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littlefreya · 4 years

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The Way to Hell - Part 5

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 4K

Warnings: Dark themes, kidnapping, gore, slight violence, mentions of sexual encounters, dirty words, sexual threats. It’s August, he’s the baddest of bad boys!

A/N: Thanks again for reading guys, I am having fun with August and Igni 💖 and really enjoy reading your feedback so keep it coming! Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and consulting me through and through!

Title: History of a Bad Man

“Sit down,” August commands coldly, his hand pushing her bony shoulder, forcing her to sit on the bed. Ingvild’s behind lands on the mattress with a bounce, her gaze remaining on the strange menacing man as he moves through the room with harsh steps. An irritated look mars his face as he looks for something.

She exploits the sparse moment of false freedom, searching for his well-concealed arsenal. Liam’s words of wisdom from her days of training echo in her mind. “There is always a slip,” an absentee of the mind. This large dangerous man might be an equal opponent yet he is just a man.

And this agent of chaos had his plan interrupted, ironic as it may be. In his fine work of hiding most of the weapons from her reach, he remained negligent, keeping his handgun next to the laptop on his desk.

Keep in mind he carries that knife with him. The scar on her torso should be a keen reminder.

“Can I at least have my undergarments back? Or do you plan to keep me here naked, Mr. Walker?” she calmly asks.

“I don’t plan to keep you.” August speaks with no real emotion in his voice. He has left her clothes to dry on the radiator throughout the night. Her tactical suit is still damp but her ridiculously small underwear and bra seem to have dried. He picks them up, then carelessly throws them at her face before grabbing the large medical kit.

The garments are warm and pleasant to the touch. Ingvild manages to slip into her underwear beneath the bathrobe with haste before August returns to sit in his chair.

Appearing determined, he unzips the blue medical bag, preparing some bandages and pulling out a bottle of antiseptic. “Open up,” he speaks, gesturing at the white cotton robe around her body.

She stares at him oddly, her hands latching onto the fabric.

He sighs, rolling his eyes at her. Fine lines of irritation are drawn on his forehead. “The bandage is wet and needs to be replaced. Do you want your wound to get infected?”

Cautiously she observes him, wondering what brings a malicious man who tried to kill her only a few hours ago to tend to her wound. It seems like any action he performs is robotic, as if he is still in the CIA, following protocols. Curiosity sets her mind, driving her to follow his request with obedience and untie the cotton bind that holds the robe together.

August keeps his leer on his face, whether she is frightened by him or not he can’t determine. She seems trained in hiding or faking her emotions.

As most women are.

His fingers pry the robe open, just enough to uncover the fusty bandage on her torso.

Carefully, his eyes descend from her face to her chest, unable to ignore the way the fabric hangs on the edge of her small perky breast. The roundness of it appears tempting enough to sink his teeth in and leave a nice, bleeding bite mark for another scar on that beautiful pure skin.

You love it when they’re pure.

He brushes that vampiric thought away, trying to keep a clear, indifferent mind as he begins to peel the medical tape from her pale flesh.

The coldness on his face is mesmerizing. There is not an inch of care as he removes the old bandages and exposes her ghastly injury. The crescent line is bulging out, looking purple and irritated while the damaged skin around the area of the wound is white with a tint of blue. She stares at it with almost clinical fascination, her gaze tracing the shape and the amateur-looking stitches without saying a word.

Not even a complaint about damaging her fine-looking body?

“You haven’t answered my question.” His deep voice disturbs her exploration, forcing her to avert her gaze to his face. He is stern, focused on the wound as if he has any care for her well-being. Using the back of his fingers, he moves one side of the robe to further examine the status of the stitches.

“Which one? You ask so many August, you’re like a really boring date.”

If truth be told, the last 14 hours have been anything but boring. She kissed death on its fickle lips and was brought back to life by the devil himself to later share moments of carnal euphoria in front of one another.

All in a day’s work.

Yet she prevents him from having that pride, gifting him with snide in her voice and one of her trademark scornful smirks. He smirks back, giving her just as much as hatred in return while opening the bottle of alcohol and pouring some of it onto the sterile gauze.

Oh princess, I’m about to enjoy how much this is going to hurt.

“One: I asked you who Liam is.” he raises his voice and presses the damp gauze onto the wound without warning. His eyes shine with child-like anticipation, waiting for the scream that never leaves her controlled breath. The torment in her glassy grey eyes is apparent yet her face is stoic, not even a twitch of a muscle as she swallows her suffering and keeps her pride.

Impressive.

“Let’s play a game then,” she suggests, her voice strained as she forces herself to speak without any sign of tremor from the searing pain that’s inflicted upon her. August cocks one eyebrow up, curious to hear her suggestion.

“Quid pro quo.”

His head tilts to the side, considering the idea. If anything, August Walker always loved to speak about himself, even when people didn’t know it was himself he was speaking of. Hiding behind the pseudonym of John Lark, he speaks about his horrifying actions as if he was some ghost or a myth, while all the glory was always his.

“Whatever.” He agrees to her terms and continues to wipe the wound clean, applying a wisp of more alcohol to cleanse the blood clots that formed around the stitches. He imagines this hurts like hell, if he was in her place right now he’d be squirming with agony yet she keeps her composure, eyes still as death.

Ingvild watches as he leans closer, his head nearly rests on her chest. He takes his time, patiently examining and cleaning the injury he inflicted on he. August Walker is a patient man. She takes a mental note before deciding to answer his question. “Liam is my job trafficker.”

“You mean your pimp?” he mocks her, his stormy blue eyes granting her a glimpse of his disrespectful reaction before he places the bloodstained gauze away.

He is answered with silence, cold and unyielding, just like her. “Does he or anyone else know I’m here?” he asks, taking an antiseptic ointment and applying it onto a new piece of gauze.

“Are you not a man of your word, August Walker?” she asks and leans back as he presses the bandage onto the wound. “Quid pro quo, remember?”

No, I am the great deceiver.

Her eyes are at him, claiming sincerity from a man who tried to lie and trick her from the moment they first met. But then again, she also was never honest with him to begin with, pretending to be just a girl when she was anything but.

A deep arduous sigh escapes his mouth. He takes a larger piece of dressing and places it onto the wound to cover the entire area.

“Fine, ask away.”

She stares as he takes the medical tape and cuts it into smaller pieces, placing the first piece between her skin and the dressing. He then smooths his finger over the tape to keep the bandage tight on her wound.

“Why do you want to destroy the world, August Walker?”

August pauses, lifting his eyes again to meet her face. She has her chin resting on her fist, staring at him with pure and sick fascination. Almost as if she’s excited to hear the history of this very bad man. It occurs to him in that very instant that the girl who was sent out to eliminate him has not a drop of idea of who she’s been sought out to hunt. Typical Erica Sloane, he thought, let the dogs sniff him out but tell them nothing.

“You really know nothing do you, little girl?”

“I got your file, it tells me everything about you: army service, height, weight, all your operations, skills, achievements, and ex-girlfriends. All the boring stuff.” She explains, watching the frown that forms on his face as if his ego is bruised. “I know that you tried to detonate a nuclear device almost a week ago, but I don’t know why, it’s as if, pieces of the puzzle are… missing?”

She nearly hisses as August places the last piece of tape on her dressing, the careful, clinical touch from before is now replaced by a crude, punishing one. “Did Erica mention what she did?” he asks, pressing his thumb against the tape to create more pressure. “Did she tell you about the rot in the CIA and the government? A system so biased and corrupt that it forces people like you to fall victim to the sickness the old world order created.”

Ingvild watches him intently, ignoring the punishment his fingers wrongfully inflict on her wound as if she’s the one to blame. There is a blazing hot fury in his eyes but also an emotion she hasn’t seen before, deeming those ocean blues to look like an animal that was injured, or stripped off of its pride.

Curious, she thinks to herself while his thumb tightens another tape to her skin and slides onto her torso, grazing the naked skin unkindly.

“I am going to fix the world, princess.” He answers with a rasp in his voice, glaring fiercely into those rain cloud eyes when something hard and cold pushes beneath his chin. The black barrel of a gun, of his gun, sinks into the softness of the tender flesh beneath his jaw.

There is a sick smile dancing on her face as she holds the gun to his face, her finger resting on the trigger, flirting with it while August stares at her in a mixture of surprise and fury.

“No you won’t,” she speaks, and pulls the trigger.

The empty metallic click rings in his ears, but not even a twitch or a wrinkle forms at his face as she pushes her finger against the little nub. She pulls the trigger for the second time and then for the third. All the lines in her brow become apparent, her eyes narrowed with hatred and frustration as she continues to shoot the unloaded gun with gritted teeth.

August grabs her wrist tightly, pulling her hand away and forcing the gun out of her hand. “You really thought I didn’t see you take my gun?” He asks with an arrogant smirk on his face. “That I’d be stupid enough to leave a loaded gun unsupervised with a woman like you, princess?”

She utters a small growl, staring at him with deadly determination while trying to wrest her wrist free from his grasp to no use. “Stop calling me princess. I will kill you, August Walker.”

August hisses with disrespect while staring deeply into her eyes, as if seeking for something in them. Her glare is bewitching. He imagines she has great power over every man who stands in her way like a black widow, luring her prey into the web.

But he is not falling for these tricks. These days are long gone.

With the brisk move of his hands, her wrists are captured and she is forced flat onto the mattress. He places one knee over and shoves her crudely to lie straight between the pillow before slamming her hands onto the bars of the bed. There are no screams of fear or protest from her mouth, but small whispered grunts as she slightly squirms beneath him instead.

It would have been so fun to break her, to strip her from her tightened control and expand her range of emotions to new heights of fear and suffering. But time is not his ally and he imagines it would take more than a few hours.

With wrists so slender he manages to easily subdue her with one hand. Ingvild sucks her breath, watching as the large man hovers above her, appearing much larger and stronger than he did before. If not for her injury, she would have fought him and flipped him over before he knew it but he disarmed her without difficulty. He made her weak and it only makes her heart throb and her skin crawl with tingling anger.

“Don’t try to fight me, it’s not gonna help,” he warns her as he reaches one lengthy arm to the nightstand where remnants of the rope are hidden.

“Convenient,” she teases fearlessly and watches as he moves back and slings the rope over the bars and around her hands several times. His hand tugs at the binds, making sure it’s tight enough to make her hands turn white due to the blood circulation being cut off. The rope hurts her skin, her fingers splay succumbing to the pain and a small moan leaves her lush pink lips.

There it was, the sound he’s been waiting to hear all day long. She’s yielding to her suffering, letting the pain flow through her form. Letting go of the binds, his hand moves to hover above her face, the phantom of a memory of those same eyes soaked in pleasure in his mind. Ingvild stares back silently, yet the bemusement in her eyes is distinguished. She looks like an animal, unsure and untrusting of the predator who stands before her.

August allows his thumb to stroke her cheek, feeling the small flinch beneath the tip of his finger. He traces the outline of her jaw, giving her a small hazy grin. His lips inch closer to hers, his eyes shutting as he visibly inhales the scent of her body. “Don’t provoke me angel, I won’t stop even if you cry.”

Her eyes focus on the freckles at his nose, secretly counting them before her gaze drops to his lips, studying the shape beneath the coarse hair of his moustache. August awaits for that rewarding expression of fear to shadow her face yet she gives him not an inch of vulnerability. Twice he had the empty pit that is her soul naked. Once at the lake, the other in the shower. This is a woman he saw in two of her very worst moments in life yet her composure is a desert of ice.

“Huh…” He huffs with intrigue and shifts away from the bed, leaving her captive and helpless with pain building in her wrists.

“Where are you heading next?” Ingvild teases, knowing she will not receive a solid answer. Her eyes follow August as he rushes through the room, trying to learn every detail that may provide a hint of where he is heading next.

Ignoring her he grabs the leather traveling bag, placing it on the desk and pausing as he begins to carefully calculate his steps. The sun highlights his tall frame as he stands still. Ingvild stares at how the light makes him look golden and almost god-like.

“Will you just leave poor little me like this?” She asks with false sweetness on her tongue, her hands tugging the ties fruitlessly, making the bars shake and the pain in her wrists worse with the friction of the rope cutting into her skin.

August chuckles, turning to look at her as she attempts to provoke him. “Don’t worry love, housekeeping will pick you up at one point.”

He collects every item meticulously, sweeping through the room to make sure nothing is forgotten. The room appears more tidy and organized than it was before he walked in, except of course, for the half-naked woman tied to the bed posts.

I’m sure it will make for some hilarious stories among the hotel staff.

His mobile phone buzzes, a message from Knight_of_Darkn3ss has been received.

“Fucking idiotic nerd name.” He mutters and shakes his head as he opens the message:

“I have arranged an exit point for you. The Love boat leaves in 2 hours. Better hurry, Lark.”

“I’ll keep coming after you, Walker Texas Ranger…” She sounds peaceful as she makes her threat, as if she’s speaking politely of the weather or asking him about his day. “I always finish a job.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and turns to stare at the girl who is no longer afraid to die. Now vamping with death instead, she lies relaxed in the sun-shower of the bed, surrounded by a sea of white sheets with red floral patterns. They look more like splatters of blood from where he is standing.

She doesn’t fight the bind that holds her anymore, remaining calm with her hands above her head like a sacrifice.

“Should I have left you to die then?” August asks darkly, making his advance toward her with long, heavy strides. His eyes are shadowed with lust for the kill, like a hunter that hunts for sport. He hovers above her once more, staring deep into those icy grey eyes.

“I wanted to grant you the gift of always knowing I took your life and gave it back.” He answers cruelly, and bites his lower lip. His hand hovers over her form, moving like a maddened composer. “Enjoy whatever life I gave you, sweet Ingvild. Don’t play the hero and try to save the world, or try chasing me. I won’t be merciful next time.”

A cold grin begins to spread across her face, slowly growing into vile laughter that thunders in his ears. “I don’t care if this world burns, let it go to ashes.” She stares at him sincerely, her grin now replaced by a determined hateful glare.

“All I care about is the job. I will terminate you.”

The world was indeed in her last concern. It was never kind to her and she cared very little about the stupid people who harboured it and even less about the ugliness and toxicity that it stenched from. Her only concern in life was to never fail a mission. And Liam, who was the only person she had what she believed to be a relationship of some sort.

Bewildered and impressed by her brutal honesty, he nearly allows himself to fall deeper into the trap that is being offered in front of him. The temptation to delve deeper and seek those vulnerabilities, to rip her to shreds now when she is in her weakest moments. But he clears his mind from thoughts, forbidding them to pester him of ghosts from his previous life. He is a man on a mission and now he must leave the girl behind.

“Farewell, dear Ingvild.”

Ingvild watches carefully, trying to comprehend his actions as he crouches above her, imprisoning her square chin with his forceful fingers. As he sinks closer, his breath caresses her skin, and she smells the scent of coffee and cologne mixed with his natural musk. Her heartbeats become abnormal, as if preparing her body for battle. She tries to escape his grip as his fingers travel to her throat, realizing he means to snap her neck.

But instead she is assaulted by the tender brush of his lips, slow and feather-like they land onto hers. August feels a delicacy so tender that his instinct is to sink his teeth in it. Yet he reverts from it, pulling away before these thoughts grow into actions.

Silence takes the room as he departs, making strong hasty strides while grabbing his traveling bag. Ingvild watches how his long coat flings in the air like a cape of a villain as he hurries to the door. He doesn’t look back, not even when he shuts the door, leaving her alone in the room with her lips tingling.

*~*~*

It took nearly 20 minutes to fight for her freedom. She tugged, pushed, and tore off the skin from her wrists until the wooden bars gave in before her hands did. At one point she felt as if she was close to blacking out. She was injured, starved, and dehydrated yet she endured. Adrenaline is spiking liquid in the tendons of her throat, keeping her fighting like a berserker.

Being beaten was a physical concept she never experienced before. She got her ass kicked in the past, during training, during a combat. But she won and bested every target. Even Liam who was heavier and skilled eventually fell on his back with her heel shoved onto his chest.

August Walker taught her the true meaning of failure and lack of control. The more thoughts of killing him sprang in her mind, the more it felt like butterflies that were locked fluttering in her chest.

Dressed in her still damp suit and a pair of gloves, she unlocks the door to her apartment with a meek hand. She’s not so surprised to find Liam sitting on her couch with a look of disdain on his face, not even bothering to look concerned at her sickly pallor.

She gives him an odd glare as she shuts the door behind her. “Were you waiting here all day long with the same face and didn’t move until the moment I walked in, or did you time this?”

“Where the hell were you? I couldn’t call or trace you,” Liam ignores her joke, giving her a stern glare while quickly observing her messy appearance. “This isn’t like you, Ingvild, you are not clumsy.”

“I dropped my phone into the toilet while I was on a date,” she teases again, shaking her head at him with fake disbelief and then throws her key at the stand near the door. August’s folder is on the coffee table in the living room, just where she left it before leaving on her failed mission.

She ignores Liam’s unsatisfied face, bouncing on her feet lightly and then sitting down next to the coffee table while grabbing the file to reread it.

Liam glares at her with a clenched jaw, his lips stretched to a thin line while he looks at the girl as she acts so juvenile. Legs crossed together while her eyes sift through the documents urgently, she tries to find anything that will give a clue.

“You think this is a game? You know the terms of your contract, don’t make me remind you what happens if you fail.” He looks at her, reminded of the day he collected her from the orphanage, a weird little girl with a murderous look on her face. Much of her remained the same. The ability to know what really went through that complicated mind of hers was impossible..She was blocked, incapable of feeling anything but starvation in her heart. He only assumed it was for violence.

“I want to read his manifesto,” she lifts her gaze to meet Liam's face. Curiosity is shining on her weary eyes. “Why was it not in the file?”

The older man shrugs, curling his mouth. “Sloane didn’t include it. It’s irrelevant to your mission. Have you made any progress in tracking him?”

“I was naked in bed with him,” she answers nonchalantly, giving him a fake smile and then returning her eyes to the section on the file that mentions his past relationships. Her finger travels down through the list, mouthing the names of his many conquests. No wonder they called him “The Hammer”. There were so many of them.

“Are you going to answer me, Ingi?”

“I need a new phone and I need to get to England tonight if possible.” She finally answers, closing the file and jumping to her feet which she immediately regrets for the astonishing pain in her torso. All day long, since the moment she opened her eyes to find herself in August’s bed, all she wanted to do was throw up from the pain and scream into a pillow.

Liam gets up from his seat as well, the older man towering above her and taking a step forward while studying the determination on her face. “What’s in London, girl?”

“A lead.”

_____________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible and August Walker!

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Smut #Henry Cavill Smut #mission impossible fallout #Mi6 #August Walker x OFC #Henry Cavill x OFC #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker Fanfiction #augustwalker #augustwalkersmut

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chaoticowlpost · 4 years

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Hi GiRa, I don’t know if you do this, but do you have Captive Prince fic Recs? I’ve followed you for the Draco/Harry content, but Damen and Laurent looked like something I would enjoy so I’ve read all the books last week. It was sooooo good 😍 and now I need all the quality fic in my life. Please help!

Hello nonnie~ Yes omg I do have fic recs but I’m afraid they may be a little biased as of now haha. That’s because I leaned towards fics in the setting of the canon when I first started but then slowly began reading Modern AU fics as I went- and I haven’t gone through nearly enough fics yet,- so I’ll probably have to do another sweep of all the fics on AO3, BUT here are some fics I’d love to recommend to start with

1. @mfingenius

That’s it, that’s the tweet. HBFSJDF okay no I’m joking but I absolutely love their works and they were the one who introduced me to capri. There’s a bunch of short fics on their account that I like to indulge in constantly and you should definitely check it out because there’s too many for me to just pick one!

2. itallends ( @goldencuffs )

For Better, for Worse (9.2k) - Laurent arches an eyebrow. “I am married, Jord.”

Jord blinks at him slowly. “…To your job?”

“To a man.”

Jord’s eyes fall on Laurent’s bare left hand.

”Right,” he says.

Or: five times Laurent says he’s married, and the one time everyone finally believes him.

Receipts and Reciprocity (9.5k) - Damen has a thing for buying Laurent stuff.

I love their works with my whole heart nobody touch me hnfdgjg but seriously these are some of my favorite fics! They’re both Modern AUs if that’s what you’re looking for and partial reason as to why I started opening up more towards Non-Canon setting fics.

3. waywardwriter

Courts, Crowns, and A Little Game of Chess (55k) - In an attempt to diffuse the rising tensions between Akielos and Vere, Prince Auguste invites a group of Akielon ambassadors to the Veretian court. He expects many things to come out of this visit: trade agreements, festivities and celebrations, and perhaps the emergence of better diplomatic relations between the two nations. What he did not expect, however, was for his younger brother to take an interest in the Crowned Prince of Akielos.

AKA: The fic where Laurent is a reserved, bookish, hero-worshipping boy who meets Prince Damianos for the first time.

Waking Up To You (1.7k) - Damen wakes up from his wisdom teeth surgery only to find the most beautiful man in the world sitting beside him.

I couldn’t help but insert Waking Up To You 😞 It’s a weakness because why wouldn’t I want a high-as-balls Damen just being in love with Laurent in general. The first fic, however, is up among one of my favorites. Damen courting Laurent? Sign me the fuck up! This was so well written I just fell in love with all of the characters.

4. DisraeliGears

Anything For You (39k) - Laurent will do anything for Damen. Including make friends with Nikandros…if he must.

The story of Nikandros and Laurent’s friendship.

A Party of Our Own (5.5k) - Nikandros escapes Damen’s party for some alone time…and ends up locked in the wine cellar with Laurent. As one could probably imagine, some snarking happens. And some airing of grievances.

These fics are mainly Nikandros and Laurent building a relationship and getting to understand one another and I’m absolutely HERE for it! The characterization of Laurent was so well done and Anything For You is also among my top favorites because of how intense it was towards the end and just everything Laurent did in general, but through Nikandros’ eyes (even better!)

5. damnmads & The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)

Pawn Sacrifice (85k) - The war with Akielos has settled into an uneasy alliance, and Prince Damianos is sent to spend a year at Arles. Seven years later, he returns to Vere to offer condolences to King Auguste on the death of his father. But Auguste’s younger brother is much changed, as is the political climate in Vere, and Prince Laurent is the target of an assassin. When Damen returns to Akielos, an unexpected guest is sent with him—but danger follows, and the fate of two kingdoms hangs in the balance.

What might have changed if Auguste lived—and what was inevitable, even so.

Another Auguste Lives AU because I love him and yes (the best brother™) . This is a slow burn fic about how the story might have gone if Auguste lived to become king and how Damen and Laurent’s relationship might have gone. It’s quite a lengthy read but I think it’s a great fic to immerse yourself in if you’ve got the time

6. Just_Another_Day

Five Times Laurent and Damen Unintentionally Caused an International Incident (and One Time They Meant To) (28k) - Everyone in the world knows for a fact that Laurent and Damen despise each other with a burning passion despite their countries supposedly being allies. Strangely, though, the two of them seem to have missed that whole ‘hatred’ memo. Nikandros really doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit.

The title says it all and it’s absolutely perfect! Pray for Nikandros and give him a raise in this Modern Royalty AU because Damen and Laurent can’t keep their feels out of view for anything so watch as these boys in love make Nikandros lose 10 years of his life.

7. thewriterofperfectdisasters

kimihia (22k) - Laurent frowned and drummed his fingers against his laptop as he considered what to say. In theory, nothing was stopping him from going to Greece. Nothing was stopping him from maybe running into someone he met over Tinder. The only thing standing in his way was his own apprehension and mistrust about the whole situation.

A Modern AU with the help of online dating because why not. This is such a feel good AU and it just makes me so happy to read it so I hope you like it as well

8. Entity_Sylvir

How Not To Court A Veretian Prince (13k) - “He was—” Damen breaks off, swallows hard, pauses in the manner of a man soundly failing to find an explanation in what he is trying to explain, “—really pretty.”

“What,” says Nikandros, “the fuck.”

The first time Damen meets Laurent, he mistakes him for a pet. It doesn’t go well.

No one lets him forget it.

Words cannot DESCRIBE how much I love this fic! The fanart, the way Damen’s actions come to haunt him, and Laurent being a little shit™ in the best way had me cackling and just everything about this fic had me in love.

9. dawnofthursday ( @americancupsofbritishtea )

The Pitfalls of being Overprotective (2.2k) - Auguste makes a discovery, and then wishes he hadn’t.

Another fic that had me screaming because Auguste deserved whatever he got in this fic for being big brother™. I’m not sure what else to say without spoiling it because this is absolutely hilarious but you gotta read the tags (PLEASE READ THE TAG IT’S GREAT)

10. LaLaCat1

The Oath (78k) - Young prince Laurent arrives in time to stop the killing blow from falling at Marlas. A split second decision has Damen swearing Auguste an oath to protect his younger brother, and it’s not until he brings the Veretian princes back to parley with his father that Damen realizes how difficult that oath will be to keep.

Okay so this fic is also kinda intense but it’s another AU about what would happen if Auguste lived and the amount of feels and stress (good stress) that came with this fic was just.. damn. I’ve lost sleep on this fic and every moment was worth it so if you’re interested in this type of fic, definitely give it a read when you can!

There are probably a few more in my list somewhere that I haven’t been able to update but here are a few to get you started! I hope you enjoy them as much as I did and I hope I was able to help

By the way, if anyone knows the tumblr accounts of the authors I tagged, could you please tell me? I’d love to give them a follow to keep up with them and help others find their accounts as well if they’re interested!

#ask #anon #fic recs #captive prince #lamen

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dise7se · 4 years

Text

threshold

by: @spideysforce (7k)

rating: general/teen and up audiences

relationships: peter parker & tony stark, peter parker & mj & johnny storm & gwen stacy

characters: peter parker, tony stark, michelle jones, johnny storm, gwen stacy, & ned leeds

summary:

peter: 17, a little shit camper, teenager, about to leave for college and it’s the end of summer

tony: a tired, 27 year old man, turns into a teeangers dad

buzzfeed unsolved au, a msyterious warehouse at summer camp, and found family

leave comments and kudos on ao3

When Peter first got to camp, it was tortuous. It felt like aunt May was sending him for some kiddie math camp, for fuck’s sake, he was 17.

Stark Camp was an elite stem camp, only the brightest minds arrived here, no matter what their demographic, income, or social status. He applied, or was forced to apply by May, to work on robotics projects whilst there. To Peter’s absolute horror, whoever this billionaire trust-fund guy Stark was, was his camp counselor.

His fucking camp counselor.

Peter heard about the first summer camp session, he was participating in the second, which started at the beginning of August. His friends came back home to Queens from Stark camp, a ghost rattling in the old shell of their bodies, their soulless eyes begging for reprieve, the dark circles under their eyes indicating their primal instinct for victory in the camp competitions, to impress the mysterious genius billionaire they so desperately wanted to rob.

He spent the entirety of the summer trying to escape the camp, it was like everyday Mr. Stark (no, he won’t call him anything else,) targeted him only, saw some sort of promise in him, but he’d merely point to his friends and take the burden of being recognized off of him. May’s math camp. No. He can’t be noticed here, because maybe they’ll start talking about college, and how to prepare for college. Yuck.

Not that Peter was avoiding going to college, of course he’s applying. But it’s summer. His last summer before college, he needs to go out with a bang. Not some nerd camp in upstate New York. At least MJ is here. He’s 99% sure she joined to make fun of everyone’s projects, be condescending, and cause as many issues as she can while simultaneously keeping productivity to the bare minimum by scaring everyone. Yeah, that’s MJ right there.

He peeked back at her from over his shoulder and away from his robotics equipment during their scheduled tech building time, she sat at the table behind him to talk to the group about, 10 minutes ago, Peter forgot while he secretly executed Plan Ghouls, (yes MJ named it), while Tony oversaw everyone in the recreation center at camp, and maybe it’s because the Stark family is fucking rich they don’t deserve any money at all, this building looks way too nice to be here.

It was like Tony Stark, this billionaire who is barely even 30 years old, was fucking with him, Peter Parker personally. Did he enjoy tormenting his group? He acted warily around MJ, like finding a wire in a maze leading to a fuse. He’d never seen anything more glorious; a nearly thirty year old man scared of a 17 year old. Peter analyzed the older man and concluded that he is an eight year old with the wisdom of an eighty year old.

Ned promised he’d call every single day of camp, and Peter thought he’d actually die without his best friend at camp, disintegrate on the spot like some formidable being pulling apart every atom, until he’s lost in the atmosphere, drifting away like he never existed. He missed his best friend, okay? Who else would he talk to about.. the thing, his weird spider senses, and possible crime he could stop from 100 miles away from Queens.

His guy on the computer had other plans for the end of the summer, his family was going to visit their cousins that Ned conveniently was ecstatic to go on, leaving Peter to rot and die alone in summer camp. A haunted summer camp.

Peter snuck another entire circuit board into his pocket. Morally, this is very wrong. He reprimands himself over it. But, technically, he paid for this with his camp fee?

He uses less equipment for his actual projects than.. their secret project. He will use the same amount of equipment, just one is not prohibited because he technically can’t make secret projects on the side that may or may not pertain to the spooky warehouse half a mile out that Tony Stark refuses to comment on.

“Hey!” MJ yells right beside his ear, and he fumbles the lego pieces he contemplated taking in his hands and screeches. She laughs, holding her side, “Did I scare you?”

Peter plasters the best glare he can on his face, “No, you didn’t, I just yawned.” She will not win, whatever contest she made up in her head for the…. ghost catching competition, he will be two steps ahead of her and he will win. No matter how many horror movies they watch, and no matter how scared he is of her when she has no reaction except for laughter during their movie nights in the woods at night with the rest of the camp.

Countdown to Plan Ghoul’s execution: 3 days, 6 hours, 20 minutes.

—

They became acquainted with the weird, annoying show-off Johnny the second week of camp. So, last week. Peter wouldn’t call Johnny his friend, maybe not even acquaintance, but Johnny wears ugly cargo pants and stuffs them with extra robotics lab equipment like beakers, (what the fuck do they need beakers for?), and somehow stuffed a Kit in his shirt. He’s sure Johnny is going to forget and sit down with a beaker in his pants and break his ass with glass.

MJ was the first to initiate the alliance at the beginning of camp. They’ve been here for the second half of their summer, so of course she devised a devious plan.

They both hated Johnny at first, and that is exactly why Peter watched MJ reel Johnny into their plans once they’re in the Stark Camp Lab. MJ acted dryly and sarcastically around everyone she hated, drawing her to Johnny and Peter suffered the consequences. Peter lost count of the amount of times Johnny showed off his projects to the camp counselors, not long after stealing parts from a group nearby. MJ watched, intrigued, and Peter would always end up with his head down on his desk. And MJ would follow suit with Tony’s back to them, she would gather up all of Johnny’s wrenches, bolts, his keychain, and he’s pretty sure she got an arm of the collaborative robot in the corner.

And then the next dewy morning, the humidity was too thick and their eyes were unable to open from the night before because Tony told a story about a demon coming to life at the campfire, it’s real Tony has totally seen it, MJ and Peter were on breakfast duty with the camp counselors. The smell of tinder reeked on their flannels, but Tony pulled out the chocolate chips the moment he arrived, the other camp counselors shot glares at him. Peter had to turn away to hide his snicker.

This is when they met Gwen. She was part of another camp counselors group, and the two of them had their hair done, Gwen had cool piercings, even one on her face, with a vinyl knapsack by her feet full of patches. Her camp counselor has an itinerary, and oh, my god, it’s laminated, and Peter’s eyes widen and he thinks his pupils turned into the shape of hearts. The last time he saw an itinerary and Tony did not lose them while hiking was the first day of camp. Gwen’s camp counselor, Jen, even brought snacks for all of them.

MJ propped herself up on a nearby table in the kitchen and Tony rambled on about how his father never sent him to camp, and if he knew he’d practically be a boy scout out here in the woods he might’ve considered it. Peter thinks he heard the man say he was working towards his bachelor degree at their age. What a weird guy.

Johnny walked in, and Jen, the cool camp counselor reads out his last name and it’s Storm?! Peter imagines Johnny is the type of guy to steal his hypothetical sister’s toys and bury them in his suburban backyard and blame it on ghosts, and of course he tells MJ this theory.

MJ flips pancakes on the stoves, the hiss of the pancake mix to heat loud enough to drown out her inconspicuous whispers Peter nearly drops his spatula from her blaring whisper, “I sketched a prototype and stole Tony’s pencil. Our first prototype is called the Poltergeist Machine.”

He lowers his shoulders and sends his best glare, snarling and pointing with his head at Tony who is two feet away and yelling at someone on the phone about the physics kit they needed for today. “Are you crazy?! Also, that’s the ugliest name I’ve ever heard.”

MJ snarls back and throws her arms up, “Okay, well maybe names are not my forte!” And when Peter mumbled maybe under his breath, he really did know from a sixth sense that her shove was coming. And his shoulder nudges into something, and ouchie, that hurt, and it’s fucking Tony, off the phone and staring at them with his eyebrow quirk. Peter thinks he practices it in the mirror every night before bed, like brushing his teeth. He does it every day. He had never seen the man’s reaction into Peter physically bumping into him, though they did like messing with him. He was their counselor, they were bound to test his boundaries to see how much it would take to get in trouble, they’re sweet teenagers and not heathens.

Tony did nothing, and awkwardly shoved him away when Peter just stared and gawked at him.

Johnny and Gwen talked about college with Tony, who stayed on his phone and muttering, “Yeah, kids, you’ll get in,” and, “sure, yeah, we can work out a letter of rec,” and Peter pondered over his inability to plan more than three minutes ahead and felt a drop low in his stomach, because in two weeks he’d be beginning his college applications for senior year.

He and Ned had their own college plan, to keep his guy in the chair nearby while he could vigilante his college town and get a physics degree. Ned gravitated toward an engineering degree or a journalism degree, he’d probably double major. That was the best plan they’ve made so far. This, and their plan ghoul, Ned had sent cryptic messages about the nearby warehouse being abandoned and never showing up on maps online. Ned had yelled very loudly over the phone to be careful because this might require Spider-Manning, and Peter yelled over his voice so nobody else could hear.

Johnny had glared at him from ten feet away in the field during that phone call and walked away.

And he looked at him the same way now. This little shit. I will get into college. Maybe I’ll get my own Tony letter of rec without showing off.

Peter knows what’s going to happen next when he turns to stomp away, his foot caught in the strap of MJ’s backpack she left thrown on the floor and sends him skidding. Geez. He hears metal clanking, and what the fuck, did he knock over a table or something? And MJ throws herself towards her backpack before his brain can connect her actions to conclusion, and there’s a robot hand skidding across the floor the same, resigned way he did.

The robot hand. The fucking robotic hand.

They’d have to face Mr. Stark’s wrath, and he feels like he’s entered Hell, forget the commandment and We should fear and love God so we do not tell lies about our neighbor, betray him, slander him and he hears the robotic and smash into the table and break, and Tony lunges at it like it’s some family heirloom that he intentionally broke.

“MJ!” He squeaks, like he hasn’t been through puberty and is nearly an adult. Johnny’s mouth falls open and he tugs on Gwen’s sleeve as if everybody here to cook breakfast wasn’t staring in awe, and he hears war cries from MJ demanding whoever planted these supplies come forward and reveal themselves or she’d send a witch to curse them.

It was like a 1995 school drama show, the pancakes burning on the stove and the unamused camp counselors fiddle with the ends of their shirts and Tony stares at the sight of devastation and MJ sheepishly smiles. Gwen is the first to break the silence, she snorts unattractively and covers her face. “Sorry. That was a little funny.”

Tony merely zeroed in his gaze on the two of them, hovering over them though he wasn’t much taller, attempting to humble them with his menacing face. He points two fingers at his eyes in the I’m watching you way, signaling his two fingers back to them. It’s not like they hadn’t witnessed Tony the day before steal the flags for their ‘capture the flag’ game because they kept losing.

Stem camp was camp, Peter woke up scrambled every day, usually covering his face from the morning sun when Tony would pound on the door and swing it open and let the morning sun blind him. He isn’t sure how he woke up MJ, but he always waits 15 minutes after he wakes up Peter, and he thinks he hears gentle knocks and a little, “Good morning!” before he takes off to begin his day with way too much caffeine and energy.

Tony, in all his glory, is a hot mess and begs his supervisor to let him join the kids’ activities, and she usually says no but he jumps into the lake, anyways, yelling at MJ and Peter to use life vests. The camp supervisor, Virginia Potts, is usually in leggings and a t-shirt or tank top, her strawberry-blond hair in a ponytail, and always has her clipboard in her arms with tidied stacks of paper. She is always smiling, is modulated and soothing, like honey in a comb in the sun. Whenever Peter runs into her, he immediately straightens his back and wonders if its worth borrowing the robotics equipment before they put it back for plan ghoul.

Pepper usually stands at the edge of the lake, a fixed gaze set on a floating Tony, her tin tucked in and her hip out. The first time Tony decided to ditch his camp counselor duties and join in with them and was approached by Pepper, he waved to her from the top of a rock enthusiastically. “Tony!” she exclaimed and everything she lectured him about seemed to go in one ear and come out the other.

“What is the number one rule of being a camp counselor, Mr. Stark?” Pepper had asked, while Tony striked Peter with a toy lightsaber they built that afternoon, and he nearly doubled over but was grabbed by the shoulders and held up by the menace in question. The weight of the saber wasn’t very heavy and it was made up of plastic, but Peter yanks the cool metal sword from his counselor’s arm. He’s never had any siblings and doesn’t know if Tony has either, but talking about baseball and college and physics having someone surprisingly grounding and comforting when he wandered off while hiking and busted his knee, for some reason Tony was good at first-aid.

“We totally deserve a team pet!” Peter huffed at the campfire, their group settling in after a round of night zip-lining.

“For God’s sake, we will not adopt a stray racoon for the team,” Tony yells from inside the cabin, bringing his stash of s’mores supplies he kept hidden and possibly explains the ants on the premise and not secured in the kitchen. “A mascot, maybe.”

“Please, this is Cranberry Lake, we do not need a pet to keep us from the ghosts,” Gwen declares, and before she can continue Peter screeches.

“So, you do admit there are ghosts!”

Tony shivers dramatically once he rejoins the group in front of the campfire and the fire crackles in his face. Peter gasps, and Tony turns in worry, fearing the fucking kid is fucking asphysxiating. “You see! Tony just shivered when you mentioned the ghosts.” “Lowering your voice won’t do anything, you dipshit!” Johnny unnecessarily adds, getting tossed by a marshmallow and being directed into the direction of the nearby trees to sit in timeout by the all-knowing being Tony who declared if they cussed anymore they’d be sent to timeout, the Goddamned Almighty.

“One more bad word out of you guys and next time you’re going to watch me swim in the lake, using all of your floaties while you watch from the dirt, wallowing in your own despair.”

“Can I go back to Jen’s group?”

“Absolutely not. You three are keeping me alive at camp as it is,” Tony informs them as if they hadn’t noticed the man was really an 8 year old in an adult’s body. “Even Pepper agreed. She says my campers keep me alive.”

Tony floats on his back in the outdoor pool, the cold water reflects the sun and Peter floats nearby on a yellow inflatable pool float with printed dandelions on it.

His friends chatter nearby, but his head leaning against the plastic floaty drowns the sound out. He hears his inner ear and hates it. Tony grunts, moving to grab his glass with juice and a small umbrella in it. This billionaire, the head of a company producing the world’s greatest and innovative technology was ridiculous.

“Queens is..” Peter starts their conversation again, afraid he’s too quiet and the older man didn’t hear him. “Queens is my home. May and Ben raised me there, and being away from it sucks. I can’t be there to help.”

MJ sits at the other end of the pool on the hot cement, gasping when she lowers her legs in. She sounds too far away to them, in their own little corner. He raises his head to see if Tony had even heard him, but he seemed sipped from his drink and hummed to himself.

He waited for an answer before he nearly blew his cover again.

“Hometown of Parker. On Long Island, Citi Field, and supposed home of a vigilante, I think,” Tony supplies an answer, and Peter thinks, shit, he knows, “Once, Spider-Man dropped a hot-dog on my head.”

Peter laughs, freely, and shit, act natural, Peter, because the older man that he trusts but can’t seem to get the words off his tongue, his identity reveal, he’s never wanted to tell anybody else. Ever. It was his responsibility, his alter-ego, but he trusts him, for some reason.

The earth aligned them together, and whatever brought them together doesn’t make any sense.

A mentor who understood him, who was a mere 10 years older than him, who had regrettably become friends with his Aunt May, and those two were forces in his life he wouldn’t know what to do without. Maybe that’s what happens when someone mentors you all summer and genuinely cares.

Tony was brilliant. Sure, him being here was confusing, but he wanted hands on experience in his company. Tony told them stories of the previous campers and which ones reminded Tony of them. When in the college application workshop the camp offered, he revised Peter’s papers and saw another piece of him on paper.

Tony Stark was caring, gentle, he was a walking encyclopedia, his skepticism had kept a barrier around him at the beginning of the summer, but slowly thawed out the more he lived. If words have had no weight his entire life, he’s owing it to every teenager here to keep his promises and Peter wonders if anyone has ever kept their promises to Tony. A glass barrier, built from sand and liquid and carefully molded to protect him and encase him.

Practically a kid when he lost his parents. Peter had read about it in the papers and saw news channels open every fragile wound on TV, and he remembers the news reporters surrounding Uncle Ben’s death.

He isn’t sure what else has the older man so guarded, but he knows they are slowly breaking the crystalline around him, his meddling heart wrapped around this camp and the brilliant minds. He knows Tony is good, past his cynicism is pure optimism, and is is an excessive coffee drinking, smells of motor oil and marshmallows, mentors anybody he can, and the damaged heart he hides, who makes special tech presents for the students, smudged ink on his hands from his blueprints, is good.

And Peter hopes he can model who he is after Tony. Spider-Man can strive to be someone like Tony, because the 27 year old understands what it means to invest in his community. And Queens is his home, he’s sure Tony will take care of it once he’s gone for college. Tony is human, he bleeds, he hurts, he doesn’t crack under pressure but quakes alone.

The man who emerges from the tech lab every morning at 6am because he forgot to sleep, yeah, that’s Peter’s mentor. How’d he get himself in this spot?

He turns back to Tony, “My uncle Ben used to tell me people are ugly, unlovable, they are their failures, but then they’d constantly prove him wrong. He wasn’t a pessimist, he was the opposite. But he saw the ugliness in New York, in Queens. But then he’d see sons hugging and kissing their mothers, he’d see local students building churches from scratch, and older siblings wiping their siblings’ tears when they played outside.”

Tony quirks a brow, but listens. He really listens, and he doesn’t know if he can finish. “He talked in constant epithets with our neighbors. Their gardens, his wisdom, and about how people always came together. Always.

“Maybe that’s who Spider-Man is trying to save, trying to represent in Queens. I think it’s what people like Ben would want to help. And I don’t want to leave, it’s my little sanctuary. This is the longest I’ve been away from Queens.”

Tony playfully flicked water towards Peter, who dodged it and splashed water back. He could be petulant, too. “I hope this spider-guy is watching over you in Queens. I know your Uncle Ben is. And I know, I know, it’s cheesy as hell, but he really is. I remember my Ma used to visit me in my dreams at my worst times.

“I had no one to go to. My family was gone, and I wanted to do better. Be better. At my rock bottom, I was brought back up by my dad’s best friend. He stayed by my side since they died.. And when I found out he wanted to steal the company from me, I knew I could never let people like that taint more kids in the future in this field. In any field, really. I think I have a responsibility with this camp, and I know my mom would be proud of me. And I know your uncle will be proud, too, because I’ve got your back, too.”

The breath is knocked out of Peter, because oh fuck, this camp counselor who was unwilling to budge, had opened up and was vulnerable and was scared of being stabbed in the back but trusted him.

Tony cracks a smile, supine on his back over the water again in no time and drags the pool floaty with him after he kicks off the wall. They float over to the group, and the weight in Peter’s sternum subdues. An ache he forgot was there, learned to live with, and Tony’s words ring in his head the rest of the day. He tells May about it and never stops missing her.

Peter reached into his canvas duffle bag with the initials, ‘BFP,’ embroidered into it and found the white baseball jersey he last remembers seeing when he was twelve years old. His cabin is chilly today, so it must be cold outside. The sun hides behind the clouds so he shrugs a long sleeve shirt on, then the jersey.

They were going to play a game of baseball this morning, his muscles still aching from rock climbing and hiking the previous day. He was Spider-Man, he had a lot of endurance, but he hadn’t been exercising for a while. He missed feeling this; feeling fatigued but not from a night out as a vigilante. He and MJ climbed the rocks at least three separate times, their ropes clipped snugly to their bodies and Tony had reached the top to tie their ropes. They stupidly swung over the edges, dangling over the forest and had views of the lake. Johnny wasn’t scared of heights, but yelped every time his foot slipped and loose gravel jerked around him. Gwen swung back and forth, in a way that made Peter’s heart lurch when she kicked her feet off the rocks and threw her head back, lowering herself down.

It was an exhaustion that had a lightweight feeling to it.

He wasn’t dizzied from the adrenaline of catching a perpetrator in time, or whatever criminal of the night presented themselves in Queens.

Johnny had chased Peter, while rock climbing, and Peter felt genuine warmth for his friends. His best friends. They sent videos to Ned, Johnny and Gwen had been on a Facetime call with them the day before and declared whoever is friends with Peter, are their friends now. MJ shared her flannel, the one she wore around her waist once she noticed Peter’s calloused and cold hands when they brushed hands on the ropes. Gwen threatens to beat the shit out of Johnny if he bumps into her again, and once they reach the waterfall past the mounds of boulders they push each other in.

Tony had sat on the side, pretending that he didn’t have a camera strapped around his neck and two bundles of film gathered from the summer.

And seeing the initials on his dufflebag this morning, Peter wishes he could march into his home, what it was once before, and announce his future profession to Uncle Ben. Because he’s stuck. Ben Parker would laugh, reminding Peter he wasn't much of a scientist himself, yet they’d ponder over every possibility they could.

Ben, who smelled of cinnamon and coffee and New York, and Tony knocked on his cabin door before he could wrestle the baseball jersey on because the sight of it sent him reeling. Maybe May had accidentally packed it? Did she do this on purpose? They knew he would become homesick; he hasn’t left May’s for long. The longest he stayed away was for his DC trip in freshman year.

“Come in!” Peter calls.

“Hey, kid,” Tony opens the door, dressed in basketball shorts and a sweatshirt, with bags under his eyes that he seems to have everyday. He looks young; but he can notice the signs of smile and worry lines around his young-adult face. “You’re late. The kiddos sent me to check on you. We’re all waiting.”

“Sorry, I just needed to get dressed--”

Peter cuts himself off, breathing in the baseball jersey while he slides it over his head. And it was a smell he hadn’t smelled in years. May was more of a nostalgic and sentimental person, and held onto Ben’s objects. They’d peer through photo albums together, and Peter would silently grief sometimes, but he was back at the Mets game Ben fought to buy tickets for and took to. The fresh air, the golden sun, Ben’s oversized hat covered Peter’s forehead and eyes. Ben was in every stitch of the material. His mind retrieved whatever image of Ben it could, and Peter couldn’t breathe.

“I--” His breath wavered and betrayed him, and Tony looked at him with a concerned face.

Peter can hear his phone buzzing with texts from Ned, probably responding to his breakdown over possible college majors he sent in a daze this morning when he saw an article about comets in their solar system, composed of water, dust, ice, and carbon monoxide. And he felt like one of those comets now, launched into the air with no destination and freefalling.

The jersey was his actual size now, and Johnny yelled from outside the cabin, “Pete, hurry up or you’ll be catching the whole game!” Tony stared back at Peter in concern, maybe he could see through him. He hadn’t hidden his teen angst that much this summer, maybe Tony still remembers teen angst. Hopefully he didn’t call him out over his childish brain losing it on a Saturday morning at camp. Was it homesickness? Tony probably only dealt with kid campers being homesick.

“Sorry, shoot, I just lost track of my sentence,’ Peter says and it comes out like a question.

He didn’t expect for Tony’s face to soften; the usual distant and withdrawn appearance is replaced with a small smile and a squeeze to his shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s play ball and possibly pop one of our shoulders out of our sockets by accident again.”

Peter snorted passed the burning tears threatening to spill, wiping them across his sleeve and noticed the man take a step back towards the door. “Yeah, right, ‘us.’ That was you, old man.”

Tony ducks his head, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and leaving a gap of space between them. He gives him a slight shove to the field, and Peter catches the ball in time before it strikes him in the face. Of course, that was MJ’s doing.

They played until Peter fell over on the floor, dust spreading in the air around him on the field and stinging his eyes. He definitely hurt his shoulder.

Tony had half the mind to chortle at him once he sat Peter up, already sending Gwen to grab an ice pack and the first aid kit. He couldn’t help it; he’s clumsy. His spider senses are quiet here, only arising once this entire summer: when Tony followed him, Johnny, Gwen, and MJ down the rocks and found Tony huddled on a narrow precipice clutching his chest. He had a distant look in his eyes; Peter thought he had recognized that look on himself before. He was out of breath and his face was pale. Gwen chimed in from behind, “Are we still canoeing later today? Or is today archery?”

And that was smart. Tony schooled his face, and he must have tons of practice if it came so easily. He wouldn’t have guessed Tony was working himself out of a panic attack if it weren’t for the paleness of his face, but Gwen’s questions were good. They were about fifty feet off the ground, and he had almost slipped. At least, that’s what he heard.

The quietness of his spider senses didn’t scare him. It should have, but it didn’t. Maybe it would soon enough. Johnny sits down on the other side of him, asking Peter to squeeze his hand if he needs to.

“Ah, shit, I promise it’s not that bad,” Peter says, already heading towards the nearest wall to reset his shoulder himself. He’s done this once before, thinks; once, there was an apartment building fire and he pulled out dozens of people, smoke fumes messing with his vision and chest. He had to reset his shoulder before pulling out a teeanger, grunting and pushing his arm against a nearby wall with the fire on his heels.

“Hey, kid,” Tony asserts, holding his hands up. “Can I? It hurts more if you do it. I can promise you that.”

Maybe it was because of being emotional over Ben’s baseball jersey, or missing May’s hugs and Ned’s hugs, meeting him by his locker every morning and how much he’ll miss them all for college that is a year away, was just stupid. And stupid over being upset over having to leave the nerdy stem camp and leave Tony behind.

It wasn’t fair for him to be attached. He was like a mentor, an older brother, just from the past month. It wasn’t fair for him to ask for advice constantly, but has a feeling this man was more than a camp counselor to their group. For fuck’s sake, he shed a tear in front of him and the man let him.

Peter nods to his answer, already ducking his head and inhaling a deep breath. “Good, yeah, deep breath. You’ve got the right idea,” Tony says, grabbing his shoulder. There’s a slight pop when Tony pushes, and Peter bites back his pain and tastes blood.

Tony holds onto his arm, and nods towards the rest of the concerned group, searching for any indication that Peter is okay. Gwen wipes a tear from his cheek, and he wonders what he would’ve done this summer without them. And what he’ll do if he doesn’t see them again. Maybe they’ll keep in touch, or apply to the same colleges. He didn’t want to lose them and the safety he felt with them.

“Okay, Peter, I told you for the millionth time, you connect the black wire to the circuit to get R2’s voice commands working,” Ned ordered the phone, and had given him, Johnny, MJ, and Gwen directions to the abandoned warehouse.

It was kind of Tony’s fault for demanding a nap and leaving the four of them with another camp counselor that wasn’t as competent as he was.Well, to call Tony competent is a bit of a stretch, his methods are nonchalant. Hence, MJ is in the corner reading them murder stories from the 1930s and remindingthem the ghosts still linger in the woods of upstate New York, right where they are.

“Yeah, yeah, MJ, the eighty-year old ghost is here to haunt us,” Peter mutters, ignoring Ned’s directions because he is totally wrong. “Ned, no. Absolutely not. What is this, LEGOs sensors?”

“Oh, my God, if you’re going to tell a joke then make it funny,” Johnny groans, “It looks like a UFO.”

“Fuck you, Johnny!” Peter yells, tossing a wrench and then deciding he shouldn’t have done that, and hoped Johnny ducks his head in time, “It’s not UFOs! It’s R2D2, you stupid piece of shit!”

Maybe Peter was a little unhinged today.

“Hey, ghost, knock this bookshelf down if you’re mad at us,” Gwen declares, drawing out her voice like she’s reading a ghost story to kids, “Or hold a candlestick in the middle of the room.”

The warehouse is small, it’s dark, and they use the sunlight as their lightsource. It was probably really stupid of them to break in, but this is it. Plan ghoul. And it’s the second to last night of camp, and they had vlogged the entire venture to the warehouse.

MJ had kept all the equipment they gathered from the summer. Either Tony was completely oblivious, unaware of his surroundings at all times and chose to ignore the lack of passion in their projects all summer for this, R2D2 and Johnny’s soccer laying robot, and Gwen’s killer robot obstacle course, or Tony didn’t care.

He was a billionaire. MJ still yells at the older man over his salary, but yesterday, he asked MJ to consult as an intern for his company and have input on the charity work the company participates in. And it was perfect for her. This was how they were wrapping their summer up; some of them receiving internships, letters of recommendation, and Peter stayed the same with the sick feeling in his stomach that he’d ruin his own life, or never be as far ahead as his peers.

“Peter, I have the same kit in front of me. I gave you these blueprints!” Ned yells into his ear, and Peter drops his phone and breaks off R2D2’s arm. Gwen laughs, pointing out how much uglier the robot is.

“Can your ugly R2 even fit in my obstacle course?” Gwen asks, playing robot soccer with Johnny. Their controllers are loud, they beep too much, and the obstacle course is ugly. It’s really not, but he’d never admit to his new best friend how beautiful the course is and he wishes he could shrink down and play in it.

“Ghouls!” MJ yells, fiddling with her tiny robotic sensor that he’s pretty sure is a tracker she’s been planting. He makes a mental note to check his things later before leaving camp.”My bot says Johnny is in first place!”

Their robots race across the obstacle course of the filthy warehouse, the sun’s going down so they placed flashlights around the room and the golden hour sun basked the room as it set on the horizon. The room was full of laughter, MJ’s ghost monitor with activity levels he can’t understand, and Gwen runs into their pseudo soccer field to knock R2D2 over.

They spent the rest of the night planning for college, planning to keep in touch, and devising another plan to take over Stark Industries once they all get jobs there. Peter knew he needed to go to college. He knew he couldn’t risk his family and friends and his identity.

They hear a crash outside, all of their movements hault. Peter doesn’t dare breathe, they all let their hearts pound in their chests. The sun had set by now, and Peter discreetly used his senses to listen and smell what, or who was outside. Gwen shows Peter her arm, the goosebumps set all over and she grabs the flashlight to use as a weapon. He’s impressed with her pose, but oh, shit, is it another camp goer? Did MJ fucking summon a ghoul?

Johnny shushes them, o-fucking-kay Johnny, shush the quiet group. Obnoxious. Peter blows out MJ’s candle, while she gets out her Poltergeist machine, where did she even keep it?

“Hide!”

The kids scatter, and MJ rambles through her theories of clues she’s found. “Is that a fucking bat?”

“Is it fucking Batman?”

“Peter, shut the fuck up!” Gwen chastises, elbowing him while they search for refuge behind the nearby bookcase full of dust and spiders. The shadow from outside looms, and the room is too dark to make out whoever kicks the door open.

The door was kicked open, and the group screamed. His brain clicked, his senses didn't go off.

It was fucking Tony.

Tony fucking Stark, with a casing of gold metal under his arm. And it’s his gold and red robot.

Let’s just say Tony dragged the four of them back to the camp after destroying their robots in robot-killer-soccer.

Tony does not know the impact he had on each teenagers’ lives. Maybe it was just Peter, and he was being sappy, but it was the last day of camp and the sun was setting and he was tired of the pinewood. It’d take him at least a week to get the smell of earth out of his clothes.

MJ shows affection, she hugs Gwen before they depart. Oh, God. They’re really gonna miss camp.

The summer is ending, case closed. Everybody’s packing their bags, and Peter’s pretty sure he will never recover from his scare during plan ghoul. Who would’ve known Tony had the same idea as them.

His friends, who wear his hats, who steal his food, and who wipe his tears are leaving. He has MJ. He has Ned.

Peter had set his flannel on fire but they put him out. It was really stupid.

Peter talked to Tony about Ben one night. He used metaphors, but he knew about Tony’s parents' loss in a car crash.

“Kid,” Tony says, pulling his attention away from the camp departures. Peter practically hopped on his toes of anticipation, walking closer to the older man. A father-figure? No. Older-brother figure? Maybe. Yes.

“You better work hard on your college applications, kid, because I’m going to need a student researching with me at MIT,” Tony smiles, kindly, and Peter blinked.

It still hadn’t set how much Tony believes in him. He knows he could be saying this out of kindness, out of pity maybe, but he had been the one to pull him from his reeling thoughts all summer long.

Tony had welcomed him in the threshold, their own threshold they built together, when Peter needed someone there, to take him in, and he continued to stay in once school began. This had been the place Peter spent half the summer in, did summer homework at the poolside with Tony’s help, he accidentally left candy wrappers in Tony’s cabin and left even more ants, and grew comfortable.

“Pete, when you go off to college, I’m not kidding, don’t forget to call,” Tony says, because Peter probably looks too intense right now and doesn’t know how to unweb himself from his comfortable cocoon of a summer, and he admires his camp counselor so much.

“I’m scared,” Peter breathes, and shit, his eyes well up. And Tony is there, the smell of coffee and some sweat, pulling him into a hug and he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“Oh, kid,” Tony says, “Remember all the shitty advice I gave you. Do exactly what I wouldn’t do. And remind Aunt May I’m just a camp counselor and to stop yelling at me on the phone.”

Peter chuckles, because, oh God, knowing Tony and May, they’ll both team up to watch his back.

“I don’t want to let go of everyone here. I don’t want self pity, or anything, but like, this is the first time I felt like I’ve lived, as cheesy as that sounds,” Peter admits, wiping his sleeve.

Gwen is the first one to tackle the both of them, then Johnny, and Tony curses to the air. “Why did I become a camp counselor. The little boogers won’t leave me alone.”

“Stop lying, you know you came here for Pepper,” MJ snorts, “Old man.”

At the end of the summer, Peter is a teenage vigilante with a secret identity, but chose to relish in being a teeanger this summer. He was his grief or loss or anxiety, he was Peter Parker. And he wouldn’t ever just be Peter again. He thinks about what he wants, and he knows he wants them in his life. And Tony had given him this threshold, one that felt like a home away from home, and a family away from his small one.

#my fics #fics #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #kinda #im pretty sure they gave me the wrong @ but 😭

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twilightvolt · 4 years

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Well....that was one way to start a new decade, i guess. > >’

Ok, from the death and destruction to the quarantine caused by viral disease to large parts of the world literally going up in flames, this year was like an ominous beginning that revealed the true ugly colors of everyone around us.

But there’s something telling me that that was just the universe releasing all of it’s built up rage from the last decade, so to think on the bright side, the only way to go is up now, right?

Regardless, pushing all the crap that happened this year aside, this feels like one of my best years yet in terms of art. i don’t think there’s any wedge of this clock that i wasn’t completely satisfied with and i had a TON of tough decisions on what to put in said wedges cuz i just luved almost everything i’ve created this year.

If you’re up to it, i’ll have my usual month to month reflection under the cutoff, but if you’re not, i hope to keep giving y’all even better art next year! ^ ^

So without further ado, let’s review!

January: ~ Days ~

Runner up: Team Solar Rises Again! (drawing in celebration of PMD finally returning with a remake of the first game)

Kicking off right where 2019 left off, i was hot on the heels of my Beastars phase, still cranking out countless drawings and doodles, mostly featuring Legoshi, and even hanging around the Beastars Amino and making some new friends there. this piece in particular i think encapsulates what i was mostly doing at the time, making up stories and stuff within canon to give myself more wolf boi content. which is something that i rarely do normally since i’ve mostly just done OC related writing before this.

February: - Sk8ter Wolf -

Runner up: Re:Hukaro (That thing i drew for Moon)

Ahh yes, the day i peaked with punk rock energy and created something in a highschool notebook sketch style. ngl, with the release of Beastars’ english dub on the way and the fandom quickly growing, i felt like i was on fire with the amount of stuff i was drawing. i felt so inspired and things can’t possibly go bad.

Or can it?

March: We Can Be Heroes

Runner up: One More Day, Emo Bird Boi Sketchies

Ahh yes, the month the worldwide quarantine started because they discovered the virus around this time. from this point onward, time pretty much meant absolutely nothing since i was stuck indoors for a majority of the year, only going out if i had to. on top of that, i tried a little attempt at a fandub and got picked on immediately by yahoos on Youtube. it...wasn’t fun.

I tried doing a little challenge i made up called Animarch where i drew a drawing representing anime i liked every day, but i only got about 5 days in i think? ehh, whatever. i did try, so that means something. lol

April: - ANOTHER SIDE -

Runner up: BEAST CROSSING ~Legoshi & Raymond

This was pretty much the final month i drew anything Beastars related as i slowly started shifting back to Pokemon due to the wait for season 2. but not before getting the new Animal Crossing and drawing a thing with Raymond and Legoshi that would blow up with hundreds of notes and interactions across every platform i posted it on. lmao

Regardless, i feel like Another Side was a perfect way to end that phase of my art journey. it’s like a nice finale to a long string of ideas that i will totally return to once season 2 drops next year.

May: - KOUJI -

Runner up: Fashion (that sketch of Alex and Jet in casual clothing)

What happened this month again? oh right, i went back to Digimon for a hot minute cuz i continued playing the copy of Cyber Sleuth Complete that i won from a giveaway on Twitter and created Alex and Jet, my latest Tamer and her Hawkmon partner. i should really do some more stuff with them.

ANYWAY,

June: - DOUBLE TROUBLE -

Runner up: “No Time to Waste! HENSHIN!” (AF attack against IonicIsaac on Twitter), Cafe Mix ~Ace, Yagami, Lance and Seliph

Art Fight. third year. and this time i kicked things up a notch and beat my old record from last year!...after uhh....cramming in 8 attacks at the very last night and totally going insane from the amount of sleep i lost. ^ ^’

But trust me when i say i will NOT do that again next year, i swear.

July: Squad Up

Runner up: Comin’ Out to Stun (Jet the Hawk sketches)

So after playing and beating PMDX, i started fleshing out Lance and Selpih’s characters and made more art and stories surrounding them and the rest of the team. one of those being a drawing for Mystery Dungeon Day, which happens the day after Odaiba Day. which is in August. why did i put this down for July then? some questions just don’t need to be answered.

August: - TOGETHER -

Runner up: In the Storm

You can tell by now just how uneventful life was this year cuz i have literally nothing else to talk about other than the art parts. no life issues, no big adventures like moving or something. just....indoor stuff.

It’s...kinda sad, now that i think about it. but hey, at least i was making the most of my time, trying new things and getting around a bit more.

September: Small World

Runner up: Rescue Together, PMD Forever!, Midnight Adventuring, Down Time

So this year, i turned 21, which a lotta people say is important. not really, if you can’t do much i guess. though, i did crank out a ton of art i’m super satisfied with as you can see by how hard it was to frickin’ pick one to use for this month’s wedge on the clock.

October: Feathers of the Shadows

Runner up: PAPERMOON - Final Mix - (not picked because it’s a touch up of an older drawing)

Hoo boi, this month was crazy. cuz i drew a whole lotta e d g e .....and a whole lotta Murkrow. lol

It was fun letting my inner edgelord out this month. even if nothing really significant happened in reality.

November: ~ One More Game ~

Runner up: UPokerap Project: Frogadier, - LEAF STORM -

This month....was actually kinda rough. it was basically me falling into a depressive episode after a scare at the dentist made me worry about my self image and insecurities again. but this time it really hit me just how much permanent damage i’ve done to myself in that aspect of my appearance. i know i shouldn’t worry so much, but it’s not great when people tell you to smile when the most i can do is grin since i’m just so....unhappy with my teeth.

But then around the end of the month, i stumbled upon a Pokemon themed Discord server with people that made me feel....not as alone as i suddenly felt i was. which i’m glad i could meet them even after only knowing them for a month now. if they’re reading this, i hope you know i’m thankful for raising my spirits when there’s still things i just can’t do due to financial issues.

December: Colors of the Heart + Happy Holidays! ~Grovyle ver.

Runner up: ~ After the Battle ~ (the two part KHII anniversary drawing), - XIII -, Sketchmon: Buizel

And now this month. on top of my insecurities, i’ve now been struggling with my frustration with not being noticed as much as i should, watching as some people quickly climb up in following when i’m going much slower. honestly, i feel like the months when everything started lightening up for the world....was when things started falling apart for me. yeah, i know. pretty depressing way to end, huh? i hit 300 before the year ended thanks to the support from my new friends though, so i’m actually pretty happy.

But that doesn’t mean i’m not still scared of the future. i mean i have my teeth to worry about and also my wisdom teeth are coming in. so next few months...might be kinda rough.

Though, that’s not to say i didn’t soldier through it. this month i pushed myself, plowed through as many commissions as i could get to raise money for my new computer and made some of the best drawings that to me, feel like a great accomplishment. even if a couple of them weren’t as grandiose as some of my previous work. it was a big step forward for me as an artist. at least in my eyes.

And i have a feeling....that it can only get better from here.

#digital art #art meme #summary of art #2020 summary of art #rambles

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meta-squash · 4 years

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Brick Club 1.3.3 “Four For Four”

Hugo introduces the chapter by going over the many changes that have happened in Paris since 1817. However, I think it’s kind of an unintentional “the more things change, the more they stay the same” moment when he talks about all these changes, and then a few paragraphs later mentions M. Delincourt and M. Blondeau, law professors at the school whom Bossuet and Marius are still taking courses from 15 years later.

It also feels like a “pay attention” moment here in terms of Hugo talking to the reader. He’s describing these changes that have happened between 1817 and 1862, and yet it’s a moment for the reader to take stock of what has changed in the world between then and the present in which they’re reading, and also what is still the same. Technology is drastically different, social standards are drastically different, and yet you will still find eight friends running around on a weekend having fun, and you will still find a person who falls in love with someone who uses her, and you will still find women who are happy with quick-and-dirty flings, and others who get screwed over by the men in their lives. Technology is ever-changing and constantly advancing, but certain aspects of humanity and human interaction are universal.

In all this discussion of joy and fun, Hugo specifically references Edme-Samuel Castaing, a doctor who in 1822 murdered one close family friend and attempted to murder his brother, in order to gain their fortune. Kind of dark for such a happy occasion. Each chapter leading up to the climax of the dinner seems to have a reference or two that’s just slightly sinister or strange, in the middle of all the happiness.

This chapter really tries to put you in the shoes of the grisettes, with all it’s direct discourse to the reader as well as its beautiful and detailed descriptions of all the places they go and things they do on their outing and how much fun they’re having. The reader is set up for just as intense a disappointment as Fantine here.

Hugo also describes the poet Jean-Pierre-Jacques-August de Labouisse-Rochefort (guy’s got a Tikki Tikki Tembo-level name) walking past them and comparing them to the three Graces, but noting that there’s one too many. Again, this feels like a separation of Fantine from the others. She’s not supposed to be there, not supposed to be in this situation, because she’s not like the other grisettes and perhaps isn’t treating this outing in the same way that the other three girls are.

What are the “keepsakes” Hugo mentions here? I know about Victorian memorial jewelry for mourning or hair-based jewelry and art to commemorate certain occasions, but this seems more romance-based and google is giving me nothing.

Tholomyes is in control here, and everyone knows it, even though Favourite is leading the group. It seems implied that he’s kind of been the one calling the shots the entire time this group has known each other. He’s pretty much a walking display of up-to-date fashion and wealth here. I’m not sure if the “nothing being sacred to him, he smoked” line is in reference to some sort of specific smoking etiquette of the time, or simply just idea that instead of frolicking with the others, he’s hanging back on his own and puffing on this cigar for his own singular pleasure. Either way, giving off pretty big “look at me I’m cool and idgaf” douchebaggery vibes here.

We see Fantine happy! Hugo also draws more attention to her teeth and hair, even having her hold her hat instead of wearing it. Maybe I’m wrong, or maybe working women had different fashions, but my conception of early 1800s hairstyles is fairly pin-heavy updos, so it seems like Fantine’s flyaway hair is just another symbol of her childlike-ness or naivety, especially paired with the description of her “babbling” in the next sentence. Her clothes are also described as being much more conservative than her friends. Altogether the picture of innocent, modest youth.

Erigone is the origin of the constellation Virgo. (Sidenote: trying to look up images of actual ancient Greek masks in the dumpster fire of 2020 is ridiculous.) I couldn’t find any mask references, but there are plenty of Erigone paintings from the late 18th and early 19th century. She also apparently featured in pastoral poetry quite often, so the use of her image here makes sense.

Hugo references Galatea earlier in his description of Fantine, and then again when he says “you could imagine underneath this dress and these ribbons a statue, and inside this statue a soul.” Hugo seems to imply less that she is a sort of Galatea-esque figure, and more that she is like Galatea in that she has a potential inside her that is as yet unrealized. And unfortunately it will remain unrealized, at least until she dies and becomes this symbolic, religious sort of spirit venerated by Valjean.

“A gaiety tempered with dreaminess.” Fantine is so head-in-the-clouds so much of the time. She seems to operate on a slightly different level from everybody else. Somebody mentioned a headcanon of her being autistic? That certainly seems to scan for a lot of this. (I also love it and hate it at the same time. More autistic main characters please! But also less tragic autistic main characters please!)

Hugo is very not subtle about Fantine being a symbol for Innocent And Pure Woman here. He really goes all out when describing her as this working girl who has all this ideal beauty and grace and modesty.

He also really wants to hammer home how important her modesty is specifically. I feel like there are some interesting implications here. Fantine at this point seems to be having as much sex as the other grisettes in her cohort. She gets to be modest and pure despite her sexual activity, while the other grisettes do not. Obviously we don’t really know much about the other girls, so maybe they also have children, but it seems like Fantine may be the only one. So despite the child out of wedlock and the sexual activity, Fantine gets to be pure and modest in personality, in dress, and in symbolism, while her friends are not. Partly I think this is, as Hugo said in the last chapter, an aspect of the powers of Love and how Fantine’s capacity to love so completely makes her different. But what does that say about the other grisettes, who don’t have that passionate and loyal love, and yet are still negatively affected by society or poverty? I mean, I get what Hugo is doing, making Fantine extremely sympathetic, but also making her this pure and modest woman instead of just a regular working girl like her friends seems to imply a betterness? Or at least a Reason for her goodness, while perhaps that reason wouldn’t exist had she been a grisette who acted like the rest of her friends do.

“Love is a fault; be it so. Fantine was innocence floating upon the surface of this fault.” The reason for Fantine’s wisdom is her capacity to love. It’s also her downfall. Because she loves without pretense, without experience, she is ruined. This makes me feel like her “wisdom” isn’t necessarily an intrinsic knowledge of any kind, it’s more like this unhindered ability to love despite the world’s cruelty? Every other main character starts out with a lack of love and then slowly discovers the ability to love (and also to be loved). Fantine starts out with not only the ability to love, but the ability to love completely. She gets screwed over by Tholomyes, and she does harden a little bit, but she never loves Cosette any less. Compare this to the Thenardiers and their children, or Magnon and her children. Fantine’s unique wisdom is that her love does not diminish the more hardship she encounters or the more miserable she becomes.

#les miserables #les miserables meta #brickclub #les mis #les mis meta #is it 5am? am i bad at finishing things NOT at stupid hours of the morning? however did I finish 4 collages for my Les Mis collage project?#yes to all of the above #lm 1.3.3

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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1113.

1 - When was the last time you had a roast dinner? What kind of meat or vegetarian option did you have with it? >> I don’t think I’ve ever had a roast dinner.

2 - When was the last time you drove or travelled for over an hour? Where did you go? >> The last time I was in a car for longer than an hour was... probably when we went to that one restaurant in August or whenever?

3 - What’s your favourite kind of coffee to order (eg. cappuccino, latte etc.)? >> ---

4 - When you get old, are you going to let your hair go grey or dye it instead? >> I am greatly looking forward to turning full grey. It’s my favourite hair colour (well, white is, but grey works too).

5 - What genre was the last book you read? Was it any good? >> The book I’m currently reading is nonfiction. I wouldn’t be reading it if I wasn’t getting something out of it.

6 - Did you ever wear braces on your teeth? >> No.

7 - When was the last time you were relieved about something? What caused you to feel that way? >> When Jack got his package, because I’m always low-key anxious about mail (either sending or receiving).

8 - Where was the last place you went that required you to wear a mask? Are you used to having to wear one now? >> I mean, that’s everywhere. So, the last time I went inside anywhere that wasn’t my apartment was when I went to the CVS and the party store across the street from it. Yes, I’m used to wearing one -- alarm bells go off in my head automatically if I find myself at the door of an establishment and I didn’t put my mask on (which happened to me at a Speedway a couple of weeks ago, lol. I had to stand in front of the door hurriedly putting it on).

9 - How often do you receive calls from unknown numbers? Do you ever answer them? >> There’ll be weeks when I’ll get like 2 or 3 calls a day, because telespam is hell, but lately I haven’t gotten any. Thank fuck. (No, I don’t answer them. What am I, crazy?)

10 - What’s your favourite condiment to have with sausages or hot dogs (or the vegetarian equivalent)? >> Sauerkraut and onion and mustard.

11 - Which fictional character can you relate to the most? Is this a character from film, TV or a book? >> *shrug*

12 - Do you groom your eyebrows? If so, how? >> Nope. They’re fine the way they are.

13 - Did you get “told off” for anything the last time you went to the dentist or was everything okay? >> No, my teeth are in remarkably decent health according to the dentist. They like to wheedle me about getting my wisdom teeth pulled, but I’m not doing it until (/unless) they actively start causing problems.

14 - Would you rather get a starter or dessert? >> Depends on what I’m in the mood for, don’t it?

15 - Have you ever been involved with the police? Did you find them to be helpful? >> Well, yes. “Helpful” isn’t the word I’d use, but fortunately I have had only one negative interaction with the police. The rest of the interactions were annoying but mostly neutral. I consider that a big win, especially since this is the fucking NYPD we’re talking about (and considering I’m both Black and neurodivergent)...

16 - Are you tired at the moment? Is there a specific reason you feel that way? >> Nope.

17 - Are you big on colour coordination? Does that just apply to your outfits or to the rest of your life as well? >> I like to put together colours that please me, if that’s what you mean. I don’t care much about colour theory or anything unless it’s directly related to the associations I personally have.

18 - What shoes did you last wear? How long have you had them? >> Skechers sneakers. Uh... about a year? I don’t remember.

19 - When was the last time you wore make-up? What kind of make-up was it? >> Halloween. Just some eyeliner and stuff. The mask covers most of my face, after all.

20 - Have you ever slipped or skidded on the ice? Did you end up getting hurt? >> Yeah. I mean, I landed on my ass on hard asphalt, which doesn’t feel great, but I didn’t suffer any serious injuries.

21 - Do you wear glasses or contacts? >> No.

22 - Do you own any photo albums? Are they dedicated to special occasions or just a random selection of photos? >> We have the wedding "album” that Sparrow put together using that one website that turns your photos into a book for you.

23 - What was the last reason for you using a spoon? >> Eating dinner last night.

24 - Did your state/region go into lockdown or similar back when Covid hit in March? What did you do to pass the time while you were stuck at home? >> Yeah. I didn’t do anything different, I’m usually stuck at home anyway.

25 - What’s your favourite meal of the day - breakfast, lunch or dinner? >> Breakfast. It stabilises the day for me, and also it’s when I’m likely to eat the most (because that’s when I need the most fuel).

26 - Who was the last person you texted? How do you know that person? >> Sparrow. I’m married to her.

27 - What was the last thing you put in a sandwich? >> Peanut butter and jam, I think.

28 - What was the reason behind the last time you shouted or raised your voice? >> I don’t remember. Whenever that was, it was a long while ago.

29 - Are you a citizen of more than one country? Would you ever use that advantage to move abroad? >> No.

30 - Do you know how to change a tyre? Could you do it without help? >> I know how, yeah. I probably could do it without help (unless the lug nuts were fuckin stuck or something), but since I don’t drive, I’ll never be in this situation in the first place.

#surveys #survey #random survey #not for reblogging *glare*

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tawneybel · 4 years

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Happy Mischief Night!

I’m on Lo Loestrin Fe for my ovarian cysts. I’ve been in pain since July 15th but it’s greatly subsided because I know the cause of it now! My period started on October 1st after skipping August and September entirely, maybe because October’s my favorite month and fall calms me lol. It also lasted thirteen days. Am I breaking out because I’m on the pill, or because I ate like three chocolate bars and a key lime pie this month? The only time I eat sweets is when I’m menstruating or it’s a holiday.

My next gyne appointment is in late November and I wonder if I’m going to have to have a laparoscopy, ugh. I haven’t been able to do abdominal exercises since mid-July. Swimming was out of the question because of covidiots. :/ I also need to schedule my wisdom teeth removal.

The rest of this post is about the Ginger Snaps trilogy because I felt that series deserved its own review post. (Even if it’s short.) I haven’t written one of those in a while! There are so many notes on my phone from all the horror movies I ‘ve watched this year. These notes are from months ago so hopefully I remembered everything correctly lol.

Ginger Snaps

Less than two minutes in and a doggy died. But the rest of the franchise makes up for it. The first two are some of the few chick flicks I really like, alongside Carrie, Gone Girl, and Heathers. Brigitte is one of my favorite types of goth characters. You don’t require heavy makeup, all-black clothing, or to wear certain brands. Sometimes all you need are skeleton accessories, mostly black clothing, a dark soundtrack, and of course morbid interests. (The bone pens were so cute!) The Fitzgerald sisters’ fascination with gruesome deaths could be off-putting, but pre-lycanthropy they seemed like they had promising photography careers.

Ginger and Brigitte’s mom was truly ride-or-die until the end. A deleted scene has her take the blame for the killings. I wish first period cakes were the norm. In a way I got one, because I reached menarche a week before my twelfth birthday. At first I thought the girls were fraternal twins. The silver belly button ring insertion was like a hardcore version of the earlobe piercing scene from The Parent Trap. Ginger Snaps is like a dark inversion of that movie, sortakindanotreally, where the sisters grow farther apart. At the end, they are without their parents. Not because the protagonists are left orphans, but because they felt like they couldn’t tell Mom and/or Dad about the paranormal aspects of Ginger’s belated puberty. Again, if you like Carrie, check this out.

For a guy with three sisters, Jason sure was a d-bag towards girls. I like how he just walked off with a syringe in his neck. The audience never learns what happens to him. We never learn the identity of the male wolf from Unleashed, but the creators say it wasn’t him or Sam.

There’s also some excellent dark humor. On hiding bully Trina’s body: “Shallow grave? I don’t know, just seems appropriate. Also, “I can see your gaunch!” Apparently that’s Canadian slang.

Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed

The first sequel I actually liked more than the original. I plopped it on my fave horror movie list.

Getting hit on by someone who works at a place you frequent is not usually pleasant. Jeremy was kind-hearted, at least. Too bad Brigitte’s admirer had to off him. Okay, I can’t remember why, but I thought Dr. Brookner was a pervo like Tyler. Tyler’s a horrible person, but a great character. Because he took sex/ual advantage of young addicts, but looked out for Ghost. Again, horrible person, but his character showed you can’t clock a rapist 24/7. Unleashed is also great because it passed the Bechdel test without making a big deal about it. It’s just organic. Female characters talking to each other.

As I said before, we never learned the Best of Bailey Down nor the stalker’s identity, but it made the movies feel more realistic, not having all the answers. “Beautiful” by Joydrop was a fitting credit song, because it describes Ginger and Brigitte’s relationship prior to the former’s death.

Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning

While this wasn’t as enjoyable as the first two, it’s definitely one of the better pieces of werewolf media I’ve consumed. The Beginning is basically a historical AU, although I think Brendan Fletcher is the only “original” actor besides Perkins and Isabelle.

This movie and THIR13EN Ghosts taught me JR Bourne was born to play a DILF. Teen Wolf introduced me to him, so I was already in love when I got to daddy Russell Lightbourne from The 100. (I have to catch up on season seven, now that it's finally on Netflix. I was having trouble accessing On Demand for a few days, when it took NOS4A2’s second season off. Darn it. The hourglass dude is hot. Still gonna write for it.) Bourne just ages so well. DADDY.

Song of the Day: “Halloween” by Aqua.

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skippyv20 · 5 years

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Have I missed any? The dates might be off; I tried to find the earliest post in Skippy’s archives and date from that.

Original Riddler

2nd April 2019

Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck three, ‘twas time for tea, hickory dickory dock. Hickory dickory dock the mouse ran up the clock, he saw three dressed up in tweed, hickory dickory dock. Hickory dickory dock, the men came to a hault, oh yes indeed, some men in drab, took care of what was left at fault. -OR

26th March 2019

Hear ye, Hear ye, I decree the words spoken to me. The messenger went back and forth, searching for wisdom of what should be told. The seeds were planted purposefully, so not just one, but many could begin to see. The purpose lies within the lions teeth, only those who dare will oddly know, that we have eyes everywhere, and even that little birdie wasn’t the same bird to unfold of what they were told. OR

25 Feb 2019

IT Dollhouse Riddle #1 Farmer, Farmer in the dell. What is the crop that you do sell? Sleepers, creepers in the morning. Hush don’t wake them or send a warning. Farmer, farmer in the dell. How is the crop that you do sell? Dreamers, screamers, sun is high, on two they race, their end is nigh. Farmer, farmer in the dell. Where is the crop that you do sell? Lazy, hazy with sun setting. all on three so no upsetting. The dreamers who sleep should not be awakened. Puppet masters will not be forsaken.

28th December, 2018 (Two Riddles)

Riddle One

I hesitate to share the rumors heard, maybe they’re stories or simply old tales of how objectifying others can persuade you to do; crazy things, complete nasty things too, but if you write it off as a disorder, you’ll get free pills too. It plays with your mind, it rearranges your brain, without knowing it, you’ll be corned as crazy, and labeled; sincerely, ‘insane’.

Riddle Two

The supporting heads from a far all gathered in plainly tired, they were requested to give their take of who is what, and what’s to blame. “We want that out, We want it now, We refuse to bow down to a lowly cow.” The staff jolted at the end of their decree, because they knew many things that we couldn’t see. From the greatest to the small, they all believed, they bowed their heads, and all agreed. “Your word is the last take, sir. What ought we do?”

21 Dec 2018

Story time; there cometh a person and in their hand, carrying a letter of dreadful tales. They asketh permission for the news to leak, adding fire to that one started with. They got their answer directly from the Great, as they were told; ‘do as you wish, according to what you see fit.’ The letter was delivered, ‘twas signed and sealed, no matter the tears it may bring to one or two deers, there’s no stopping the motion of the Royal deal.

18th December 2018

Twiddle dee, twiddle dumb, I’m back on my thumbs! T’was a few hours before Christmas, and she barely couldn’t sip rum. The Harlot shook her fist so well, that His Royal Highness left a cold print in the sand. Bake for all we care, after all, is there even life in there? Death comes when you least expect it; just because you carry it doesn’t mean you won’t be rejected.

31 August 2018

What ought lovers do, when one was completely untrue? Doth love hide, and sweep the floors nightly, making sure to leave the backdoor cracked slightly? Treason maybe a reason, however there’s something more appealing than the Mary intake; oh, the games they play, thinking there’s a prize to be made.

Who is Robin? Or who is Rob’bin the Hood?

The first string to the fiddle has been caressed, assuring that those closest will talk at the highest expense. -OrgRiddler

29 August 2018 A little climatic those three agreed, Always in conflict and sometimes in tweed. They can’t seen to laugh, or genuinely cry; for ones not deserving, and the other overly relies. Ought time prove itself, as the body starts to ache, even if they had no heirs, there’d be nothing left for take. Ought we let them play the fiddle, and let them be? For if, and when they play so hard, only they have blame of tearing their own strings. -OrgRiddler

2 July 2018

Oh, Rumplestilskin, what have thou done? Are we on the same team? Or have thou taken my name out of vain? Oh, dearest Skip, it is I; the (orig) Riddle Anon, the new Riddle is not of mine, however I wish they mean well, but I’m sensing that somehow it was tweaked for someone’s gain to derail what we’ve accomplished thus far. Welcome new Riddle Anon. Sincerely, *Riddler of Old.

First Riddle

Hello Skip! A riddle: I have people in places, and places of people, many of whom I am related. In, and out the palace they go, one by one, we are loved by the Queen, you know. I can’t say much, because the world will soon find- I’m no ordinary joe, my family has their own crown. I stalk tumblr to laugh, and holler at the so called “wedding” for a wanna be baller. This isn’t to state; “look at me world!” However, this is to state that you have a fan behind someone’s palace walls.

Looks like them all....thank you so much....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Ridikulus Pt 11

Bouncing in a tug of your boots up nearly to your knees the fur lined marvel of accessories certain to help keep your feet warm that had a manageable thick sole matching Ginny’s pair. The boots laced themselves while you pulled a fur lined wrap you probably wouldn’t need in Lothlorien if they kept it warm like the others you covered Em in while Ginny used a matching one to cover Teddy. A mokeskin diaper bag filled pouch was the last thing and out you went following the stoic Elf out the door to the open gate for the walk out into the snowing city to cross to the archways.

To break the silence you asked, “So, Haldir,” at that his head turned to face you also allowing him to catch a glimpse of Ginny fixing the wrap around Teddy in his reach out to grab at the snow falling through your warming bubble around you five. “Any siblings?”

“I have two brothers, Rumil and Orophin, Your Majesty.”

“Do they live in Lothlorien too?”

“Yes, they do. We all share rounds on the guard.”

“That’s nice.”

Ginny, “I can’t imagine working with my siblings.” That brought his gaze to hers as she said, “Not that I don’t love them, but I can’t imagine what job could bring us together and keep us from driving one another up the wall. Short bursts we can work together, but every day,” in a sharp exhale she grinned at Teddy in his hair mirroring hers earning him a kiss on the nose while Em drew the Elf’s eye hiding under the wrap she pulled up over her head then popped out of cracking a hint of a grin onto his face making her giggle.

“I am sure we could find something. Won’t be that long till I’ll have a baby brother myself. Have to wait a few years before the real co-working can happen, still-,” in catching his glance at you, you added, “Dad’s adopting my cousin’s son when he’s born.”

“Congratulations. Expanding ones family is an incredible thing.” It seemed he inhaled to build his courage before asking, “Are you the eldest child, Lady Ginny?”

The title had her pause a moment before answering, “Youngest. Not for long, Mum’s pregnant then there’ll be eight of us.”

Softly he repeated, “Eight children…”

Ginny nodded, “Hopefully it’s another girl so I won’t be the only one. First in generations for the Weasley line.” Looking up at him she asked, “Your parents live nearby?”

Shaking his head he replied, “No, our parents have sailed to Valinor at the end of the Second Age.”

“Valinor, you can’t travel back, can you? Dad mentioned it and occasionally I hear about it from the Lords, but I was curious. If you don’t mind my asking.”

Haldir, “Not at all, Your Majesty. It is no secret. The Valar control transport too and from Valinor. Those sailing from these lands in this age are called home by the Valar. Only the Noldor have ever left Valinor without the blessing of the Valar and were heftily banished in response.”

“Really? So Elrond can’t sail home?”

Haldir, “Lord Elrond is among the half Elves, from the line of Beren and Luthien. A noble line. When he was a child the Feanoreans, elders of the Noldor race, in search of their Silmarils, a sacred trio of stones Feanor had forged for his father High King Finwe, they sacked Doriath and Queen Earwing their mother leapt from the tower with the stone.”

“Oh,”

Haldir, “But do not fret, the Valar Ulmo took pity on her and transformed her into a sea bird and she flew all the way to King Earendil’s flying ship to safety.”

“But, what about Elrond?”

Haldir, “Lord Elrond and his twin brother Elros were taken by Maedhros and Maglor, Feanor’s eldest sons. You see, when they had sacked Doriath centuries before the twin Princes Elured and Elurin were taken by Celegorm’s servants into the forests around the kingdom and were left there. When they were returned for the pair had vanished. The act of the essential killing of the toddlers haunted the brothers. They were Queen Earwing’s younger brothers you see, she escaped with a set of servants carrying the Silmaril their parents were killed for.”

“Why did they take Elrond and his brother? To be hostages?”

Haldir, “No, they were raised as their own.”

“Bit morbid…I’m afraid to ask, what happened to Elros?”

Haldir, “Upon their maturation the Valar, due to their half Elven status they were granted a choice to live as Elves for eternity or to live a mortal life. King Elros chose a mortal life. His descendents still survive in the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan.”

Ginny, “That must be awful, poor Elrond. Fred and George are miserable just a day apart, I can’t imagine eternity.”

Haldir, “It is tradition however for Lord Elrond to raise the future King of Gondor. Young Estel is from Elros’ line. A way of keeping his brother with him.”

“The brothers, who took Elrond, are they still around?”

Haldir, “Upon retrieving the Silmarils the brothers were unable to touch the sacred objects for the atrocities they had committed to retrieve them. Maedhros threw himself in his painful despair into a flaming lake of lava. Maglor chose to cast his stone into the sea and to wander the shores of Aman for all eternity. Though no word has been heard of him leading to our belief he had been called to sail.”

“Hmm…is that why Elrond isn’t a King? Who raised him?”

Haldir shook his head, “No, as was the choice of Lord Celeborn the pair refused the title of King. They have no need of it.”

Ginny, “And King Thranduil does?”

Haldir, “King Oropher fell in battle, he was chosen to rule the Silvans, in his stead they decided he was to keep the title out of respect for their Prince.”

“This is going to be a tangled history to learn isn’t it?”

With a hint of what you guessed must have been a try to chuckle he replied, “There is several thousand years of Elven history to share if you are willing, and yes, a great deal is quite interwoven. To learn one line is to entangle them all.”

Ginny, “Hopefully they won’t mind us waiting a bit to learn it all then. Since it will take a while.”

Haldir, “It is not required of you and your kin to learn our history. Those willing to learn are patiently led through it. When you are ready we will be more than glad to assist you, Your Majesty.”

A glance up found you finally at the arches and through the right one you were led and once again you were staring upwards at the miles of winding steps up the trees leading to the tree top city. Lowering your gaze again you focused on the path. He began to guide you both on feeling the gaze of others looking you over as you continued to keep the wraps around the toddlers in your arms at the mild chill in this forest city Haldir explained to be to ready their gardens for a big colorful burst when spring hit.

By the end of the third hour Em had fallen asleep and Teddy was halfway drooling when the Lords after their meeting was through had found you. Respectful nods were given to Ginny then their eyes dropped to the bodies draped across your chests urging on a decision to have tea in one of the ground level sitting rooms while the toddlers slept in a bassinette a couple of servants had brought out for you. Ensured to be fully covered with your wraps the pair slept away drawing longing gazes from all Elves able to see them in their safe distances. Estel still sat fixing a set of feathers into a woven bit of string he was trying to complete to give to you.

Glorfindel, “You seem well rested, Miss Black.”

Forcing a quick grin in catching his eye you replied, “I slept a little. Bit more than usual lately. Got up in time for training.”

Thranduil, “For your show?”

“Oh, no. Quidditch training. Have to build up our stamina and strength again. Been a couple years since we had a competing season. Had to pause on it to stay hidden and safe. Season official training camp starts up in august for pro teams.”

Elrond, “Ronald did show us a few matches on your board. I cannot wait to see how it differs in real life.”

Ginny, “Well there’s a match at Hogwarts in a week. It would be best to work you up to professional Quidditch. Some of Jaqi’s games can get quite brutal.”

Thranduil, “Is it safe? For you to be in such a, brutal, sport?”

In a smirk you replied lifting your cup, “It’s only brutal if the other team can catch you.”

While you drank his brow ticked up then dropped again in saying, “I cannot wait to see what sport you have devoted yourself to even in the face of danger.”

Shaking your head their eyes were on you again as you said, “We’re born staring danger in the face. Danger is nothing new to be terrified of. Regret however, never charging head on at what you want, now that’s terrifying.”

Celeborn, “I agree. A lifetime of regret is nothing to a pinch of risk. As long as you are successful at least.” He chuckled to himself in the last sentence making you smirk again.

At your mild shiver and hand tugging your sleeve over it on your lap Legolas stated, “Miss Black, if you are cold we might have lunch in Greenwood.”

Celeborn, “I do apologize, I should have mentioned the chill prior to inviting you. Only, Elves, we do not feel the cold. That trait must be delayed in your kin’s shift to Elven status.”

In a glance at a pocket watch you pulled from your pocket you replied, “Lunch would have to wait. I should get going. I have an appointment.”

Thranduil, “One of your classes?”

“No, my jaw’s sore, Hermione’s parents are going to tend to it.”

Glorfindel, “Your jaw?”

You nodded, “In our escape one of my back teeth got cracked, the others are facing sideways so they have to be taken out.”

Elrond, “You are having teeth removed?”

Glorfindel, “We have herbs to mend our oral ailments if you would wish for some.”

You shook your head, “No thank you. Have to get them out, had the appointment for a few months off but it can’t wait. There’s not enough room for them anyways.”

Thranduil, “You are certain removal is best?”

You nodded again, “Wisdom teeth are normally removed.” In the confused stares you added, “My four teeth in the back are crooked and one is cracked. Long overdue to have them removed, but, war is hell and leaves little time for dental appointments. I was much better afterwards. I promise.”

Looking you over steadily he noted your still tense and strained muscles clearly not eased by your resting at all with an evident twinge of your jaw telling of the pain there. The doorway to the buildings meant for Dale were bustling and easily you led the guys through the streets they admired the quaint structures from the Muggle world muddled into the Wizarding portions all oddly crafted and being scrubbed and mended by their owners. Along the way they paused catching the gasps and excited waves from the shop owners and people passing through in their errands.

“Our shop.” The men all peered back at the building you were passing they had frozen wondering what it was tasked for all boarded up still and the headless charred figure raising and lowering a hat towards its shoulders, “The sign took a fair bit of damage in our escape. Used to look like Fred and George with a bunny popping up under the hat.”

Glorfindel, “Why are you not on the sign?”

You giggled saying, “It was a purple eyed bunny.” Making them look down at you, “I get enough attention and mostly the guys spend more time here. I just help with ideas and crafting the objects, picking up occasional shifts.”

Thranduil, “Still-,” his words halted at your next giggle while you led them around another corner and up the stoop into the waiting room. The pastel yellow room with quaint chairs in pale green adorned with flowers around a section for toys and tables of magazines in varying subjects. Curiously the men watched as you filled in the first empty line on the sheet on the clipboard waiting on the counter then took your seat at the elderly woman saying with a grin, “They’ll be right with you, Love.”

After a nod and a soft thanks you turned to guide the men to the chairs they filled around you while Estel eyed the jumble of colored wires and beads beside a sand box with random shapes inside. In a glance at him Ginny said, “The wand, you have to slide it under the table.” Taking one in her hand to demonstrate for the excited boy nipping at his lip guiding the tiny ship through the waves of sand and tunnels throughout the box. “They have magnets in them.” Widening the boy’s grin for the short time they got to play until you were called back and you stood to head to the exam room.

Once on your feet your eyes shifted to Glorfindel in his asking, “You are certain of this?”

Weakly you chuckled saying, “If you are so concerned come watch for yourself.” Hastily he popped up and a hint of a grin eased across his lips in accepting Em into his arms cradling her sweetly while he followed after you with Thranduil guiding Elrond and Celeborn behind him. Legolas gladly remained behind with Estel happy to explore the other toy sets left out for children.

Curiously the Lords eyed the odd chair you climbed onto and instruments around you not noticing your grin at their inspection of all around them or Mr Granger’s entrance. “Ready for the fun finally Jaqi?” Quietly the men remained against the wall looking on.

You giggled and nodded, “Yes, ready to try out your monthly helping of draughts?”

He nodded with a grin, “Yes. Should be so much easier now.” Mrs Granger finished setting up the tray table and you were eased back and given a pair of sunglasses when the light was switched on, “Let’s get you numbed up and have a look at how badly cracked, if at all, that molar is.”

Closing your eyes under the sun glasses you heard him unscrew the lid to dab a q tip into the numbing tonic he then eased over your gums leaving the lower half of your face without sensation at all. Carefully while his wife consulted the xrays he used the mirror to inspect the molars then said, “Ooh, that is a painful crack, no wonder you can’t sleep on it.” The statement made the Lords inhale deeply irritated they had missed the source of your pain.

Reaching over he grabbed the pliers making the men swallow dryly only to hear step by step from him what he was doing. Sure enough with a single firm tug the first tooth was out, the one that was badly cracked nearly split in half, with three others to follow, all with chips and cracks of their own.

Delicately his wife passed him the phoenix tear elixir he eased the lid off of, accepting the clean dropper he filled and then lowered into your mouth once he was sure there were no fragments inside. Four drops later he grinned eyeing the now healed gums stating, “All mended. We should have accepted your offer for aid years back.”

Mrs Granger placed the suction tube into your mouth making the men’s heads tilt slightly to see what it was for until she explained its use while her husband eased out another bottle he poured a syringe full between your lips reversing the effects of the numbing tonic. Steadily you shifted your jaw and grumbled at the temporary tingling that faded before he said, “Now, onto the cleaning. Get this out in one full swoop.” Weakly you chuckled and the group listened in while the men peered over you seeing what he was doing as well as the healed empty spaces from your wisdom teeth.

An easy cleaning later the group all joined you on your feet to head out to the front counter. There as you scheduled your next appointment they watched you pull out a folded set of muggle bills the men eyed curiously while you counted out the 23 galleons and then paused seeing your supply of sickles dwindled down to four left then glanced up at Mr Granger and his smirk asking, “I got it all but the three knuts, I can drop by Gringotts later-.”

He shook his head and chuckled, “I am certain we can break your sickles with our Wizard customers. Quite a number have come in since hiding us away. Though I imagine when the engagement news breaks we’ll have to add another till for Dwarf coins.”

With a grin you stated, “Thank you all the same. I know it was short notice.”

“You’re family. No way we would let you suffer with those molars. I do hope it helps you sleep tonight.” He nodded as you did after a kind pat of his hand on your arm, “See you later.” Turning to head back behind the door in your turn to head back to Glorfindel who you noticed cautiously easing his arms tighter around Em’s back in her slumbering wiggle to keep her body from shifting past her own will allowing her to sleep.

Ginny now on her feet again as Legolas lifted Estel once the bead track set was put back into its former corner took your empty side asking, “Where are we off to now?”

Legolas asked hopefully in place of his still speechless father wondering how you had managed the pain for so long with such injuries keeping you from sleep, “Lunch?”

Smirking at him you said, “You talked me into it. Lunch it is.” Making him grin to himself as you led the way back to the archways through the crowded streets.

Distantly while the Durins led their kin through the open archways with Hermione in their midst to help allow their people to grow accustomed to seeing her among them you were again at the same table across from the Lords fazed into a debate. The children had been taken home by K and Dobby for a proper nap in their own beds and Ginny remained in Lothlorien accepting Haldir’s offer of a longer tour. Quietly in a daze of you own tapping a finger to your lips from the hand supporting your chin through your sideways lean onto the arm of your chair. No true focus came to your thoughts simply a daze of something familiar you were trying to place.

The flap of wings suddenly had your eyes on the bird that had landed in the palm of Lord Celeborn before sifting to the long since staring Elf King and Lord Glorfindel who had finally realized what their leaving you from the discussion had left you to. Blankly you watched the message be opened from the corner of your eye still focusing on the pair memorizing your relaxed moment and seemingly intimate gaze. Galadriel called however and off again to your home you went alongside Lindir, who had been invited to join you for dinner again.

Back through the archway you passed to your home and into the empty kitchen to make yourself a snack while Lindir joined Regulus in the gardens. Humming softly to yourself as Kreacher set up the plates and poured you a glass of the juice he levitated from the ice box as your hair shifted back to silvery blue from peach at the burst of cold wind half a mile back. Ignoring the meal being started by a team of House Elves you turned for the study off to the side of the library to settle yourself into your favorite thinking chair trying to uncover just what your body was meaning for you to remember.

In your seat in front of the large window overlooking the gardens you stopped humming and smiled at Opal in her approach to curl up on your lap with the vial of phoenix tear medicine she waited patiently until you had finished your first cream cheese and jam coated cinnamon raisin bread sandwich to have it applied. Through the doorway however, as you raised the bottle to unscrew the lid Kreacher passed through the open doorway stating, “The Elf King is here to see you Mistress.”

Your head turned to smile up at him wondering why he wasn’t with the others as he entered the doorway and stepped around Kreacher to claim the seat across of you while Kreacher mumbled something about tea on his exit, “Thank you K.”

Turning your head you met his eyes through unscrewing the lid drawing his eyes lower to it and Opal in his settling into the chair and said, “Miss Black, I apologize for leaving so hastily earlier.”

You shook your head, “No need to apologize, I understand. I imagined you might have been gone longer however.”

“Lady Galadriel tired of my arguments with her wishes.” With a narrowing of his eyes he spotted Opal’s fingers clenching on your jeans as she tilted her head back and held her lids open through a harsh tensing of her muscles at your rapid pair of drops you released from the dropper. Lowly in her eyes clamping shut she coiled up with a pained whimper burying her head against your stomach for a few moments. “What is that?”

“Pheonix tears mixed in a healing elixir to bring her sight back.”

“She allows you to inflict such pain on her?” His eyes met yours with a curiously ticked up brow on his flat expression only making you wonder if his face could form a smile at all with how little expression past irritation you had seen from him.

“When she was a hatchling she was stolen by Goblins. Raised and blinded in the lowest levels of Gringotts bank.” Making his lips part at what she had faced. “They taught her touch is followed by pain. When I was eleven I had to pass her to get to my vault, I managed to sneak a Draconic whisper to her along with an enchanted pendant that me shrink and bring her here. Took weeks to get her to let anyone but me close to her without recoiling, at least until I shared my sight with her.”

“She was blinded and raised as a weapon, why would your first instinct be to heal her?”

“Because her entire life she was kept away from the light, living in fear for centuries. Opal is from a breed of the friendliest and most docile Dragons that have never been recorded harming anyone. She’d never even flown, felt the earth, wind or sun at all, take away your feelings for Dragons and place yourself in that life.” His lips parted, “Would you wish for me to pass by and do nothing to free you.”

“They never suspected you?”

“The keeping of Dragons in Wizarding dwellings is forbidden. They had no way to conduct any search for her and no right to reclaim her, not after how she was treated.”

His eyes lowered to see her now set of one cerulean and silver shimmering eye contrasting her milky one as she smiled at the Elf King and looked around the room in Norberta’s stretch and climb out of the roaring fire to join her for their daily flight through the gardens. Quietly the King watched their trot through the doorway then looked at you again, “Why do they live with you? If you are not meant to keep them so?”

“Their residence here is allowed by the Ministry after they were not granted places among the Dragons in the breeding grounds. Both were stolen and hand raised by humans, they are acknowledged by their kin and welcome to visit but are not able to fulfill their roles in the clans in their wish to remain with our family after we’d given them such a safe place to live.”

Behind him two whooshes drew flinches from the King that turned to watch them grow to their normal size to fly out under the protective dome before looking at you again with another quick smile as you drank some of your juice. “I was wondering. Your potions, your scar, why do you keep them when Mr Lupin has mentioned elixirs to mend them?”

“With or without the scar the pain lingers. I have no reason to hide them, everyone nearly from my old world knew about them. Why bother hiding them now.” You wet your lips, “Though should you wish assistance in mending yours I would help with that.”

His lips parted as his eyes narrowed again, “How-?”

You giggled weakly raising your glass again, “There’s hardly a shielding spell a Morpher cannot see through. Part of my appeal for my teaching position.”

His eyes scanned over you again then to the vial again, “It hurts?”

“To mend yours yes, well, your eye at least. I would have to singe your face and then heal that with the droplets.”

“Singe my face?”

“It isn’t half as painful as it sounds.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“On both ends, yes. Earning my mark left me with quite a number of scars. The skin should feel no more than an irritation, the eye would have to be done over time slowly for how much it hurts.”

For a few moments he sat silently wondering back at your behavior noticing how you had not recoiled or treated him unfairly for having them and certainly not the worse by treating him with pity due to the massive wound. “When, when could-?”

“I could start on your face now if you like. You would have to lay down though.”

His eyes turned to the chaise lounge you motioned your hand to and he nodded, standing with his wrap still draped over his chair with his crown on top as he curled his fingers and moved to the chaise in your finishing your juice and rise to your feet. Leaving the glass behind you moved to his side when he had fully draped across it finding a comfortable position, drawing out your wand you watched as he drew in a deep breath looking up at you.

Curling your leg under you he swallowed dryly in your sitting beside him. Internally muddled at feeling your leg’s contact with his side and raised hand moving to partially cup and tilt the face of the King as he dropped his shielding spell revealing the scar he expected to frighten you. Only his eyes lingered on you watching as you raised your wand to press to his forehead in a gentle stroke to his cheek after a soft warning count.

Halfway through you opened the vial and let out the droplets across his healing skin. A slow breath escaped him after his holding it expecting far more pain. Something closer to the flames inflicting them, again he drew in another breath and watched simply focusing on your hand still cupping his cheek and tilting his head to ease it into a better position to finish. The contact was what he focused on, wondering at how often you had done this for your friends, what sort of scars had you erased from your body he would never see should you ever grow intimate. The number of hidden spots his Healers no doubt had found through the massage that might never be voiced unless by your will to share.

Wetting his lips when your hand drew back he asked, “And my eye?”

“You’re going to pass out most likely.”

“I can endure the pain.” He uttered sternly hoping for it to be true.

You nodded and drew in another set of drops into the glass dropper, then said, “We should probably stick to a drop a week, or even a month depending on how often you wish to endure it.”

Before he could say anything the droplet fell into his eye bringing an excruciating wave of pain causing his eyes to roll back then close and his head to turn aside through his body slumping. Fire coursed through his body much hotter than those he had faced to receive his scars and half blind state suddenly followed by a harsh chill worse than that of crossing the vast tundra of Helcrax his mind had not gone to in centuries about the travel from Doriath to Lindon. Reentering the room Kreacher, after his peek in earlier brought another vial for you to raise the King’s strength again along with Em, and shared that while Remus was called to another late meeting Neville had Teddy. For half an hour you let the King settle while you shared some of the snacks with Em, who’s happy giggles at your story you were reading to her eventually stirred the King.

Groggily he shifted, patting the chaise beside him hoping to find you still there only to open his eyes finding one pristine view of the room with a blurry muddied mess of colors on the opposite side. Your voice caused his head to turn and take in your halfway blurry figure and shimmering silver hair matching Em’s, “There’s a vial on the table, you should drink it. It will help you gain your strength back.”

He wet his lips turning his head to claim the vial he uncorked and downed before sitting up at the return of nearly half of his depleted energy. “How long was I unconscious?”

You glanced up at him eyeing the faint outline of a silvery blue iris and pale grey pupil in his formerly milky eye, “Half an hour nearly.”

Standing up he passed the vial to Kreacher in his reach for it and moved to reclaim his former seat, adding his crown again and accept the tea and snacks you offered. “Does it appear normal?”

You motioned your fingers and a small mirror appeared in front of his face he turned and tilted to get a better look before you sent it back again, “Another application should have it mended.”

He nodded, “I believe a week should do.” Slowly he raised the shielding over the eye making it match his other eye.

“You look hungry.” With brows raised he stood as you did and joined you on the walk through the house to your kitchens.

Curiously he asked in a glance at Em, “The children, they share your ability, could they-,”

In a glance up at him you asked, “See your scars?” To which he nodded and you said, “Yes, but to children so used to scars and creatures like Dragons and Basilisks it’s hard to put to words what sort of person could terrify them in a single glance.”

In your passing the table however, Thranduil lowered claiming the seat beside Em’s high chair you set her in where he smiled at her sweetly allowing her hold of his wrap for inspection resting over his arm.

And in spotting the Durins entering the room making Severus lift his gaze from his book while Lindir continued to listen as Regulus finished the story he was sharing. In drawing a ledger from his pocket Severus stated, “King Thorin, Jaqi informed me of your wish for the birthing potion.”

Thorin nodded as Thranduil asked, “Birthing potion?”

Thorin met his eye, “To aid my Consort and I in conceiving.”

Thranduil glanced between him and Bilbo, “And, what is in the potion to solve the obvious dilemma?”

Thorin met his eye with a smirk, “It will change me into a Dam allowing me to carry and nurse our child.”

His expression dropped as Lindir scooted forward asking with a slightly hopeful tone, “They have potions to do that?”

Snape met his eye giving him a nod before telling Thorin, “There are a few ingredients I will need from you first though. I was told you might not find it agreeable.” In a silently growing grin Lindir’s gaze shifted to Regulus’ at his hand settling on top of the one Lindir had rested on top of the table, a far more intimate gesture to the Elf than Regulus realized. A silent confirmation of a promised chance to give children a try themselves when they reached that point in courtship.

Thorin, “Anything.”

Snape nodded, “I will need a clump of your hair and a few of your beard hairs as well. Plus a few drops of blood.”

Thorin nodded, wetting his lips, “You can shave my head if it is required.”

Snape raised a brow, “I admire your dedication, however, the only potion requiring that much hair should never be agreed to by you and your kin, for future reference.”

Dwalin, “What is that potion for?”

Snape, “It turns the drinker into a naked mole rat. Irreversible as far as we can figure out.” Smiling Thorin joined the Professor on the stroll through the door to the office to claim the small dime sized clump of hair, five beard hairs and the specified drops of blood he sealed in vials within the privacy of the other room. The vials were sent up to your room and they rejoined the table for tea and the snacks you entered the room with.

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@long-cosmos-overhead, @partoftheminfamily, @alishlieb

Pt 12

#HP Crossover #Glorfindel x Reader OC #thranduil x oc #Ginny x Haldir

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