#to make right for a fic math did not anticipate the results of in their request

[johannstutt413]

(requested by mathmaticalknight; a response to this)

It was a Friday afternoon, and as usual, Liskarm was reviewing her notes from her most recent training sessions (in this case, with Vanilla and Beagle) when a thought popped into her head, seemingly from nowhere. ‘What? Why would she be missing me right now? I just saw her an hour ago for lunch...’ Still the thought refused to leave her head, and so she pulled out her phone and called her.

“Hey!” The Vulpo picked up before the first ring. “I was just thinking about you~ Something up?”

“No, I don’t think so. Thinking of me?”

Franka’s eye-roll was almost audible; Liz just took it for granted that it occurred. “Obviously. What else would I be thinking about on a Friday afternoon, alone, in our room waiting for you to come home?”

“You’re home already?” Liskarm looked at the time. “...I’m a bit late, aren’t I?”

“I thought you might be busy, but I do appreciate you calling to tell me for certain. You’ll be home soon, right?” There was hope in that question.

Hope the Vouivre wasn’t about to dash. “You know it. Hey, let’s order in tonight. My treat.”

“Oh? Special occasion?” She let a teasing giggle escape. “I suppose it is, since you’re going to be home before 5 for a change.”

“Yeah...Love you.” Liz hung up after that.

The Vulpo tossed her phone in front of her on the bed, thought better of it, and pulled open the messages she’d been scrolling through while she waited. ‘Love you, too...She seemed pretty frazzled just now. What was she working on today, I wonder? She’s always going on about how much training work she has to do, but is she really that busy? Hmm...Let’s save the itching powder prank for another night.’

About fifteen minutes later, there was the sound of a key turning in the front door and footsteps on the floor. Liskarm was home.

“I’m home.” The words carried to Franka in the bedroom, but they were really meant more for herself than anyone else. “Should probably order dinner. Veggie, no cabbage, plenty of protein-”

“Welcome back!” The Vulpo leapt out of the bedroom, one slipper and a nightgown on; she’d debated getting dressed and had gotten about halfway through the first round of argument when she’d heard the door.

Liz caught her and let momentum carry her through a corner-turn. “Thanks. How was your day?”

“Pretty normal - did what I needed to, left what I didn’t for tomorrow, thought of a couple ways to mess with you later in the week.” She pulled from their embrace enough to look the Vouivre in the eye. “Is everything alright? Not that I mind, but normally you’re not so excited to see me.”

“I just missed you, is all. Need to keep a better eye on the clock while I’m at my desk.” Sparks flew from her horns as she decided to make up for lost time.

This was starting to get uncanny...Of course, Frankie was still enjoying it, but there was something about this that bothered her. A few minutes later, flat on her back on the couch, she reluctantly declared “cabbage patch” to get Liskarm’s attention. “You can tell me, whatever it is, you know.”

“Whatever what is?” A few seconds later, “You mean- ohhhh. I dunno; I was sitting at my desk, doing lesson prep, and I realized I wanted to be here rather than there. Thought you might be missing me or something.”

“I mean, always, but I did see you at lunch...Hmm. When was that, again? About an hour ago?”

She shrugged. “I kinda lost track of time on my way back, too.”

“You really would expect we’d be better at this sort of thing after all these years.” The Vulpo shook her head. “Well, around then, I had kind of a weird thought, too…We’re off the market, right?”

“If you’re talking about the same market I’m thinking of, yeah; there’s not a single person outside of this room I’d want to spend my nights with. Was that what I was feeling?” A new electric charge was beginning to build, slowly spreading through the room.

Franka grabbed the anti-static pillow from behind her head and rubbed it across Liskarm’s horns, and the atmosphere returned to normal. “Maybe. You know, when I was on that prank strike, I found this book on multiple universe theory, and it might sort of explain what happened.”

“Multiple universe theory?” The Vouivre smirked. “You really spend that much of your day thinking of how to mess with me, don’t you?”

“Hey, I’ve cut down...I’m still keeping up with my Lungmen, at least. Anyway, one of the things it talked about was how sometimes, if one of our universes felt something really strongly, we might feel something that, too and not know it was actually another one of us that felt it more.”

Liz stared at her blankly. “That makes no sense.”

“Well, I mean, do you have another explanation for why you thought I might be missing you like that, or why I suddenly thought you might want to start seeing Leizi?”

“Leizi?...Who’s that again?” It rang a bell, but not strongly. “Doesn’t sound like someone I’d want to be with, with a name like that.”

The Vulpo sighed in relief. “Well, that definitely answers that question. I wasn’t even sure who she was until I looked her up in the records.”

“Huh. Maybe you’re right, then. I’m not sure it matters that much, though.”

“Yeah, not really.” Frankie grabbed Liz by the horns and pulled her towards her face. “I can’t imagine us not being together, in this or any other universe.”

She smiled. “Neither can I,” Liskarm agreed before stealing a kiss and picking up where she’d left off. Whatever any other Liskarm across time and space was feeling, this love was all hers.

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships 

wc: 4.2k 

i.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.  

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney  @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer  @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri  @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast  @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy  @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon  @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation  @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns​ @langdonskillerqueen​ @aradevil​ @anemia-doll​ @muralskins​ @funtomimagines​ @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes​ @our-mrlangdon​ @lotsofhunny​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @horrorstreet​ @kpopmademedo-it​ @naughtygranger​ @codyshands​ @krazycags01​ @skullag​

[bigskydreaming]

Thank you for the boosting and the donation! Got the rest of the rent there now, which let me sit down and whip out my first commission, yay! Someone who said they didn’t need to be credited asked me for 2K about the idea of “what do I think Dick’s opinion would have been of the Felipe Garzonas situation at the time.”

Which is a fucking awesome premise, and not one I’ve spent a lot of time thinking on, but it hit me right away....like, you know I’m always talking about how Jason and Dick have a lot more in common than most people think, IMO, and also that Dick isn’t nearly as incapable of understanding the impulse to kill as he’s normally assumed to be.....but thinking about Jason as Robin and whose side Dick would fall on that, if he’d been asked to weigh in....and given that he was still on iffy terms with Bruce and thus probably more inclined to side with the kid in his literal shoes, who he could remember being in certain ways, at certain times...

It made my mind jump straight to Robin: Year One, and how when Bruce fired Dick as Robin that first time, after the Two-Face incident, he kinda pinned the judge’s death on Dick, like as a direct result of Dick’s choice there...and this definitely affected Dick throughout the entire rest of the mini...which all culminated in him being trained at Shrike’s Vengeance Academy and literally holding a gun on Two-Face himself, having been ordered to kill him by Shrike, and wanting to...because of how Two-Face had so recently hurt him, and in Dick’s eyes...also been the direct result of his fallout with Bruce, the thing that made Bruce run away.

And so with all that in mind, here’s what I came up with. It’s open-ended, because my commissioner said they would rather me leave it unfinished if I felt there were more places I could take it, if other people wanted to commission further additions to it or I wanted to finish it myself later when I had time.....so here’s 2,695 words of Dick and Robin!Jason in the week immediately following  the Garzonas case. I got in a groove with it so went over the commission mark, lol, (I don’t charge extra for that, FYI, lol) but also I wanted to make sure I left it in at least a somewhat place for a break, rather than just in the middle of a thought.

This is definitely something I’d come back to on my own, just to finish it, no further commissions required, but like.....being able to use the commission to pay towards food or rent instead of waiting until I have the time and energy to bang out actual fic, like...definitely would make that a sooner rather than later thing, not gonna lie. LOL. I mean hey, I wrote this in the last hour. 

(Which also means its unbeta-ed, but they said that was okay and I think it still reads pretty cleanly as is). Anyway!

********

UNTITLED FOR NOW

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s kinda the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

The American Initiative

Part One

Summary: Grace Cleveland and Eleanor Baker both thought their lives were over, until they became part of something much bigger – the Avengers. Pairing(s): Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC Word Count: 1490 Warnings: Death, mentioned a couple of different ways, but not detailed; canon divergence; more based on Marvel movies. A/N: This was the first Marvel fic I ever started! I have edited what was already posted over on whiskeyxcola, and will be posting the entirety of the fic here. Tag list is open! Anddddd I know OFC’s aren’t everyone’s favorite but hopefully at least a few people can still enjoy this! PS: Thank you to @captain-s-rogers​ who is always my sounding board and Marvel expert!

Masterlist

Tags: @captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​@xtina2191​ @capandbuckylvr​

Six extraordinary beings gathered in the conference room of the S.H.I.E.L.D training offices, making light banter and catching up while they waited for someone to come in and lead the meeting they had all been called to attend. Up to this point, they had been enjoying a nice time off between missions; Nick had assured all of them there was no grand mission – yet – but it was of the utmost importance that they attend this meeting.

“Good afternoon, team,” Nick Fury greeted, taking his place at the head of the table before sliding a folder to each of them. “Appreciate you coming in on your time off.”

“Oh, we had a choice?” Tony quipped.

Nick ignored him. “Our mission at this point is one of a different kind. Two new members will be joining the team, but they will require training first. The folder in front of you details their history.”

He waited for the team members to review the folder, anticipating the inevitable surprise at a single word in the folder: enhanced.

“I’m sorry, isn’t that what we’re trying to avoid?” Bruce asked.

“We were,” Fury confirmed, “but since our intel tells us that Stryker’s experiments have been highly successful, the American government decided we needed to be ready to answer that challenge. I present to you, lady and gentlemen, The American Initiative.

“Two women were chosen, for different reasons, from among fifty candidates, to receive the experimental ‘treatments’ to enhance their abilities.” He clicked the button on a nearby projector; a slide overviewing a young woman appeared on the screen. “Exhibit one, Eleanor Baker. Twenty-five, declared brain-dead three months ago after she suffered a severe brain bleed as the result of a car accident. After three weeks in a coma, her family opted to allow her directives to execute.”

“Which were?” Natasha frowned.

“Ms. Baker chose previously to donate her body to science. Dr. Armando Roland is a close friend of mine and called me with a report of Ms. Baker’s case. S.H.I.E.L.D opted to take advantage of her directive and put her into the Initiative program. She is now alive, functional on her own – and then some.”

Bruce’s frown deepened. “How exactly was this achieved?”

“With a serum similar to the one Steve was given that enhanced his physical makeup,” Nick answered matter-of-factly. “We’ve been trying for years to isolate the serum from Steve’s cells, with little success. Finally, our R&D found a way to use Steve’s DNA to create a new serum. Fortunately for us, it worked beyond our wildest dreams. Though Ms. Baker has little to no memory of her life prior to waking up in our facilities, she is now telepathic and a mind-reader. She also shows great potential with the little training she has already been through for agility and combat. It’s possible she possesses other abilities that we are not yet aware of.”

Steve pursed his lips as he perused the paperwork in front of him regarding Eleanor Baker. He had never once regretted his decision and agreement to receive the serum injections that changed his whole life, but he did feel some empathy for this young woman who had not been given the choice.

“The second candidate, Grace Cleveland, was chosen from the FBI’s witness protection program. Ms. Cleveland had previously worked for a bounty hunting agency in her Kansas hometown, and on the job was witness to a serious crime – the murder of a Senator. She was taken into custody under the guise of accusations of association with the crime. When it reached my ears that she was not entirely confident with the witness protection program – and also has the same accuracy enhancement as Clint – I sought her out, giving her the option to be completely off the grid. She agreed. The experimental serum that she received has enhanced her accuracy even further, as well as her math and reasoning skills – she’s no Spock, but she’ll get the job done. Her agility and combat skills seem to be enhanced as well.”

“So you created a genius who’ll hit the target every time,” Tony commented. “Guess Clint and I should be shaking in our boots.”

Clint snorted, but Fury only smirked. “I would be.”

“When do we get to meet these American enhanced?” Thor asked, shoving the closed folder away from him.

“Now. They’re downstairs in the training room as we speak.”

No group of people had ever gotten up more begrudgingly. The truth was, they liked the team the way it was, and even with the added abilities, they weren’t jumping at the opportunity to expand.

When they arrived at the training room, crowding in the doorway, the two women were running sprints across the training room floor. No one on the team knew what they had expected, but it certainly wasn’t the two young women that were here in tank tops and gym shorts and ponytails.

When their sprints were completed, Eleanor nudged Grace and nodded toward the door. Grace nodded, downing a good amount of water from the bottle in her hand before approaching the group, Eleanor close behind.

“Grace, Eleanor, these are the Avengers,” Nick said before introducing them one by one. “Take it easy for the rest of today, get assimilated into your quarters, and tomorrow you’ll start training with them.”

Both women nodded, saying nothing as they left the training room. Tony smirked.

“You know, Nick, for all the stuff you said they could do, I wouldn’t have expected them to be mute.”

Nick chuckled to himself. “They’re careful with their words, that much I can assure you. Romanoff, I’m entrusting them to your care tonight. Tomorrow, they’ll begin training with you all – I’ll leave that to your good judgement.”

Natasha left with Nick then, following the girls towards the dormitory area, while the men stood around, arms crossed over their chests, still processing this new development.

“I want the accuracy girl,” Clint spoke up.

“Sure you do,” Tony returned.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Not like that. I want to start her training.”

“You do know he said training, not initiation, right?” Steve joked, knowing from the look on Clint’s face exactly where the other man’s mind was at. “I’ll start with Baker tomorrow. I’d like to see how similar her experience is to mine.”

“Perfect, I can make my tee time,” Tony said before excusing himself from the group.

Thor laughed. “Big man, little stick.”

Tony turned around to wink at all of them before continuing on his way. Thor quickly caught up, bantering with Tony about his golf outing the next day. Steve and Clint, the only two left behind, turned to each other.

Steve raised a brow. “Why do I feel like your idea of training tomorrow is far different from mine?”

“Because it probably is, Cap,” Clint smirked, clapping the other man on the shoulder before leaving the training room.

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood.

After quick showers, Grace and Ellie convened in the hallway outside their neighboring rooms. Food was sounding good, but they weren’t quite sure what their options were.

“Ladies,” Natasha greeted before shaking hands with them. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Eleanor Baker.”

“Grace Cleveland — and you’re the Black Widow.”

“I am,” Natasha confirmed, only a little ashamed of the proud smile that tugged softly at her lips. “Fury asked me to show you around.”

The women exchanged a glance. Receiving the message from Ellie, Grace nodded and turned back to Natasha.

“Agent Romanoff, do you think you could show us to the kitchen first?”

Natasha nodded. “Of course. We’ll take the long way around and map out the facility on our way.”

Both women paid close attention to the landmarks within the building that Natasha pointed out, committing them to memory; it wouldn’t take more than the one guided tour for them to remember where everything was situated.

“I’m off to my own training session,” Natasha told them once they arrived in the kitchen, “but now you know where my room is if you need anything. You’ll be training with Steve and Clint in the morning, so I would get some good rest tonight.”

Turning to leave the room, Natasha winked at her new teammates on her way out the door. The women turned towards each other.

“Why do I feel like we are going to have to prove ourselves before we go on any real mission,” Grace sighed, not meaning the statement at all as a question.

Ellie shrugged. “We have a lot to overcome before even worrying about any missions.”

Grace pursed her lips and headed for the cabinets, surveying their options for throwing a meal together. As she pulled items from the shelf, she let go of the angry breath she had been holding onto since their introduction to the current Avenger team. Ellie wasn’t wrong, but Grace wasn’t interested in overcoming — she only wanted to move forward.

[amazingmsme]

The Spider’s Out of the Bag

So this fic’s been done for months but it was back when this shitty ass hellsite made the new rule about mobile posts being a certain length, and this was back when I posted on mobile. I originally planned on posting it in three parts because of this, but after the first part didn’t receive the feedback I was hoping for, I forgot about it. Well, here it is in its entirety. 

Peter hadn't been getting much sleep and it was starting to show. He was always run down, which resulted in him being less than his normal cheery self. He was probably only averaging three to four hours of sleep a night.

"Dude, when's the last time you had a full night's rest?" Ned asked, slowly spinning on the computer chair. Peter looked up at him, shrugging, "I've been running on Five Hour Energy all day, no stopping now." Ned simply stared at his friend, not really knowing what to say. "What?"

"Peter, that's not good. That stuff isn't just supposed to be chugged like it's water, you need sleep." Peter made a face, hanging upside down from his bunk bed and crossing his arms.

"I can't! I have so much school work and Avengers training, and that's not even counting when I'm working in the city. And when I get in bed I usually still have all that adrenaline in my system, so it's hard to fall asleep."

"Are you tired right now? I can try and help you fall asleep 'cause you look like you're about to drop dead." Peter scoffed, "Is it that bad?"

"You know you're my best friend and I would never say anything to personally offend you, but you look like pure shit. Like, it literally looks like someone took an ice cream scooper and dug the circles out from under your eyes." Peter couldn't help but to smirk at his friend's description. "Anything else?"

"Your hair's constantly messy because you keep running your hands through it like a depressed middle aged suburban mom."

"That's oddly specific. How many depressed middle aged suburban mothers do you know?"

"More than you would think," he said, staring off in the distance as though he was having war flashbacks. He blinked hard, coming back to reality. "But seriously, is there anything I could do to help out, maybe help you relax, I could make you some tea..."

"Ned, I'm fine, you don't have to do anything. Buuuut-" he began to grin, something coming to his mind. "But what?" Ned prompted, hoping for an answer. "Buuuuut a massage would be nice," he said, tilting his head & batting his eyes. Peter climbed down from the bunk and laid down, letting his friend knead into the muscle. Peter practically melted underneath the touch.

"Oh man, I almost forgot how good it feels to just relax." he said, sighing contently. "How hard is Mr. Stark pushing you?" Ned asked, concern clear in his voice.

"He's not really pushing me that hard. It's more myself forcing me to do my best," he admitted. "Once I get going, I just, don't know how to stop." Ned was about to reply when suddenly Peter jerked away from his hand as if it was a hot rod. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Peter shook his head, "No, no I'm fine." Ned nodded and continued rubbing his back, but couldn't help but notice how he flinched away yet again. It all began to click and Ned couldn't hold back his grin, "I think I know of a way to make you tired." Before he could question him, he began squeezing up and down his sides, throwing him into hysterics.

"Nehehehed, whahahat are you dohohoing?" Peter managed to say through his laughter, his friend not stopping his work.

"I'm trying to tire you out. If you don't have any energy, you can't stay awake. This is for your own good Peter," he spoke, trying to remain serious but ultimately failed upon hearing his bright infectious laughter. He worked his fingers underneath his arms, lightly scratching at the hollows, making Peter erupt into screams and pleads.

"I'll tell you what Peter, let's make a deal. I'll stop if you finally get some rest. Deal?"

"Deheheal! Deal!" Ned stopped and helped him into a sitting position. Ned looked at him, "Do you think you can get some sleep?" Peter chuckled, "After that I might. My neck's still a bit sore though." Ned was about to offer to help but Peter cut him off, "No. If you think I'd let you help after pulling something like that you're sadly mistaken."

He grinned at him, "Alright, that's understandable. But I hope you know I plan on using this against you." He let out a groan, flopping face first into his pillows, his voice muffled, "You suck."

He gave a sly grin and shrugged even though he couldn't see him. "I'm just doing what's best for my friend."

Peter couldn't help but to smile into his blankets. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

~~~~

Peter had been having frequent study sessions with MJ ever since she had become captain and they started talking more. He refused to call it a study "date" since he was sure Michelle didn't like him(or anyone for that matter) like that.

"How much salt is in the average adult human body?" MJ asked, hiding the answer from Peter whilst waiting for his response.

"Easy, 250 grams," he said without even looking up. She nodded her approval, "Correct. Next question: In Blake's poem, the phrase, "unbuckled was the shield," is an example of-"

"Inverted syntax. C'mon MJ I thought you said you had tough questions for me," he smirked, looking up to meet her gaze. Before she could respond with what he was sure would be a smart remark, an alarm went off on his phone.

"What's that for?" she asked, craning her neck to look at the screen.

"Oh, uh, that's just my alarm," he said, silencing it. "This is usually the time I do my workout." She scoffed, looking him up and down, "You workout?" He nodded, "Mhm." He stood there awkwardly, not sure of what to do with himself. "Uh, would you mind if I do some stuff while we study? I won't get distracted I swear," he promised, knowing she wanted him to focus on the material. "I guess," she shrugged and he made his way to his bunk, hanging upside down and beginning to do sit ups.

"Exercise disgusts me," she said, turning her head away to look back at the flash cards. After answering a few questions and doing 100 sit ups, he climbed back down, sitting on his knees. Michelle looked up at him, noticing how he hadn't even broken a sweat. He looked around awkwardly, "Uh, would you mind sitting on my back?"

"What?"

"Like for extra weight an' stuff."

She tilted her head back, looking at him. "Are you calling me fat?" His eyes flew wide open, and he stuttered over his words, worried that he had offended her and trying to correct his mistake, "No! Absolutely not, I'd never say that about any girl and-"

"It's okay, I was just fucking with you," she waved her hand dismissively, smiling at him. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "So... will you?"

"Oh, you were actually serious? Um, okay." Peter laid on his stomach and waited for MJ to climb on his back. Once she did, he asked, "Can you grab a few textbooks and hold them in your lap?" She nodded, reaching over and getting the biggest ones she could find. "You sure you can answer questions while doing push-ups?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I can barely do push-ups even without having to do math," MJ said, playing with the index cards in her hand. Peter smirked to himself, pushing himself up. His arms shook in an exaggerated manner as he faked a lack of strength. "If it's that hard for you Peter I can get off," she supplied, buying his act.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, suddenly able to do perfect push-ups. MJ, shocked at the quick change of pace, placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. "Can you start a timer for 10 minutes?" he asked, " And read some more questions?" She complied, setting up her phone timer and reading him questions that he easily answered. She let out a sigh, placing her head in her hands. Sitting on someone constantly moving up and down isn't exactly fun, even when studying.

"Just how many push-ups can you do?" Peter paused for a second before continuing, "Don't know. I get too distracted to keep track, so I just set up a timer."

"I bet you've already done a thousand."

"Probably."

"Are you even tired?" She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little bit impressed, but no one needs to know. He shook his head, "Not really."

"What are you, steel?" she joked, poking his side. He let out a laugh that he tried to disguise as a scoff, "Noho, I'm completely human," he defended himself. His reaction didn't go unnoticed by MJ however. When he pushed himself up once more, she let herself fall forward, using Peter to brace herself. Her hands gently clasped his sides, and her fingers curled underneath his arms. He let out a small gasp, trying to cover it with a huff of air. "You okay Peter?" she asked, fully aware of what she had done. He nodded and swallowed thickly, "Yeah."

When he tried again, MJ's fingers were back on his body, this time with more intent. Peter struggled to keep himself from falling to the floor, "MJ whahahat are you dohohoing?" he cried through his laughter.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ticklish?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Ihihit's not exactly aha normal conversation to hahave," he managed to say. She tweaked his ribs, eliciting a squeak. "But we're friends, and friends don't keep things from each other, riiiight Peter?" He shook his head back and forth, trying to escape her maddening touch. "No? What other secrets are you hiding Peter?" she teased, scribbling her nails over the back of his neck.

"AH! MJ nohohoho," he giggled, and fell to the floor, MJ easily pinning him beneath her body. She grinned down at him from her position up above, "I wonder if you can answer questions while I tickle you mercilessly," she pondered aloud, an evil glint in her eyes.

"Youhu don't have to do this!" he pleaded, already laughing from the anticipation.

"Yes I do," she said, eying him like a lion looking over its prey. "If you tell me where you're most ticklish I'll go easy on you. Maybe."

"Whahat? Nohoho," he protested, trying to squirm away. MJ tilted her head quizzically, "No? Oh well, more fun for me," she shrugged and set to work, scratching her nails along his sides dragging out a loud screech.

"How about you answer five questions correctly and I'll stop."

"Thahahat's mehehean!"

"Thank you. I can't let people think I'm actually nice."

"MJ plehehehease!" She rolled her eyes, scratching her nails across the muscles on his stomach, "Oh alright, one question. But you have to get it right." She moved down, digging her thumbs into the hip bone causing him to buck violently.

"Do you like me?" she asked, hoping he was too out of his mind to read too much into the question. Ned had been their messenger back and forth and told her to come clean or he would do it for her, and she just couldn't do that. So she took matters into her own hands, quite literally.

"Yehehes okay?"

She stopped, somewhat in shock, and looked down at him. "You- did you hear what I said?" He nodded, panting and trying to catch his breath. "You ahasked if I liked you."

"You do know I meant more than a friend, don't you?" His cheeks turned a bright shade of red and he looked down, "I had hoped that's what you meant."

Without thinking MJ leaned forward and shoved their lips together in a kiss, leaving both of them in a blissful state for the rest of the night.

~~~~

If someone had told Peter that his hero and role model would become close to him he would've called them crazy, yet here he was. Sure they weren't the closest, but they were getting closer with each mission and training session they had together, and Tony even invited him to just hang out on more than one occasion. Like now.

Peter didn't know what to expect when he received a text from Tony asking what he was doing after patrol. He honestly thought he was going on another mission, but when Tony told him he just wanted to talk and check in with him, he was pleasantly surprised. When the fancy sports car came to pick him up, he couldn't help but smile to himself. It always made him feel a little special getting to ride in such luxury, seeing as he never before had the chance to. He let his grin grow wider once he saw Tony in the backseat waiting for him.

It had taken him a while to feel comfortable enough around Tony to not be nervous all the time, but he had finally learned to relax a little. It still took him a few minutes to adjust to his presence, so he was still a little tense in the car. He relaxed a bit once they reached the compound. Peter's stomach growled loudly as they walked down the hall.

"Hungry?" Tony asked, seemingly amused.

"Uh, yeah," Peter answered a bit sheepishly.

"That's okay, we have food in the kitchen. But I won't make you anything, you're old enough to fend for yourself," Tony said with a smirk, ruffling his hair. Peter chuckled, smoothing it back down, "I think I can manage without you."

"Don't forget who gave you the suit kid," Tony said with a jab to his side. Peter yelped and jumped away, earning a side look from Tony. It didn't take long for him to realized what happened and he smirked, poking him again, "Ticklish?"

"N-no," Peter stuttered, trying to subtly take a step back. "Remember what I said about lying to me," he said in a jokingly stern voice.

"I-it's not a lie!"

"Really? 'Cause that squeak says otherwise," he teased and Peter's head snapped towards him. "I didn't squeak!" His voice came out an octave higher than he would've liked it to. Tony gave him a kind smile and patted his shoulder, "Relax, it's fine. Between you and me I once heard Thor shriek like a banshee." Peter couldn't help the way his face lit up with amusement when he heard that, "Really?"

Tony nodded, "Oh yeah. But don't tell him I told you, he'd probably kill me." Peter made the universal signal for sealing his lips. "And feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. Oh, and one more thing," he started and Peter turned his attention towards him. "Hm?"

"If you tell him I told you, don't think I don't know how to get you back," Tony said with a mischievous smile as he wiggled his fingers in his direction. Peter's face burned a bright red as Tony chuckled.

"You're never gonna let me live that down are you?"

Tony's smile was blinding, "Nope."

Peter groaned as he opened the fridge. He swore these people were going to be the death of him.

[missenden]

1.7.12 8:05pm

Half the year has gone already ??? What ??? How ???

This has probably been the best few months I’ve had in a long while. Granted, they weren’t without their difficulty, but I think there were less meltdowns and bad periods than usual? It can be hard to tell in hindsight, but I’m happy anyway. It’s been a good time and I’m sad to see the semester end…

There are so many things to cover – gonna list them out here so I don’t forget to write about anything. Uni (academics and new friends), piano, fic, boxing, quitting SYO, what else? I think that’s it for now.

I haven’t updated for legit like 3 months so this is probably going to take fkn forever. But here goes. So uni has been a bit of a rollercoaster – my first midsems for econ (maths and micro) were god awful. I didn’t think it was possible to do as badly as I did in maths, a solid 4/25 and barely a pass in micro with 15/25. It hit me hard – I wasn’t super confident going into them, but no-one expects to do quite that badly, and to be honest I’m used to working hard and getting the results. I probably should’ve seen it coming. The practice tests weren’t going great and I was probably too confident going in. But yeah. It was a real reality check. Are you as smart as you think, Alyssa? Never. So after about a week of just crying and being real upset at Don (the shittiest lecturer I think I’ve ever had; he wouldn’t give me marks because he was ‘too annoyed’ that I’d gotten so many things wrong previously’, laughs at people in class, tells people to quit their jobs to study for maths…yeah. I know I’ll probably look back on this and laugh at how trivial it is, but man during semester it was annoying.) life had to move on and I had to move on with it. Julia came to Sydney in the midsemester break which was pretty great (it was real nice to hang out with her again and relax!) and then I began to work my ass off for my law assignments before starting to prep for the next econ midsems.

To be honest, I pretty much gave up 2-3 weeks of my life working for law and econ…but it’s not like I didn’t really enjoy it. I really enjoyed working with Tom and then eventually with Soo as well on the contracts assignment, even with the long hours cooped up in my room, poring over casebooks and PDF judgments online (control F has never been more useful I think). There was something about being so absorbed into the knowledge and being so dedicated to something that was just so great – most people would hate it, but I’m glad I don’t. Even working on CCP wasn’t terrible ! Those assignments worked out great; 25/30 for contracts (the top mark was 26), and 16.5/20 for CCP (I think I might have been close to topping!). I never thought I’d see the day where I did that well in law, and that those marks would ever be better than econ lol. But I was mostly glad that everything worked out the way it did – I think it would’ve killed me if I hadn’t done well after so much work. Anyway, hopefully those results can save me from the horror of exams…I’m glad I have at least something of a buffer.

And econ…econ was something special. I have never worked on anything as hard as I did for that maths exam, and to an extent the micro paper as well. All I did was eat, sleep, mandi and study for a two week period – I’m very lucky that I was living in college and that my friends were always around me, because otherwise I probably could’ve become a real hermit. I think it was about then that I really started to fall in love with the maths a little bit lol. There’s this satisfaction that I got out of it that I’d never gotten before. But yeah. After two crazy weeks, I did the papers and scored damn well – went from 16% in maths to 84%, and 60 in micro to 75. By some insane coincidence I’m now exactly on a pass for maths – hopefully it’s enough to carry me into honours next year. I was just so desperate to prove to myself and everyone around me that I could do this, and that I wasn’t an idiot. And I’m glad I did – it’s one hell of a story to tell at job interviews at any rate. But that feeling of success when I first got the maths mark back was absolutely phenomenal. I remember it really vividly – I was waiting out on the street waiting for uber eats when Connor texted the group chat saying that maths marks were up. My nerves were astronomical, but when I saw that number…man. That feeling was something else. All the hard work had been well worth it just for that moment. The feeling is absolutely amazing; I just hope that I’ll be able to experience it again when the exam marks come back.

So yeah – that’s the academics. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. Hopefully I can deliver in exams too, and get through with decent looking grades.

There was another great outcome of the second set of midsems – I met this amazing group of friends who do economics at uni. They’re all so welcoming and wonderful and genuine !! I just wish I could’ve met them sooner. For most of the semester since then, I’ve been seeing them every now and again which has been really great – hopefully I can get closer to them next sem. I even got invited to their end of semester stuff – Wednesday night was really great <3 They are all so great. Fingers crossed I can keep hanging out with them.

Along with this group has come some boy stuff lol. Which I’m just so bad at dealing with it’s almost funny. So basically, I think this guy is probably/maybe/I think keen, and I thought I was too, but honestly now I don’t know. Part of it is remnants of all the Lynden stuff – I can’t shake this feeling that getting into a relationship means giving up my independence and losing a part of myself. And then I think the other part is I don’t know if he’s quite the right guy – it sounds shallow, but appearance is definitely a factor, and then also idk I’m worried that if things go pear shaped I won’t be able to be friends with everyone anymore. Idk, I’m just not sure. Tom keeps laughing at my indecision but honestly it’s so bad lol. And I don’t know why I keep pushing people away – is it a self defence mechanism or something? It’s very unhelpful lol and only serves to make things difficult. I haven’t quite worked this one out, but hopefully I will at some point?

On to the next thing – piano. So I’ve been playing casually all semester and really enjoying it! I think not having the pressure to play super well all the time and to just have fun is really great, but is also a little restrictive in terms of progress. At the moment I’m playing a lot of music from the movie Amelie and also Goodbye Lenin, as well as some Studio Ghibli stuff. For some reason it feels a lot better than playing violin, which I haven’t been doing too much of lately – I think a break is probably a good thing, but it also feels sad to let it go. I haven’t even applied for AYO this year, which just feels so strange. Also, I quit SYO – weirdly they never emailed me back or anything, and that doesn’t feel great, but yeah. Idk. It feels like I’m just letting go of so many things in my life which is strange – I’m so used to being committed to a million and one things, and it’s weird to just enjoy doing stuff for the sake of it how most people do, in the way of hobbies. It’ll definitely take some time to adjust to it, but hopefully I’ll get there at some point.

But actually, one thing I have picked up this semester is boxing, and it’s been bloody great. I struggled so much last year to let go of karate and try something new, but somehow I’ve managed to do it this year and I honestly feel as if I’m learning so much. Learning boxing has been a radically different experience to karate – the environment is much more full on, fast paced and intense, which to be honest is a good thing for me I think. My fitness has improved markedly, I’m more toned and feel good. The only thing I wished was a bit better is that individuals don’t get all that much attention, but you can’t win everything I suppose. But hell, I’m really enjoying it – might even be doing a fight in October, though the prospect is a little nerve-wracking. Will probably be doing a kata competition in August as well for karate, so that’ll be interesting !

This semester has really been great. I feel so much more settled in Sydney, my friendships feel much more secure and I finally feel like things are falling into place. I know I take a long time to settle in to places, but I really didn’t anticipate it taking this long lol, but I’m glad that it’s happening at all. It’s nice to feel like some kind of equilibrium has been hit, and that it’s a bit different but a bit the same as what it is at home. Also, it’s great to not be constantly missing home all the time – of course I miss family, friends and Perth itself, but it’s no longer at the front of my mind constantly and stressing me out. Not really looking forward to all the changes that next semester will bring though; everyone is going on exchange and Hintze 3 is going to be weirdly different after the break. And man the bloody room drama – at least Jesse is moving up, but I wish Charlotte was too, but also there was the whole beef with Will and blergh it’s just been annoying.

Speaking of that drama – one of the changes this sem is that I’m not as close to Will as I was before. We kinda grew apart, in part from me getting tired of having him hover all the time wanting to talk about Perth and music, and I don’t think he’s all too happy about it – he apparently things ‘I’ve changed’. But like what else is to be expected? People change and grow up, and normally friendships change to reflect that…I’m not really sure what to do about it. I’m just glad that he won’t be moving to Hintze. The whole room drama just felt very childish…

I think that’s it from me for the moment – Jesse’s just wandered in asking me to chill. Kathryn’s leaving tomorrow so should probably go hang out – things are going to be so weird next sem without her and everyone else ! But yeah. Will try and update soon.