#i wanted more emphasis on the red paint streaks

[weenwrites]

Hey hey Ween! I wanted to ask about you writing something for bots reaction to a human who is new to the team and trying to get too make friends and make conversation with the bots? But they have poor memory and stiff/rough social skills so they may fidget when speaking and too remember their names they have a paper that they carry around w/ all the bots names written in said bots corresponding color scheme (doesn't have to be this I just thought it would be a cool idea 😊). Also tries to offer help in any numbers of ways. Uhh I don't really have any particular bots in mind besides Wheeljack and while I do enjoy scenarios I'm just as cool with headcannons if that ends up working for you and/or inspiring you more🤝🫂. Feel free to add any other bots if ya want👌! (Also it's still Friday where I am as I send this in I don't want ya to think I'm ignoring your post.)

"What was your name, again?"

Summary - How are you supposed to remember all these weird names? Characters - Wheeljack Content - Crack, Gen Category - Scenarios Trigger Warnings - None

✎ A/N: Sorry it took a LONG while! And also what I meant back then was that the request had to be sent in when it was Friday where I was. I can't remember whether you sent it in while it was still Friday my time or not, but eh I'll do it anyway. And I'm sorry if it's a bit short, but I didn't really want to specify anything in the end to try and be more 'immersive'.

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

"Don't forget Bulkhead and Bumblebee!"

"Yes, yes... I've got them down," Y/N mumbles.

They don't bat an eye at the shadow that looms over their shoulder and onto the table, because it's far more important to concentrate on remembering all the names that Miko had mentioned to them. Their colored pencil in their hand glided across the paper with ease, of course occasionally stopping to switch colors.

"Hatche—wait no, it's Ratchet... And... Who was the other one you said, Miko?" Y/N asked, looking up from their paper, "The uh... The one that started with—oh! Wait! Uh, Spokelean!"

"Smokescreen." She corrected with a giggle, placing particular emphasis on the 'screen' part to his name, "So you're done with writing down all their names?"

"Yeah, just about..." They mumbled, brushing some eraser shavings aside and reaching over for their pencil to correct their mistakes.

But they felt nothing but empty space where the correct colored pencil used to lay, and after a quick look around, they had found the escapee-pencil laying underneath the table. With a sigh, they had stooped down onto all fours and scooched underneath the table, reaching out to fetch it when all of a sudden, the heavy thumping of metal footsteps shook the ground.

With a startled yelp, they shot up and the back of their head met the underside of the hard, wooden table. Through gritted teeth and a set frown, they retrieved the pencil and slowly stood back upright, rubbing the back of their head as they looked up to see who had walked in, but they were met with an unfamiliar face.

A white bot sporting red and green streaks on his chest, and a pair of gray... For lack of a better word, finials, on the sides of his head, and a large crest on top. Aside from the fact his paint-job bore a striking resemblance to the flag of Italy, another notable feature of his was the pair of twin swords sheathed on his back.

"Wait... Who's that, again?" Y/N's face scrunched into confusion as they further scrutinized him.

"Oh, hey Wheeljack!" Miko hollered.

And at the girl's beck and call, the bot shoots her a grin upon sight, and he closes the distance between them in mere seconds.

"Hey kid!" He pauses and shoots Y/N a glance, "oh, and who's this?"

"Oh uh, my name's Y/N, and you must beeee..." Their voice tapers off for what almost feels like eternity, and they scramble their mind for a clue—any clue as to what his name was. Miko had literally mentioned his name mere seconds ago, yet now of all times, their brain decided to blank. "Uhh... Your name was..."

"Wheeljack." He finishes.

"Ye-yeah! Wheeljack! Wheeljack. How are you? It's nice to meet you."

"Never better, Bulk and I just got back from patrol."

"Ooh! Did you find anything while you were out?" Miko grinned.

"If by 'anything' you mean 'decepticons', then 'fraid not. We thought we picked up one of the cons' energon mines so we tracked it down."

Miko sprung forward on the couch, "Was it a trap?"

"Nah, it was just an old crater, the cons had sucked it dry and left a long time ago."

Y/N frowns, "did anything good come of it at least?"

"Nothin that I can see, but it is what it is," he shrugs, "Anyway, you're the newcomer, eh?"

"Yes! That would be me."

For a hot second no one said a word. Wheeljack looked to them expectantly, thinking they'd run him through the whole story, not lead him straight to some rather awkward silence. And once Y/N caught the gist of the conversation, they simply pressed their lips shut even harder.

Would it be too awkward to continue now? No one's said anything for some time now, so maybe they shouldn't continue? But if they change the subject now, it might seem like they weren't really listening to him, so maybe they should—

"Soo, Y/N, why don't you tell Wheeljack about how you got here?" Miko spoke up—thankfully being the one to break the ice, "How you met the team and that kind of stuff."

"Right! Right, I should probably do that..." They chuckled, "alright so... it all started like this..."

[maplleaf]

"Dear wanderer, forget me."

Kaedehara Kazuha x gn!god reader

< angst >

A/N: kazoo boy, my main, ily

You were a God, emphasis on "were"

Even before the Archon War, you've never had a large following. The only reason why you're alive is because of the original electro archon gave you mercy.

Makoto gave you and your followers a village to stay. Though unfortunately, the times where you would see your people live their lives and hear their laughter is long gone.

Over the decades, your followers left one by one. Leaving you with a desolated village and a single house to stay in. Going to Inazuma city is a choice, though you decide not to since the Raiden Shogun would possibly kill you; and the living expense of Inazuma city scaring you even more.

Truthfully, you were jealous of how the God of Eternity manage to become such a beloved archon. You wanted to have a life where those under your protection would be happy, a life where they can feel safe by your side.

Alas, now you're staring at a painting one of your followers made a thousand year ago. It took a lot of work just to keep it maintained, but looking at it brings you comfort.

A voice of someone outside caught your attention, "hello? Is someone here?"

The grip on your sword tighten instinctively. Recently treasure hoarders and Nobushi have been around the area, and you couldn't risk any of your belongings getting destroyed or taken.

The voice spoke again, "you see, I'm a wanderer. I heard that rain might come soon, therefore I was hoping that you could shelter me in your home until it stops," he explained. "Of course if you can't, it is fine."

You couldn't help but feel pity for the wanderer. Despite the lack of social interaction for a long time, you could feel the sincerity in his voice. Whilst holding your sword close, you opened the door cautiously.

The wanderer's hair is white with a visible red streak. His clothes are similair to what a respected samurai would wear, but calling himself a wanderer made you think he's no longer within the higher-status of Inazuma.

"Come in," you told him, making room for him to walk inside your abode. The wanderer stepped inside after giving you an appreciative smile.

"Sit down, I'll go get you a drink," the wanderer did as he's told as you walked to your kettle.

"I apologize for the cold tea, it's been sitting before you arrived," you explained before looking back to see him looking at you with a gentle smile.

"It's no matter. I may be a guest but my arrival was not expected," he pointed out. You placed his and your cup of tea before sitting down across him.

"So what's your name, wanderer?" you started. He slid the tea closer to him before answering.

"My name is Kaedehara Kazuha, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Your lips formed a smile, it's been a long time since you've had a decent conversation with someone, "I'm (y/n), it is a pleasure to meet you as well."

To your surprise, Kazuha asks about the painting, "if I may ask, who is that person in the potrait?"

Your grip on the teacup tightened. "It's a God that this village used to follow; the God of Dreams," you couldn't help but chuckle, "though they are long gone now. I'm only here to preserve my ancestors' memories."

Kazuha noticed your change in demeanor, but didn't want to point it out. "Must have been a kind God," he spoke, taking a sip of the tea.

It took a couple seconds for you to process his words. You were far from powerful; it's why none of your followers stayed. The only place where you have power is in dreams, where nothing there is going to become reality.

"What makes you think that?"

The wanderer laughed, "if someone like you stayed here for them, then they must be a kind God."

Your eyes widened for a moment, before a wave of laughter couldn't help but escape. "You're a smooth one, Wanderer."

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

The next morning, Kazuha returned to his life of a wanderer. You were saddened for a moment, though he promised to visit if he's nearby again.

As a God who have lived for thousands of years, you were surprised that he kept the promise. The wanderer sometimes dropped by for a cup of tea or to talk to you.

You both traded stories; Kazuha's tales coming from his adventures as a wanderer, whilst yours are about your people's experiences thousand of years ago.

You had a feeling that Kazuha had realized who you really are, but you don't feel the need to tell him yet. Your time as a deity have long passed, and you enjoy the life of a simple mortal much more now.

It should've been obvious that nothing is going to last forever.

It's been a few weeks since Kazuha last visited. You paid it no mind, seeing it as the wanderer going to other places. A barrier of storms around Inazuma had also formed. Even if you're living in a secluded area, you could see the purple clouds and sounds of thunder coming from the sea. Maybe you should ask Kazuha when he comes next time.

Since news of Inazuma city doesn't concern you, it took awhile for any kind news to reach you. Therefore seeing Kazuha being chased by multiple Inazuma guards caught you off-guard.

You didn't have the time to think about what's happening, using the little power you have you placed all of the guards to sleep. You grabbed Kazuha's hand and took him back to your home. The adrenaline rush made it hard for you to hear what Kazuha is saying as you guided him.

The two of you made it safely, albeit you felt like you just finished a 10-mile run.

Though you can't just ignore the elephant in the room, "mind explaining why you were chased by them?"

Kazuha lets out a sigh, "the vision hunt decree... It's the reason why I wasn't able to visit you for the past few weeks."

Any sorts of news regarding 'the vision hunt decree' never passed your ears. Though the name itself tells the story quite easily, and the blank and gray vision in Kazuha's hand tells another.

"My friend... he," Kazuha lets out. It's one of the few times where he's speechless, the internal pain he feels coming out.

You wrapped your arm around Kazuha as he returned the gesture, "it's okay. I understand." Kazuha's friend sometimes visited you as well. Whilst the two of you aren't close, it would be a lie to say that you didn't care about him.

The vision hunt decree is what's concerning you most. As a God you're not in any danger since you don't have a vision, Kazuha on the other hand.

He's currently wanted, and could possibly be killed when caught. Seeing as how the Inazuman guards from earlier could trace his steps into your home; this place isn't safe either.

"Kazuha," you called his name. You didn't want this ending, all you really want is a happy life where you could spend at least a few years with the samurai. "You should leave Inazuma.

Kazuha pulled back from you, his eyes wide; something that you rarely see from the calm and collected wanderer. "If I were to leave, what about you?"

You ruffled his white hair, giving him a painful, forced smile. "Isn't that what a wanderer does? Going to new lands far away," your point isn't wrong. Kazuha's safety is what matters, if he stays in Inazuma then there will always be a chance that he'll be executed.

You could see that Kazuha isn't going to falter. It's always been one of the things that made you admire the wanderer; his determinations and morals. Kazuha already connected that your home isn't safe anymore, and it's just a matter of time where you would be wanted as well. Whilst the samurai has placed past grievances in the past, he's not going to lose someone again.

It's rare that Kazuha felt inclined to stay because of someone. His love for nature and wandering the lands made it almost impossible for him to stay in one place. Yet, you're an anomaly. He doesn't want to leave you, nor does he want to lose you.

He knows you won't leave Inazuma, making it impossible for both of your desires to come true.

Out of the sudden, a choice came into your mind; one where both parties would benefit. Kazuha would get his safety, and you would spend your last few hours with him.

Holding him close, you pressed your forehead against him. 'This is the right decision,' you repeated multiple times in your head, but the hesitation to do it made it hard.

"Kaedehara Kazuha, you have been a wonderful companion; one that I never had for the past hundreds of years," Kazuha didn't have a good feeling of this, but listened to your words.

"I'm doing this for our own desires and needs," a golden aura began to form around you two.

You knew this is the end. You're weak, even placing those Inazuman guards to sleep took a toll on your energy. A God with no followers; your existence is an anomaly, especially after the Archon War.

"My dear Wanderer," your body began to dissapear, growing transparent by mere seconds. Before Kazuha could act you already spoke your last few words. Back when you were powerful, you were able to erase your followers' memories and create fake ones regarded as 'dreams.' You didn't know it would be useful once more.

"Please forget me."

---------

When Kazuha opened his eyes, he's met with a sword on the ground. He's familiar with the sorrounding that he's in, but could not recall a single memory relating to this place. The samurai looks at the sword once more. As a family of blacksmiths, he noticed the special engravings on the simple blade, along with how worn out the sword is.

When Kazuha touched the weapon, he's met with the feeling of calm and safety. Something he longs for, even as a wanderer. He felt like he should take the sword, as if the wind is telling him how important this blade is.

Kazuha's hearing made it possible for him to hear footsteps coming close to the house. The samurai remembered running in this house right after he was chased by multiple guards. Seeing how he would be caught in mere seconds if he doesn't act, Kazuha listened to the wind and took the abandoned sword before leaping out one of the windows.

As Kazuha ran far away, he felt the blade smiling at him.

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

[wannab-urs]

Bruise

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary/warnings: you get high and paint with Dieter. No canvas to be found though. Technically this is A Ghost of You Dieter/Reader, but it's a standalone (as they all are). Not at all explicit sex while very very high :)

A/N: I haven't written anything in over a month, and I had this tiny little spark of inspo today... emphasis on tiny, this is 343 words.

Series Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

A shiver crests over your shoulders and down your spine as Dieter drags the paint brush from the inside of your thigh down to the back of your knee, leaving a streak of purple in its wake. The brush leaves a spiral on your kneecap. Whispers over your hip bone. Strokes along the curve of your waist. Outlines your breasts. Comes to rest in the hollow of your throat. 

Dieter’s mouth follows the trail, painting its own blooms of purple beside the paint. It latches on to your pulse point. Ghosts a hot breath over your cheek. Settles on your own. 

You paint his unkempt curls a brilliant shade of blue with your fingertips. Trace stripes over his shoulders. Down his back. Leave your mark where you can reach. Pull him closer and beg for more. 

Paintbrush abandoned, his hands smear the lines etched so adoringly into your skin. Follow the path back to your thighs. He settles there on his knees, drinks in his masterpiece with dark eyes. Pupils blown wide with lust. And something more.

The tingling in your fingertips, your scalp, your toes, meets him there in the center. All paths lead here, you think. To you and Dieter. Always you and Dieter. His mouth finds yours again, invades it. You dig into his shoulders. Mix sparkling red with brilliant blue. Turn him purple too  as he fills you again and again. 

You’re weighless, floating. Maybe drowning. Dieter pulls you to the surface, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he drags your chest up to meet his. You roll with him, ride his wave until your own crashes over the shore. Collapse back into the pillows. He follows you. He’ll always follow you.

Plum colored fingertips caress your cheekbones, your jaw, your lips. His forehead drops to yours as his hips still. Featherlight kisses grace the highpoints of your face. He whispers into your mouth. Made for me. You sigh. Pull his weight down onto you. You’d let him consume you completely, if he wanted. You whisper. 

Made for you.

------

Series Masterlist

[minervavasa]

This is an offering,

In your favor...

He held my hand as we walked, as he so often did. He'd been a comforting presence for so long. Over half of my life. His gentle brown eyes always said more than his mouth did. He was a safe, consistent place.

We walked this way for a while. He seemed different this time. As if there was a purpose for this. The air between us contained something I hadn't felt before and couldn't identify.

A small silhouette appeared in the distance. As it grew larger, I realized we were walking towards it.

"What's going on?" I asked, turning my head to look at him. He squeezed my hand.

"It's okay", he said with a slight smile.

I trusted him, naturally, but there was also a building anxiety inside me. Like something was about to change.

As we drew closer, I slowly started to see the silhouette better. It was a robed figure, hooded, wearing a pauldron on one shoulder.

I still felt strange. Apprehensive.

When we finally reached the figure, there was a lot to take in. He was tall. I nearly had to lift my head to look at him. His robe was black, and his exposed skin was painted black, including his fingers. The pauldron was mostly white, but streaked with red, giving him a battle-worn appearance. Most of his face was covered with a white mask. A red symbol took up most of the space, aside from carved out lines for his eyes and a cutout around his mouth rimmed in red filigree.

We stood and looked at each other for a moment before i felt my hand be squeezed again.

"She's mine," he said to the masked man, "but she's yours now, too."

Panic rose into my chest.

"What?!" I yelped, turning to my longtime companion.

"It's okay," he said, letting go of my hand.

"What part of this is "okay" to you?!"

"Hey," he said quietly, "I promise; it's okay."

"I don't understand!" The fear made tears well up in my eyes, "You're getting rid of me?"

"Of course not", his voice was gentle and even, "I'm doing this for you."

"You're doing this", I gestured vaguely at the living shadow who had remained silent the entire time, "for me?" He nodded.

"You'd never do this on your own, so I'm doing it for you. It's what you need."

"It's what I need..." i repeated back, still wildly unsure.

"Look," he said, his voice finally faltering a little, "He can give you things that I haven't been able to for a while."

"But-" he shook his head to stop my protest.

"Come on. You know I'm right."

"I wish you weren't." It came out as a gulp.

"Do you really think I could hand you over to just anybody?"

"No", was my soft reply, shaking my head for emphasis.

"I know you love me." A smile filled his face. The smile that lit up my world. "I'll still be around. Whenever you want. It's not goodbye."

I exhaled a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. His expression shifted into seriousness. "But you need him."

I looked at this mysterious stranger, who still hadn't said a word to either of us. His presence had grown on me. He wasn't frightening. He was the kind of darkness that's comforting. The silence of snowfall on a winter night. The velvet of a bat wing. Rose petals like silk. Poetic. The sorts of things that I adore.

I shifted my gaze between them for a moment. It was the unknown that was the scary part. But the unknown wouldn't always be that. Everything familiar now was unfamiliar first.

"All right", I said before turning to the mysterious man, "I'm yours too."

"Take care of her", my longtime companion said, "She'd walk with you through hell if it comes to that."

My new companion gave a slow nod of acknowledgement before extending a hand towards me. There were scars on his arm that made crackles in the black paint.

Clearly, he had been through something.

Going through things is my specialty.

I took his hand and he gently pulled me to his side.

And the world changed.

The night belongs to you...

[themculibrary]

Slice of Life Masterlist 2

part one

A Drop of Water (ao3) - Vixen13 peter/wade E, 71k

Summary: ((Have you ever wanted a Spideypool swimfic? Well, I'm here to deliver.))

All Peter ever wanted was to be on an official swim team. In college, he got his chance. The coach is mean, most of the swimmers are terrible, and one of their relay members is starting to have problems keeping up, but Peter is happy to finally be a part of it all.

There are a few members who could really make a difference if only they had one more strong swimmer. Luckily for them, there's a chance that just such a swimmer joined their school.

Wade Wilson was being scouted for the Olympics when he suddenly dropped out of college his third year in and vanished. Now he's trying to get his life together in New York at a new school that puts little emphasis on sports. Then one day, a very cute and very nerdy classmate calls out his name...

a higher form of war (ao3) - gdgdbaby steve/tony E, 8k

Summary: The first thing that occurs to Tony is that the deflector shields are down. The ship is motionless, a sitting duck—a flying duck, as it were.

He jettisons up. His black pirate flag's peppered with bits of neon paint—in fact, the entire topside of the helicarrier is splattered haphazardly with broken pellets and streaks of color. The UN flag's been torn in half and is fluttering half-mast, which means they're probably breaking about ten different maritime laws.

aka: that's how I show affection (ao3) - quilling_me_softly T, 42k

Summary: Matt Murdock is an asshole. But he's Jessica's.

Jessica Jones is a (traumatised, foul-mouthed, hard drinking, absolutely) stunning woman of questionable character.

Or: moments with Matt Murdock and Jessica Jones. How heroes with trauma histories, rough edges and soft hearts fall in love.

A Study in Modern Life (ao3) - portraitofemmy, rainbow_marbles steve/bucky T, 5k

Summary: Five times Steve was totally down with the future.

A Study in Red (ao3) - alicat54c peter/wade T, 30k

Summary: It started, as all worthwhile things do, with the glorious gluteus of our favorite neighborhood wall crawler.

{Danger Will Robinson Danger!} ...

Because even when two masked individuals put in their maximum effort, something is bound to scrape wrong when they try to realign their lives.

Blood sugar (ao3) - everythingispoetry G, 1k

Summary: Tony is diabetic and no, it's not a secret. (But he honestly loves those green tea Kit Kats, too.)

Encounters (ao3) - Sonora matt/foggy T, 4k

Summary: Matt's not nearly as curious about the Avengers as they are about him.

(Yup, it's another Matt-meets-the-team fic)

Filling the Gaps (ao3) - ironfamjam T, 53k

Summary: Tony looked at him, bold and true and utterly sincere, “Kid, I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Like most good things, it started with an accident.

Well, kinda.

This is a story about how a snarky, emotionally stunted genius became more than a mentor and how a just-trying-to-figure-it-out, doing his best superkid became the son he never had. No matter how empty our hearts are, love can always fill the gaps.

Lust, Caution (ao3) - palettesofrenaissance mj/peter E, 14k

Summary: Michelle and Peter are friends. Best friends. Only friends. Late one night, Peter unintentionally catching Michelle in a compromising position during her, ahem, personal and preferably private “sessions.” He realizes that Michelle talking in her sleep and not closing doors all the way is a deadly combination.

Or alternatively: Peter passes by Michelle’s room door left slightly open one night and catches her masturbating and he loses his shit.

Make Yourself at Home (ao3) - happyaspie G, 23k

Summary: In most stories, Peter tends to make himself at home in Tony's penthouse. They have sleepovers and movie nights, and Peter has everything he needs right there.

Instead, I present to you: Tony gradually finding a second home within the walls of the Parkers' apartment.

[5 Times Tony made and excuse to visit the Parkers' home. And one time the Parkers made and excuse to visit to Tony's]

Moments (ao3) - PeaceHeather T, 14k

Summary: Snippets and scenes from Loki's life growing up with Tyr.

no cops at pride, just spiderman (ao3) - tempestaurora G, 3k

Summary: Peter and Tony attend the Pride parade as Spiderman and Iron Man. They have a good day.

Perfect Landing (ao3) - WhiteRoseCottage sam/bucky E, 39k

Summary: Silence, for a few terrifying seconds. Then Sam speaks, staring at Bucky with utmost suspicion.

“So just to be clear,” he says, grabbing the lease out of Bucky’s hand and skimming, “you’re turning down that…” —he raises his eyebrows— "Upper West Side apartment to go play fetch with me in a field in Dulles, Virginia.”

“Yeah, I am,” says Bucky, trying not to sound as enthusiastic about it as he feels.

“Are you secretly a golden retriever?” Sam asks.

Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun (ao3) - fallendarlings steve/bucky, sharon/natasha E, 102k

Summary: Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).

Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.

Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.

And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.

The Wonderful Life of Yelena Belova (ao3) - firesongwrites97 yelena/kate, wanda/natasha M, 105k

Summary: Yelena once thought she wouldn't live long enough to have a happily ever after. She convinced herself that she was never meant to have a future, for her past. That is until Kate, whom she can’t imagine her life without, and they learn that home can be more than just four walls and a roof.

The one where a former assassin and an Avenger are in love.

Or: Yelena gets her idyllic suburban life, and this time it’s real.

Trauma Makes the Heart Grow Softer (ao3) - mabbbbs yelena/kate T, 19k

Summary: This started out as the stereotypical/cliche carry your crush to bed and accidentally cuddle them trope we all want and deserve. (Update: It's actually so much more than that now, I cannot stop writing this piece! Many ongoing themes of peaceful mornings together as well as nights, and some not so peaceful times sprinkled in.) Pretty much now a slice of life story of what life might be like for the pair if they eventually did get together a while after the series ended.

we are all meant for softer things (even, especially, you) (ao3) - meekinheritance peter/wade M, 40k

Summary: Wade is contracted to kill Spider-man, but after some surveillance he decides the hero is just too chill to kill. Too sweet to defeat. Too squish to extinguish. Too golden boy to destroy. (Etcetera.)

Somehow, instead of blowing up in his face, it avalanches into a tentative friendship filled with crime-fighting, Netflix bingeing, top notch take-out, city-saving, shenanigans, weird alien symbiotes, and personal growth.

Which is pretty much when Wade knows he’s fucked. But like, maybe in the good way, for once?

Your Latest Trick (ao3) - ChortlesOfDoom loki/tony, pepper/tony E, 273k

Summary: Following a violent, masterfully feigned death aboard the Statesman, Thor believes Loki's gone for good; more importantly, so does Thanos. Exhausted and hungry for revenge, Loki returns to Earth, but as he bides his strength, anonymously supplying the Avengers with inside knowledge between his own preparations, he begins to see the true cost of holding on.

[ladyaster]

Hi! Long time no discussing the greenbeans here and I am trying to provide this ship with more regular food but the current art I'm doing of them is taking a while (haven't been doing it as regularly due to college taking priority) so here's some Lyn x Rath headcanons in the meantime:

One of their favorite shared pastimes is just gazing at the sky together. No matter the time of day, whether it's watching the clouds or the stars, they love to sit down and stare at the sky, sometimes making small talk, reveling in each others' presence and marveling at how vast and prismatic the sky can be. Neither really draw (at most Lyn's had some painting lessons in Caelin but she never got enough practice), but they wish they could to just capture all the skies they've seen, blue, silver, orange and red streaked in rose and gold, dark violet flecked with jewels, but the best skies they'll always have etched in their memories forever.

They also spend a lot of time together taking care of the horse, and after being shown enough kindness by her between being pet or her helping brush it or sneaking it an apple, the horse really likes Lyn a lot and perks up whenever she walks by. Once it was clear Lyn got along that well with his horse, Rath realized she was the one.

Lyn helped Rath learn to like rain and snow again after he spent so long dreading it due to living out in the wilderness for so long. Snow especially: when they were getting closer to the Black Fang's hideout and were camping out on in the snowy mountainside, she taught him how to have a snowball fight and while she had the early lead on him, he learned fast. There was no definite winner by the end but they both just had so much fun, and upon mutually collapsing side by side in the snow, for the first time she saw him actually truly smile (he's had light attempts at smiles that lasted about a second that were mostly for reassurance in the past, but emphasis on "attempts"). That was her own moment of going all "Oh shoot, I love this man."

Snow might be more special for them but they do like getting caught in the rain and running as fast as they can through the puddles and the downpour to get to shelter, or especially the feeling of cuddling up for warmth under the blankets while it's absolutely pouring outside and listening to the rain bounce off the roof and the walls.

Rath can listen to Lyn talk about her life in the Lorca tribe all day. At first it's because he can't remember what it's like to live with your tribe and he wants to culturally reconnect in any way he can, but he also knows how important her tribe was to her. He knows better than most what can happen if you're never able to talk with someone about your pain, and besides that, it's genuinely fascinating what she's able to teach him between customs and stories and everything in between. He also loves seeing how enthusiastic she can get about her culture, and her lengthy talks are equal parts bittersweet and heartwarming.

Post-game when they get married Lyn does feel sad that she's considered legally of the Kutolah in spite of being Lorca at heart, but Rath insists that he's legally a part of the Lorca, too, and with their union, as long as there's a Kutolah, there will always be a Lorca.

Sue basically acts as the solidifying factor of this idea as she's raised to understand both of her parents' cultures. They celebrate holidays of both Lorca and Kutolah cultures in the household and if they have the same holiday that's on a different date depending on the tribe, they celebrate it twice.

Speaking of Sue they absolutely dote on her like crazy. They never want any of the hardship that happened to either of them to ever happen to her so they constantly let her know how much they love her, either by telling her multiple times every day, teaching her to fight so she can survive the "rising of the dark star" Athos foretold, or wanting to learn more about her own interests. They're super proud of her deep connection with the spirits of nature and how, yeah, they're raising her well but she's also just genuinely a sweet, gentle person. This house is never short on hugs.

When he and Lyn found out they were going to be parents, Rath made a little plush fawn for their future child (even if it took him a few attempts to make something that, a. resembled a deer, and b. didn't fall apart after a week since prior he only really sewed for clothing maintenance), and Sue used to carry it everywhere with her when she was little. It's now really beat up but even during FE6's canon she still keeps it with her after Dayan's able to give it back to her in the Sacae Route. Similarly, Lyn started getting into whittling around the time the plush was made to stay preoccupied until Sue was born and she could go back to swordplay again, but she genuinely ended up enjoying the hobby so she kept at it after the fact and got pretty good at it over the years, so Sue has some of her mother's salvaged wooden figurines in her bag with the old fawn, too.

Even if Lyn starts out very iffy about Dayan, Dayan really respects Lyn and very much approves of her and his son being together. He's heard a bit about the whole Lundgren business in passing and after being told about the fight against Nergal admires her as a war hero. Not to mention she's normally a very warm person and can see how happy she makes Rath while he's still more withdrawn. (also headcanoning that Rath's mom is still alive until Zephiel's attack happens and she is sassy and as such likes that Lyn has a lot of fire in her and won't take sass lying down and will dish it right back if she needs to)

I CAN KEEP GOING

[pluckedchicken]

Green ribbons of light danced across the darkened rural sky to the song of stringed instruments coming from my phone. The gentle melodies punctuated every sudden arch and smoothed each long stretch. Somewhere off in the distance, the sound of my friends spinning, running, and laughing on the dirt road and through the overgrown ditches. Even further off, the howl of coyotes gives warning to some unfortunate creature.

The song changed.

I lean back on my elbows in the truck box so I'm not craning my neck as much. I watch the sky light and darken as the green strips stretch and compress, appear and dissappear.

I found a place among the souls who offered me a rope, thankful for the day my journey came across the boat

I glance over at the friend next to me, their breath fogging from the cold night air as they try to take a picture of the sight in front of them. A picture can hold a thousand words, and will always far outlast our memories. The last time we watched the sky like this, we were laying on rocks beside a bridge, both being lulled to sleep by the song of a foolish man, enchanted by a forest spirit. I had never known rocks to be so comfortable until that night.

The song changed.

I went back to watching the sky, the ribbons of light greatly diminished from when I last looked. Now, they seemed to be painting a picture of a snowy tundra, briefly illuminated by pine trees, putting emphasis instead on the stars above the green light. I traced the constellations I knew, recalling the stories and different names I knew for each one; wishing I knew more of their names, shapes, and histories.

I know you'd break your neck just to see the stars

I chucked and rubbed the back of my sore neck. If nothing else, the song got that right. The two friends seemed to tire of their galavanting and ran back over to join us at the truck again, watching the stars and northern lights. The ribbons seemed to take that as their cue to take center stage, once again filling the night sky. The lines between each fold and spike grew and shrank, boldened and blurred. We watched the spectacle in awe, music having returned to the familiar, calming strings.

A flash of orange, red, and yellow streaked through the performance, there and gone in an instant. For a moment, all that could be heard was the stringed instruments. My friends began exclaiming their shock, estonishment, and excitement, one regretfully saying they didn't make a wish. I sat there, stunned, replaying the sudden flash of light - a meteor, we agreed - desperately trying to commit it to memory. I didn't want to forget it or that night. The friend next to me suggested I make a note of it on my phone, so I did.

The night drew on, and songs continued to change. Eventually, we moved the truck around so we could watch from inside the cab, as most of us did not dress warmly enough. The friend and I talked about the last time we stargazed like that and of bringing blankets next time. We talked about the people we liked and of people we wished to love.

After what might have been hours, the show did end, and the four of us left our little spot in the country so we could all sleep before work the next day.

(the original note from that night: Fucking commet while watching Northern lights with buds)

Songs referenced are (in order): Journey to Wherever We May Go by Grand Commander, The Willow Maid by Eurtan, Archer by Novo Amor. The referenced string music is from Astronomy, Vol. 1 by Sleeping at Last.

Pictures by @/alyssamoggy on Instagram

[notquitecanon]

Spiked punch // Jasper Hale x Reader

I had snap chat memories from prom and I want to make out with a vampire cowboy

TW: alc mention , no NSFW just a lil steamy, heavy handed pg13

It was cliche really, how you snuck away from Forks High's prom with Jasper Hale. Pressing your smile against his lips behind the venue as you leaned back against a wide Oak tree that would hide the two of you from both party goers and chaperones alike. You were sure you were going to wrinkle the front of his suit with how desperately you were grasping it to keep him close while he briefly indulged you. It was very human- very teenage hormoney human.

Beautiful dress, perfect date, good music, better company, pleasantly spiked punch bowl (emphasis on the pleasantly spiked punch bowl)... Everything was perfect as you deepened the kiss, heart rate picking up, movements becoming frenzied, closing the limited distance between you until Jasper made a noise deep in his throat somewhere between a growl and a groan.

"Jazz..." You whined breathily as you felt him pull away from you like he always did, gentle at first but when the breeze hit you and your eyes fluttered open- the human facade was shattered, seeing as your boyfriend had made it ten feet away and halfway up a tree in under five seconds. It took a moment for your human eyes to find him.

Jasper was always careful with you, like one wrong move and you would kill over. He was careful when he drove you places. He was gentle when he would pick you up or run with you, and held your hand like it was made out of million year old glass. He was cautious getting too comfortable lest he slip up. Which was why, things never got anymore heated than he allowed, and thanks to that pesky power of his he always knew exactly when to cut things off before you got too... eager.

And as usual, he was waiting to give you that scolding golden-eyed glare as you tried to calm your breathing and wild flush, carefully smoothing the hair Alice had spent hours fixing. He didn't appreciate that you were decidedly more determined tonight- nor did he appreciate how easily he was considering folding when you gave him those innocent eyes.

Jasper had to look away before he scooped you up and ran halfway to Canada with you, but you read his discipline as something else. Immediately your emotions went from tempting to him to breaking his heart as he felt the deep streak of rejection and embarrassment coursing through you. You thought he didn't want to kiss you against that tree until you couldn't think straight?

"(Y/N), you don't know how much I want to, believe me, you have no idea," He tried assuring you, dropping out of the tree and forfeiting a little of the ground he covered. Just close enough to catch your hand in his and press the softest kiss against your knuckles as he let you feel just how much he loved you and wanted you.

"Then why not? Jasper, I trust you." You sighed, taking a few steps closer and lacing your fingers through his so he wouldn't be able to flash away again- not without taking your hand with him at least. The blonde dipped his chin so he could look down at you while you looked up at him through your lashes, "Completely."

"I appreciate the faith, but you're seriously overestimating my control, darlin'." He reminded you, taking another two steps back so there was at least some space between you and him even if he was still rubbing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. Jasper had to use every ounce of discipline from his 160 years to pretend that the pout on your lips wasn't effecting him. Not to mention the way you'd danced with him, smiled at him, flirted with him- and ESPECIALLY ignoring the gorgeous dress Alice had you in.

"And, I think you're seriously underestimating yourself." You argued defiantly once again closing the distance between the vampire and yourself. He gave you a stiff, warning look as you copied his earlier gesture, painting his knuckles with an ironic red smear from your lipstick, never breaking eye contact- but this time your eyes had gone from temptingly innocent to flashing dangerously.

“(Y/N)-“ his voice was strained as he watched your display- but he didn’t tell you to stop nor did he remove himself from the situation. He kept perfectly still as you tugged yourself closer to him, heels (or punch) making you stumble flush against his chest. Not your original goal, but you could work with it.

From this angle, you could press another soft kiss right above the collar of his dress shirt- no doubt designer, he wore it better than any model-right where his pulse point would be if he was human. His hands went to your hips and you expected him to push you away, but he didn’t, only holding you where you were.

So you moved to your next target, the marble point of his jawline which clenched under your lips. You paused, even in heels you couldn’t reach any further without Jasper’s cooperation. Even in heels, he was easily a head (if not more) taller than you. You couldn’t help it; you breathed a giggle against his neck, momentarily resting your cheek against his chest.

"Darlin'." His voice was somewhere between begging for more and a warning. When he pressed his lips roughly against your forehead, you guessed he opted for more. So, you wrapped his tie around one of your hands and tugged twice- not harshly, as you knew he wouldn't budge if he didn't want to, no matter how hard you pulled. This was more of a request.

To your surprise the blonde adhered to your wordless request, tipping his face down to you- golden eyes narrowing in on yours as he watched you with dark, curious eyes. Now with his lips in reach, you kept your grasp on his tie, holding it flush against your chest as if that would keep the vampire where you wanted him. With your free hand, you reached up and caressed his beautifully cold face- from the perfects Cupid's bow of his lips to the sharp outline of his cheekbone. Your heart couldn't help but soften at how he leaned into your warm touch before you leaned forward for his lips. One of his hands came up, gently guiding your chin as his eyes instinctively closed.

When you were close enough to almost feel his lips, you diverted to his cheek before pulling a little bit away with another innocent smirk. Jasper gave you a look of both disappointment and betrayal.

"Not so fun is it?" You hummed, dropping his tie in favor of smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit. It took a moment to work out the wrinkles you'd caused before taking the chance to slowly drag your hands down his chest. As chest turned to torso, you slipped your hands under his suit jacket which pushed your chest flush against his as your wandering hands started climbing back up his back.

"Sugar."

That was new. Jasper's voice was low and still warning- but this wasn't his usual warning- no you were treading into new exhilarating territory. Well, Jasper would probably use the words wantonly, stupidly dangerous. He'd never used this name or tone with you, and his eyes never flashed like that. Both signs you were heading in the right direction.

Gingerly, your hands snaked back around front before going around his neck. Jasper's perfect eyebrow quirked as your fingers started twisting and tugging the blonde curls at the base of his neck.

Suddenly, your back was against that tree again, plush moss protecting your skin from the rough bark as your mind processed what had happened. In a split second, Jasper had flipped you around, pinned you to the tree, and had both of your wrists pinned above your head with just one of his hands. All the while, he kept a careful watch on your emotions- exhilaration, love, and now that you'd realized what happened, shock. Jasper shook his head to the side, "A healthy dose of fear could do you some good."

"I'm not afraid of you, Jas." You whispered, breathless as your eyes flicked between his and his lips. Craning your neck, you caught his lips with yours and surprisingly he didn't pull away. The gentleman he was, he even let you maintain your illusion of control as he kept with you pace even as he held you captive.

You steadily moved yourself against him, lips in synchrony, chest flush against him only separated by a couple layers of fabric. Eventually, you couldn't keep the tempo you wanted if you kept straining up to his lips. A high pitched half whine, half moan escaped your throat that pushed the vampire over the edge.

With a low growl, he dropped your wrists in favor of hoisting you up like a bride- not that you minded as your arms fell neatly around his neck. Your forehead fell against his cheek as you struggled to catch your breath, "See, totally in control."

Smiling, you pressed kisses from the corner of his mouth down his jawline and then down his neck. Your faith in him was always astounding, more than he deserved. He could hear and feel your heavy pulse, smell every hormone, feel every emotion, and see the flush creeping up your neck. He could do this, he would never hurt you. This time, the blonde smirked even though you couldn't see it.

"You just brought yourself a death wish, sugar."

And with that, his lips attacked yours with aa fervor he'd never dared have before.

Thank God for spiked punch.

[kikoqueenofrats]

Jellybean headcannons [You be here]

Parcore arc antagonists headcannons [https://kikoqueenofrats.tumblr.com/post/681082166991536128/jellybean-headcannons]

Noogia quartet [https://kikoqueenofrats.tumblr.com/post/681150516670185472/jellybean-headcannons]

After all this time I've finally finished the refs!!

Now I'm gonna be posting in bursts to avoid long boring posts cuz I'm going to be putting stick specific headcannons in here as well.

This post is gonna be about the colour gang! Let's get into it!

cw scars

Jellybean Creation

RGYB were made by a tired university student hoping to kick off their game making career with a reinvented take on the simple stick figure fighting game.

They gave the sticks powers and tried to put in game mechanics to help make the game more complex. But being the only main creator of such a complex game became too much for the tired university student so they got rid of the complex mechanics and the sticks powers and just made a simple stick fight game instead. However the sticks powers are still there, inside the tangled mess of code that is their bodies.

Blue was created first, being the most developed of the group his powers are more prominent. They were going to be able to create and manipulate ice shards (Think Todoroki from MHA) but after the idea was scrapped Blue’s ability became somewhat innate. The only indication that he did have ice powers is the fact that he is cold to touch.

Green was made next and she was given super speed. Causing her to have a lot of unused energy that she gets out by stimming, running around and making a lot of noise, she is also the fastest out of the stickfigures.

Yellow and Red were created pretty closely together.

But Yellow was still made first.

She was going to have lightning manipulation, since she wasn't as developed however her "innate" powers aren't as prominent. Only really appearing if she gets shocked...She hardly notices friction shocks, though she definitely notices bigger shocks.

Red was going to have super strength, but since they were made just as their creator was losing motivation for the project they are practically a normal stickfigure. Their "innate" powers only really affecting their fight style.

Because their game is online, there is a possibility that there are more RGYB’s out there. However for the sake of my sanity I am only going to be focusing on Alan's RGYB.

Jellybean Refs and Headcannons

- He created the rainbow arm bands after the events of AvA 4. He just wanted to make a nice gift for his friends.

- They are the most mellow of the group. He prefers calmer activities like the slow bubble of potion making or the growing of gardens.

- He is the one most likely to hold a grudge against someone who hasn't worked to his standards to change after doing something unforgivable to them or their friends.

- They have a dark sense of humor

- She has high standards, a competitive streak and an eye (and ear) for art.

- It's not that they're better at everything, they just put more emphasis on when they're better at something

- Green, being the perfectionist that she is, cannot stand art forms with large margins for error (like painting or knitting).

- They are very open with their emotions, to the point that it may come across as whiny to others.

- Yellow likes to work on projects late at night, when no one else can interrupt her and to also chase away the nasty thoughts that seep into her mind.

- He likes to explore every inch or anything he finds interesting. Seeing what it can do or how far it can go, to the point of it or something around it breaking.

- She's more likely to react in anger to a distressing situation rather than bursting into tears.

- He is very prideful and loves patting herself on the back for a job well done.

- Very energetic and caring. The most forgiving of the group.

- They bottle up their feelings and then explode.

- They have little impulse control.

- They feel a lot, but it's usually too little or too much at strange times.

aaannnd that's all folks! For now that is- MAN Tumblr loved eating posts...let's hope this sends huh hfhdf-

[thesightstoshowyou]

request: may we please have Jesse Cromeans or asa having watched y/n for a long time, getting y/n's place ready, and fucking y/n on a fur rug in front of a fire?? maybe y/n is tied up too? something feral and dark??

Ooo, fur rug. Sexy idea, anon.

I chose Jesse for this one.

AFAB Reader (NSFW), TW noncon, blood, violence, degradation, fingering, anal, blood as lube

            Your keys rattle in the lock before the door swings open. You heave a heavy sigh as you dump your work files onto the entryway table. Your shoes are next, kicked off randomly as you trudge into your darkened home.

             You shuffle into the living room, intent on collapsing onto the couch for the rest of the night, but you tread across something soft. Something out of place. Glancing down, you find a pure white, fur rug spread out before your fire place. You frown, confused. What the hell—

             You gasp when cold steel slots under your chin. A black gloved hand slaps over your mouth, silencing your panicked shriek. Wildly, you search the mirror across the room. Your face pales when you spot your own terrified expression, and the imposing figure standing next to you wearing a chrome skull mask.

             He’s found you.

             Memories of a few months ago rise to the surface of your mind in vivid detail. He’d cornered you in an alley, threatened you, cut you, fucked you half senseless, then released you before disappearing without a trace. You’d stumbled home, reminders of what he would do to you should you call the police playing on repeat in your head.

             You hadn’t told anyone, but had he come here to kill you anyway, tie up a loose end? You tremble, a little squeaky sob bubbling up from your throat.

             ‘No screaming, or I cut out your tongue, kitten,’ comes the screeched voice from his phone.

             Kitten. He’d called you that in the alley too.

             Hastily, you nod. He removes his hand and taps your lips with the flat of the knife for emphasis. Your arms are wrenched behind your back and secured with zip ties. He shoves you to your knees and does the same to your ankles. Your clothes are cut away until you are bare and face down on the soft rug.

            He then turns his attention to the fireplace. Discreetly, you strain against the plastic digging grooves into your wrists, but you only succeed in rubbing your skin raw. Panic rises each second that passes until you’re whimpering, tears spilling into the fur beneath you.

             You jump when a fire roars to life. The masked man turns back to you, seating himself on the brick ledge before the fire and quickly typing something on his phone.

            ‘How’s that for ambiance?’ He spreads his arms, motioning to the rug and the crackling fire. You have no idea how to respond so you say nothing. He doesn’t seem concerned by your silence, instead pressing a button on the camera mounted on his shoulder. It beeps, red recording light flickering to life.

            Then, he bends down and stuffs your shredded panties in your mouth. He lifts a boot and sets it on top of your head, lightly digging the rubber sole into your cheek. You grunt, then scream around the fabric in your mouth when he drags the blade of his knife through the flesh of your ass. You writhe, but the boot on your face keeps you securely pinned in place.

            He continues to carve haphazard patterns into your ass and thighs, sharp, white hot lines of pain erupting everywhere the knife touches. Your throat is raw by the time he’s done, drool and tears pooling under the cheek smashed into the rug. Violently, you shake from head to toe, pleading around your gag.

            With a quiet clink, he sets the bloody knife on the mantel, then drags his fingers through the warm blood dripping down the backs of your thighs. You wince and hiss, then cry out when two, wet fingers prod your entrance. Leisurely, he pushes his fingers into your cunt, slowly pumping them in and out until you clench and whine.

            He curls his bloody digits, rubbing your sensitive walls in delicious circles. You clench your jaw, loath to let any sounds of pleasure escape, but soon you’re huffing and trembling, and this time it’s not from the pain. His other hand finds your clit and that’s enough to send you crashing into the abyss, a muffled moan escaping your mouth as warmth swirls in your gut.

             The boot lifts from your face and the man positions himself behind you. You hear the snap of a button and the drag of a zipper, then feel palms sliding over your bloody flesh. A glance over your shoulder finds him smearing your blood on his cock, the quiet schlick, schlick sound as he pumps his engorged flesh making you gag.

             You think you know where it’s going, but when the head of his generous cock presses against your asshole you wheeze and wiggle away. This earns you a sharp smack on your lacerated thigh for your trouble. Heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps, you fall still, dread settling heavily in your stomach.

             Gradually, he pushes into your ass, each inch burning more than the last. He advances slowly until his hips meet your thighs and a long exhale sounds behind the mask. Though, it seems he has reached the extent of his patience.

             Drawing back, he bucks forward, pulling an anguished scream from your throat. He sets a brutal pace, each powerful thrust jarring you to the core. Sweat beads along your brow, the heat from the fireplace only adding to your discomfort.

             He pulls out, rolls you onto your back, tosses your legs over his shoulders, and pushes back into your ass. He grips your jaw, making sure to get a good shot of your tear streaked face. You clench your eyes shut, not wanting to look at the blinking red light more than you have to.

             They snap back open when his thumb grazes your clit. He rubs slow circles, tilting his hips and thrusting deeper. A shocked moan sounds around the gag in your mouth. The man’s shoulder bob silently up in down in what could only be laughter.

             You cum when he does, pleasure exploding in your belly as warmth paints your insides. Abruptly, he slides his softening cock from your ass and you shudder at the strange, empty feeling. He drops your legs, standing and tucking himself back into his pants. He switches off the camera with a quiet ‘beep.’

             Slowly he leans down and you tense, ready for the final thrust of a knife, the killing blow. Instead, he pats your cheek, like one would an obedient dog. Retrieving his phone, he types out a quick message, one that chills you to the bone.

             ‘Thanks, kitten. See you soon.’

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 6

(Y/n)'s POV

Once I get over the fact that my brother's Latin teacher was half horse, we have a nice tour.

We pass by the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One points to the Minotaur horn Percy is carrying. Another says, "It's them."

Most of the campers are older than me. Their satyr friends are bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I'm not normally shy, but the way they are staring at me and Percy makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though they want us to do a flip or something.

I look back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than I'd realized - four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I'm checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches my eyes, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I get a distinct impression that I'm being watched.

"What's up there?" I ask Chiron.

He looks to where I'm pointing and his smile fades, "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?" Percy asks.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I get the feeling that he's being truthful, but I am also sure something had moved that curtain.

As we get closer, I realize how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"My own - ?" Percy is cut off.

"No," Chiron interupts. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for you, Percy, and a size three for you, (Y/n). I'll visit the armory later."

Finally, Chiron shows us the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on each side. And they are, without a doubt the most bizarre number above the door.

Except for the fact that each has a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they lock absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four has tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl, maybe nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I wave at the girl and she looks surprised, as though no one acknowledged her often, and waves back with a smile.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmer like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seem to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are covered with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guesses.

"Correct," Chiron says.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

I stop in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but low and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashells and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peek inside the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull me back, I catch the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glow like abalone. There are six empty bunks with silk sheets turned down, but there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, I am glad when Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gives him an evil sneer.

"Oh, look," Chiron says as we approach Cabin Eleven. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven. When we reach her, she looks me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drool.

I try to see what she was reading, but I can't make out the title. Then I realize the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have Masters' Archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells us, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. the threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in. The door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck, Percy, (Y/n). I'll see the two of you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

Percy's POV

We stand in the doorway, looking at the kids. They aren't bowing anymore. They are staring at us, sizing us up. I know this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompts. "Go on."

So naturally, I trip coming in the door, and (Y/n) grabs my upper arm, straightening me up. There are some snickers from the campers, but none of them say anything.

Annabeth announces, "Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asks.

I don't know what to say, but Annabeth says, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, (Y/n). You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looks pretty cool. He's tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wears an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, and her voice sounds different somehow. I glance over and swear she's blushing, but after a moment she sees me looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" (Y/n) asks, looking rather curious.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I look around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they are waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"Good question," Luke replies. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laugh and (Y/n) facepalms.

"Come on," Annabeth tells us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it."

"Come on."

Annabeth grabs my wrist and drags me outside. I can hear the kids of Cabin Eleven laughing behind me and (Y/n) waves good-bye shyly.

When we are a few feet away, Annabeth says, "Jackson, you have to do better than that?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I'm getting angry now, (Y/n) watching us cautiously. "All I know is, we kill some bull guy -"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth tells me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shake my head. "Look, if the thing we fought is really the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"Percy," (Y/n) says calmly. "I think what Annabeth is saying, is that monsters eventually reform."

Annabeth nods and I think about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth answers and (Y/n) suppresses a laugh.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sound whiny, even to myself, but right then I don't care. "Why do we have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I point to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turns pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent."

She stares at me, waiting for me to get it.

"Our mother is Sally Jackson," (Y/n) says softly. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead," I say simply. "We never knew him."

Annabeth sighs. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say -"

"Because I know the two of you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us.

"No?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How -"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I try to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like...you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I am reeling with so many questions I don't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yells, "Well! Two newbies!"

I look over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which I somehow understand is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I have a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps she isn't so sure she can follow through on ht threat. She turns towards me, then she looks at Percy. "Who are these's runts?"

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Aries."

Percy blinks. "Like . . . the war god?"

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy says, seemingly recovering his 'wits'. "It explains the bad smell."

Long story short, Percy made the toilets explode.

Yeah, I said it. He made the toilets explode . . .

Word Count: 2455 words

[everchased]

Ok, potentially ignorant question, what is the difference between emo, metal, and punk music? I grew up mostly listening to classic rock and didn't really get exposed to this whole world until adulthood, but when I go to listen to playlists of these genres, they all just sound like iterations of rock music and I don't get what the big fuss is about as far as the delineations go. To use Gerry's color metaphor, they sound like lilac, violet, and plum, but they all still sound purple

you’re right, they are all rock music! but rock is a very, very, very, very big genre. i wrote a whole essay as a response to this but realized no one would fucking want to read that so HERE ARE THE HIGHLIGHTS of why they’re similar but Not The Same.

metal music:

evolved from the hard rock scene

focuses on the complexity of solos and riffs, extreme skill in guitar work

higher priority of music over lyrics, the sound itself is an expression of creativity

lyrics tend toward the metaphorical instead of literal, lots of symbolism and mythology

very structured instrumentals

metalhead fashion usually consists of trip pants, cargo pants, or jeans, a band shirt, long hair, spikes, silver chains, and black face paint/make up. there’s an emphasis but not a requirement of black

Example: The Enemy Inside by Dream Theater

punk music:

very adaptable genre, much simpler guitar style influenced by Johnny Ramone

originally started as a countermovement to prog rock (which, like metal, is very much focused on technical complexity)

focuses mainly on the message and doesn’t really give a shit who can play the fastest solo

HUGE scene in britain and europe.

(there’s recently been some bleed between punk and metal as the punk mentality has broadened to encompass other genres)

punk fashion focuses on ripped skinny jeans, band shirts, and leather or jean jackets that are covered in pins and patches and buttons

Example: Something to Believe In by The Ramones, or more recently, Someday by The Strokes

emo music:

much more of a focus on emotions (hence the name) and personal/relationship matters as opposed to sociopolitical matters

compared to the other two it’s more expressive and melodic

slower and less aggressive, more melancholy

has its roots in a response to the growing violence in the punk scene

emo fashion is usually centered around the colors black, red, and sometimes pink. emphasis on jewelry, tight pants, dyed streaks in the hair, and hair that’s swooped in front of the face

Example: MakeDamnSure by Taking Back Sunday

TL;DR: think of metal and punk as two trees in the forest of rock music, and sometimes a couple of their many, many branches kinda like. brush and kiss a lil bit when the wind blows just right. and emo is a tiny little baby branch on the punk tree.

[ironstarker]

understudy

notes: as a milestone for reaching 500 followers, i felt compelled to write this. this is a mixture of starker and spiderio, but the emphasis is on starker. i’d like to do a part two someday, because i have an idea of where i’d like to see this go, but i say that about a lot of things. also i won’t lie, this was partially inspired by taylor swift’s new song exile. bon iver gets me every time. this is a long one (5k! whoot!) so i put it under a read more. enjoy!

warning(s): alcoholism (heavily implied)

AO3 Link ______________________________________________________________

With every passing moment, it became harder for Tony to look away from Peter. He was standing a few paces away, one arm snug around the waist of a researcher Tony knew (after extensive digging with FRIDAY) to be one Quentin Beck. The guy was upstanding, one of the best in his field, and Tony supposed that it was natural for Peter to gravitate towards him. The kid loved brilliant minds, and how could Tony blame him? It was the reason they’d gotten together in the first place. Peter insisted that he’d fallen in love with Tony’s brain before his money, but the older man was willing to bet the combination of his brain and his mouth were what had driven Peter away.

That was how it went for Tony, without fail.

There was a woman at his own hip, a champagne flute in her hand. She was trying to hold his attention. Tony was surprised that she hadn’t given up yet (he was up to four already tonight, each who had tried and failed and decided he wasn’t worth the effort when there were other men just as pretty as him, and maybe not as rich but rich enough to be worth it) but he felt it coming soon. The curve of her smile had turned into a gentle frown, and he saw movement from the corner of her eye as she continued looking over her shoulder to see what captured his attention. She would know. They all knew the story of Tony Stark and Peter Parker, courtesy of the tabloids and TMZ.

He wasn’t sure who had recorded their fight, but he’d gotten his settlement for it already. That didn’t mean it would scrape the damn thing off the surface of the internet, though. It was there, to live in permanence forever, the moment that Tony mouthed off at Peter in the middle of Marea and left him (and Tony’s favorite tiramisu) seated alone to handle the check. It could’ve been worse. Honestly, Tony had a mean streak in him, and Peter was lucky to have gotten out before the older man really humiliated him.

The kid was lucky to be free of him.

But Tony wanted him back.

He hated it, standing there trying to pretend like he didn’t see the boy enjoying his evening with Quentin. According to FRIDAY, their relationship had started shortly after the video had been released. Tony was willing to bet Quentin had swooped in like some overgrown vulture, intent on snatching Peter up before someone else had the chance to. They met because Tony had reassigned Peter from the project they’d been working on together and he’d put him on Quentin’s instead. It was a move meant to get Peter away from him, and it had worked. Much, much too well it had worked. FRIDAY let him watch the footage of Peter introducing himself to Quentin. It was innocent, at first. Tony watched each day of footage, and soon enough morning waves turned into morning coffees courtesy of the younger man, and then late nights where their fingers would brush and Peter’s cheeks would turn red.

Tony recognized all of the signs, because each and every one of them were things the kid used to do with him. Peter used to bring him coffee every morning, and the older man would give him a grateful (if not tired) smile. The late nights in the lab? Tony had thought that was their thing. At least fooling around on top of his desk remained sacred. Peter wasn’t fooling around with Quentin on Stark Industries property, probably because he didn’t trust Tony not to invade his privacy (smart move) and fire Quentin as a result. He’d never fire Peter. Tony had promised the kid that, even as he’d tried apologizing while Peter packed away his things into a box and saw himself out of the penthouse.

He wanted to be bitter towards Peter for moving on so quickly. How had he already found a replacement? But how could Tony blame him? His name was splashed across every tabloid and had been for months since they’d broken up. Every one night stand that he left charity galas and nightclubs with headlined the front page of celebrity news gossip, and Tony hadn’t done a thing to rein it (or himself) in.

But Peter looked like he was doing fine. Maybe the tabloid gossip didn’t even bother him.

“ — night, Tony,” the woman in front of him said, and he blinked, coming back to earth with enough time to register her walking away from him, hips swaying.

On any other night, Tony was good at playing bachelor. He turned on the charm for anyone and everyone, men and women alike. Tonight, with Peter in attendance? He was hopeless. Tony was beginning to think that he shouldn’t have allowed the kid to come, but HR and their anti-discrimination bullshit would’ve had something to say about that.

So, instead of continuing his staring, he turned on his heel and went to get himself a drink. It was easier to handle these things when he was drunk out of his mind, and Tony was hoping it would help him forget the kid laughing because of whatever dumb joke Quentin had whispered into his ear.

Across the room, Peter’s eyes flickered in Tony’s direction. The billionaire’s presence filled up every space that he went, and tonight Peter felt his ego transcended the entire ballroom. They were at Carnegie Hall for Stark Industries’ annual Christmas party, and everyone wanted a piece of Tony. Peter couldn’t blame them. He looked exceptional tonight, dapper in a freshly pressed suit and a bowtie that had to be new. Peter had never seen him wear it before, and he’d taken an extensive tour of Tony’s closet. He tried not to look for the other man too much tonight, but sometimes his eyes would stray and he wasn’t able to help himself.

At least Quentin hadn’t noticed.

Peter’s brow knitted as he watched Tony direct himself towards the bar. That was when Peter stopped watching. He didn’t like seeing Tony drink. Peter was confident that whatever had happened at Marea happened because Tony had had a few too many glasses of scotch at work and then proceeded to drink throughout the first half of their dinner together. It was when the boy had tried to casually suggest that he stop that the other man had exploded.

And now, that part of their history together would be immortalized, never to be forgotten.

It wasn’t a part that Peter was proud of. The public hadn’t seen the rest of their moments together in private, and while Peter was thankful for it, that night painted a bad look on Tony. Pepper had told him the next morning that share prices for Stark Industries had dipped three points after that video had been released, and she was losing her mind doing damage control. Peter had promised to stay away from Tony. So far, he had done an excellent job of it. But forgetting Tony Stark? It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, even with Quentin by his side.

Quentin was a wonderful man. A little overbearing at times, sort of quirky in the way that all researchers were. He was obsessed with his work, but that suited Peter fine. It gave them easy subjects to talk about, and Peter had found that he was a sucker for intelligence. When Quentin had asked him out to dinner after a long, successful day in the lab? How could Peter have said no?

And now the man’s fingers were digging into his side, not enough to hurt or anything, but a warm reminder that he was there. It was that sense of belonging Peter thought he had craved, but even now his eyes strayed to Tony. The other man had raised his hand to flag the bartender. Peter saw a flash of green from where Tony had probably pulled out a hundred dollar bill to tip him. The older man didn’t carry change, because he only ever withdrew money for events like these, Peter knew. He bit his lip as he watched, but then a gentle squeeze on his hip made him look up into the face of the man smiling down at him.

“Do you want something from the bar?”

Quentin was asking him that because he had to have seen the way Peter was watching Tony. In his panic, Peter was quick to nod. “I’ll — I saw a woman with some blue frozen thing that looked good,” Peter explained, and he tried not to cringe at how obvious it sounded.

But Quentin looked placated, if not a little comforted by his words, and Peter almost let out a sigh of relief. “One blue frozen thing, coming right up,” Quentin said. He grinned, leaning in. Peter raised on the tips of his toes so the taller man could plant a kiss on his cheek, and he watched Quentin walk away. Tony was still standing at the bar, leaning against it looking carefree. A woman had sidled up to him again. Peter looked away, searching the crowd to find faces that he recognized. He didn’t want to watch Tony charming another person to warm his bed at night.

At the bar, Tony was drumming his fingers against the counter, watching the bartender pour him a scotch (“Generous on the ice, generous on the pour,” Tony had said), all the while fighting the urge to turn around. He had hopes that the booze would help him forget all about Peter. His head was filled with Peter, stuffed like a ball of cotton or a turkey on Thanksgiving. The bartender set his drink down in front of him and Tony raised it in a mock gesture of cheers. The man had already turned to another customer, so Tony sighed into his glass before taking a swig.

There was another woman by his side, closer than was natural. “What’re you drinking tonight, Tony?” she asked, and he appraised her, taking his time to answer. This one was a blonde, her hair framing her face in long waves, her makeup a little too flashy for his tastes. After all the time he’d spent with Peter, his tendencies had swayed more toward natural of late. It was why he enjoyed morning sex so much. Most of these women would wash up before a second go, or if they didn’t, half their faces wound up smeared in his pillows. The men were even better.

“Scotch on the rocks.” She made a face, and out of habit he grinned. “Not a fan? What’re you pining for, sweetheart?” He went to raise his hand to get the bartender’s attention, but she stayed his wrist. Her fingers dug into his skin, and he found himself wishing he was left handed so his watch might’ve absorbed some of the bite of her manicure. “You.”

God, the level of effort it took for him not to roll his eyes was astounding. He tried to smile at her, but Tony knew that it looked like a grimace. She was staring at him with bedroom eyes, ready to pounce. Her fingers kept him from using his scotch as a distraction, which was the entire point. “You and everyone else in the room,” he said, and he gave a haughty bark of laughter that he knew she wouldn’t like.

Not to his surprise, in her shock, her fingers went slack on his wrist. She gaped at him, and Tony arched a brow and gave her a cool look as he raised his tumbler of scotch and sipped it. “Guess TMZ had a point,” she said, all spark gone from her face.

She looked at him, disgusted, turning her back to leave him to his thoughts. Maybe she thought he’d be ashamed of himself. Tony wasn’t. He watched her go, a sense of relief settling inside his stomach. Tony turned his body back towards the bar. He took another sip from his scotch, debating whether or not to down the contents, when a familiar voice spoke up next to him,

“ — said it was some kind of frozen blue drink?”

Tony turned his head and stared at Quentin Beck. It was comical, the way the man looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Tony chanced a look over his shoulder, but without Quentin’s height to pinpoint, he couldn’t make out where Peter was in the crowd. “Oh, Tony,” Quentin said, and the older man’s eyes were directed towards Quentin. “You know, I’ve been meaning to speak to you about additional funding for the project. Peter’s drawn up schematics that allow for additional detail with the augmented reality program I’m — you know, Binary Au — ”

“BARF, right,” Tony said, and he found a pathetic satisfaction in the way Quentin’s brow knitted and he frowned. “What about the funding?”

Quentin hesitated, looking as though he was having an internal debate about whether or not to correct Tony’s acronym, but he continued, “Well, uh, as I was saying, Peter found a way to get microscopic levels of accuracy within the program. I’m talking perfect skin texture, details like fingerprints and even something as small as a hangnail — but it’s going to be expensive.”

“Expensive,” Tony repeated, “and experimental?”

It shouldn’t have made Tony so gleeful, the apprehension on Quentin’s face. “…Somewhat. There’s no guarantees that it isn’t dependent on what the person can imagine. Someone like myself, or — or you, or even Peter, we know what the program can do, so that would come naturally. But for people with standard levels of cognition and intelligence, it might not matter.”

Tony liked to think that he was a practical man. He wouldn’t go around sabotaging groundbreaking work because of a failed relationship. Did he want to? Of course he did. He wanted to deny Quentin’s budget request, tell him to table it and save it for the Board to hear about, but he was the CEO. So Tony shrugged. “File a formal request. Give it to Pepper, I’ll sign it. I like what you and Pete are doing.”

Quentin gave him a strange look. Tony was quick to brush it off by sipping his scotch. Thankfully, the bartender made his own appearance, setting down a tall, frozen glass of something that was electric blue and didn’t look the slightest bit alcoholic. Quentin’s eyebrows rose as he looked at it. It even had a tiny umbrella speared through a cherry floating at the top of it.

“You always struck me as a wine drinker, Beck,” Tony said.

“It’s for Peter,” he said.

“Peter doesn’t drink.”

It was automatic, Tony’s response. His mouth decided to do that thing where it ran without consulting first with his brain. He saw Quentin’s expression shift, his fingers stilling against the sides of the glass from where he’d meant to grab it. Tony should’ve let him go. He shouldn’t have said anything. But it was true. Peter didn’t drink. He’d never seen the kid so much as sip alcohol in all the months they were together. The one time Peter had offered him a taste of his scotch, the poor kid had gone green around the gills and gagged, for fuck’s sake. He hated it.

“You don’t know Peter as well as you think you do.” Quentin was smiling at him, but there was something vicious about it, like he hadn’t just asked Tony for a budgetary increase on his project. Tony raised his chin a fraction, straightening himself up to his full height so he wasn’t eye level with Quentin’s collarbone, at least. The other man was still taller than him, and Tony found that he was peeved by it.

“Maybe it's the other way around,” Tony suggested.

Quentin’s eyebrow rose, but Tony didn’t miss the way his expression darkened. There was something there, he had always suspected it. The researcher put on this nice, quirky little act, but Tony had a feeling he was as feral as a hyena. Always loitering around bigger, better people, waiting to fend off their scraps.

“I think Peter already settled that for himself,” Quentin said, and he picked up the drink and spared Tony a cool glance. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stark. My date is waiting for his drink.”

“Pretty rude for you to have kept him waiting so you could grovel at my feet about a little extra budget,” Tony snarked.

All Beck had to do, in Tony’s humble opinion, was turn and walk away. He could be the bigger man. That was fine. Tony didn’t want to be the bigger man. There was a gleam in his eyes that spoke of how he wanted to take the role of vindictive bastard tonight.

Beck didn’t turn around. He didn’t walk away. Instead, he said, “I’m the rude one, Mr. Stark? You’re the one who stood by and broke the kid’s heart. He loved you, you know. I don’t get why. What’s there to want from a drunk two bottles away from an early grave? But you know what? Don’t worry. I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”

Tony’s lips twisted into the beginnings of a snarl, his hand finding Quentin’s tie before the other had time to react. The drink in Quentin’s hand sloshed over the side, splashing across their shoes and staining the other man’s sleeves.

“What are you doing?”

Peter’s voice cut through the red haze he saw. Quentin’s expression had morphed from brimming rage to relief. “Pete! There you are. I don’t know what came over Tony, he’s — ”

“Tony, let him go,” Peter demanded, one of his hands on Tony’s wrists, trying to relax the ironclad grip he had on the other man.

Maybe it was because Tony was already looking to pick a fight. Maybe it was because the sight of Peter trying to dab at his date’s stained arm filled him with a possessive rage, or because he hated how Peter was apologizing to Quentin on his behalf like he had to. Whatever the reason, the next thing Tony knew was the crack of bone against his knuckles as Quentin’s face wound up a punching bag for his fist. The other man staggered back, groaning, bringing a hand up to his bleeding nose.

“Tony!”

It wasn’t Peter who had called his name, but rather Pepper. She was marching up to them even as Peter was fussing over Quentin’s face. Quentin was trying to brush it off, but as Pepper weaved through the thick throng of people in the room, Tony took that as his opportunity to exit the stage.

He fled, like he always did, ignoring the way Pepper shouted after him and the hurt look on Peter’s face that would come to haunt him the rest of the night.

Tony spent his evening locked up in his penthouse. FRIDAY was under strict orders to deny entry to anyone else, so he sat in his darkened living room, hunched forward on his couch. There was a half-drunk bottle of scotch sitting on the coffee table, and a tumbler that was ready to be refilled. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. Tony had since removed his suit jacket, his bowtie left draped across his shoulders and his shirt unbuttoned. He drank into the early hours of the morning and then passed out on the couch, his polished shoes still on his feet.

“Boss? You’ve got a visitor.”

Tony groaned, turning his head into the couch to hide the light from the risen sun. “Where are my blackout curtains, FRIDAY?” he asked, his voice muffled by the couch cushion.

There was a beat of silence, but then he heard a soft whirring and the room was bathed in darkness. Tony risked it, cracking open an eye and lifting this head off the couch. The room was almost completely dark.

“What’s this about a visitor?” Tony prompted, his voice gruff, his eyes lingering on the empty bottle of scotch. Jesus, had he drunk it all? “No visitors allowed. We’re under strict lockdown,” he said, and Tony got to his feet, his bowtie slipping off and onto the floor. Tony left it there in favor of picking up his bottle of scotch and his tumbler, carrying them both into the kitchen. His head was pounding, and he needed some fucking Advil.

“It’s Peter, boss. He says it’s important. He used your code to override my protocols.”

Tony grunted, depositing the empty glass into his sink and leaving the empty bottle on the marbled countertops. He’d have to get those access codes changed. “How forward of him,” Tony muttered, more to himself than to FRIDAY, and he moved to rummage through his cabinets, hunting the Advil that would ease the pounding in his brain.

No sooner than he’d popped three of the pills into his mouth and tossed them back with a sip of water than FRIDAY announced Peter’s arrival to the penthouse. Tony sighed, lingering near the sink, and then he walked away from his kitchen and made his way to the foyer.

When the elevator opened, revealing Peter, Tony’s heart began thrumming in his chest. He’d always had heart problems, courtesy of a shitty ticker that was hereditary on his father’s side, but he knew this wasn’t a result of that. This was a direct response to Peter, who looked red-eyed and sad. Tony knew he shouldn’t be thinking it, but he hoped that meant things with Quentin were over. Peter had made his choice.

Instead, the kid shrugged a backpack off his shoulder as he stepped out of the elevator and into the foyer. He was biting his lip, his eyes darting around like he was once again familiarizing himself with a space he had once filled. If he thought anything of the fact that Tony was wearing the same clothes that he had the night before, he didn’t bring it up. Peter opened the backpack, and Tony blinked as he pulled out an AC/DC shirt, worn and ragged, that Tony recognized as his own.

“I found this in my bottom drawer while I was doing laundry last week,” Peter explained, and he clutched the shirt like he never wanted to let it go. Tony didn’t say a word. “At first I — I wanted to keep it.”

“You should,” Tony blurted, and he again cursed his mouth.

Peter smiled in a sad way and shook his head, running his fingers over the faded lettering. “I can’t. It’s yours, and I can’t look at it without thinking about…about us.” Peter raised his head and looked at Tony, tears in his eyes. “It’s not fair to Quentin.”

Tony’s heart sank. “To Quentin?”

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence between them. Peter’s eyes were anxious as they settled on Tony. He waited, like he was expecting the older man to say something else. When Tony didn’t, Peter held the shirt out in offering. Tony looked at it, but he didn’t take it.

In the back of his mind, something whispered to him that he didn’t like being handed things.

Another part of him protested, it’s Peter.

“I don’t want it,” Tony said, and shrugged. “Keep it. Throw it away. Toss it outside, for all I care. If I missed it I would’ve given you a call.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped, and Tony felt his heart seizing. He wanted to take it back, to apologize. “If that’s how you feel,” Peter said, and sounded resigned as he took the shirt and started zipping up his backpack. Tony noticed the kid didn’t put the shirt inside. “I also came here to…to talk,” Peter hedged, dragging the backpack up his shoulder so it was slung there, dangling from one strap. “About what happened at the Christmas party.”

“What happened? Something happened?”

Trying to make light of it wasn’t working, though. Peter’s frown deepened. “Can you just — for once in your life, Tony, can you be serious? This is serious! You’re acting like a — like a teenager. You got into a fight with my boyfriend in front of everyone we work with and now we’re headlining the front pages again. I was just putting everything else behind me and now I have to worry about this, too?”

“It’s tabloid gossip, Pete. It’ll die down as soon as everyone has something better to talk about. Word on the street is Jennifer Aniston was seen leaving Brad Pitt’s bachelor pad two nights ago, think about the buzz when that leaks.”

Peter didn’t look mollified. “I don’t want to be tabloid gossip, Tony! I don’t want to be TMZ’s hot topic for the day. It undermines everything I’m doing. All anybody sees now when I walk into a room is Tony Stark’s leftovers, and that sucks.”

This time, it was Tony’s turn to look affronted. He tried to ignore the bitter pang that he felt in his heart. “You’re not my leftovers,” he whispered.

“Right,” Peter scoffed, “tell that to Perez Hilton.” There was another moment of uncomfortable silence. “Tony, I can’t do this. I can’t keep doing this. It’s ruining every aspect of my life.”

The kid’s voice sounded thick with tears, and Tony couldn’t do anything other than lower his eyes. He looked down at the shirt clutched in Peter’s grasp. “You came all this way to bring that back?” he asked, and the abrupt change in subject must have startled Peter, because he raised his head and stared at the older man like he’d grown a second head. “Here. Give it to me.” Tony snatched the fabric from Peter’s grasp, tucking it beneath his arm.

“That isn’t…that’s not all I wanted,” Peter admitted, after a heavy moment of fidgeting that made Tony want to grab the kid’s hands to make him stop picking at his own nail beds. He hated when the kid did that. Peter took a deep breath, almost like he was steeling himself. “I wanted to tell you I’m resigning.”

Tony blinked, feeling like the earth was tilting on its axis but he wasn’t moving with it. “Resigning?” He sounded like a parrot.

“I was offered a position at Oscorp. They’re — it’s a really good opportunity, and…and I need to distance myself from whatever this is.”

“Distance? Pete, give me a break. We’ve been distant. This is the closest we’ve been in months.” How desperate did it sound, him cracking a joke to make Peter stay?

“You know what I mean, Tony.” Peter was mumbling his words. Tony wanted to yell at him, to tell him that he knew he was mumbling because he didn’t want to have this conversation. Why were they having it? “So — so here’s my badge,” Peter added, unfastening it from his backpack. He offered it to Tony. “I know I should probably be doing this through, like, Pepper or someone, but I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.”

Tony found himself thinking that was nice of Peter. Decent. But Peter was a decent kid, so it wasn’t anything less than what he expected. “Hold on a hot second. Let me get this straight. You’re turning down what’s all but a guaranteed corner office as the head of R&D for a shot at Oscorp? Kid, you and I both know you can do better.”

Peter’s expression flickered from shocked to hurt, and the hand holding his security badge dropped to his side. “You know, after months I thought maybe you’d get the balls to apologize. To — to call me, or to text me. Something. Anything. But you didn’t. So yeah, I moved on.” Tony watched him frown, staring down at his scuffed Converse. “You were the one who left me there, in that restaurant. It wasn’t the other way around, Tony. So yeah, I want it over. I want to be rid of you. Can you blame me?” Peter peeked up at him.

Tony stared at the kid, his resolve crumbling. Everything Peter said was true. He was the one who had walked out. He was the one who had forced Peter to put a two hundred dollar dinner on his credit card, and then had the audacity to wire him money without so much as a “sorry” for it later. Maybe the least he could do this time was something to make leaving him easier for Peter. So Tony shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg? I’m looking out for your future, Pete. One of us has to.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped and he hunched forward. “Okay. If that’s how you feel. Great. Then I am thinking of my future, Tony. And I can’t wait for it to be far away from you.” He dropped the badge at the older man’s feet, his hands holding the strap of his backpack in a white-knuckled grip. “Bye, Tony,” he muttered, and the elevator doors opened for him, as though FRIDAY had been listening all along. She probably was.

Tony stood there, impassive, as Peter got into the elevator. He didn’t move from the spot where he stood. Hell, he barely breathed. It was only once the doors shut and a ding announced Peter’s descent back to the main floor of the building that he looked down at his feet. He crouched, swiping up Peter’s badge. Tony stared at the boy’s grinning face, his cheeks rosy, eyes sparking with excitement from his first day at Stark Industries. Hours later, he’d run smack into Tony in the middle of the hall, spilling coffee all over the both of them. A trip to the bathroom later, and he was walking out flushed red for a different reason.

A sigh.

Tony got to his feet, carrying the badge and the shirt into his kitchen. He tossed them both on the center island, abandoning them there to be dealt with later (and preferably by Pepper, who would come by once she realized he hadn’t shown up Monday morning) so he could make his way instead to his liquor cabinet. Tony opened it, eyeing the various bottles. “Hello, dear,” he said, selecting a vintage that he thought he’d been saving for a special occasion.

It was as good an excuse as any.

[mel-the-fangirl]

Race (Part 2)

Sam Holland x Reader, Harry Holland x Reader

Words: 2,206

Sooo, I wrote the first part years ago, it was requested by @/voidxkenobi (I’m not sure if you’re still active around here or if you’re still into the Holland boys but wherever you are and whatever you’re interested in now, I hope you’re happy and healthy. Thank you for the idea.)

This next part was requested by anonymous years ago as well. Forgive me, anon!

I started writing it as a whole but it was getting too long, so I decided to split it into four to five(?) parts.

You can read part 1 here.

I’m really nervous about this one since the first part was so long ago. But I hope you all enjoy it. Please leave a like, a comment, a reblog, if you fancy it.

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There really was nothing like a leisurely bike ride on a sunny afternoon.

The breeze soothingly caressed through your hair, you would close your eyes once and awhile just to revel in the sensation. 

You basked in the gentle sunlight, the warmth of it painting your cheeks in a soft peachy glow.

It was the perfect day, almost as if all the cosmic powers of the universe conspired just for this one day, this one chunk of the afternoon, and boy, were you grateful.

And how could you forget the cherry on top?

The soft breeze carried the sound all around you, echoing and ricocheting off the sun-soaked walls. The sweet, dulcet tones of your friends, Sam and Harry, yelling bloody murder, cursing under their breath, and hurling threats at you.

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you boosted yourself on Sam’s bike (which you stole with zero hesitation, by the way), willing yourself to go even faster.

No way in hell were you going to let them catch up with you.

Were they insane? Asking you to… go on dates with them?

Just the thought of it made you all jumpy inside. You three had been friends even before the awkward puberty phases then through the acne, the braces, and through many, many questionable hairstyle choices, they both lived through that. So the fact that they were both pining for your affection was beyond you. 

Your hair whipped behind you in almost violent streaks. You were beginning to forget the point of this whole race since they would no doubt corner you at your house anyway.

Am I supposed to hide? Where in the hell would I even hide?

As you began to think about your next move, you were starting to lose focus on the road and were slowing down. The twins noticed this and decided to use it to their advantage.

Sure, they were competing against each other for the whole thing but there wasn't going to be a thing if you weren’t going to say yes. And to get you to say yes, they were going to have to catch you first.

They shared a look, twin telepathy at work, and gave each other a discreet nod.

You pedalled on, unassuming, somewhat lost in your thoughts.

Did you have feelings for any of them?

You weren’t going to fool yourself, you’d have to be both blind and an idiot not to have noticed how handsome they’ve both gotten through the years.

Maybe you would blush when one of them stared at you too long, maybe the way they would bend over backwards just to make you laugh made your heart melt into lousy puddle, and maybe you would obsess over it for hours when one of them gave you a peck on the cheek before going back home for the day. 

Maybe that’s all happened more than once. Way more than once, if you were being brutally honest.

But so, what? Did that even mean anything?

“No.” you scoffed, picking up speed once again. 

It didn’t mean anything, it shouldn’t mean anything. Dating was complicated, friendship was easy, that’s that. You ignored the way your heart was starting to pump faster, and it wasn’t from all the pedalling.

I do not have feelings for Sam and Harry. I don’t! Who even said I did, definitely not me. I didn’t say that.  It’s hilarious how platonic I feel about them. Hilarious! A real laugh riot!

It was starting to get really obvious how you were drowning yourself in denial and how close you were to becoming a teensy bit unhinged. If there really was nothing there then what harm could one date do? If everything was totally platonic like you said, then why were you panicking?

You weren’t panicking! Panicking? You? Why, you were cool as a cucumber!

“I’m cool as a cucumber!” you stated loudly, causing a passing dog walker to actively increase the distance between you

“Cool as a cucumber.” you quietly muttered to yourself, mind racing

The gears in your head began to turn as quickly as the gears on Sam’s bike. You had it. You finally knew what you were going to do and it all started with what they wanted you to do in the first place.

Let them have their dates with you! Let them have their fun! But at the crucial moment, you’d let them down easy, tell them that all you three would ever be was mates and this whole circus will be forgotten.

Genius.

Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to see what they were like on a date. Just because you were curious. Not for any other reason. 

You snickered to yourself, clearly losing yourself in the overwhelming waves of denial. When you finally managed to snap yourself out of it, you noticed the absence of Sam and Harry’s heavy footfalls behind you.

“That’s weird.” you mumbled, trying your best to look around for them without getting into an accident

“Well, hello there, Y/N.” Harry materialised in front of you almost from thin air, startling you

You braked just in time, Sam’s bike teetered forward dangerously, threatening to throw you head first onto the pavement. You scrunched your eyes shut, bracing yourself for impact.

“Whoa, Y/N!”

Two sets of arms reached out to catch you, grabbing hold of the handlebars before you could fall.

“Y/N, are you alright? I told him not to startle you but what do you expect?” Sam held your hand to steady you, letting his eyes scan for any injuries 

Harry took a step closer to you, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He kept his eyes on the ground, not daring to look at you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. Really. I hope you aren’t hurt.” he apologised, oozing with sincerity

You looked at each of their guilt-ridden and concerned faces, feeling your heart skip like a fucking preschooler hopped up on sugar. You were seriously beginning to wonder if you even needed a heart.

“Listen, Y/N, about that thing we cornered you about earlier-” Sam tried his best to maintain eye contact with you but he was getting so red that you could barely make out his freckles

“I’ll do it.” you cut him off, taking pity on him and at the same time setting your plan in motion

Harry put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, gently shoving him out of the way, mouth and eyes wide open, “What did you just say?”

Sam brushed Harry’s hand off his shoulder and gave him a slightly less than gentle shove out of the way, “Did you just...?”

The expression on their faces was something you couldn’t put a price on, it gave you the push you needed to keep any (which there were none) bubbling feelings for them far from the surface. 

That is until they started jumping around, patting themselves on the back. 

A memory from not too long ago flashed before your eyes. The three of you jumping just like they were right then, the twins muddy and sweaty with you in a pristine Sunday dress, their football team had just won the game, with the twins working together to score the winning goal. They ran straight to you and you ran to meet them, you ignored the mud on their uniforms and the disapproving look from your parents and engulfed them in a hug, giddy and overjoyed.

You felt your heart soften, watching them as happy as you were that day, all because they were going to take you on a date. In your mind, you were nowhere near as exciting as scoring a winning goal.

"Well done! We're taking Y/N on a date!" they cheered loudly, attracting a few stares from passersby

“Yeah, yeah. Just keep it down, will you?" you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up 

They skipped over to you, arm in arm, and pulled you in a big old hug.

"Okay, okay! You two just… You'd better show me a good time."

"Y/N, when have we ever not shown you a good time?" Harry asked, looking at you quizzically

You untangled yourself from them, regaining some composure and started counting off on your fingers, "Well, there was that one time when we were playing hide and seek as kids and Sam, you told me to hide in a bush that turned out to be poison ivy-" 

"For the hundredth time, I didn't know, it was poison ivy!" Sam interjected

"-and there was that time where both of you took turns spinning me around during prom and I ended up puking on my dress and on your shoes, Harry."

"I didn't mind." he huffed, crossing his arms against his chest

"Well, I did," you placed a hand on your chest for emphasis, “And it was really embarrassing.” you shuddered

The twins put an arm around each other’s shoulders, a united front against your attempt to harm their respectable reputation.

“You’re making it sound like we didn’t shield you from everyone all the way to the ladies’ room.” Harry reminded you

“Yeah, and we snuck all the way to the hotel supply closet for stain remover.” Sam added

They both looked at you with wounded puppy dog eyes, chipping away at your barely existing defenses. You threw your arms up in defeat.

“Alright, fine! Whatever! Can you please just take me home now? You two are exhausting.”

“But you looooove us.” Harry singsonged

You groaned loudly, placing your fists to your eyes as they laughed at you.

After that though, the walk home was surprisingly quiet. You were grateful for it but you couldn't help but wonder what was going on in their heads this time.

Finally, you arrived home. The twins waved goodbye, promising that you would hear from them tomorrow. As ominous as it sounded for you, you couldn't find the strength to worry about it.

You shut the door to your bedroom, turned off all the lights, and burrowed yourself into your blankets. It was time for a very long sleep. 

--In the Holland household--

As soon as the front door shut, Harry and Sam squared off against each other, united front long forgotten.

"So-" Harry began but Sam cut him off before he could get any words out

"I'm not telling you what I’m doing for the date." Sam strode away without another word

Harry stood there in stunned silence, mouth hanging open. He scoffed in disbelief, furrowing his brows and crossing his arms tightly at his chest.

How in the hell did Sam know he was going to ask? Did Sam think he was going to copy off of him? Yeah, right. As if Harry needed help planning a date. He had lots of great date ideas! He just… didn’t have anyone he could do them with.

He brushed that slightly sad thought off with a quick shake of his head and he set out through the house to find Sam. There was no way he wasn’t getting anything out of him.

“Ah, there he is! My favourite brother!” Harry found Sam at the piano, a detail he found mildly odd since Sam was focusing more on cooking these days

Sam rolled his eyes at Harry’s endearment and turned to face him.

“I am not telling you a single thing about my date with Y/N.” he deadpanned, getting up to leave again

Harry raised both arms, blocking his twin’s escape. When Sam tried to get around him, he stomped his foot on the floor just like he did when he was having tantrums as a child.

A concerned look crossed Sam’s face but nonetheless he relented, crossing his arms and looking at Harry expectantly, ready to get this over with.

“I’ll tell you my idea if you tell me yours.” Harry huffed, eyes pleading with his twin

Their eyes met in a deadlock. Some sort of silent conversation passed between them before Sam finally spoke.

“Let’s hear yours first then.”

Harry dropped his arms in relief and sat down on the couch. He sat up with his shoulders back, head held high, the picture of confidence.

“You ready for this?” he looked to Sam who just raised his brows up in reply

He leaned forward as if he was about to reveal nuclear launch codes, “Puttshack.” he said

“Puttshack.” Sam echoed, nodding his head, lips pressed into a thin line, careful not to give anything away 

“Putt. Shack.” Harry echoed back, thoroughly pleased with himself

“I’ve gotta say, bro. I wish you were taking me instead.” Sam smiled

The twins shared a laugh. Harry was basically glowing with pleasure, forgetting why he revealed his plans to Sam in the first place. Sam didn’t forget though.

“Good one, mate. That place is top notch, I wish I thought of that.” he shook his head, watching as Harry preened at the compliments

“Alright, mate. I’m going to head on to Tom’s, said he needed help with something. But smashing idea, really.” Sam took off, racing to the front door and sprinting the short distance to Tom’s house before Harry noticed

“It is a fucking good idea, isn’t-Fuck! SAM! YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

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Hope you liked this part! You’re going on a date in the next one, stay tuned!

Part 3

[starwarsfic]

I.46

Originally posted September 19, 2020

Summary: A Mandalorian's armor is a part of their soul. And, if they're lucky enough to have a soulmate, a reflection of the other half of their soul.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Soulmate AU.

xxxxxx

Jango had just started earning his beskar'gam when the bold colors painted on it began to fade. He went to Jaster, first, because he wasn't sure what that meant, but his buir was at just as much of a loss as he was, and instead they had to go to the armorer with their question.

The armorer had seen it before, thankfully, and declared that Jango's soulmate must be a Foundling just taken into a new clan--the colors would come back once he was settled.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit to liking that he and his soulmate had something obvious in common.

The colors did come back, bold and beautiful, with splashes of white to represent the new beginning, reflecting his soulmate's vibrant life. He was healthy and taken care of, which settled contentment deep into Jango's half of their soul.

Years later, he starts to notice little scuffs and marks, and a surprising amount of light burns, appearing here and there. The little streaks of orange gathered around the edges of his armor told Jango that his soulmate was still happy, that they had a lust for life despite the clear hardship. He thinks his soulmate is training to fight and he lets himself be a little smug--of course his soulmate would be a fighter.

The colors on his armor are fading again when he's on Galidraan and he's worried. Maybe it distracts him, but he couldn't blame his soulmate for that.

What happens is his own fault.

Being without his beskar'gam feels like an open wound. It's a part of his soul, a part of *their* soul, the outward proof of their connection that no other people in the galaxy had.

He didn't know what it was, what was being done to it. Sometimes he spiralled into despair, imagining it displayed in Vizsla's home, where he could see Jango's soulmate's life while Jango was bereft.

One of the first things he did, when he escaped, was go to Galidraan for answers. It was there, in the governor's home like a trophy.

But for all that the servants must have shined it and cleaned it to fit in with the rest, it looked dull and rugged. The marks from blasters and vibroknives hadn't come from Jango's last battle. The complete lack of color in the paint wasn't just from a change of clan--it was from the loss of one (Jango could only imagine how dull his soulmate's armor must be, after the slaughter of the Haat'ade).

Had he set this off, somehow? Had whatever his soulmate saw of Jango's loss and enslavement made them spiral? Or reckless?

He'd heard stories, horrible stories, but he tried not to think too deeply on them.

Eventually, as Jango settled into a routine of bounty hunting and hitting at Death Watch when he could, his beskar'gam started to recover. The color was slow to come back, and never as bright as it had been, and there was never, ever orange again, but it was there. There were still frequest blaster marks, and the scoring of blades, and little pits and discolorations, but his soulmate was alive. Maybe not happy, but well enough. Surviving as Jango was surviving.

The beginnings of swirls of burgundy eating their way into Jango's paint are a shock. Of course soulmates can fall in love with other people, especially when they still hadn't found each other, but...he hadn't been prepared for that. He couldn't imagine loving anyone else than the other half of his soul.

When the burgundy was replaced by splotches of dutiful green, he felt guilty for how happy that made him and hoped that didn't show through to his soulmate. And then felt sick, wondering if the duty was to him, if his soulmate had seen how unsettled he was and gave up on someone they loved because they felt they had to for him.

After that, he did his best not to think about it, ready for the burgundy to seep back, waiting to do his best to not react.

Years later, he saw burns that didn't come from blasters or fire, that he remembered perfectly on the armor of his people as they were cut down--his soulmate had been struck by a lightsaber. They had, from the amount of burns and the marks of bruises and the bleeding of deep grey along the colors painted on it, been fighting someone with a lightsaber, had lost someone they cared about while doing it.

He'd known rage before, so many times, but it had never felt quite like this. The jetiise had taken his family and now they meant to take his soulmate?

Jango didn't even have to come up with a way to make them pay, it fell into his lap, the Manda clearly in favor of his vengeance. As much as he never wanted to work with Dooku, it would be worth it to destroy the jetiise.

It was easier to watch his armor on Kamino, with fewer distractions, but the Cuy'val Val all knew what every mark and change meant and couldn't help but tease him through some of it.

The soft pink of platonic love dashed across his chest made some of them coo and joke over how both he and his soulmate had decided to become buir around the same time.

That stayed, edging along the duty that many thought was Jango's color but was actually from his soulmate, and Jango was happy for it. They'd both lost so much and yet now they were building a family.

After ten years of watching his armor, of seeing injuries and illness, but the slow return of vibrancy to his soulmate's life, he was more than ready for his long-term contract to be done. He wanted to finally go out and search for his soulmate with Boba at his side.

On Coruscant, his armor seemed to hum against him, and he realized that his soulmate must be on the planet. This is where he could start his search, with the hope they lived there or visited frequently.

Which was why, when his armor started doing the same on Kamino, he was shocked. No one came to Kamino. Certainly there was no reason for anyone to come from Coruscant to Kamino other than himself.

...Or whoever might be tracking him.

Of all the things he was ready for when his soulmate arrived at his door (if it was a rival bounty hunter, he thought he would have already met them, and he couldn't fathom a member of Judicial coming this far out), it wasn't Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.

One of the jetii that had tracked Zam.

But...what jetii was nearly killed by another person with a lightsaber? Except...there were others, weren't there?

They stared at each other and Jango had the sudden, panicked thought that he didn't know how the jetiise knew their soulmates. If they even did. There were species that had some vague mark as the only connection.

After Taun We left with Boba, they let the silence between them stretch.

Finally, Obi-Wan cleared his throat, running a hand through his damp hair. "That...that was your son, then? ...Boba?"

He tilted his head in consideration, he'd called him only "Bob'ika" and most aruetii didn't pick up on what that meant. "You knew?"

Obi-Wan nodded, glancing over him, then around the room, as if looking for something. "I...saw it. How happy you were when he was born."

That was...more than he'd expected. "You saw it?" The jetiise hadn't worn armor in centuries and they'd never placed the same emphasis on it.

Slowly, very slowly, Obi-Wan reached for his belt. "We have a saying--our lightsaber is our life. Technically, it's a reflection of our soul...." When he gripped the hilt, Jango couldn't stop from tensing, but Obi-Wan kept it pointed away as he lit it--the blade seemed to flicker between colors, blue-white-orange-blue and back, the shape not quite the sleek, defined line Jango was used to seeing.

He had hid his armor, but now he inched around Obi-Wan to the closest that it was sitting in, picking up a vambrace and holding it up--his silver and blues, mostly, but along the wrist were Obi-Wan's soft pink and emerald green, mixed now with the slightest, disturbing hints of building grey.

His heart clenched, wondering what Obi-Wan saw in the lightsaber blade that would make him grieve. Even as determination filled him, he saw it steady, saw the flickering slow.

"Did I...make it hard for you? To fight?" The marks on his armor had always been more superficial damage than anything.

Obi-Wan shook his head, then paused, as if catching himself in an automatic denial. "There were times when...well, for those without soulmates, a red blade is only for the Sith." He gave a wry smile. "I was 13 the first time mine turned red." And then his face smoothed out into something sad, but understanding. "Red is...anger, and fear."

He grit his teeth, knowing he'd felt both of those more than enough that it might have caused problems for a jetii, with their dislike of the darjetiise. A Mandalorian was never judged by their soul colors, Obi-Wan could have never felt anything that would shame him.

The blade dimmed, the colors fading closer to transparent, and Obi-Wan frowned, hurriedly turning it off and tucking it back. "Sorry, I...didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't." He wanted to say Obi-Wan couldn't, but he already had.

"What happens now?"

"I'm investigating attempts against a Senator." He narrowed his eyes at Jango. "If I could find that information out quickly and report back to the Order the results, I could...delay returning, for a little while."

But, Jango knew, he'd almost certainly report the clones, as well, and then what? Would they realize why he'd helped create this army? Would they separate the two of them?

"Stay the night, let us get to know one another, and I'll tell you who hired me in the morning." Give him time to plan, he pleaded to the Manda, give him a night to decide how to keep his soulmate.

Obi-Wan hesitated and Jango was very glad the lightsaber had been put away, not sure what it would look like.

"...Alright. My investigation has gone faster than it could have, already." He stepped closer, fingers gently tracing across the piece of Jango's beskar'gam he still held, as if well aware how sacred it was to a Mandalorian. "...And I'd like the chance to get to know you, too."

xxxxxx

A/N: This came about from soulmate AU discussions on my discord.

I've made up some of the colors and meanings.

One thing that's always kind of nice about Kenfetti fics like this is if you stick to a mostly canon timeline, there's a set way for them to meet that's just very neat and contained haha

[beanfic]

Simple Mistake - Ch.1

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: drinking, throwing up, too much alcohol, josh dancing, and mmm i think that is it? 

Author’s note: here it is!! the first chapter (of 5!) i really hope you guys enjoy and feedback is appreciated! also Y/F/N means ‘your friend’s name’ (and is gender neutral)

Chapter 2

“You look nice!” Your mom smiled at you as you slowly stumbled down the stairs. “Going somewhere?”

“Just to the bars with some friends,” you mumbled. You’ve been 21 for a while now, but it still was an odd concept that you could go drink and come back home with your parents and they would be alright with it. 

“You’re not driving are you?” 

“No, Tyler ordered us an uber. I believe it’s picking him up first, then Josh, and then a few others before swinging by here.” 

“Be safe!” Your mom shuffled over to you and placed a soft kiss on your temple. 

“I will, Mom.” You waved to her as you headed outside to sit on your porch. It was around 8 pm and the sun was starting to set. That was your favorite part about it being May, are the late sunsets. You looked out towards the sky which was painted with deep red and orange strokes. 

It was silent outside. Tranquil. Your heart was fluttering as you received a text in the group message. 

Josh: almost to your place, Y/N

Tyler: be ready

You smiled to yourself as you quickly typed out a response.

Y/N: waiting outside. The sunset is pretty.

Josh: almost as pretty as Tyler

Tyler: awe, thanks dude

You locked your phone and took a deep breath as you gazed back up at the sky. There were two birds flying through the distance, and you wondered if they were in love. Birds could fall in love, right? 

Sometimes you wondered if you would ever have someone to fly around with, metaphorically of course. You’ve tried the dating apps, you’ve tried having your friends act like wingmen, and you have even tried meeting someone at the bars but it wasn’t your thing. You couldn’t find yourself having those feelings, the ones you felt for a certain someone. 

A certain someone that you knew did not share those same feelings as you. 

A certain someone that you had fallen for about two years ago. A certain someone who has had a girlfriend for the past eight months. A certain someone that you had to act like you were just best friends with. 

That certain someone just happened to be Tyler Joseph. 

“Y/N!” your name was shouted from a distance. As you turned your head to gaze down the street, you spotted the Uber coming out and could see Josh sticking his head out the window.

“Hey guys,” you hopped into the back seat putting yourself next to Tyler who was sitting in the middle. 

“Josh decided to take two shots back at the apartment before heading out, so he has been quite something tonight,” your friend giggled from the front seat. 

“Of course he did,” you shook your head and you buckled yourself in. Your hand softly grazed against Tyler’s as you were trying to snap the buckle.

“Sorry,” you both mumbled in unison. Your cheeks felt hot so you decided to open the window.

“The sunset is really something, huh?” the uber driver broke the silence in the car. 

“I would call it gorge babyyy,” Josh put an emphasis on the last syllable. 

“Where is Jen?” you turned to Tyler who was busy playing a game on his phone.

“She had to study for a test coming up.”

“Ah,” you bit your bottom lip trying to hide the smirk that was making its way to your face. It wasn’t that you disliked Jen, she just wasn’t your favorite person to be around. You weren’t sure if it was because you hated how optimistic she was all the time, or if it was because she was dating Tyler.

Your feelings for Tyler were only known by one other person, Y/F/N, who sat in the front seat and made eye contact with you in the rearview as they eavesdropped on the conversation. They always had pushed you to be honest with Tyler, especially since if you had been honest with him a year ago, then he would have never started dating Jen in the first place.

The issue was that you were certain Tyler did not share those same feelings that you did, despite the fact that Y/F/N and Josh has mentioned once or twice that Tyler did like you. 

Josh was busy explaining a story about how he sold three guitars at once during his last shift as the car pulled up to your favorite bar. It was usually filled with younger people, so you didn’t have to worry about older creeps. 

“Josh, no one cares about your story!” Tyler teased him as everyone piled out of the car. You quickly stood next to Y/F/N as you grabbed your ID out of your wallet, following the boys into the bar. 

“Who wants to start with shots?” the bartender greeted you all with a smile. 

“I’m down!” you raised your hand and Tyler nodded, handing the bartender his card.

“Drinks are all on me tonight, so start the tab!” he shouted over the loud music. You looked over at him with wide eyes.

“Tyler! It’s going to be so expensive!”

“Don’t worry,” he flashed a smile your way. 

“I love this song!” Josh shouted. Feels Like the First Time by Foreigner came pumping out of the speakers. The bartender handed each of you a shot glass filled with a ruby red liquid. 

“On 3!” Y/F/N held up their hands and slowly counted down and in unison, you all tilted your heads back as the liquid burned down your throat.

“Jesus,” you mumbled. Shots were not your forte. 

“What are you going to get to drink?” Tyler turned to you and you shrugged. 

“Probably a mai tai.”

“Yummy,” Tyler licked his lips and you swear you couldn’t peel your eyes away from them. 

“You?”

“Going with a beer.”

“That’s not very original, Joseph,” you teased.

“I don’t plan on getting wasted, especially when I know I will end up having to take care of mister smooth over here.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to Josh who was already making small talk with a group of girls. 

You chuckled, “He can be a handful.”

“Y/N! Come dance with me!” Y/F/N rushed over and grabbed your hand, pulling you swiftly towards the direction of the dance floor. You looked back at Tyler who seemed to be smirking as you were being dragged away. 

Single Ladies by Beyonce boomed over the speakers, and you followed Y/F/N’s footsteps as they flowed with the music. You kept on taking sips of your drink, knowing that only alcohol would be able to make you feel comfortable dancing. 

The lights were dim and there was a disco ball overhead that punctuated the dark club with streaks of chaotic light. You were having a good time. The more you moved, the more the shot you had taken earlier mixed with your bloodstream. 

The song was finishing up, and you excused yourself to get a refill on your drink. Y/F/N followed. 

“Where are the boys?” you asked, scanning the crowded bar.

“Josh is back there on the dance floor so we should go back and join him!” 

“I’m not drunk enough to dance with the Josh Dun,” you cackled. You spotted him twerking in the middle of a circle. 

“He’s wild,” Y/F/N sipped on their new drink. You grabbed yours from the bartender and took a long gulp, trying to ignore the burn. You never understood how people enjoyed that feeling.

“I still don’t see Tyler.” You frowned. 

“Oh, there he is! He’s on his phone!” You finally spotted him, sitting at the end of the bar with a beer in his left hand and the phone in his right. 

“Party pooper,” you huffed. You took another gulp of your drink and waltzed over to him. 

“I’m going to the dance floor with Josh!” Y/F/N called out and you shot them a thumbs up. 

“What do you think you’re doing, Joseph?” you leaned against the bar and he looked up at you. 

“Hm?” 

“We’re supposed to be having a good time and you look like mister frowny pants over here! Moping over your phone.”

“It’s just Jen is being difficult, I guess apparently when she said it’s fine that I came out tonight she didn’t mean it.”

“That seems toxic,” the words slipped out of your mouth without you realizing what you had said. “Sorry, that was mean.”

Tyler chuckled and took a swig from his beer, “Nah, you have a point. I shouldn’t worry about her and have a good time with my friends who care about me.”

“We do care about you!” you agreed. “Want to go dance? Josh is being a maniac as usual.”

“I need another shot, I think.” He motioned for the bartender.

“I’ll join you.” The last thing you needed right now was another shot, but you thought you would be able to let loose more. 

“On 3?” Tyler hands you the glass, this time filled with a clear liquid. 

“On 3,” you agreed. You both swished the liquid down, and you couldn’t help but cough. 

“I’m ready now,” Tyler spoke, chasing the shot with the rest of his beer. You two squeezed your way through the sweaty crowd until you caught a glimpse of Josh and Y/F/N.

“Tyler! Y/N!” Josh threw his hands up in the air and literally skipped over to you.

“How you feeling?” you asked him.

“Dude, spectacular!” he patted Tyler on the back and went back to the dance floor.

“Yes, this song!” you squealed as Livin’ On A Prayer came on. None of your friends had planned on getting this smashed, but you didn’t seem to care too much. You let yourself go and just flowed with the music. Your hips would sway to the beat and you closed your eyes as everyone sang the chorus together.

When you opened your eyes you were met with Tyler’s staring back at you. He came over to you and grabbed your hands and continued to playfully dance with you as if you were little kids dancing at a wiggles concert. 

“We’re halfway there!” you both shouted. “Living on a prayer!” You were laughing more than singing, as Tyler dramatically pretended he had an invisible microphone. 

The room was now spinning and it was difficult for you to keep your balance as you kept on stumbling over your two feet.

“Grab my shoulders!” Tyler shouted over the music and you did as he said as the music picked up. 

“I love this song!” you slurred. Your hand somehow got intertwined with Tyler’s and he was twirling you in a circle.

“Me too,” he giggled. 

“You’re giggly when you’re drunk,” you placed your hands back on Tyler’s shoulders so you wouldn’t fall over.

“You’re silly when you’re drunk,” he teased back. You stuck your tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes. 

“I like this shirt,” you mumbled. You didn’t even notice, but Tyler’s hands were now on your waist. Probably just trying to keep you up straight. 

“I like your shirt too,” he spoke softly. His vision became just as blurry as yours. 

“I like you,” you whispered with a smirk. You looked up at Tyler, expecting him to move away from you, but instead, you watched his brown eyes move from your eyes to gaze down at your lips. 

“Is that so?” his head moved closer towards you until your noses were practically touching. The heavy scent of alcohol burned your nostrils. Your heart was racing and felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. The alcohol was making it difficult for you to figure out what was reality. 

“Mhm.” You bit your bottom lip innocently. Tyler’s lips were so close to yours that you could feel his hot breath on yours. He smelled like beer.

“Kiss me,” he reached his hand up so it was cupping your cheek and guided your lips to his. They softly collided and you melted away in his arms. You had dreamt of this moment for the past two years. 

The background music dissolved in with the sounds of voices singing and the only thing you actually could hear was the sound of your own heart beating uncontrollably as you stood there, kissing your best friend. 

Tyler abruptly pulled his face away from his and you met with a look of shock. His eyes were wide and all you could hear was him mumble “shit” before slipping away from you, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the crowd.

What just happened?

♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

tag list: @nonsenseverses​ (if anyone else would like to be added, just let me know!