small group of unknown assailants had forced their way in and appeared to be there to steal top secret information from various government-funded research projects.  Stewart didn't know what files in particular they had come for but they were systematically searching floors and attempting to breach his encryptions and firewalls before they'd been subdued either by security or by circumstance; the orbital bombardment had leveled over half the city and obliterated that part of the facility that had been above ground, and the damage had caused the air filtration and circulation system to go haywire during the infiltration. Several of the underground sections were subsequently flooded with such severely polluted air, smoke, and particulates that it had caused many to suffocate (even some who had tried to get protective equipment on had been killed before it made a difference) before Stewart had been able to get the systems under control again and broadcast an order to begin evacuation once the intruders had been dealt with.  

A small silver lining to this was the suffocation had taken out some of the attackers too, though their losses paled in comparison to the number of employees that had died. There was a mad scramble by those left to try and pack and prioritize, and to the credit of the survivors a lot was able to be salvaged and taken with them as the remaining living AIs were able to carry a lot more than a human could. But it was during the rush to leave that they'd been hit with a second bombardment and Stewart lost all contact with the surface world.  In the chaos of the second attack Stewart had issued a total evacuation order: if it couldn't be immediately carried out on one's person then it had to be left behind...supplies, personal effects, the fallen, everything. Those few that were left alive to hear the order made it out through old maintenance tunnels.

And that was it.  Ever since then Stewart had been the lone guiding force within the facility and had struggled to keep it functional (especially after an earthquake struck about 73 years after the second bombardment and had destroyed even more of the facility), and make certain that the remaining stationary AI assistants like Pauline as well as Eli in her tube survived until help arrived (something Stewart admitted he had lost hope for several times over the centuries).

That was a touchy subject... Eli had been in a tube, and so had all but two of her squadron.  It had definitely hurt to know that most everyone she'd worked with AND her husband were all dead in the same room she'd spent over three hundred years "sleeping" in and that it had only been sheer dumb luck that the earthquake's damage hadn't reached far enough into the room to take her out too.  Thinking about it, even briefly, was enough to make her eyes sting and well up and she quickly squashed it down and tried to focus on the end of Lee's sermon.

Better times...  Yeah, compared to what she'd been told had happened, and what had been been endured, these times were certainly better.   Humanity had a future even if it felt like she didn't.

 Don't think about it.

At least, don't think about it until the next session with Dr. Xu.   Or, bare minimum, she should aim to make it through today without falling apart.

"-all right, time to start adding things."

Eli flinched a bit as Selene - she hadn't even noticed the woman had moved from the other end of the bench - grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her toward the enormous hot pot, giving her only a moment to pick up her sack with the cheese in it; Arlo stayed with them and had produced a small bag of eggs from somewhere - she was about to ask where he'd been hiding it when she noticed Sam pull a cluster of some leafy green herb out of the bag she seemed to carry everywhere.  She handed whatever the herbs were to Remington and then pulled out a parcel wrapped in wax paper; Sam wasted no time in approaching the pot and dumping the contents of her parcel in and Eli watched as a small shower of tiny meatballs plopped into the boiling broth.

"What'd you end up bringing?" Remington asked then.  He had a small pocket knife in hand and was carefully cutting off the string that held the bundle of herbs together; she caught a whiff of it as well as a closer look and thought it was coriander.

Eli opened her bag and pulled out the chunk of cheese inside it, and managed to smile a bit as Remington's eyes lit up at the sight of it.

"Ha, you actually managed to get your hands on some of Sophie's cheese?  That'll win you a lot of friends today I bet." He wiped the blade of the knife clean on the hem of his shirt then offered it to her, handle first.  "Here, this'll help."

The cheese was the size of her two fists put together and it cut smoothly.  She did notice a couple of approving looks as she dropped the first few pieces into the pot and watched as it melted and floated on the top almost like a cream.

"Should I try to spread it out?" she asked, glancing over to Remington; Arlo and Selene seemed to have moved on to other spots around the pot, chatting with the other townsfolk as they walked and dropped in cuts of meat and freshly cracked eggs at random intervals.

"You can, or you can claim a little spot and let others come to you," Remington answered.  He started gently twisting the coriander into small handfuls that he sprinkled over a wide area of the hot pot's surface; the boiling broth quickly sent the little green bits floating away or sinking inward.

Along with the sudden surge of various types of foodstuffs appearing in the pot there were a lot of people and a lot of separate conversations going on around her; for now she decided to slice up about a third of what she had and spread it in the same area.  As she was carefully cutting off a few more slices one of the short, hairy men appeared at her elbow with what looked like fresh fish fillets.

"Hey, look at that," was the man's greeting as he spied the cheese in her hand.  "I always end up eating all that myself when I manage to get my hands on it."

She recognized him in that he was identical to the three others like him that she'd met, but his glasses were more opaque and a different size and shape than the ones his brothers wore.  Quadruplets?  "Would you like a piece to eat?"  She cut off a decently thick bit and offered it to him; he accepted it with a grunt and smile and popped the whole thing into his mouth before beginning to carefully slip the fillets into the broth.

"-so, you're Eli.  I'm Qiwa.  You meet the rest of my brothers yet?"

"I've met Dawa, Sanwa, and I saw a third brother on the night I was introduced but I'm guessing that wasn't you.  How...uh, how many of you ARE there?"

Qiwa began to chuckle, and didn't respond until he had all the filets in the pot; after wiping his hands on his shorts (Eli couldn't fathom how he wasn't freezing) he began to point to various spots in the crowd.  There was Dawa, and Sanwa, and there was...three, four, five...

"-there's SEVEN of you?" she asked, looking down at Qiwa in amazement.  "What's in Portia's water and should I be concerned?"

That got a deep belly laugh out of Qiwa.  "Don't worry, you'll get used to it!  We at least color code ourselves."

He kept on laughing and Eli shook her head - seven identical brothers, good grief.  She cut a couple more slices of cheese and let them drop in; Qiwa headed off, still chuckling, and for a brief moment Eli was left standing more or less by herself as people milled around.   Seeing that the pot was pretty cheesy where she was standing she decided she would move around after all and carefully edged off to the left toward a  dark-haired woman who was carefully adding in what looked like dumplings but before she got too far another woman stepped in her path and cleared her throat.

"Oh, uh - hello." Her brain stalled on the woman's name; she knew she owned the bakery and she recognized her from earlier when Arlo had sent Toby scampering back to her.

"Hello.  Sorry to bother you on a holiday but could I have a word in private?"

"Sure."  Eli returned the cheese to the crumpled up bag and tossed the knife in with it as well, then tucked it under an arm and followed Martha - THAT was her name, right - as the woman headed over toward the far wall and gate that led out of Portia.

Once they were away from the crowd Martha inhaled deeply and seemed to be trying to force a smile but it didn't quite cover up how tense the woman seemed.

"You might have guessed this already or been told but I'm Toby's mother," Martha started.  "I know he ran off earlier to pester you with questions and now all he can talk about is you being a soldier and fighting robots."

Eli winced a bit.  "Sorry about that.  I didn't mean to-"

Martha waved her hands and shook her head.  "No, it's not that - I'm used to him being a nuisance and overly excitable when he gets fixated on something.  It's more that I know exactly what he's going to do next and I wanted to ask you NOT to indulge him."

"...huh?"

Martha sighed and ran a hand over her headband and then through the hair it was just barely holding back from her face.  "His father was an adventurer, and it got him killed.  Toby is dead set on being an adventurer too, and while Django has been humoring him and teaching him some very basic swordplay I know without a doubt that he'll come asking after you to teach him how to fight as well.  And I don't want you teaching him anything, because I don't want him encouraged to go off into the wilds like his father did."

...well, that's not what she'd been expecting.  Eli mulled that over for a few breaths - it was a reasonable enough request, on the surface. "I can abide by that, sure.  Can I ask you something, though?"

"Oh good!  And, of course."

Eli shifted the cheese from one arm to the other, turning her head to skim the crowd and pick out where Toby was standing with the other children again; he had that practice sword in hand and was waving it wildly as he spoke, and the others were laughing along with him.  "I don't mean for this to sound insulting or belittling, but how confident are you that you can keep him from running off, if he's determined to follow after his da?"

Martha's expression faltered a moment and then she sighed heavily.  "Well...so far I've not had much luck..."

She trailed off and Eli nodded, more to herself than to the woman -- that was what she thought the answer was going to be.  It would seem little boys are just as headstrong now as they were three hundred years ago; it was a bit endearing but knowing how concerned Martha was just based on how she was acting now...

"I won't teach him anything if you don't want me to, but it sounds like - at least for the time being - he's not going to let go of that particular dream.  And if that's the case, maybe he SHOULD be learning how to take care of himself in a fight."  She turned her attention from the kids back to Martha.  "Since you worry he's going to run off anyway learning how to handle himself in a dangerous situation and how to deal with injuries and survival techniques would be valuable information for him.  THOSE are topics I'm well versed in, and I wouldn't mind teaching him.  But, I've got an idea for a compromise: I could bore him to tears with it in the process and see how much he likes the adventuring life then when he gets to see what all is needed for it."

Now it was Martha's turn to mull things over, glancing between Eli and Toby but seeming to be looking through them rather than at them.   "I...didn't think of it like that. I try not to think about it in general because I just don't want to lose him like I lost his father.   And, what do you mean when you say you could bore him?"

"I am definitely well-practiced in not thinking about things," Eli said quietly.  She took a breath and then flashed Martha a half-smile.   "And yeah, bore him with it.  If we make learning the skills and the act of adventuring seem like more trouble than its worth that might work better than forbidding him from doing it.  He's a kid after all: I've not met a kid who didn't push boundaries or rebel against their parents. This might be a phase you can turn him away from but if not at least he's not walking out into the wild unknown not knowing a thing about how to take care of himself.  -- and actually, I had another deterring idea.  How's his grades?"

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

After the hot pot gathering they'd all gone out into the fields for the largest game of "flag tag" Eli had ever participated in.  Everyone was exhausted and muddy by the end of it but they all remained in good spirits as they trudged back in to town to goof around in front of cameras (old-fashioned film cameras...another thing that had been old even in her time).

While she'd admittedly not felt like mingling or even really felt human this morning Eli found she was glad she'd let Selene drag her out.  The weird looks had mostly stopped by late afternoon and while only a handful of people had been brave enough to walk up to her she felt less...like an outsider, more or less.  And she hadn't run into that minister either so the whole day had been pretty peaceful; she had a small photo of herself with Selene, Xu, Arlo, and Dawa posing beneath the large tree that took up the center of the plaza, and her jacket smelled faintly of wood smoke as she walked back toward Selene's place.

In the morning she'd be heading back into town to meet Martha at her bakery, before Toby had to be at school.  He didn't know it yet but he was about to be offered survival and combat lessons, taught by Eli, on the condition that he had to get high scores on all his schoolwork for the next two quarters.

Martha had been tickled pink by the idea as it seemed Toby was a little terror in school too, and while the prospect of having to focus in school may not deter him initially Eli still vividly remembered her boot camp days...they'd find out how determined Toby was when she started putting him through his paces (both physical and mental - took more than just being strong to be a good ranger).

But, on the flip side of that particular coin, if he kept with it he'd be one heck of a well-trained adventurer.  At the very least that ought to relieve a bit of Martha's worry about the kid if their combined efforts couldn't turn his attention away from a future career of adventuring.

She would also need to drop by the Civil Corps building and give Remington back his pocket knife - she hadn't been able to find him after the tag game so it was currently in her own pocket (and she'd made sure to clean the cheese off before closing it).

When she got inside she borrowed a thumb tack from Selene and stuck the picture to the top edge of the headboard of her bed, then changed into the loose pants and shirt she'd designated as sleep wear and crawled under the covers.  Along with needing to talk to Martha and Toby, and return Remington's knife, she was also expected down in the facility to babysit the scholars...it was going to be a very busy day.

[cagestark]

-Defender//2-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

warnings: an alternate universe where the avengers are mean to tony and peter has none of it. 

read here on AO3

-

Everybody knows about the Avengers. They are the team of fantastically trained (and sometimes genetically enhanced) individuals who protect the world from intergalactic threats. For an enhanced teenager, they have been Peter’s heroes since he was bit by the radioactive spider as a teenager. Rumor had it that they were a great big family, all living together in Stark Tower and having game nights and private parties. He’d read a thought-provoking article on who would be Black Widow’s baby’s godfather, Tony, Steve, Bucky, or Clint—and Natasha Romanov isn’t even pregnant.

It takes only five minutes spent with them for Peter to see that he never should have taken Tony’s offer to join them in the first place. This is no family. At least, not the kind of family that Peter grew up with (though that family had all died off one by one), not the idealized family built on affection and mutual respect.

Maybe that is how it is—when Tony isn’t there.

“I’m the head of this team, you should have contacted me before extending Peter an invitation to join us.” Captain America, perhaps the most famous superhuman ever, stands at the side of the room in sweatpants and a tight t-shirt berating Tony when he thinks that Peter can’t hear. Peter keeps his face blank, staring around the room like he’s in wonder. It’s a beautiful room. There are exposed rafters—those would be so cool to hang from. But then a figure catches his eye and he sees there’s a man already perched up there, reading a magazine. Hawkeye, Peter knows. The man waves, and Peter waves back tentatively.

“I made several calls—did those not go through? Oh. You know what? Maybe I just considered making the calls and then thought better of it—”

“This is exactly why Fury is always on your back, Tony. You act first and think later. We don’t know this kid, don’t know how he meshes with the team, there’s not a room for him—”

“Not a room? This is my Tower, there’s more than ninety floors and a thousand rooms, I’ll find one for him. And for what it’s worth, he meshes just fabulously with me, Cap.”

“I can’t imagine why that thought doesn’t comfort me. Maybe it’s because the last thing we need on this team is another version of you.”

Tony laughs unhappily, and the sound makes Peter’s hands turn to fists he clenches in his lap. This isn’t the version of Tony Stark that the media sells at all. It isn’t even the man who sat with Peter at the Burger King talking about noise scrambling techniques. “You don’t have to worry about that. If anything, he’s got all my good traits and none of the bad ones.”

“What good traits?” Captain America mutters, rubbing at his forehead. Maybe it was even too quiet for Tony to hear, considering the man doesn’t reply.

But Peter hears it. Oh, he hears it.

Peter knows this at once: the family he had tentatively hoped he would receive?—he won’t receive. Whether it exists or not remains to be seen, but Peter vows then and there that he will not enter into any family that treats Tony the way he’s being treated now. It should be ridiculous: Tony is arguably the most powerful of all of them. He has enough wealth and resources to destroy them, not to mention an ultra-powerful suit with a mysterious endless power source. But when faced with this opposition in his teammate, he seems to crumble. To grow vulnerable.

Peter doesn’t like people who prey on the vulnerable.

“Peter,” Tony says when Captain America and he return to where they left him on the sofa. “This is the one, the only Captain America. He goes by many names—”

“But you can call me Steve. Nice to meet you.” The man is classically handsome with an excellent jawline, blue eyes, and blonde hair. He holds out a hand and Peter takes it—

—grips it. Then tighter, testing the strength. Peter lets himself grip tighter than he is careful to with un-enhanced humans, and he feels Steve change his own grip accordingly. The smile the man wears stays in place, but a furrow grows between the well-shaped eyebrows. This can’t be Steve’s full strength, though. More—Peter has to know. He squeezes more, just a little, their hands bobbing up and down in the mockery of a greeting. Bones would have cracked, if either of them weren’t enhanced, and the look in Steve’s eyes knows it.

All the time, Tony is talking. His voice flows over Peter like soothing white noise.

Peter squeezes just a little more—and there. Steve cringes, pulling his hand away just the slightest, a reflexive action to avoid the pain of Peter’s grip. Immediately, the younger man loosens his fingers.

Steve is strong.

But he’s not as strong as Peter. Not even close. And there’s a dark, scary part of Peter’s mind that thinks: Good. It feels good to know that he’s the physically strongest in the room, that he can use this strength to defend Tony himself, if needed. Even as he thinks it, it sounds ridiculous. Why would he need to defend himself from Captain America, the most notorious ‘good guy’ alive? Peter feels numb.

“—after that we all went to grab some shawarma, and wow, you two are really digging that handshake,” Tony mutters. He pulls his tinted glasses out of his breast pocket and replaces them on his face. “Should I give you a moment? Leave the room?”

“What?” Steve asks. He breaks their handshake. Out of the corner of Peter’s eye, he sees the man flexing his fingers. “No. Of course not. Let’s all sit down and talk.”

Peter does his best to curb the rest of his impulses. It helps to have Tony there next to him, a warm, (shockingly) quiet presence while Steve interrogates him. Peter gives them the watered-down version of his history: a radioactive spider bit him when he was a teenager and gave him the powers, he can stick to walls, his senses are enhanced, and he’s stronger.

“How strong?” Steve asks.

Peter meets his gaze flatly. “Very strong.”

“Any training?”

“No.”

Steve gives Tony a look. The hairs on Peter’s arms take notice, an animal instinct that feels threatened. In a handful of hours, he (and his enhanced senses) have come to see Tony as something precious, someone to be protected.

“I’ll take full responsibility for him,” Tony says flippantly. “I’ve already starting working on specs for his get-up. All he needs is the obligatory t-shirt all the Avengers get, and to pass Fury’s background check. Hope you don’t have any exo-skeletons in your closet, kid, because Eyepatch is going to find them.”

The young man’s stomach drops. There are a million tiny things this ‘Eyepatch’ might find. All the thievery Peter has done to stay alive, picking pockets for cash to buy food, stealing chips at 7-11’s so he can scarf them down in the alleyway, licking the crumbs from his bony fingers. Maybe he’ll find out about Peter’s previous employer, or the time Peter got his own uncle killed.

“Kid?” Tony says. “That silence isn’t reassuring.”

Just to break that silence, he asks: “Do the Avengers really all get t-shirts?”

-

There are no more bedrooms on the Avengers’ floor, so Tony takes it upon himself to house Peter on his own personal penthouse floor (which, apparently, has four guest rooms). Peter shakes when he stands in the middle of the room larger than the apartment he grew up in with his aunt and uncle. It smells clean, the sheets are fresh and smooth, there’s an attached bathroom with heated floors. All of these are luxuries for a kid who sometimes slept on benches until beat cops came to push him off to the next one.

But what really has him shaking is the fact that three rooms away is Tony Stark’s bedroom. That he’ll be sharing living spaces with Tony Stark. In the evenings if Peter wants to relax and watch television in the main room, Tony Stark might be there too, relaxing in an armchair with a glass of whiskey beside him, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, tapping away at a StarkPad. The man is so handsome, so kind. He’s changed Peter’s entire life in the course of a single day, and all when he could have just handed him over to the police.

“What do you think, kid?” Tony asks, leaning against the doorframe. “Not big enough for you? The one beside mine is bigger. Don’t be reasonable on my account. That’s not one of my few virtues.”

Peter opens his mouth to say no, it’s fine—but then, why the fuck would he want to say no? “Actually Mr. Stark—could I see the other room?”

“A kid after my own heart. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

-

Tony has more than just began musing over specs for Peter’s suit. The next morning he greets Peter with burnt toast and a glass of OJ. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, he tells Peter that they’re going to spend the morning down in his lab where he can get proper scans for the suit he’s creating. They’re also going to run tests to learn more about Peter’s abilities.

“What kind of tests, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, eating every last bite of the burnt toast, even though it’s awful. Tony Stark made it! (And it’s not until later that he finds out it wasn’t Tony at all but a sweet little robot the man created, one who was prone to burning the toast and leaving the toilet seat up after it cleans and getting tangled in the blinds (which Tony finally had to do away with)) When Peter hears the word tests, he can’t help but remember the pictures in his textbooks of enhanced humans in cages like lab rats. He wished they were old, faded photos, relics of history, but they weren’t. Crisp, clear, and in color. From less than twenty years ago.

“I’m most interested in examining your scopulae—that’s the—”

“The hairs on a spider’s legs that it uses to stick to even slick surfaces. Yeah, I did a lot of research after I got bit,” Peter says, brushing crumbs from his shirt. Is there butter on his mouth? He squints at the shiny door of the elevator but it’s no replacement for a mirror. He subtly wipes his hand across his mouth anyway. “I’m still waiting to lay eggs, to be honest.”

Tony looks torn between laughing and crying. “We—will deal with that, if it should ever happen. Later. Never, hopefully.”

The tests turn out to be nothing scary. All he has to do is place his hands flat on these special sensors, ones that tingle with power and electricity. The lab itself is incredible, the place of Peter’s dreams. He’s always longed to go back to school and pursuing something in the science field, but growing up poor and only getting poorer hadn’t left a lot of room for educational advancement. This lab though is a place of magic, and FRIDAY? Well—Peter thinks he might love her.

“Can you see these googly eyes he’s giving you baby girl?” Tony asks the disembodied voice, a pencil between his teeth. Peter swoons. The way Tony talks to his tech is—well Peter wouldn’t mind being on the other end of that sweettalk.

“It’s safe to say my circuitry is blushing, boss,” FRIDAY says to both of their amusement.

When he asks Peter to take his shirt off so Tony can apply some electrodes to monitor his heart rate and blood pressure, he blinks at the sight of Peter’s newly-exposed abs. Peter can’t help but flex under the dark gaze. Living rough has him skinnier than he’s ever been, but the spider bite turned every last bit of him into muscle. Objectively, he can admit that it’s rather impressive looking. Tony clearly thinks so, with the way he swallows and adjusts his glasses before applying the electrodes, careful not to touch Peter’s skin no matter how desperately the younger man wants him to.

Around lunch time, Tony asks, “Pizza, Pete? Am I appealing to the whole room when I say pizza?”

Pete. Fuck. No one’s given him a nickname in…forever, it feels. Peter swallows around the lump in his throat and rubs his empty stomach. “Enhanced appetite. I’m never going to turn down a meal, Mr. Stark.”

“You hear that, FRI?” Tony says. “Order pizza from my usual place, and start ordering double groceries for delivery. Any allergies, kid?”

“No.”

After splitting a large New York style pizza with Tony Stark, Peter sits on a stool a table away (so the man has plenty of room to work) and watches. It’s warm, his eyes are heavy lidded, stomach full and sated. This is the happiest and most comfortable he’s been in a long time. Since May passed, at least. I made it, May, he thinks to himself, eyes stinging. All the hours she worked trying to provide for him, all the lessons she tried to impart it. Now Peter has a purpose. He’s going to be working to help keep the world safe. And he’s secure.

He’ll do whatever it takes to keep this opportunity.

“Do you and Captain America have a long history?” Peter asks.

Tony doesn’t even glance up from his work. “Cap and I? Yeah, we go way back.”

“I don’t like—” Peter manages to stop himself, but just too late. The relaxed atmosphere relaxed his tongue too, drunk on the warmth and good company. The words are out there now, and the way Tony’s eyes flicker up shows that he’s listening, waiting for the sentence to complete itself. “—I don’t like the way he treats you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s just, he’s not very nice to you, is he?”

Tony sits back on his stool, rubbing at his jaw like it aches. “How he treats me? He doesn’t treat me any differently than anyone else, I suppose. Everyone is—well, they’re nice enough.”

“Would you let him talk to me the way he talks to you?” Peter asks.

Tony blinks, presses his lips together in a thin line; Peter can tell that he’s doing the math in his head and not liking the outcome. Maybe it’s too soon for him to make a gamble like that, to assume that this man cares about Peter enough to give a damn whether Steve talks down to him. But he has a feeling that Tony Stark cares about most people. Even Peter.

“I wouldn’t,” he says at last, and Peter didn’t know that his heart could soar even as it twists. “But we’re not exactly the same person, kid.” He goes back to being hunched over the lab table. There’s a hologram of a gloved hand that the man twists and turns with just the prodding of his fingers. “Maybe we Avengers aren’t all best friends like the media portrays, but they don’t treat me any differently than what I deserve.”

“You deserve way better than that,” Peter says.

That makes Tony look up, his face turned blue with illuminated light. The intensity of his expression might make a lesser man look away, but Peter is unflinching. Unyielding; Eventually, he gives Peter a smile that is equal parts happy and sad, a flower blooming right before the first frost that will surely wither it away. With a snap of his fingers, the hologram melts into the table and disappears. “How about we call it quits for the day. You’re off the hook. Run along now—do whatever kids do. Scram.”

[mcheang]

Pre-Chat Blanc dates - School

Ok. I know I already wrote a summary of what I think their dates could have included but I fear we may never get episodes of our fav couple actually dating once they get together. Like, seeing them on an actual date, not a picture of it. So I’ve decided to start a series Pre-Chat Blanc dates. Hope you enjoy!

It was only the second day of school. Not of the school year, but since Adrien and Marinette started going out.

Marinette still couldn’t believe this was her reality, that Adrien asked her to be his girlfriend, or that she actually got up early for the second time in a row!

Yesterday, Marinette had woken up early to meet with Adrien before class started.

Ok, Adrien woke Marinette up. He called beforehand to make sure she was actually awake.

Marinette is not an early bird, so maybe she could be excused for sounding grumpy on the phone. Still, Adrien cheered her up when he laughed and said, “I’ll wait for you before I enter class. I want to introduce my new girlfriend to everyone once I step inside.”

Cue ladybugs in her stomach.

To say they made an entrance was something. Marinette had rushed over as soon as she could and had just stood there in front of Adrien nervously, worried that somehow he had changed his mind. But Adrien’s face had lit up at the sight of her. He had stepped forward and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Marinette made a face. “The only good mornings are late mornings.” (She lost her babbling curse over the weekend exchanging phone calls)

Adrien laughed again, his voice musical and golden. He shrugged, “I’ve woken up before dawn for shoots, so I guess I can emphsazize.”

Taking her hand, Adrien asked softly, “Are you ready to face the wolves?”

Ugh. Chloe and Lila. Marinette knew she had to put up with them for Adrien’s sake but now they would be worse than ever.

She exhaled. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Squeezing her hand, Adrien led the way to class, casually slinging his arm around her shoulders as they neared the door.

The moment they stepped through, Marinette’s female friends immediately started applauding and cheering. (They had spent a long time investing in this relationship. It was about time it paid off. Also...Alya may have taken a picture of Chloe’s expression. *evil laughter* priceless!)

Alix: Finally!

The guys had stopped doing whatever they had been doing to look at the new couple and let the information sink in. And when it did, they all grinned.

Nino: Congrats Bro! Good job Dudette!

Kim: Hey, you guys could even double date with me and Undine.

Nino: Best bros first, dude!

Mylene: Ivan and I would love to double date with you two. (Ivan just looks at Mylene lovingly.)

Lila had been frozen, her mouth open in horrified disbelief. But when the congratulations had come pouring out, she reassembled her expression and put in her piece. Smiling all saccharine, she cooed, “I knew you two would make such a perfect couple. Really newsworthy, you know?”

Adrien tightened his hold on Marinette rather defensively. He ignored Marinette’s confused glance as he glared at Lila. The girl who had hurt Kagami, who had tried to sabotage his Lady (now Girlfriend). Adrien wasn’t taking any chances with Lila.

“Actually Lila,” he made his voice sound neutral (it would not look good to sound antagonistic in front of class), “we plan on keeping our relationship low-key. But I’m sure you can keep a secret, can’t you? After all, you’re Ladybug’s best friend.”

Lila’s eyes widened at the threat. If word got out about their relationship, Adrien would blame Lila and would expose her for the fraud she is. She kept her now rather stiff smile on her face and simpered, “Of course, Adrien, I understand completely.”

Lila seethed internally. She may not be able to target Marinette using Adrien’s fan club but she had another advantage neither of them were aware about. Gabriel Agreste. (Yeah, she didn’t plan on Gabriel telling her to solve the problem since that was why he agreed to trust her word)

“It’s ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Chloe finally burst out, her face as red as a strawberry. “Adrikins with...with Dupain-Cheng! I have never heard of anything more absurd. Adrien, you must know she only likes you for your connection to fashion, right?”

Marinette moved to defend herself but Adrien got there first. He wasn’t going to let Chloe badmouth Marinette. Even if she wasn’t his Girlfriend, he wouldn’t let Chloe hurt any of his friends.

“That’s enough, Chloe!” Chloe looked stunned. “Marinette is my girlfriend and if you were my Friend, you’d be happy for me.”

Chloe didn’t want to be happy for them. She wanted to be Adrien’s Girlfriend, but she also didn’t want to lose one of her only few friends. She looked at Sabrina (who had smiled at the sight of the new couple), pleading silently to let it go.

“Fine!” huffed Chloe. “I’ll keep quiet. You’ll see I’m right in the end, Adrikins.”

That was the day before, this was today.

Marinette rushed to school, knowing every second with Adrien was to be cherished. Even if they were dating now, his schedule was still fully booked. They had to use whatever spare time they could find. And if that meant waking up early, so be it.

Marinette spotted Adrien first. Her face brightened and she started running in earnest.

Adrien heard the sound of footfalls and turned, his face lighting up once he saw Marinette. Opening his arms, Adrien caught Marinette readily as she leaped into them.

Once in each other’s embrace, the thought entered their minds. This is home.

Distantly they could hear Chloe sulk and walk away but they were too absorbed in the moment to care.

“Up early again, Princess?” Adrien murmured.

“What can I say, Sleeping Beauty had a Prince to wake her up,” Marinette replied.

Adrien laughed softly and pulled back so he could look into Marinette’s bright morning blue eyes (yeah, maybe he should keep that analogy to himself) then he kissed her softly.

Marinette’s lips were soft and tasted of sugar and vanilla, or was it chocolate? Adrien was too far gone to care and only indulged himself further.

It was Marinette who finally ended the kiss. Cheeks flaming, she saw they had witnesses (some with raised eyebrows). “So much for keeping low-key.”

Adrien shrugged. “Gossip means my life is never completely private, but we should be safe until we make it official in a really public way.”

Marinette took Adrien’s hand and started pulling up the stairs. “It’s ok. I can handle it. But let’s get to class. (Where there are less witnesses.) if I actually end up late because of you, I’ll never hear the end of it from Alya.”

“Speaking of best friends,” Adrien commented, relishing the feeling of Marinette’s hand around his own. “We should probably try one of those double dates soon. Not as our first date, of course, but soon.”

Marinette blushed prettily, cheeks rosy red. “That sounds really nice. How about a movie for our first date? Our first trip to the movie was memorable but not one I really care to remember.”

Right. The screaming fans. Gorizilla. Her pajamas! Marinette refused to count that as her first date, just like how she shut down Alya that her first date was with Evillustrator.

Adrien gave her a warm look. “I agree. We could do better. There’s the new romance movie already out now. We could go see that.”

Marinette turned her head back to wink at him. “Then it’s a date. Text me your schedule?” Ok, so she already had his schedule but he didn’t need to know that.

Adrien’s hands were already on his phone. “Done!”

They crossed the threshold into class, and settled into their seats. Well, Marinette settled into hers, but Alya was sitting in Adrien’s chair. She winked at the model. “Just before class starts, ok?”

Adrien was ecstatic. Thanking Alya, he rushed to her abandoned seat and faced Marinette, who was scanning his schedule on her phone speculatively.

“Hmm...I think the best day would be this Wednesday, so tomorrow really. You only have Chinese class after school for that. If we’re lucky, you won’t have any surprise shoots. Once the movie’s over, we can head out for dinner. Where do you suggest we eat?”

Adrien knew he had a diet to follow but he didn’t care. He burnt a lot of calories as Chat Noir, so fried and greasy food shouldn’t be a problem. But he didn’t want to overshoot yet.

“I hear from Nino that you found this really good restaurant that sells the best Fish and Chips.”

Marinette looked surprised. “Will that be ok for you. I mean-”

“It’s fine. Trust me.”

“Always,” Marinette sighed, before realising what she had just said and flushing again. Adrien smirked, his girlfriend really was very cute when she was flustered.

“So, tell me,” Marinette babbled, eager to change the subject, “what did you think about...”

“Adrien, Alya, please switch back your seats. Class is starting now.” Phew, saved by Ms Bustier.

Adrien winked at his girlfriend and gave her a parting kiss before he left. Marinette’s female friends all cooed at the sight. And even when he returned to his seat, Adrien looked back at Marinette to give her a longing glance before Ms Bustier called him to attention again.

Alya smirked triumphantly at Marinette’s red but pleased face. At last, Adrienette was a go! Truthfully it was a pleasant surprise to see how taken Adrien was with Marinette. Sure, her girl could be counted to stare longingly after Adrien and prioritize him before anything else. But Adrien’s attention seemed suddenly intense. Sure he could be counted on to give Marinette soft looks and return her longing glances. But now, when he looks at Marinette, it is as if she were the sun and he were a blind man. Like Marinette had suddenly become his whole world. That, and that Adrien always seemed to want to engage in skin contact. I bet he didn’t notice that he kept his hand on Marinette’s for their whole discussion.

Alya’s grin grew wider. She honestly was excited about a double date, too, but she could wait until Adrienette had their first date.

The next day, Marinette arrived with a box full of pink macaroons for her friends to thank them for all their help, but especially to Rose for encouraging her, hence the Color. Marinette saved Passionfruit for Adrien, who looked at it as if it were the holy grail (wow...boy must have realized how much he liked Marinette, but dang that is some deep love. Still, Marinette was no better, so they really were made for each other.) the other flavours were rose, cotton candy, raspberry, strawberry and watermelon.

So while Marinette’s friends enjoyed their dessert, Adrien actually put his head on Marinette’s lap as they excitedly talked about their upcoming first date. Something about wearing their lucky charms?

[the-gunslock]

Hiver 7 - Infinite

This is a story about reality and my meeting of the one who stands against those who threaten it.

“Honey? Amanda?”

The awoken woman called to the dark. No answer.

“Trinity?”

The little light never appeared. She looked around frantically.

“Selene! Reyla! ...Junko? Uh, Luna?”

The ground to her feet had begun to shift into a blocky, dull grey platform. The ambient around her had turned into a stone and metal room with rectangular, jagged edges. After a while of looking, she spots a dash of burnt blonde hair. Relieved, she runs to meet it.

“Amanda!” She says, ecstatic to see a familiar face, specially her lover’s.

But, to her dismay, no response.

“Honey?” She starts tearing up in desperation. She waves a hand in front of her face and snaps her fingers.

Nothing.

Then she reaches out.

Immediately she is met with a wall of intense solar energy that causes her to stumble backwards. As she regains her vision, she sees that the image of Amanda had burnt away and in its place…

Spun a Harpy. Not a common one -- its eye and shell glowed a bright, phased blue, and it was much larger. The Warlock had only heard dreadful stories about them, from Guardians more experienced than her.

Gorgons.

Vex constructs that patrolled a cave inside the Vault of Glass and held the power to define what is real or not.

Its bright, ice-blue eye gazed into Hiver’s soul as it started to give a deafening, almost pained, mechanically-filtered shriek and released pulsating red energy in all directions.

She was paralyzed. Tears started to roll down her eyes as she struggled to bring her hand to eye level, watching her body be deconstructed in white simulation particles.

Feeling like her existence was little more than… a nuisance. A speck of dust that needs to be sweeped away.

As she sobbed at the extinguishing light of this cursed creature, she started to hear a faint sound.

“..er.”

A voice? Couldn’t be.

“Ier.”

She had almost lost her entire body now. Fear overcame her as she felt the disintegration reach her neck--

“Hiver.”

The voice clearly said her name now, but she couldn’t do anything.

“HIVER!” The Shipwright’s husky voice called to her, with a load of worry on top of it. Hiver gasped awake to see Amanda’s face close to hers, her fingertips tapping against her cheek.

It’s sunrise. The light grazes the clouds with a soft touch, making the whole sky purple.

She rolled onto her back and brushed her hair out of her forehead, sobbing uncontrollably. Amanda softly wiped the tears from her nose and temples, sitting her up and hugging her tightly, trying to appease her crying.

“You’re okay, babe. Everythin’s alright.” She says, alternating it with soothing ‘shh’ noises with her mouth. Hiver is hiccuping so much she can barely breathe right, let alone say a word.

After reattaching her mechanical leg to her thigh, she takes her girlfriend’s hand and helps her stumble to the kitchen. The blonde sits her down on the island’s chairs and gets her a cup of water so she can normalize her breathing. While the Warlock gulps it down, the Shipwright stands beside her, caressing her hair. She tries asking her what she saw, knowing from her that Awoken tend to experience extremely vivid dreams.

Good or not.

Hiver started to tell the dream the best she could, trying to catch her breath and staring vacantly at the water cup.

“I… I-I was alone. Unknown place. It was… Vex built. cough I saw you, called out to you. You turned into… a… a Gorgon. I had to… sigh, stand still as… as it stared into me... and, and slowly deleted me from existence.”

Amanda hugs her from behind and smooches the top of her head.

“I…” Hiver blurted out, putting the cup down. “I felt... every second of it. And I heard your voice calling to me. Couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything. Not even say ‘I love you’. Or ‘goodbye’.”

Amanda sighs. “Babe, you ain’t in a simulation. You’re here, with me, where it’s safe. You ain’t gonna need to say goodbye. Okay?”

The Awoken girl opens a smile. “Okay.” She replies as she starts feeling better, and gets up to face her girlfriend. Both of them walk together to the bedroom.

“I might need proof of that, though.” She continues, sitting back on the bed. Amanda sighs, just wanting to use her precious hours of sleep.

“Hiver…” She says tiredly as they lie down again. “What proof do ya want? It’s like... 5 in the morning.”

Hiver giggles as she pulls the blanket over them both again. Her face close to Amanda’s once more, she blinks and puckers up for a second before going back to her calm grin. Getting the message, Amanda pulls her closer for a ‘sleep well’ kiss while caressing her hair once more, Hiver gently scratching her back under her tank top.

Both of them having relaxed, they happily drift off together once more. Hiver has an idea for what she’s doing the next day.

It’s now noon, and everyone is at their workstations. The Chief Shipwright is having difficulties understanding what happened to the Sparrow in front of her. It clearly had not been treated well, giving that most of its hull was missing and the engine metal was completely fried. Whoever used this was a worse pilot than Hiver, and it’s saying something.

Amanda was using a datapad to scan the ill-fated vehicle in front of her, trying to assess whether she could order spare parts to repair the thing, or if it would have to be scrapped entirely and sell the owner a new one. Either way, it wasn’t gonna be easy or cheap.

“My Light, why do Guardians always do the stupidest Sparrow stunts? They forget someone has to fix their mess?” She mumbles to herself while her stomach grumbles in anger. “Damnit. Guess I’ll just grab ramen real fast or something… I don’t know. Ugh, this job.” Luckily, her Guardian angel appears just at the right time, wearing her usual black duster, Black Armory boots and gauntlets, and big smile on her face.

“Amanda!” The Guardian called out, carrying a black, aluminium-like case by the handle in her hand, jogging towards the Shipwright.

“Hey darling, what’s up?” She greets before noticing the case she is carrying. “...What’s that?”

“It’s almost noon and I’m leaving for Mercury. So…” She starts, holding the case close to her chest before offering it to Amanda, and also taking a thermos out of her duster’s bag. “Brought you this.”

“Oh, thank ya! Have a safe flight there.”

Hiver kisses her on the cheek, whispering “love you, honey”, and walks off, transmatting into orbit, leaving Amanda with the case. Pulling up a chair and unlocking the side clasps, she finds out the case has three layers, one having a small case with a plastic lid and two large cases on top of each other.

The first one carries silverware and a little post-it note, and the other two carry two parts of a fresh meal. Spaghetti with bolognese sauce, vegetables and rice, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. She smelled the thermos she was handed which contained lemonade, still cold.

The note had a coupon for Spicy Ramen under it, reading: “Honey, treat yourself if I’m not back soon enough to make you dinner. I love you. ♥ - Hiver”

Hiver put everything there to get her girlfriend back on her feet for the workday. It made her blush and smile in fondness, but then she looked around to realize some of her workers and Guardians walking around the hangar had their attention captured by the girls’ little display of affection… drawing varied reactions from them.

“WHAT?!” She angrily bellowed at the meddlers, making them resume their jobs or disperse, before digging in on her lunch.

No matter what anyone thought, it definitely brightened up her day.

The Warlock touched down near the intimidating triangular gate where she had been months prior. She had hoped to never go in again, but her curiosity was deeper than her fear.

With a sigh, she stepped into the jagged hallway leading to the Infinite Forest and unformed her helmet.

“Trinity, can you reach Sagira?”

“A minute.”

The duo waited for a moment while Sagira didn’t pick up the message, Hiver trying not to regret this decision.

“Welcome, Guardian.” A smooth female voice came through the comms minutes after.

“Hey, Guardian-thief.” Trinity answered, eliciting a chuckle from the other Ghost. “My partner here is kind of having an existential crisis and could use some Osiris wisdom right now.”

“Sure. Step inside.”

A portal opens up in front of Hiver and her Ghost, and they go through it to find Osiris and Sagira sitting at a currently empty portion of the Forest. Mossy and levitating in the massive space between the planet’s mantle and core, replaced by Vex atmosphere and engines.

The old Dawnblade is inspecting his rifle’s magazines in order to pass the time as he waits, his attention caught by the Awoken Stormcaller who just stepped through the portal.

“Hello, Guardian.” He said sympathetically, his standing up motion rustling the many feathers in his armor. “What can I help you with?”

“Hello... Osiris.” Hiver greets back, unsure of where to start. “My name is Hiver. I came to Mercury to get your input on some concerns I’ve been having.”

“Careful, girl. If he wasn’t kicked out of the City for his prophecies, it would totally be for his terrible women skills.” Sagira replies, causing both Ghosts to laugh.

“Do not be concerned with her.” Osiris says, causing Sagira to pout. “Speak your mind.”

Hiver sits down on one of the stone blocks and gathers her thoughts. “I’m not the most eloquent of individuals, but I’ll do my best. See, I’m… afraid. Of the Vex. They haunt me whenever my mind decides to be cruel.” She starts fiddling with her fingers. “I’m a Guardian, sure, that is what’s nailed into my head since I came back. But also at some point I… realized I’m a person.”

Osiris listens intently, caressing his beard as he starts to piece together what the Warlock is trying to transmit.

“There is the “me” that is not a Guardian. She is building a life. She has… clanmates, she has friends, hell, just last week she got a girlfriend who makes her the happiest woman in the world. I love her so much, I love everyone so much but… but the Vex... and their space-time manipulation… make me wonder if this is all a hollow shell of a life.”

She punches the block near her thigh in frustration, slightly cracking it. Osiris starts to get up and puts his bird-shaped helmet on.

“I’m sorry, I… rambled too much.”

“How about a trial, Warlock?” He says, taking a strange device of three cubes with glowing runes of them, and rearranging them into a specific order. He gets an immunity barrier.

“Oh boy.” Sagira and Trinity state at the same time.

“Prepare yourself. It is a test of force of will.”

Trinity transmats back into nothingness. Hiver is tense, jumping down from her seat and putting on her helmet as Osiris rearranges the device once more, materializing Vex units on that part of the forest. She stands before them, ready to draw.

“Okay...”

Three Goblins raise their guns, and she fans her Ace’s hammer on their Radiolaria cores while running to her right for cover, spotting Hobgoblins on the platforms above. Gliding upwards, she intercepts more Goblins and a Harpy with her Arcbolt grenade, chaining lightning between them and disintegrating them all.

Dodging Wire Rifle shots from said Hobgoblins, she sees a Minotaur and more Harpies coming in her direction. Avoiding them, she climbs up the platform and slides while destroying their cores as well.

Switching to her Kindled Orchid to engage the Minotaur, she jumps down and rolls sideways to dodge its teleporting blow, immediately countering with shots from the void revolver, which shatter the heavy machine’s barrier and cause it to stumble backwards. Switching once more to her Hammerhead machine gun, the Warlock gunned down the remaining enemies.

“You face the final round.” Sagira states, imitating the missing warden of the Prison of Elders.

To the final round, a Hydra appeared, with its three immunity shields circling around it. It tried to hit Hiver with an energy wave, but she managed to float safely to the ground, circling around and unloading her machine gun’s belt at the eye of the menacing robot, which goes down in a spectacular fiery show.

She jumps back and holsters her weapons while the Hydra explodes in front of her. When everything is back to normal, Osiris floats back to the platform and Hiver removes her helmet.

“You perform exceptionally against the Vex.” He praises. “As such, I believe I have an idea as to why you are afraid of them.”

“Or, more precisely, why you aren’t.” Sagira elaborates, much to her confusion.

“I’m... not?”

“No. Sit down, Warlock, and I will explain.”

She obeys, sitting on the same stone block as before, reloading her weapons. Osiris clears his throat and begins his explanation.

“The Vex are terrifying creations. With their incredibly accurate simulations, they have made us question everything we believed we knew about time and space, and if reality is actually a linear concept or just a branch out of an eternally multiplying tree where every possible choice is happening simultaneously.”

Hiver starts getting visibly unsettled.

“But you wouldn’t be afraid of them if they were just the murderous proxies you find in the field. You can dispatch them very easily.”

“You love your girlfriend, right?” Sagira asks. Hiver nods. “You love your clanmates, you appreciate your allies, you care about your reality. You want it to be real.”

“Correct.” The Warlock confirms nervously.

“Then, your fear is not of the Vex, it’s of the possibility that you might lose all you love. Or, rather…”

“That what you are living right now has never been ‘real’ in the first place.” Osiris concludes.

Hiver is starting to tear up for the second time today as anxiety hits her once more. Osiris moves closer to place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“A simulation is exactly that. A simulation. Imitation. Mimicry. It requires a model, a starting point. And more than hundreds of years studying and battling the Vex have shown that this is the model they are using. We are the start of their digital futures; everything else is mere extrapolation entertained by their stone-cold calculations and amoral what-ifs.”

He removes his hand and turns to face the blue-colored sky on the Infinite Forest. Sagira is using her shell’s pointy bits to try and wipe Hiver’s cheeks, careful not to hurt her. Trinity does the same.

“As much as I despise admitting it, the Light is the reason. The Traveler bears an unsimulable force, and the Vex have to circumvent this in every timeline they create. It’s very convenient to us. Our continued efforts and meddling have set them back from our reality.”

Osiris turns to her again.

“Does your emotion feel real? Can you feel the things you don’t want to lose?”

Hiver looks at him with a puzzled expression, turning her head to the right slightly. “Of course it does.”

“Then, to you, it doesn’t matter if there are alternate timelines or simulated realities.”

He pokes her forehead, eliciting a bit of a smile. “Your reality is here.”

Then he pokes her duster’s leftside collar, over her left breast. “And your affection is here. And it is as real as you’d like it to.” He backs down with his arms crossed. “Go home. Cherish all that you have, and don’t let fear prevent you from living how you see best. After all...”

He transmats his bird-shaped helmet over his head and pulls his red bandanna over his mouth. Then he picks up his rifle and loads it.

“If any Vex want to get to you, they do have to go through me.”

“They have tried infinite times, and failed just as many times. So I’d say it’s par for the course for you. And, by the way...” Sagira begins.

Hiver’s spirits have been lifted a tenfold since she came inside the Forest, and she’s ready to go on with her day. Osiris can feel the change in his fellow Warlock.

“Thank you two.” She sneaks in before she concludes.

“...You’re welcome. Damnit!”

Hiver laughs, Trinity sending a triumphant “Got you” Sagira’s way.

“Nice talking to you, Sagira.” Trinity bids her farewells. “Call us if you need some mess fixed.”

“Same to ya, Trinity. I’d love to know you two better. And give Amanda my cheers on finding such a cute girlfriend!”

“Congratulations on finding love, Guardian. If you ever need to find me again, you know where to find me.”

The Stormcaller giggles and blushes while turning to walk away through the portal.

“Wait.” She turns around again. “I never told you her name was Amanda.”

The two Ghosts trade looks for some seconds and vanish. Osiris lets out a hearty laugh.

“Goodbye, Hiver.”

“Bye, Osiris.” She said, relieved, as she stepped through the portal back to Mercury.

On her way to the ramen shop, Amanda receives a text message from Hiver.

“Going back home. You want to have ramen or eat at home?”

“Can we have both?” She replies with a cocky smile.

“Of course, I’m on my way. Love you honey ♥”

Amanda was eager to hear about whatever it is she went to do on Mercury. But whatever it was, it definitely helped her recover from her nightmare and put her in a lighter mood.

Both of them silently hope it stays that way.

[dragon-temeraire]

I was imagining an interesting scenario - Stiles is a phoenix, drawn to the nemeton like lots of others, but he instinctively wants to use it as a pyre to draw on its power while also being reborn as phoenixes need to do on occasion. Then he meets the territory’s alpha...

I didn’t quite follow this prompt, but I hope you’ll enjoy the fic anyway! This is part one, the next part should be posted within a week. (On AO3)(Part Two)(Part Three)

Stiles is used to moving.

He and his dad have been all over the country, drifting fromplace to place, ever since Stiles’ mother burned away and never came back.

He knows his dad is trying to find somewhere he can becontent, can be settled, because Stiles’ reckless behavior means he needs toregenerate frequently. He doesn’t mind it, even likes the feeling of rebirth,but it makes his dad very anxious.

Sometimes he comes back and finds his dad lingering over theash and hot coals of his previous self, a haunted look on his face.

Stiles knows something has to change.

And not long after his twentieth birthday, something does.

He starts to get a pulling sensation, like a gentle yearningright in the center of his chest. Its call isn’t overwhelming, but it is consistent, and it feels like, if hedoesn’t heed it, it might never stop.

It takes him several days to figure out where the call is coming from, but he eventually manages. Thatnight at dinner, he places a map in front of his dad and points out a town,saying, “I want to go here.”

His dad frowns down at the small letters. “Beacon Hills?” hesays. “Never heard of it.” He gives Stiles a small smile. “I’ll start lookingfor houses tomorrow.”

His dad not only finds a house with an attached workshop, healso finds a job.

“Seems like they have a shortage of deputies at theSheriff’s station,” his dad says. “I contacted some of the ones who quit, andthey said that the job was either too boring, or too weird.” He gives Stiles anamused smile. “Good thing I’m adept at handling both.”

Stiles grins back.

*

Stiles feels light and free the moment they enter BeaconHills, his fire pulsing happily beneath his skin. He’s definitely in the rightplace.

His dad pulls to the curb on their way through town. “Irented you a little storefront,” he says, pointing it out. It is small, crammed between a boutiqueclothing store and a pharmacy, but Stiles immediately loves it. “You can setwhatever hours you want,” he adds as he merges back into traffic.

Stiles takes a brief tour of the house when they get there,and snags an upstairs bedroom, but it’s really the workshop he’s interested in.

It turns out to be perfect,a large open space where absolutely nothing is flammable, so he doesn’t have toconcentrate so hard on perfect control. Just as a test, he sends a lick offlame across the room, and his dad gives him a stern look.

“I already had your forge brought over,” he says, pointedly.

“Yep, I will definitely have that on when I’m working,”Stiles says cheerfully.

He’d started metalworking while in high school, first out ofboredom, then as a lucrative side-job. Now, it’s the only work he does. Hisonline store sells out pretty often, both because he does good work, andbecause Stiles plays up his “secret technique” for getting such fine detailinto his pieces. The reality is that it’s a lot easier to bend and shape moltenmetal when you can touch it with your bare hands.

He has the forge and the protective equipment to keep uppretenses, just in case anyone comes by to see his workshop.

“Now that that’s settled,” his dad says, “I guess we canstart unpacking.”

Stiles groans dramatically, just because he knows it’ll makehis dad laugh.

*

There’s still something pulling at Stiles.

It’s softer now, more subtle, but definitely still there. Heleaves his current batch of rings cooling on his workbench, and drivesaimlessly around town until he realizes the feeling is coming from the woods.

He takes a bumpy dirt track that winds through the trees,driving until he gets tired of hearing his suspension creak, then pulls off tothe side and starts walking.

He has a good sense of direction, never really getting lostno matter where he goes, so he doesn’t pay much attention to his route throughthe forest. Doesn’t pay much attention, that is, until he ends up in a clearingwith a huge, old tree stump.

He walks cautiously closer, feeling the ancient power stillrooted there, but he can also feel—someone had, at some point, corrupted themagic of the tree, leaving the center festering with darkness.

There’s still good in it, though. Stiles runs his fingersover the outer rings of the trunk, and knows for certain. Knows he has to dosomething, too.

He strips off his clothes—he can control his fire enough tokeep from burning his own clothes, but that takes a lot of concentration—andpiles everything off to the side, before letting the flames come to the surfaceand cover his body. He doesn’t let it burn hot enough to turn him to ash; hehas no need to regenerate now. And though there’s the familiar pull, an urge toshift into his true form, Stiles resists that too. He doesn’t need it.

He just frees enough flame to make himself feel powerful,connected to the rest of nature, the same way he feels when he’s heating andshaping metal.

He steps on to the broad stump, and directs his fire downthrough the center, burning out the evil burrowed there. There’s resistance, apush back against the flames, and a sliver of darkness aims unerringly towardhis heart.

It burns to nothing before it can make contact.

When it’s over, Stiles takes a few deep breaths, thencrouches down and touches the burnt wood, making sure none of the corruptionremains.

“That tree is evil,” someone says, sudden and unexpected,and Stiles startles a little.

He turns to find a very stern but very handsome man—no,wait. He catches a flicker of red in the stranger’s eyes, and realizes he’s notjust looking at a werewolf, but an alphawerewolf.

Whose territory he’s probably invaded.

“Not anymore,” Stiles says, stepping back a little so he cansee the blackened hole right through the heart of the tree. He can feel a softwave of magic, like a small sigh of gratitude, wash over him and he smiles.

The werewolf glances down at the cautery, but his gaze isback on Stiles in an instant. “What are you?” he asks sharply.

“You don’t know?” Stiles says, a little taken aback. Hefigured the flames were an obvious giveaway.

He gets a frown in response. “Your clothes smell like human,but you. You don’t smell like anything.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and lets some of the fire recede from hisface and neck, so the alpha can see him better. He leaves the rest of it,hoping it covers his nudity. He’s never really had to worry about that before,forging alone in his workshop. “I’m a phoenix. My name is Stiles.”

“I’m Derek,” Derek says shortly. “You don’t look like abird.”

Stiles can’t help his snort of laughter. He’s only everrevealed his secret to a few people, but he’s never experienced such anon-reaction. “Well, you don’t look like a wolf, but I still know you are one.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at that, looking surprised, butquickly schools his features again. “How did you do that?” he asks, focusing onthe tree stump, rather than Stiles. “We’ve tried to destroy it several times.”

“Phoenix fire is incorruptible,” Stiles says. “So, I wasable to destroy the dark part of the tree, while leaving the rest intact.”

“I appreciate that,” Derek says warily, then looks pointedlyat Stiles’ flames. “But are you a danger to the rest of the forest?”

Stiles can’t help grinning, though he knows it probablydoesn’t make a good impression. “Phoenixes are guardians of the forests andfields, and maintain balance. I may set a few fires, but here’s the thing,Derek. Fire is only a bad thing when it’s present in the wrong amount. See?” He sends a tongue of flameout to the dead leaves washed up against the trunk of the great tree, and oncethey burn to crumbling ash, calls the fire back to himself.

In the next moment he feels another wave of magic from thestump, and this time he directs toward the burnt ground. When he brings it to Derek’sattention, he’s obviously startled.

“That’s the other thing about fire,” Stiles says, lookingfondly at the bright green shoots pushing up out of the blackness. “No matterhow terrible the devastation, new life always emerges.”

In the place where his mother died, the most beautiful flowers had grown.

“I want to say, not always,”Derek says, sounding hoarse. “But now I realize you are right.”

Stiles doesn’t think they’re talking about the plantsanymore. He’s not sure what they’retalking about, but the fine tremble of Derek’s jaw tells him not to push.

“I believe that you won’t do any harm,” Derek says finally.“But I am the alpha of this territory, so if you plan to spend time in thesewoods, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

“I understand,” Stiles says, relieved. He’d hoped Derekwouldn’t try to drive him out.

Derek nods, then disappears back into the trees, as silentas he came.

*

Stiles decides to open the shop only a few days a week. Hedoesn’t have a real sign yet, but he’d painted the front window to say Stilinski’s Metalworks. Underneath, insmaller letters, he’d added CustomJewelry Available.

He hasn’t done any advertising, nor posted any store hours,so he’s surprised he gets customers at all the first day.

The first introduces herself as Lydia, and Stiles findshimself captivated by her red-gold hair as she browses the display cases. Hecan tell she has a core of strength and confidence, along with a passion forknowledge, and after a few minutes of idle conversation, considers asking herout. But for some reason he thinks of Derek, and decides not to.

“I don’t see what I’m looking for,” Lydia says after anextended perusal. “So, I’ll have to have something custom made.”

“My prices are expensive,” he says, less of a warning andmore of a statement of fact.

“That is no issue,” Lydia says easily. “I would like a ringand bracelet set, with a bow and arrow design.”

Stiles nods, pulls a pad of paper from under the counter andslides it her way. “Okay, I just need some contact information. I’ll send yousome sketches and get your approval before I start working.”

Lydia picks up a pen and begins to write. “Do you have atime estimate for when it’ll be done? I want to give it to her for herbirthday.”

“I only have a few other commissions right now,” Stilessays, shrugging. “So, once you’ve decided on a design, it shouldn’t take morethan a few days for me to complete the pieces.”

“Thank you,” Lydia says, and slides the paper back to him.

Stiles gives her a little wave as she heads out the door, thenspends a moment admiring her penmanship before he pulls out his sketchbook andgets to work.

It’s more than an hour before his next customer shows up.

This time, it’s a friendly, kind-looking guy named Scott. Hespends a lot of time admiring everything, leaning over the showcases and askingenthusiastic questions, smiling sunnily when Stiles answers with equal energy.

Eventually though, he sighs and says, a little more subdued,“Your work is beautiful, but I’m afraid I can’t afford any of it.”

Stiles glances at Scott’s face, then at the delicatewristwatch he’s been staring down at. It has a subtle motif of foxes andravens, and Stiles has a feeling he wants to give it to someone special. “Tellyou what—if you give me the names of the best places to eat around here, I’llgive you a discount.” After all, if he plans to stay here, he needs to makeconnections.

Scott beams. “I’ll do you one better. Me and my friends aregetting together tomorrow night, since everyone’s back from college. You’re morethan welcome to join us.”

“I’d like that,” Stiles says. “If you’re sure no one willmind?”

Scott reassures him they won’t, and exchanges numbers withStiles before heading out the door, boxed-up watch held carefully in his hands.

There’s a brief lull, where Stiles gets more sketching done,before three strikingly attractive people make their way inside.

Stiles might not have a lot of abilities as a supernaturalcreature, but he does have the ability to see right to the heart of others, andknow their true nature. These three, he can tell right away, are werewolves.There is some sort of tether, or link, that stretches from them and distantlyto Derek.

“Hi, I’m Erica,” says Erica, flicking a wave of golden hairbehind her. She points over her shoulder. “And that’s Boyd and Isaac.”

Stiles doesn’t think they’re here for pleasantries. “DidDerek send you?”

“No,” says Isaac. “We wanted to see you for ourselves.”

“Derek told us about meeting you in the woods the otherday,” Erica says. “He tried to play it cool, but we could tell he was worried.”

“Worried? About me?” Stiles gestures to himself jokingly.

“Apparently when he met you, you were completely on fire,”Isaac says dryly.

“And if you knew Derek’s history, you’d know just why thatwould,” Boyd says carefully, “concernhim.”

They’re severely tempting him to ask, but Stiles feels likeit’d be better to find out from Derek himself. Though it’s good to know thatDerek has people who care about him.

“So, we just came by to make sure you weren’t a danger,” shesays. She breaks her serious expression after a moment, though, and says with asmirk, “Isaac here thinks he can smell evil.”

“I can,” Isaacsays, then pointedly sniffs the air. “He’s fine,” he says, sounding a littledisappointed.

“Look, I just want to make jewelry and roam around theforest,” Stiles says, raising his hands and hoping he looks harmless. “I haveno nefarious plans. Okay?”

“Okay,” Erica agrees.

She and Boyd give him smiles before they head out the door,but Isaac levels him with an exaggeratedly suspicious look before he followsthem.

To his surprise, Stiles finds himself laughing.

*

He has no doubt that Derek will be checking up on him—evenif Erica, Boyd and Isaac report his lack of evil—so he decides to make it easyon both of them, and heads back to the giant stump.

He grins when he sees that, out of the blackened heart,there now emerges a tall sapling, delicate green leaves just emerging at thetips of its branches. It’s a good sign, evidence that it has truly healed, and itspresence should now bring good-fortune and peace.

Stiles climbs up onto the stump and touches his fingers tothe bark of the sapling, feeling the pure magic flowing through it. Contentedthat there is no remnant of malice, he pulls out his sketchbook and settlesdown to work on Lydia’s commission.

The forest is soothing, nothing but the sound of the birdsand wind rustling through the trees, and Stiles is surprised to find it’s anexcellent place to work.

He’s just finishing up a design for the ring when Derek’svoice says, “You’re back,” and his pencil makes a jagged line across the page.

“Yeah. It’s nice out here,” Stiles says, shrugging.

“It is now,” Dereksays, low, almost like an afterthought. Most of his attention seems to befocused on intently observing Stiles.

“What?” Stiles says, glancing down at himself and then backup. He probably has pencil smudges on his face, or something.

“I hadn’t seen you—” Derek tries, making an aborted handgesture.

“With clothes on?” Stiles finishes, laughing.

“Not on fire,”Derek says irritably. “You look,” and there’s a rather long pause before hesays, “normal.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says wryly. “I’m not tending to the foresttoday, hence my regular appearance.”

Derek looks like he might say something, eyes flickingbetween the sketchbook and Stiles’ face, but instead he just nods and turns,heading away through the trees.

And though he hadn’t exactly expected Derek to stay, Stilesfinds himself feeling a little disappointed.

*

Scott and his friends are meeting the diner, which isconveniently just a block away from Stiles’ shop. He walks over, enjoying thepleasant night, but hesitates for a moment when he gets there, his old anxietypricking at him.

It passes in a moment, though, and he pushes through thedoor and makes his way over to their table. Most of the people he of coursedoesn’t recognize, but he’s surprised to see Lydia there.

“Good to see you again, Stiles,” she says, and introducesthe girl next to her as Allison.

To his eyes, she almost seems haunted, as though she’sexperienced great betrayal and tragedy, and is still coming to terms with it.Stiles only manages a small smile before he has to look away.

After he’s met everyone they all place their orders, andStiles lets the jokes and teasing about college classes—and collegeshenanigans—wash over him, enjoying the atmosphere. Several people make an effortinclude him in the conversation, and he’s happy to join in, but he’s especiallypleased when he manages to make someone laugh.

After they’ve had dessert, they head to the kind of arcadethat has something for everyone. The group splits up between the bumper carsand laser tag, and Stiles is tempted to join them. But he knows that when hegets competitive he tends to get…overheated.Instead, he heads for the pinball machines, which are safely deserted.

Both Scott and Lydia stop by to make sure he’s not feelingleft out, and he eventually gives in and plays a few rounds of Skee-ball withthem. By the end of the night everyone’s congregated around him, talking andlaughing, and being surrounded by them makes Stiles feel normal, accepted.

Like he could fit in here.

Like he could belong here.

*

The next time Stiles goes back to the forest, he takes a fewblocks of metal with him. Lydia’s decided on a design, so it’s time for him topractice. He won’t make the real thing out here—he does better in his workshop,where he doesn’t have to keep strict control over his fire and can properlycool the pieces—but he wants to see Derek again, hence his now-familiar trek tothe stump.

He unrolls his toolkit of hardened steel first, running hisfingers over each implement to ensure they’re in good condition. He’d forgedthem himself in his early high school years, when he’d realized he couldn’t getthe detail he wanted using just his hands.

He rolls up his sleeves, and then cups a piece of silver inhis hands, concentrating all his fire there. Small tendrils of flame creep downhis arms, seeking the freedom they’re used to, but Stiles just huffs out alaugh and pushes them back.

He has the molten metal wrapped around his finger—for anestimate of size—and is just beginning to etch details into it when Derekappears. He doesn’t interrupt Stiles, but watches for a moment before coming tosit nearby.

Stiles tries not to show his surprise.

He also can’t keep quiet under Derek’s watchful gaze, so hebegins to talk about what he’s doing. Why the type of silver was chosen, andthe temperature it needs to be heated to. He explains that he’s practicing adesign for a client, and that he’ll probably have to do it several times beforehe gets it right.

Luckily, if he makes a mistake, he can just melt it down andstart again.

“It doesn’t hurt you at all?” Derek asks curiously, whenStiles’ rambling pauses.

“It looks like it would, doesn’t it?” Stiles asks, smiling. “There’sno pain at all. My dad doesn’t like to watch me forge because it freaks himout. He does, however, appreciate the high-quality set of kitchen knives I madehim.”

“People always love handmade gifts,” Derek says, with a hintof a smirk.

Stiles laughs. “True enough,” he says. “And it works out, becausethough I do forge things for myself, I like making things for other people best.”

He’s finished with the ring, so he covers it with his palmto draw out as much heat as he can, then sets it down by his tools. He’ll needto polish it before he can see how well it turned out. The bracelet is next,and he begins to heat and stretch another piece of silver. He’s focusing on thetask, making sure his technique is right, and doesn’t notice the silence untilDerek’s voice suddenly fills it.

He talks briefly about the preserve and how werewolves havealways roamed these woods, then moves to the huge stump they’re sitting on,called the nemeton. Derek tells him that it has drawn in many mythicalcreatures, many of them dangerous.

Stiles understands, then, why he was looked at with suspicion.

Derek seems like he might go on, but then lifts his headsuddenly, obviously hearing something Stiles can’t.

“My pack is expecting me,” he says. “I have to go.”

“See you,” Stiles says as he walks away, and then, out of curiosity,takes a look at Derek’s heart.

He’d caught a glimpse when he’d first met Derek in thewoods, had seen the strength built through adversity, and of course, hadnoticed his alpha status. But he’s shocked to see that it all rests on afoundation of ash, and there, right at the center of him, is an unfathomablesense of loss. He recoils at how deeply it is rooted, and is glad Derek can’tsee his reaction.

What had happened to him?

[companionhell]

Hmmm...How about companions react to the SS pushing them out of the way and taking a bullet for them, only having known them for a few days or so (it luckily doesn’t end up being a fatal shot for Sole, but might have been for the companion).

I’m so so sorry, but I left Strong out of this, because I couldn’t think of any possible logistics that would involve a super-mutant possibly being killed but would leave the human Sole alive. Besides, it’s difficult to push aside someone who’s eight feet tall? If you really want me to, I can try my best, but I figured it wasn’t a deal-breaker haha.

Cait: Shock dissolving, Cait slowly got up, approached Sole, who was wincing and clutching their shoulder. She felt a strange concoction of emotion, between relief and gratefulness and regret and a deep sadness that the only person who valued her enough to take a bullet for her had ended up doing it. And she couldn’t express that, not without tearing up, so she settled for frustration: “The hell did you think you were doin’? Are ya daft?”

Sole chuckled weakly, masking a hiss of pain. “A little, maybe. Nearest doctor is Diamond City, and that’s a few hours out of our way. Can you grab a Stim-Pak out of my bag for me?” Cait did, injecting it into her new companion, pausing a minute before cuffing Sole across the back of the head.

“Don’t do that again,” Cait said, searching for a reason for her strange attachment. “Sticking with you is the only chance for caps I got. If you kick the bucket, I got jack shit.” Sole smiled, but Cait wasn’t confident it wouldn’t happen again, and that, for some reason, scared the shit out of her.

Codsworth: Somehow, without looking, he knew what happened, and guilt flooded him. He quickly dispatched the remaining two raiders, severe damage notwithstanding, and rushed to Sole. They were sitting, pressing a ripped-off vault suit sleeve against their wound, easily identifiable because much of the surrounding fabric was soaked with blood. “Sir/mum,” Codsworth said, knowing that if he could cry he would be right now. “Are you…?” He moved his attachments uselessly, feeling helpless and hopelessly afraid.

“Codsworth,” Sole coughed, leaning to look at their Pip-Boy. “It only grazed me. Don’t think it punctured anything, but I don’t have any Stim-Paks. Look, according to this thing, Diamond City is fifteen minutes away. Hurry and fetch the doctor for me?” Codsworth’s reactor whirred into overdrive as he flew towards Diamond City, dodging another group of raiders and past the guards, nearly knocking over a little girl selling newspapers. He couldn’t convince the doctor to leave the city, but carried back with him Stim-Paks galore, which he convinced the man to give him on credit.

“Sir/mum,” he said, injecting two Stim-Paks into their arm and experiencing a nearly-indescribable wave of relief as Sole began to breathe easier. “Oh, please don’t do that again.” Codsworth’s voice broke. “I lost you for two hundred years… please don’t die on me now, sir/mum. I don’t think the old nuts and bolts could handle it.” That was an understatement.

Curie: Something crashed into her and she nearly tumbled into the floor, finally noticing the danger. She looked up at Sole, who smelt like burnt hair but still somehow lodged some well-placed bullets into the enemy’s skull, until the damned thing collapsed against the wall.

“Oh, mon dieu!” Curie screamed, collecting herself before rushing over to Sole. Their hair was indeed singed, as well as part of their left ear, leaving a raw, red burn that Curie panicked at the sight of. Oh, she truly wasn’t used to this world, she thought as she fussed over Sole, dabbing purified water and antiseptic onto the wound. If someone as brave and considerate as Sole could be injured in the pursuit of her protection, perhaps she wasn’t ready for the outside. 

Curie applied a bandage and met Sole’s eyes. “Merci, Sole, but please don’t risk yourself like that,” she cried, trying to awkwardly give them a hug with her Miss Nanny arms. “Oh, you worry me.”

Danse: There was a loud clank as Sole stepped in front of him. “Shit,” they grunted at the impact, the tip of their minigun whirring. A shower of bullets rained down on the raiders, and after a few moments, all five were dead. Danse was still taken aback. Sole turned to look at him, and he gaped- there was a large dent in the center of their power armor helmet, near the nose, in which a bullet had lodged itself. “You alright?” they asked Danse, their voice sounding strangely nasally.

“It wasn’t necessary to risk your well-being to guard me, soldier,” Danse answered sternly, though he was actually feeling a strange mixture of guiltiness and astonishment. He shouldn’t have let his guard down enough to allow that to happen, but Sole’s quick thinking had saved his life- and doubly proved their suitability for warfare.

“You should invest in a helmet that covers your face, then,” Sole quipped. “Besides, I’d trade a broken nose for you getting a bullet between the eyes any day.”

Danse didn’t know how to respond. Though as an officer, he inspired respect in those under his command, he had never heard such a sentiment expressed before… not for years, anyway. “Thank you,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “I appreciate it.”

Deacon: Deacon eyed the blood now seeping through Sole’s sleeve. A decent chunk had been taken out of Sole’s arm, which they now used to sift through their bag, finally finding a Stim-Pak. “Hey, good thing it hit me,” Sole said, injecting the Stim-Pak into their injured arm. “If you hadn’t moved, it would’ve gotten your chest. Wouldn’t want you dying on me during the first mission.”

“That’s gotta hurt, though,” Deacon responded. “You okay?” When Sole nodded, he smiled, but found himself thinking. He usually ran missions alone, rarely taking a Railroad member along with him, so having someone take a shot for him was… an interesting feeling. It made him question who, if anyone, he’d do that for- and whether Sole was just that kind of person, or if he’d done anything to earn it.

Dogmeat: There was the loud noise of the gun going off, and Sole made a harsh noise, shooting the bad man in the head before doubling over, clutching their thigh. As they rifled through their bag, Dogmeat cautiously approached, smelling the blood on his new companion. He licked their hand apologetically, being sure to sit by them until he knew they were okay.

Hancock: Sole shoved Hancock out of the way, and the bullet tore through their shoulder. Sole simply gritted their teeth and fired a barrage of their own bullets at the Courser, until the damn thing lay still. “I’ve got Stims in my bag,” Sole said, clutching their shoulder. “Mind helping me out?”

“You got it,” Hancock said, injecting a Stim-Pak into their arm. “Christ, you okay? Shouldn’t be throwin’ yourself in the line of fire like that, even for a handsome ghoul like me.”

Soul sighed with relief as the Stim-Pak entered their bloodstream. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Rather my shoulder than you, though. Way you were sitting, that bullet would’ve entered through your hat and left out your neck.”

Hancock nodded. “You’re right. Thanks, my man/sister.” He continued to dwell in his thoughts, though, considering why the hell a smooth-skin who he started traveling with a few days ago would risk their life for a chem-loving ghoul from a bad neighborhood. The incident certainly boosted his trust in their partnership; if they would take a bullet for him on day three, he had no idea what day three hundred would look like, but he sure as hell wanted to see it.

MacCready: MacCready dropped his head for a moment, shoving more ammo into his gun, barely finishing before being knocked over by a blow to the side- Sole. “Hey, the hell was that?” he grunted, winded, before noticing the wound in Sole’s arm- where his head had been only second before. He turned, shot a few Gunners, turned back. The wound was still there. Shocked, he kept shooting, helping Sole out until they were in the center of a circle of corpses. Sole stood there, panting, the both of them silent until MacCready tossed a Stim-Pak at them. “Here.”

Sole injected it. “I have my own, you know. Don’t gotta waste yours on me.”

MacCready wasn’t sure how to respond. He was frustrated with himself for lowering his guard, for forcing someone else to have his back, but also grateful and confused and a little angry at Sole for putting themselves in danger. He sighed with purported irritation before answering. “Still can’t believe you did that.” He shook his head. “Stim’s least I can do, I guess, even though that was completely crazy.”

Sole chuckled. “Well, MacCready, I paid a decent amount of caps for your services. I’m not throwing that away if I can avoid it.”

He couldn’t really argue that comment without hypocrisy, but he had to try. “Well, it was stupid anyway. But… thanks. Appreciated.”

Nick: The Assaulton’s bullet missed Nick completely, instead grazing Sole, who winced before finally putting the Assaultron out of its misery. Nick immediately turned to Sole, whose face was quickly becoming covered in blood. “Alright,” he said, trying to project calmness through his alarm and pushing a Stim-Pak into Sole’s hand. “Stay with me. You’re going to be fine, but you need that Stim. Now.”

Sole injected the Stim-Pak and trying their best to smile. “Pretty sure it only nicked me. Head wounds just bleed a lot. Sorry for pushing you, by the way.”

Nick laughed disbelievingly, but a hint of humor worked its way in. “You can’t stop being noble, can you? I… you sure you’re alright?” Sole nodded. “Thank you. Really. But maybe just warn me next time, instead of getting your own face in the line of fire?”

He joked to dissolve the tension, but he was really rather stunned. It took a unique kind of person to risk their life for a beat-up synth detective with a penchant for irony, especially after only a few days of working together. Sole was a special one, alright. Nick already felt fonder of them, if a bit irritated by their near-eagerness for getting themselves killed.

Piper: She recoiled in shock from the weapon being fired right next to her, almost instinctively expecting pain, but none was delivered. She opened her eyes to see the threatening raider dead- and Sole clutching their leg. “Easy now, Blue,” she said, rushing to help them. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I will be, after a Stim,” Sole said, grabbing one from their bag. “Damn raider still managed to shoot me after I kicked his legs out from under him. Though since that bullet was meant for your forehead, I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

Piper smiled genuinely, pleased to see the budding friendship. She pissed off more people in the Commonwealth than she’d like to admit, and she’d taken a liking for Sole, so she was glad to see it was reciprocated- even if in possibly the most drastic way possible. 

“Well, thanks, Blue. Though maybe cool it on your unending generosity, ‘kay?” Piper ruffled Sole’s hair. “Can’t have the most interesting source in the Commonwealth die on me.” She let a hint of concern out in her last comment, then dropped it, though tried her best for the rest of the day to keep Sole off their leg as much as possible.

Preston: He cried out when he saw his new acquaintance jump in front of him to take a bullet meant for his stomach, but couldn’t stop them in time. Seeing Sole down, he tried his best to rid the immediate area of remaining enemies- luckily, as there were only two raiders left, they were down pretty soon. 

Preston leaned over Sole, quickly assessing the wound- the bullet had taken a chunk out of their side, and though it didn’t appear to have hit any vital organs, there was a lot of blood gushing out. “You still with me?” he asked. Seeing Sole nod, he bandaged them up, then injected a Stim-Pak into them. “Easy. You’re gonna be okay.”

Sole smiled weakly. “Good. Wouldn’t wanna abandon the Minutemen after only a few days of helping.”

Preston laughed despite himself. “You have a one-track mind, you know that?” He paused a minute, furrowing his brow. “Thank you, Sole. That was… incredibly brave of you, but, well, I’m already in your debt, what with the rescue from the Museum of Freedom. No need to worry me like that.”

He deliberately kept his tone light, but underneath, he was feeling a strange mix of emotion. Preston was absolutely ecstatic to have found such a generous and self-sacrificing individual for the Minutemen, having lost all light before meeting Sole. But there was also an intense guiltiness there, the weight of knowing that someone he admired had been injured for him.

X6-88: He winced at the impact of bullet and Sole’s flesh, knowing that it would have been his neck had Sole not pushed him aside. “Damn, that got you. Hang in there for a minute.” X6 disposed of the hostile, some worthless gang leader, and knelt down next to Sole, who was already rummaging in their bag for a spare Stim-Pak. 

He waited a moment, watching Sole inject the Stim-Pak into an artery as the blood dripped down their face- he knew that it had only grazed them, and that head wounds bled disproportionately, but the sight still wasn’t pleasant. “Do you think you’re okay?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, probably,” Sole returned, lightly touching the wound. “Didn’t want the Institute’s best Courser biting it on the second day.”

X6 didn’t show it, but he was surprised. Some had shown concern for his well-being before, of course, but mostly as scientists hoping a beloved computer would never sputter out- Sole’s generosity seemed genuine, and that was new to him. “Thanks,” he said curtly. “But don’t do that again. You’re Father’s parent- you shouldn’t be risking yourself like that.” He presented his concern as purely professional, but there was a note or two of real feeling in there, too.

[you-guys--are-losers]

When Waffles Mean Trouble

//I have had “Replay” by Zendaya stuck in my head for literal days, so this happened. 

The two nerds are still snoring, and MJ doesn’t feel like getting slapped in the face while waking up Leeds. The loser is notoriously dangerous to wake up; Parker swears he still can see a scar from the last time he tried to rouse Ned after a late night marathoning. 

The night before, they managed to get through every single Harry Potter movie except for the last one. Several minutes passed in which MJ mocked them for being too tired to finish at 3:49 AM, and then Leeds and Parker had passed out immediately. As soon as they were asleep, MJ turned the volume down and finished the movie. She didn’t like leaving it unfinished before bed, and there was a large chance she would not be able to sleep anyway. 

When MJ wakes that morning, the selection menu is playing over and over above her. She must have fallen asleep, she realizes as she rolls over to fumble for the remote to turn off the television. A quick glance at the old clock that hangs on the wall, plus the added five minutes to account for the time discrepancy, indicates that it is 7:44.

Funny, really, that she can fall asleep much more easily at the Parkers' than when she is actually home. MJ doesn't feel much like thinking about the irony this morning.

MJ flicks off the TV and glances over at the two sleeping teens, one of which is on the floor and the other dozing in an armchair. Michelle studies the boy on the floor, the one who had insisted she take the couch the night before. He has a thin blanket kicked off of his feet and his curly brown hair and his pillow are the only things between his face and the carpet.

MJ's eyes find his face, which has been much paler and more tired than it should be lately. It's not like she's worried about him, really. She may not see him eating enough, and she may have noticed that he is carrying too much on his shoulders without enough sleep, but that doesn't matter. It would be stupid of her to be this worried about the loser... But then, she can’t really help her tiny obsession.

She jumps as stomach growls so loudly that MJ is sure she will wake them both. Neither boy stirs, and she can't help rolling her eyes. They are both heavy sleepers whenever she stays over with them after marathoning. They are also terrible cooks, and she is starving. 

MJ has been here often in these past few months, whether she is reading while they watch Lord of the Rings or fiddling around with the pieces while the nerds construct a Lego ship. She's good at observing, and she always has been. For instance, she has observed that May always buys flour and sugar under the pretense that she will be cooking. She also knows that they sit in the upper right-hand cabinet in the kitchen, where they never will see the light of day.

 On her way to the kitchen, MJ steps over Parker and walks past Leeds’s chair. Her fingers absentmindedly tug his hat down slightly so that it will keep the sun out of his eyes as it comes in through the window. She steps into May Parker’s tiny, sunny kitchen and pauses as she glanced down at her phone. 

May has an old speaker with tinny sound quality on the counter, and there is an aux cord connected to it. MJ knows the speaker doesn’t play too loudly, but it does play, so she moves to insert the cord into the headphone jack and presses shuffle on her Spotify playlist. 

The song starts immediately, and MJ begins to move around the kitchen to the beat of the song. She grabs the sugar and the flour, as well as the baking soda and powder. She finds an old bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet as well, so she takes those and sets them on the countertop as she grabs the remaining ingredients. 

MJ begins to stir the bowl vigorously, folding the chips into the batter. She starts humming with the song, but then the chorus comes, and MJ is tempted. 

Does she hate the way the entertainment puts a price on talent? Yes. Does she think that celebrities are just a way for companies to suck the money out of people and make sure they enjoy it at the same time? Definitely.

Does she like this pop song? Of course. 

“He-ey, wanna put this song on replay,” she sings to herself as she pours the wet ingredients together and sharply raps an egg on the counter. “I could listen to it all day, I could listen to you all day.” 

Her voice grows louder as she becomes slightly more confident in the fact that they won’t wake. After all, Parker snored loudly enough that Leeds could probably sleep through Armageddon. MJ finishes mixing in the dry ingredients, and there is a smile on her face as she stirs the bowl until the batter is smooth. 

“Don’t stop.” 

Rippp. The bag of chocol dumps a liberal amount into the batter. Some people say that this is dangerous as compared to sprinkling them in the iron because the chips are prone to sinking, but MJ has discovered a solution to this. If there are a ton of chocolate chips in the batter, it is not hard to make sure that they are in every waffle since they can only sink so far. Also, she is just a little addicted to chocolate chips. 

“Turn it on, turn it up, make it louder. I don’t wanna miss a single thing, wanna hear every melody...” 

The waffle iron sizzles as MJ drops a chunk of butter onto it, and the sound only intensifies her hunger. 

“Beating,” she continues, enjoying the feeling of the music leaving her lips. She has not sung just to sing for a very long time, and it feels amazing... Freeing, because she is the only one who can hear it. “Beating so loud you can feel it... Beating, beating for you-” MJ turns around, and the spatula clatters to the floor. 

Not is only one who can hear it. 

Leeds and Parker stare at her from the living room with eyes the size of the waffles currently steaming in the iron. Ned gapes at her, and Peter blinks several times, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobs. The way they are looking at her, she might as well have just announced her sudden, passionate lust for Flash Thompson. 

“U-um, we...” Peter stammers. “We didn’t, w-we didn’t wanna, like, freak you out or anything-”

“What were you doing?” Ned interrupts. 

MJ blinks several times, and her mind is whirring as she struggles to speak. “Waffles,” she finally manages to force out. Her voice is tight and constricted, and she quickly turns and presses the button on the speaker to switch it off. 

“Um... I meant the other thing- ow!” Ned mumbles, and there is the thud of an elbow meeting someone’s side. 

MJ does not turn around. Instead, she grabs a fork and attempts to salvage the burnt waffles from the iron. They are so badly scorched that she practically has to scrape them from the heated metal. She stabs the burnt crisp far harder than necessary, with a violence that seems to put both of them on edge. 

As MJ pries the burnt waffle into the trashcan, Ned’s phone begins to buzz. MJ can hear the sound of repeated notifications on his Stark Industries phone, and Peter appears terribly uncomfortable. 

“Right,” Ned stammers. “I’ve got to, um... It’s my mom, she’s-” 

“Out of town this weekend,” MJ says in a sharp voice. She is still smarting with embarrassment as she pours more batter into the iron, and it makes her slightly more caustic with Ned than she normally is. 

“-Has... A... Sister,” Ned slowly forges ahead. “Um. Who’s texting me? About her baby. My mother has a sister who’s having a baby.” 

“You’d better answer it, then,” Peter interjects. MJ cannot see with her back turned, but she thinks that he shoots Ned a look. 

“Right,” Ned fumbles. He turns and quickly shuffles out of the room, and then MJ and Peter are alone. 

MJ closes the iron and listens to the hissing sound filling the empty kitchen. She likes it, normally, but right now it is substantially less satisfying thanks to the smoke clouding the with the smell of burnt waffles. She moves to open the apartment’s tiny kitchen window. 

“I didn’t know-” Peter begins from behind her. 

MJ stiffens. She knows what he will say... Both Ned and Peter have heard her rants at the lunchroom table about the cancerous, parasitic nature of the entertainment industry and the way that people are willing to sell anything, even abstract concepts, to make a profit. 

“I know, Parker, you don’t need to tell me about how much of a hypocrite I am,” she fires off, talking quickly. MJ whirls around, brandishing the spatula in the air like a baton as she rambles. “Just because I think that the entertainment industry is corrupted doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the music, even pop, because if I like the song then I’ll be damned if I don’t listen to it, and-” 

“-that you could sing,” Parker finishes quietly. “I didn’t know that you could sing.” 

MJ blinks repeatedly in surprise, clearing her throat quickly. She is much closer than she expected now that she has stalked over to the couch, and a little bit of batter is on her cheek from her waving of the spatula. 

“Really? You get stuck on that, Parker?” she mutters, turning to face the waffle iron. She doesn’t want to look into his earnest puppy-dog eyes, because she doesn’t want to feel the things that she feels every time she does. She doesn’t know what those things are, exactly, but she knows she hates them and she knows they’re his fault. 

“Well, I mean, you don’t really seem like the type- not that you’re bad at it! You’re good, really, really good, but I... Um... I just never really thought you might sing.” 

“I don’t,” she retorts, ignoring the way his flustered rambling sort of makes her want to push him against a wall, but not in an angry way. In the kind of way that she definitely, definitely will not be thinking about. “Not for people, or ever.” 

“Then what about a minute ago?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness. They’re rare, so treasure it, loser,” she mumbled, using the fork to move the waffles to a plate. MJ slathered enough syrup to drown them onto the plate, and then she shoved them in his direction over the counter. Parker nearly lets the plate fall to the floor, and he spends a minute fumbling with it that she uses to put more batter in. 

“How did you know-” 

“May doesn’t like syrup on her pancakes or waffles, but you always have a bottle and every time I come it’s almost gone,” she rattled off without looking back at him. 

He sighs, and then his stupidly earnest voice says, “I will treasure it.” Her heart skips a beat, damn him. “Why don’t you?” 

“I don’t like it. Coincidentally, I also don’t like idiots asking me impertinent questions.” 

“That’s a lie, we saw you. You were smiling.” He is eating standing up the way every man in MJ’s life ever has, although there are a whopping two of them as of now. One is in Peter’s bedroom being a liar who lied to her, and the other eats his breakfast with so much syrup that she thinks he must be a diabetic. 

She glares down at the waffles as she yanked them from the iron. MJ loves waffles, especially chocolate chip ones. But right now, they have caused her a lot of trouble no matter how fluffy they are. 

“I used to take voice lessons,” she mutters, unplugging the iron and setting down her plate. In need of something to do, she covers the batter and slides it into the fridge so May can make more later. “They didn’t end well.”

“How do voice lessons end badly when you sing like that?” Peter asks incredulously. She shoots him a look only to find that his plate is already empty. 

“How do you stay that skinny when you eat so much?” she asks, mimicking his tone. She moves to take his dish, but he swipes it from her grasp and walked to the sink with it. Leaving her waffles on the plate, MJ gathers all the dishes and begins to load them into the sink. It becomes an assembly line then, with Peter washing and MJ drying. 

“I’ve got fast metabolism. Your turn.” 

MJ sighs as she sets down the now clean glass mixing bowl. “I didn’t... It wasn’t my voice,” she mutters as she turns to wipe the spatula. “It was the recitals.”

“You... Have stage fright?” he asks, and his eyes are huge. He pauses in his rinsing of a teaspoon measure, quickly saying, “Not that that’s so crazy, I mean a lot of people do, I-I don’t like talking that much in front of people-” 

“I would never have guessed.” 

He passes her the teaspoon, and he is quiet for a moment, urging her to continue. Maybe it is foolish, but she does. 

“My dad used to come to all of the recitals,” she sighs, taking much longer than necessary on the teaspoon. “He bought those daisies, the ones they color with cheap dye, and they were always purple because that was my favorite color. And then my parents...” 

Peter winces, looking away. “MJ, you don’t-” 

“They divorced, and then he stopped coming,” she finishes. “No more daisies and no more ice cream on the way home, and no more dad. And he went out and got a new family, and I stopped taking voice lessons.” MJ slams the teaspoon on the counter with the other dry dishes. “So no, I don’t sing, not anymore.” 

MJ turns with open hands to grab the next dish, and she finds Parker staring at her instead. His stupid eyes look like they were transplanted out of a puppy, and they bring a lump to her throat that she shoves down. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and she looks at him with eyes as sharp as the kitchen knife that has clearly been sitting in the sink for days. 

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault, and I don’t want your pity.” MJ picks up the knife by its wooden handle and snatches the dishrag from him. 

“But you can’t let him define it for you.” 

Her eyes snap up to him, and she raises an eyebrow dangerously. “And who are you to tell me what I get to do?” she hums. 

He returns her gaze. “I’m your friend, and don’t deny it, because I know that you have books to read and that you could be at any party you wanted if you felt like trying,” he insists. 

Her face heats up, and she hopes it doesn’t show. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.” 

“But you’re good at it, MJ, and you love it. Why should he get to decide if you like it or not?” he insists. “Your dad let you down. Not everyone will, MJ. Not me, not Ned, and definitely not May. She loves you, and I know she would love your voice.” 

“But-” She accidentally starts speaking, and now she knows she has to continue. “Whenever I do it, I think about him. And I don’t want to, Parker. It isn’t worth it, and I always end up hurt.” Her throat aches, but she ignores the feeling. She is not in pain, Michelle Jones does not feel pain. 

Peter winces, and she knows that he realizes how serious she is. “I know. But just then, you weren’t singing for him. You were doing it for you.” 

MJ blinks, and she opens her mouth to speak. However, he continues. 

“If you do it for you, you get to rise above him. You get to put him behind you and choose people who won’t let you down,” he insists. His gaze doesn’t leave her face, and she slowly begins to wipe the knife blade. HIs eyes hold warmth as he looks at her, and a tentative hand moves to swipe the batter away from her cheek. “It’s not about him, it never was. It’s about you, and it’s beautiful.” 

MJ’s grip tightens, and she nearly drops the knife, but it is at that moment that Ned comes stumbling into the room.

“Hey, Peter-”

Peter’s head snaps to Ned, and MJ has a chance to recover her fumbling fingers. 

“Oh,” Ned says slowly. “Was I...”

“Um, no, no, of course not,” Peter stammers. 

“Good, because... Because you have a thing,” Ned insists with wide eyes. 

“Right,” Peter says quickly. “That thing. The one I forgot.” 

“Yeah, that one.” 

Peter’s eyes flicker to MJ. “Look, MJ, I-” 

“Nah, it’s fine,” She hums as she sets down the knife. “I have to go anyway.” She glances at the lukewarm waffles on the counter and decides to leave them for May as she goes to fetch her bag. “You do your thing. Sounds important.” 

Peter gapes at her, seeming shocked she isn’t questioning. “But-” 

“Seriously,” she assures the pair. “I forgot, I’ve got to go and get my teeth cleaned at the dentist anyway.” 

“Oh, cool,” Peter says slowly. He offers her a tentative smile, one that makes MJ’s hands shake the way they did when she almost sliced her middle finger off holding the knife. That would have been a disappointment the next time she saw Flash. 

“See you guys later,” she hums as she swings her bag over her shoulder. “Tell May I say hi.” 

Are they the worst liars in the world? Yes. But that doesn’t mean that she is going to confront them. She wants Peter and Ned to choose to tell her on their own, not to have a part of themselves forced out by a sleep-addled mind, waffles, and a tinny speaker. She wants to know... Wants in on that part of their friendship, to be that much closer to them in a way that she hasn’t with anyone else. 

MJ leaves the two nerds sitting in the kitchen, appearing quite bemused. That’s her favorite way to leave people with a look like they’re wondering what just hit them. 

The rest of the day goes normally, for the most part. It is only when her mother points out later that she has been humming while doing the dishes that MJ realizes something. She was singing... And it wasn’t for her father. It wasn’t for her mother, it wasn’t for Peter, and it wasn’t for anyone. 

Her song had been for Michelle Jones, and no one else.