#why do i always get hung up on acronyms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pbscore · 3 years

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Actually, no…

Queer folks are not obligated to acknowledge their identity being seen as a ‘slur’ by other people.

Queer folks are not obligated to ‘use another term’ for their identity when the whole point of using queer is for their own comfort with their identity.

Queer folks are not obligated to tag their identity or censor their identity for people who don’t even know them and who clearly don’t have enough common sense to simply blacklist the term and not follow explicitly queer blogs.

Queer folks are vast and diverse in how we experience and express our identity(ies), so none of us are obligated to whittle ourselves down to just one or two labels to make it ‘easy’ for others to tell if we ‘belong’ in certain spaces.

The whole reason why I use queer as my identity is because I refuse to let other people determine who I am for me based on their own (biased and limited) assumptions, especially other LGBTQ+ folks who seem to constantly forget that the cisheteronormative society we currently live in doesn’t give a damn about the intricacies within our community.

They don’t care if you (in general) prefer to call yourself gay over queer, or lesbian over sapphic, or bisexual over pansexual, or whatever. They only give a damn about the fact that you aren’t cishet and whether or not you’re going to be open about it. That’s it.

So all this hootin’ and hollerin’ that y’all have been doing lately, and sometimes even for years, about excluding the ‘undesirable’ folks (we all know I’m talking about queer/ace/aro/demi/pan/MOGAI folks) who y’all don’t even talk to or try to meet halfway, without being pretentious and condescending towards them when they try to tell you about their experiences, is the primary reason why we can’t really come together as a real community.

Y’all are so hung up on other folks not having the same ‘gay awakening’ as you or y’all are goaded into being embarrassed about having identified with ‘MOGAI’ (which is literally just another acronym that was created for the LGBTQ+ community) labels and automatically assume that y’all were ‘missing out’ on some sort of ‘authentic’ lgbtq+ experience because it took you a little while to find the right label for yourself. That’s not what happened lol what you went through is called ‘a journey’ or ‘growth’ because it’s something that ALL of us go through as human beings. You’re not always going to be right about your identity and even then, it isn’t about your identity being ‘right’. It’s about you finding peace within yourself once you do (if you ever) find out what the right label is for you.

All this tells me is that y’all care so much more about how labels look than y’all do about how they function on an individual level and refuse to acknowledge that it is still 100% possible to find common ground with folks who aren’t like you (and who will never be like you). Y’all are so ready to tear off someone’s head for having a different understanding of their identity and how it may intersect with other things in their life but won’t even put that SAME ENERGY towards calling out actual cishets for their systemic levels of homo/transphobia.

So, no…queer folks who have been constantly heckled by tumblr and Twitter ‘discoursers’ and the like are not obligated to give up on their identity for anyone, including other lgbtq+ folks.

Gender/sexuality/attraction based labels do not exist for y’all to dictate who belongs in your special ‘gay and/or trans’ gossip club. They exist for folks to use as a way to describe a specific experience or way of expressing themselves, first and foremost.

I get that so many of us have it in our minds that labels are supposed to be used to identify with other folks who you can share experiences with but by continuing to keep that mentality, with no added nuance or growth regarding how vast our community actually is, all you’re doing is creating a smaller and more isolated version of this ‘ideal’ community where you don’t put in any effort to see from other perspectives except those that line up with your own.

Y’all are doing yourselves a huge disservice by continuing to reinforce these silly ass ‘exclusive’ ways of thinking and I can only hope that some of y’all grow out of it and genuinely start to engage with and appreciate folks in the community who are completely different from you.

EDIT: THIS POST IS NOT FOR THE ‘RADICAL INCLUSIONIST PRO-PARAPHILIA’ CROWD AND Y’ALL NEED TO STOP PUTTING QUEERNESS AND P*DOPHILIA ON THE SAME LEVEL BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT AND NEVER WILL BE! TAKE YOUR GROSS NAMBLA-ESQUE CRAP SOMEWHERE ELSE!!

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keimisan · 3 years

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⇛ underwater- haitani ran

pairing: Haitani Ran x reader (self-insert)

words: 2,0k

description: in which haitani ran saves you from drowning and you end up kissing him.

warning(s): heavy make-out, descriptions of drowning, haitani ran being hot, haitani ran being an excellent kisser.

not a warning but pls don't do this irl T.T

songs: mmh mmh- kai move- taemin

“What’s up, babe?”

Going to a random pool party mixer that your friend suggested was most probably the worst decision you’ve made so far.

Being as single as a parasitic wasp wasn’t the heaviest concern of your life- it never was and you’d thought that it never will be. You’d been submerged into the substantial and pragmatic -as you’d acclaim- fact that money was the sole foundation of happiness. Since nothing was greater to you than success- that puny abstract word that people said would be achievable through hard work. Ah, what a fucking lie.

Ever since a young age, you were stamped as the hard worker of the classroom- attentive to classes, notes written down appropriately and informatively, being the one to answer most of the teacher’s questions- you were the ‘ideal’ student. The majority of it brought you joy; not to mention when you graduated as the top of your class and got admitted into one of the most prestigious universities in your locality. You thought the higher your position, the harder work was required. So by the second year of your university, you had no sleep, no proper eating, no healthy routine. You were the acronym of an arctic tern- always having your eyes glued to the off-white parchment of your books.

That enabled you to be introduced to the ungodly world of spectacles and yearly checkups that only increased your eye power. And heck- the thicker the glasses, the more money it took.

And yet, hard work didn’t pay off.

To all the teachers that pressured the students to work hard and to be regular- no, they were scams. You wasted the entirety of your teenage years being a studious bee and ruining your health- when you should’ve just hung out with friends, maybe gone to some party and gatherings, even if those would’ve had your virginity at stake.

You had no fun, and you regretted it.

Because after all that hard work, all the bullshit of just a little more, just one more minute, just one more page- you were unemployed. Money wasn’t coming from you, instead, you were as good a sack of soil. Not to mention the absence of adequate dating experience you’d have definitely needed. Especially for a place like this.

“Hey babe, why aren’t you answering?” the guy sat himself next to you, shameless- you think. Ladies should be given proper privacy because not everyone wants a hummingbird beside their ear. And this is accurately why you regretted replacing your glasses with contact lenses, your converse with these 6 inch high heels, and putting on those abrasive fake lashes- and coming here.

“I’m a bit tipsy, I suggest you leave me alone,” you say in response. You’re sure you sound like an elementary school teacher with that placid and strict intonation, but you were, however, tipsy. The abundance of alcohol you’d consumed to be your best comfort, which was because of the abundance of failure at catcalling and mingling- was causing you this drunk headache.

Coming here in the first place was the worst idea.

You get up from the seat, the half-empty wine glass dangling in your grip and your heeled feet as unsteady as your remaining sanity. It was utterly dangerous, walking around the edges of the pool that was empty by the evening. That too- with your mind in a hazy quagmire, you hoped that you won’t slip and fall into the pool because that

Could be the worst thing that happens to you in the span of one day.

But your feet proved otherwise. Absolutely disgraceful- you think when your left leg suddenly trips, your ankle rotating till your skin touched the cold floor; and before you knew it your weight was stumbling sideward into the pool of contaminated water and a tuft of panic rising up your throat.

Another thing you hadn’t done in your 20 years of a useless life, was learn how to swim.

The moment your skin came in contact with the pool water, you realized that now was really an awful time to be clumsy and fall into water of all things- because the evening chilliness decreased the temperature to a terrifying eighteen degree celcius (or so you’d calculated). The cold temperature of the water and the deprivation of oxygen are what clogged your senses.

You try jumping to the surface, kicking and imitating the act of swimming; but after only three seconds more you were sinking again, your limbs weary and struggling to bring yourself back towards the sun-speckled surface. You couldn’t hear the ear-ripping music or the flirtatious chatter from the sidelines anymore; nor could you hear the obnoxious sound of kissing. Your hair rises up like seaweed and your crop top rides up to your neck, rippling in the currents. Your eyes snap open as the panic of your obstructed breathing strikes your airways, but everything was blurry and your eyes burned like suffocation and forest fire.

The panic has your heart hammering against your ribs, galloping without any trajectory and angrily scorching at your throat. When you could no longer hold your breath as the cold water rushed in, all illusions of surviving left your head. Just like the heart must go on your lungs inhale whether it is air or briny water, and it felt painful.

Painful enough that it had you thrashing in the water with no escape.

But a pair of arms encircle your waist as you’re about to give up- and a pair of soft lips encase yours at the same time. Your hands immediately slide up their torso; clinging onto the last source of your survival. They respire into your mouth and kick into the water to swim upwards.

By the feeling of his chest, you knew it was a man. And his other hand holds the back of your head, providing you with air so that you don’t drown. He held you flush against his chest, the skin of your stomach in direct contact with his shirt- but you couldn’t bother to care anymore. Even as you could feel the plastic of your filigree undergarment graze against his cotton clothing- you couldn’t but grasp at his shoulders to keep yourself afloat. There are no movements of your lips, just his cushiony lips against yours in velvet touch, barely grazing and barely gliding- and that was what you denied.

You must have lost it.

So, you, out of your coherent mind and senses, commit the unthinkable. You glide your hands around his shoulder tighter, hips pressing against his lower abdomen as you move your lips in a lucid trance.

He doesn’t reciprocate at first, so you decide to pull back. But right after, it’s a sensual tug and then he’s nibbling at your lips by the time you gain the littlest of conscience. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your lips skimming against each other impatiently. His hands slide from the dip of your waist to the bands of your bralette, caressing and holding you snug against himself. His fingers are like a mirage, and completely captivating by how they're brushing and stroking your skin in sweet feathery touches.

And oh god, the kiss. You were sure when Percy kissed Athena under the water, it couldn’t have been as good as this. The kiss had your mind swirling back- with his lips so invitingly skilled that it turned passionate moments after. And then it’s just you both diving into each other like touch-starved individuals, fingers against skin and lips kinetic in a fanatical way. It surprises you how a mere stranger is reciprocating your mindless action and allowing you a taste of him. He pulls back for a second and tilts his head to the other side, swiftly connecting your lips together again.

It felt too sweet for you to break apart.

When he successfully resurfaces you both to the tiles of the pool, you break apart- much to your disadvantage. One of your hands instantly grabs at the pool-sides, the other still holding onto his shoulder. You gasp heavily, a few coughs inducing from your throat the moment your lips separate from his. You couldn’t see clearly, but you knew when the man slowly forwards to rub the small of your back to help you recuperate, that he was muscular- again, strange of you to notice.

But when you do open your eyes, however, it’s a whole different sight from your expectations. For the first time, you looked at him, really look at him head to torso with your mind a stable state- the drunkenness gone. You realized that you’d really scored high and easy work kind of paid off because the man you’d kissed without even seeing was drop-dead gorgeous.

You’re shameless and painfully blatant at how you gape at him, marveling at his silky skin that radiated the fluorescent lights almost surreally to his dripping ombre braided hair to his lazy eyes that peered at you in amusement- and to his slightly parted lips that looked as sultry as they’d tasted. All you could say was that the man before you was the definition of perfection. In no way could he be real, it was either that he was an illusion after death or he was a being totally out of your reach.

You didn’t know if the flush of your cheeks was because of the kiss or simply, him. Simply his dreamlike visuals and his t-shirt that stuck to him like second skin. It was undeniable that his insanely attractive charm had you hooked near dead-end. And his voice was like honey and laziness saturated with a fictitious magnetism as he says, “Bold enough, darling?”

oh.

That makes you snap out of your trance, blinking as you adjust your eyes towards his face.

“Uh what?” you question. Stupid, stupid y/n.

“I said,” he inches closer to you, your heartbeat in a gallop as he looks you in the eye, “Aren’t you a bold little doll?”

The blush that had already tarnished your cheeks deepens further if that’s even possible. In a pale defense and your crimson cheeks getting the best of you, “Bold? Hah! That- that must be a joke,” you blurt.

Stupid, stupid, stupid y/n.

His face is closer to you than your comfort and the smirk that adorns his face should be unlawful by how attractive it was. “Are you saying you didn’t kiss me when I was just trying to save you?”

But you did kiss him. Your head leans back, eyes in defeat as you fiddle with your finger. You look anywhere else but him- partly because of how ashamed you were to have kissed a stranger, and partly because the picture of him kissing you back was unstoppable. “I-I did..” you reply, barely mumbling.

“Then you don’t mind if I do it again right?”

Your nerves go into a general state of shock when he voices his thoughts out like that, and almost immediately dives in to steal a short kiss from you- such a brief brush of your lips that it could be called a pack rather than an actual kiss, unlike the one you shared underwater.

The flirtatious smirk is still eminent on his face when he whispers, “You didn’t mind, did you?”

It feels like he’s pushing your ‘pious’ buttons just to make you say what you knew you wouldn’t- or so you thought. You kissed a stranger, he kissed you back and you didn’t mind when he kissed you again- you undeniably liked it. “i…didn’t,” you say, hiding your face from him.

“Well then, I’m glad.” He replies. Then he closes in beside your ear, sensual and torrid as he whispers, “Can I take you on a date, beautiful?”

You swear you’re about to faint from blushing.

again, don't kiss a random stranger like this. T.T

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mrs-johansson · 3 years

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With fire and blood - Chapter 1: Iron Man II - Dreaming of you

Part 3:

*back in New York, two days later*

“Dad! I’m gonna steal your assistant for the day. Thanks bye.” I said, walking past his lab. “What? Why?” He rushed out. “Because I need her today, and since I don’t have one. She’s my only hope.” I grabbed my car keys and made my way to the garage. Dialed her number and seconds later she picked it up. “Meet me outside in 5.” I didn’t let her answer because I hung up.

Driving out of the garage, I could already see her walking out to the front. Stopped beside her and rolled down the window, then she looked at me. “Hop in.” I said. She got in and I made my way to the address that Fury gave me. Her strong perfume hit my nose and made me a bit dizzy. Comfortable silence fall on us after she got in.

“So you’re Russian…” I broke the silence that was created minutes ago. “Yes. Why?” She turned her head in my way. “Just curious.” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to change. “I speak Russian fluently.” I told her, even though she probably knows that already. “Really?” She asked. She was surprised, I could hear it. “Yes, I think it’s a very cool language. Also… nobody speaks it around me, so I can send them to hell any minute. Which is always fun.” I smiled. “I do that all the time. I just cursed Fury to death. His face always makes my day.” I chuckled lightly.

Soon we pulled up to this little airport thingy. “This is where he wants to meet?” I stepped out of the car. Looked around but nobody was there. “No, we have a flight to catch. Follow me.” She smirked and walked past me. Her black heels clicking on the ground, and her body moving side to side. I quickly looked away, hoping she didn’t feel my eyes all over herself. “There’s literally noth-“ As I wanted to finish my sentence, out of nowhere this weird looking plane appeared in front of us. “Oh… okay.” I said, looking at her for any explanation. “Better get used to it.” That’s all she said before stepping on the plane. I followed her hoping I’m not getting in any type of trouble.

“Landing in 5.” The pilot said. I was looking around in the plane and now learned that it is called Quinjet. “So is this like a bigger floating thingy?” I asked, giving my full attention to the red headed woman. “You’ll see.” Her words were just making me more couriers. “You don’t talk much, huh?” Our eyes met for a hot minute before she looked away with a smirk on her face. “You’ll get used to that too.”

Minutes later the Quinjet landed on this huge thing, I don't even know what it was. We made our way inside when a man with an eyepatch approached us. “Stark, I’m glad you decided to meet me.” He said. “Must be Nick Fury.” I held my hand out which he shook. “Indeed. Please follow me.” He turned around and we walked inside. “What’s with his eye?” I asked Natasha quietly. “Nobody knows.” She simply said.

Soon I found myself in a room filled with agents working on computers and running around. “Welcome to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, better known by its acronym S.H.I.E.L.D., we’re an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency, tasked with maintaining both national and global security. Founded in the wake of the Allied victory over the Axis powers and HYDRA in World War II, S.H.I.E.L.D. was organized to protect the United States from all possible threats. With its advanced weapons and extraordinary agents, S.H.I.E.L.D. is maybe the greatest military power on Earth.” He explained as I was looking around the place. “Who created this thing?” I asked. “So you really don’t know anything about us?” He asked with a confused expression on his face. I shook my head, not knowing why I should know anything. “Chester Phillips, Peggy Carter and…” He paused and took a glance at Natasha. She nodded and he looked back at me. “Howard Stark.” He said. My eyes widened. “Who?” “You’re grandfather.” Nat said. “How come I didn’t know about this? Where have you guys been hiding?” I asked sarcastically. “Watching you and your dad. Keeping the distance as he asked. But we need you both now.” Fury said. “Agent Romanoff is on an undercover mission getting information about you and your dad.” I looked at the woman who kept her gaze on me for the whole conversation. “Since you know that now, we can tell you why this is happening on your behalf without telling this to anyone.” Fury told with a serious note. “Okay.” I said which he took by surprise. “You’re not gonna go against the idea?” His voice broke a little which made me smile. “No. You know how boring it is in a room full of papers? I’m basically made out of fire, sitting is not what I’m destined to do.” I said. “Perfect. So, Agent Romanoff, she had been assigned to assess whether you and Stark were suitable for the Avengers Initiative.” He started. “What’s that? Like a copy of the Power Rangers?” I asked. The agent smiled lightly at my comment but the director was less than impressed about it. “A team made out of superheroes.” He said. “So I was correct.” I mumbled. He gave me a questioning look. “Huh, nothing.” “Anyways, Romanoff can you please get me her files?” He asked the woman. She nodded and walked off. “My files?” “Everyone has one.”

We sat around the table, Natasha, Fury and myself. He was looking at the papers that he just got from the agent. “Great team player. Shy around new people but very confident in her own space. Very reliable and hardworking. Passionate about her job. Doesn’t have one evil bone in her body. Loving and caring person. Keeping her dad sane is one of her first priorities. Her vulnerability could be used against her or the team. Very stubborn and doesn’t accept help at the first offer. Her thinking is sophisticated and guarded. Has a high knowledge of science and physics. Her physical powers are controlling fire. Wanna add any new information, Miss Romanoff?” Fury asked. I was just sitting there still thinking about the things that she found out about me these past few weeks. “She’s very good at hacking apparently and also speaks Russian.” She said, not taking her eyes off of me. Getting comfortable I see. “Wow… You were too smart just to be an assistant. Should’ve known.” I leaned back in my seat. “You’re not disappointed in yourself, are you?” She smirked. “Haven’t decided yet.” I said. “Cut it. Stark, I would like you to join the Avengers. You are a suitable candidate. Following your grandfather’s steps. You bring power and brain to the team.” He said. “What’s in it for me?” I leaned on the table. “You can leave your office, you can use your powers. Most importantly, you can save people or even the world. Alongside a couple other heroes.” He explained. “Will that make me an agent or what?” “Until the team becomes an actual team, yes. You can train here, you’ll be sent on missions, be a part of the bigger picture. If everything goes smoothly, you and the others will be the big game.” His words were perfectly shaped and he was well spoken. Didn’t miss the opportunity to convince me to join. “Who are the others?” I asked. “Agent Romanoff,” he pointed at her. “Maybe your dad. Agent Barton and Steve Rogers. The others are still in the process. You’ll find out about everything soon, if you’re willing to join us.” Not gonna lie, I already made my decision. It was an easy ride. “Okay. I’ll join, but you have to send me on missions. I’m not gonna sit around and watch.” I said. “That’s the plan. Welcome to the team, Stark.” He said with a smile.

*in Malibu*

It’s been a couple days since I had the meeting with Fury. I officially signed a long term contract with S.H.I.E.L.D. and honestly I’m very happy with my decision. I got my schedule and they also gave me a room at the HQ, which is close to the towers so it’s good.

My dad still doesn’t know that I know. I’ve been doing research on my grandpa and there were not many things that I didn’t already know. His stuff is very secretive till this day.

Natasha and I have been getting close which I’m very surprised by because she seems like a person who likes to keep her distance. But she’s been very helpful with my training and introduced me to a couple of agents. That’s how I know Agent Barton. He’s also been very helpful. He is very much like a mentor for me now. Told me stories about his times when he first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and how Natasha got here too. She was not very open about her past which I understand and I didn’t want to push it.

“Y/N!” I heard my dad’s voice from the hallway. “Yes?” I popped my head out of the lab to see him in his suit. “Suit up! We’re gonna go test you.” He said. “Just give me a sec.” I rushed to my room to get my newly done suit. I stepped on the point and the suit started to build itself on my body. Seconds later I was all set to go.

I walked out of my room when suddenly I bumped into someone. “Damn I’m sorry.” I looked up and saw Natasha. “Oh hi. Didn’t see you there.” I rolled down the mask area to see her face to face. Her usual smirk found a way to her face again. She looked me up and down then back to my face. “You look nice.” She said. Hopefully I wasn’t blushing. “Why thank you. What can I do for you?” I asked. “Fury wanted me to give this to you.” She handed me some papers. “I’ll look at it when I get back, thank you.” I walked back to my desk and slid the files in a drawer. “Where are you going?” She asked, taking a few steps into the room. “Just flying around with my dad. Try this baby out.” I pointed at my suit with a proud smile. “Be careful, yeah?” Her voice sounded worried. I’ve never expected something like this with her so it was odd. “I’m always careful.” I said softly, hoping she would believe me. She gave me a small smile, before starting to speak again. “Well then, I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe we could train in the morning. What do you say?” She asked almost shyly. Miss Romanoff is getting soft. “I’d like that. Text me the details and I’ll be there.” I smiled. “Okay. Good night then.” Her voice was smooth and deep. The mid dark room barely gave any light to her face but her green eyes were still sparkling. “Good night!” I said and she walked out of the room with a smile on her face. I could hear her and my dad saying goodbye in the hallway, then it was silent again.

“There’s a robbery two blocks away. Wanna check it out?” My dad asked as we were flying around the dark city. “Let’s go.” He went ahead and soon we landed behind 4 guys with masks on. “Masks are out of fashion, don’t you think you guys should change it up a bit?” My dad said. They didn’t say anything and just started to run towards us. “Seems like someone can’t take jokes.” As soon as one of the guys threw a punch at me, fire appeared on my hands and he punched right into it. He screamed in pain then I quickly took him down before moving onto his mate. I tried not to hurt them with fire, even though they are the bad guys. He successfully punched me a couple of times on my body, making me hiss in pain when he punched me again at my ribs. He smirked, threw a punch at me and I grabbed his fist. Twisted his arm behind his back, and kneeled him in the stomach a couple of times. He fell onto the ground and pulled his legs up, rolling around in pain. Looked to my side, seeing my dad punch the last guy standing. “Hey Drew! Can you please send the police to this location? They’ve got a gift.” I said. “Yes, Miss Stark. They are on their way.” Drew, he’s my Jarvis.

Couple minutes later the police arrived and we went home. I got out of the suit and grabbed onto my ribs. It hurt pretty bad but I could handle it. I took a quick shower and took care of my bruised ribs. I was already laying in bed when I got a text. It was Natasha.

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: 7 am at the HQ?

me: fine with me🤓 it’s 2 am, why aren’t you asleep?

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: I could ask the same

me: I got home not long ago

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: I just can’t sleep, anyways how did the flying go?

I was thinking if I should tell her about the robbers, but I decided she would punch me to death if I did.

me: good! It was fun, my suit is very cool😎

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: I’m glad, I should go to sleep

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: such as you, i'm not gonna go easy on you in the morning😉 better get ready Stark

me: didn’t expect less😙 see you in the morning🥷🏻

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: is that a ninja?

me: yes, because I am one

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: only you think that

me: yet…

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: okay tiger… go to bed we have a big day tomorrow

me: do we?

Nat👩🏻‍🦰: just go to bed

me: okaaaay…😖

I put my phone on the charger and went to sleep.

An: let me know what you think❤️

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagines #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x female reader #black widow #black widow x you #natasha x you #gxg #imagines #iron man #tony stark #stark reader #marvel

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renaerys · 3 years

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Okay I've got one: Prompt 15 with Reds. 🤣🤣🤣

15. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Somehow they can make even breathing a competition.

Send me a prompt and some characters! Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we're getting creative here.

List of prompts

xxx

“So, we’ve called the paramedics and they’re on their way, but until they arrive it’s up to us. Remember the acronym, kids: C-A-B. What’s the first thing you do?”

Aiyeesha Simpson, a gunner in the making destined for academic greatness and social ruin, raised her eager hand. “Find a flat surface to lay him down!”

“Correct.” Blossom took Brick by the shoulders and shoved him down to the floor. A gaggle of Girl Scouts gathered around him as he wheezed for air.

“Ow,” he said.

Blossom patted his chest. “Please choke more quietly.”

I will end you, he thought so loudly he hoped she could hear him through the murder in his eyes. There was community service, and then there was cruel and unusual punishment. When his required hours were up and his record expunged, he was going to write a very negative Yelp review of the local Townsville Girls Scouts of America chapter and tank this year’s cookie sales. Supremely annoying, outrageously petty, and totally legal. That would teach Blossom for sure.

“Place your hands here between the nipples.”

Some of the Cadette Girl Scouts giggled. To be fair, Blossom of all people saying the word nipples in reference to her former mortal enemy as she trained a room full of twelve-year-old girls in CPR using him as the dummy was a perfect storm of absurd and kinky that he did not see coming. And now he was giggling himself, because he was a teenaged boy who thought the word nipples was funny regardless of the very clear contextual cues, and that pubescent shame was on him, one hundred percent.

Blossom, an ancient and inconveniently attractive evil resurrected in a lab for the sole purpose of making his life miserable, did not appreciate his amusement. “Push hard at a rate of 100 to 120 compressions per minute. Remember to put your bodyweight behind it, like this.”

Brick flexed, and Blossom pushed against his heart like she was trying to crush it in her hands. Once, twice, three times she administered compressions, and Brick’s eyes glowed red with impotent rage.

“Assist Blossom with her CPR lessons to her satisfaction, and we can forget this ever happened,” Mayor Bellum had promised Brick when he lost his temper and blew up an (empty) ambulance. Butch didn’t need his Super stomach pumped no matter how much he drank, so the ambulance and the four-figure bill that came with it were completely unnecessary. This defense did not convince the mayor, however.

The promise of the bill forgiven and his record cleared—and the deterrence of Aiyeesha Simpson filming the whole thing to upload to YouTube later—gave Brick the strength not to eye beam Blossom in front of the children.

“Okay, who wants to try chest compressions on the dummy?” Blossom offered to the girls.

You evil bitch, thought the aforementioned dummy.

After the third little girl properly placed her sticky, little girl hands between his nipples, Brick had had enough. “Hey, I’m still dying over here. Can we move on already? Jesus Christ.”

“Of course.” Blossom smiled, and she had never looked more terrifying.

Brick hoped Butch was suffering. He hoped he was hung over so bad he couldn’t piss standing up. He hoped Butch tried going online only to find that Brick had disconnected the Internet and cut him off from all his online games and porn because fuck Butch and his weak-ass stomach.

“Who knows what the next step is? Maybe someone other than Aiyeesha this time?”

None of the other girls seemed willing to stick their hands up. The carpet under Brick had scorched where his power leaked out in his building resentment for this entire situation. The smell of burned polyester just made him feel even more powerless to stop this.

“No? Okay, well, remember the acronym. A is for airway. You want to be careful about a possible neck injury, so gently lift the chin…”

Blossom’s hands were not sticky like the Girl Scouts’ hands, but they were cold where they touched his skin and forced his head back.

“Are the paramedics here yet?”

Brick got a tight fist in his short hair for that one, and he considered it a small victory. “No. Something about a shortage of ambulances, apparently.”

Biiiiiiiitch.

God, he was going to destroy her so bad.

“Once you’ve cleared the airway and confirmed there are no obstructions—”

“Then you kiss!”

Some girls picked up the giggling again. Blossom, ever the professional, cleared her throat. “Mouth to mouth is a life-saving procedure and not something I’d recommend doing to someone you plan to kiss.”

Wow, great advice.

Some girls still giggled and whispered to each other. Brick had a sinking feeling that this was only going to end with his embarrassment: everyone knew that the cold judgment of pre-pubescent girls was the absolute worst type of judgment a person could suffer.

“Are you gonna show us?”

“Well, I don’t think I need to show you all how to breathe—”

“It’s in the manual! You have to demonstrate every step.” Aiyeesha waved the CPR manual, and Brick realized his misjudgment. She was no vapid goody two-shoes in the making, but a future Honors Student with a secret, a Work Hard Party Harder, an Ivy League Early Decision candidate with all of senior spring semester to slack off because no one was ever going to touch her 4.3 GPA.

Aiyeesha beamed a winning smile at Brick, and it was as chilling as Blossom’s.

Jesus Christ, there are two of them.

True to form, Blossom had never been able to defy a good instructions manual. “I suppose if it says so in the manual…”

Locking lips with Blossom was not a big deal. He’d done it before when they were kids, and he could appreciate the irony of a gesture meant to save his life this time rather than end it. She didn’t even try to mess with him by using her ice breath, just went through the motions as described in the instructions. The girls were disappointed with the lack of hormonal fanfare of it all, which was probably for the best. Leave it to Blossom to make mouth to mouth the sexless, medical act it was literally intended to be. He was almost upset, because it felt like she’d won something here, which could only mean he’d lost.

Disappointed but more educated than they’d been when they’d arrived two hours ago, the Girl Scouts dispersed after the lesson, leaving Blossom and Brick to put away the equipment they’d used.

She held a dummy torso, and she was looking at him with that pinched, constipated look she got when she was about to say something especially snobby. Instead, she surprised him. “Brick, thanks for being mature about it. I can honestly say you surprised me.”

He stared at her.

“I’ll talk to Mayor Bellum. I’m sure you’ve done enough to meet your hours quota.”

He had not fulfilled even half of his required community service hours and they both knew it.

“So yeah, thanks. I can finish up here if you want to leave.”

Was she trying to get rid of him? Why?

“Brick? Why are you looking at me like that?”

When Blossom was winning, he was losing. That was simply the way of the world. So, if she was losing, it could only mean he was winning.

“Are you listening to me?”

Brick smiled in what he hoped was a cool, sexy way if he imagined looking at anyone but Blossom. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying. I just keep thinking about how good that mouth feels.”

Blossom stared. “I’m sorry?”

He would make her sorry.

“Yeah, you’re a great teacher. I could really feel your passion for demonstrating the lesson correctly. With your mouth.”

Her staring intensified. “Did you.”

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned his hip against the table like he’d seen in the movies. It worked for Daniel Craig in Casino Royale, and that guy had convinced Eva Green. Iconic. “I could really feel you trying to save me.”

Where was Aiyeesha with her phone to film this? There was so little he could do to rattle Blossom as they got older, and while the challenge delighted him, it was also exhausting being constantly a step behind her. Was this truly her demise? Had he won the Teenage Experience? Was this poetic justice for how she’d once killed him with a mere kiss, only to suffer the same fate in turn? He could have cackled. This was better than trolling the Girl Scouts of America reviews, although he might still do that because it was a genius idea and he had always indulged his own genius ideas when they came to him.

So infatuated was he with his own self-fellating digression that he was slow to react to Blossom sidling up to him. Her hand was still cold on his chin, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “Shall I save you again?”

Brick’s dignity drained with his blood, which was an unfortunate side-effect of being a teenaged boy that he would just have to suffer. But winning was about recognizing one’s weaknesses and working around them. He leaned into her personal space. “Please.”

He wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but it was happening and all he could think was I am better at this than you and I hate you and also Do that again. He tried holding her waist, and she fought back with her fingers in his hair. Not one to be deterred, Brick tried some tongue but pulled back when he tasted thirty degrees below zero. He immediately went back in because he could feel her superiority, her Got you, you horny idiot, but the joke was on her because he liked her cold, always had when it was hot as balls out and he’d make up any excuse to pick a fight with her just for the chance to cool off.

The Girl Scout troop leader walked in on them competitively making out in the classroom like it was an Olympic sport and put an end to things, leaving them at a frustrating draw for now. They said barely a word to each other when Brick glared at the troop leader so bad she flustered and didn’t even question them before running out of there with some excuse about getting the wrong room.

Later that evening, Brick caved and changed the Internet password back just so Butch would quit whining at him. He Googled kissing techniques and spent the next hour and a half watching YouTube videos and reading GQ articles about How to Please Her Like a Champion, because he was a champion and a winner and he was not going to lose to Blossom in this. Not a chance.

This had to be what they meant when they said kill with kindness.

“I’m going to end you,” he muttered to himself as he read about the top ten highest voted movie kissing scenes, which he would then stream and commit to memory in order to be fully armed and armored for the next time he encountered Blossom alone in a classroom. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe during their shared free period.

Truly, he had the most genius ideas.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg brick #ppg blossom #powerpuff girls fanfic #september fic prompts #great pick Carrie!#this one was fun

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kjack89 · 3 years

Text

Determination of Death (pt. 1/2)

Extremely self-indulgent, and the kind of angst I haven’t written in a long while. Because I was having a bad week and figured, hey, why not make it worse :)

I split it in two because it was getting long; second part should be posted sometime later this week.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death. Y’know. The good stuff.

Joly sighed, staring longingly up at the clock in the emergency room as if he could somehow force it to jump ahead four hours to the end of his shift. Not that he would ever voice the thought out loud, since doing so was the surest way to jinx it, but it had been a quiet night, and this was his last scheduled overnight shift in the E/R for at least a few weeks.

He tapped his pen against the counter, idly wondering if he could maybe sneak out a few minutes early and surprise Bossuet with breakfast in bed. Suddenly, another doctor ran past, donning a trauma gown, and Joly immediately straightened. “What do we got?” he asked urgently.

“MVC,” the other doctor called over her shoulder, using the acronym to indicate a car crash. “Multiple victims incoming.”

So much for a quiet night.

Joly grabbed a trauma gown and followed her out into the ambulance bay to meet the ambulance that screeched to a halt, its lights blaring. “Unrestrained driver,” one of the paramedics reported. “Lost control of the vehicle and crashed head first into oncoming traffic. Nonresponsive at the scene, and we’re gonna need a tox screen – we think she might have been drinking.”

“I got this one,” his colleague told him. “Go deal with the second ambulance.”

Joly nodded and jogged over to the second ambulance. “What do we—” he started as the paramedic shoved a clipboard at him, but his question died in his throat as he saw who was strapped down on the gurney.

It was Enjolras.

The paramedic was telling him something but it was as if Joly had gone temporarily deaf as he stared down at Enjolras, barely recognizable from the injuries he had sustained. Joly catalogued all the injuries he could see with a sort of vague detachment as if he was seeing them on someone other than one of his closest friends, the man he had vowed to walk through fire for.

Penetrating head trauma. Multiple facial lacerations. Chest and pelvis crush injuries. Open tibia fracture. Almost guaranteed massive internal injuries.

It was a miracle Enjolras was still alive, and Joly’s hands started shaking so badly that he dropped the clipboard the paramedic had handed him. “Dr. Joly?” someone was asking, and Joly just shook his head violently and turned away to empty his stomach on the pavement of the ambulance bay.

Christ, he hadn’t puked at the hospital since he was an intern.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his still-shaking hand and straightened to find his colleague gripping his arm and staring at him with clear concern in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Joly whispered. “I just...he’s a friend.”

Understanding crossed her expression, and she nodded. “Ok,” she told him, her voice calm, soothing. It was the voice they used for hysterical family members, and Joly hated her a little bit for using it on him. “Get in touch with his emergency contact, get them to the hospital. You can brief them when they get here, ok?”

“I want to help—” Joly started, but she shook her head before he could even finish his sentence.

“You’re not a doctor right now. You’re a loved one.” She hesitated for just a moment before adding, with genuine sympathy, “I’m so sorry.”

He hated her even more for that.

Then she was gone, she and the paramedics whisking Enjolras inside to do what they could – if there was even anything that they would be able to do.

And Joly had nothing left to do but to call Combeferre and tell him the worst news he had ever had to deliver.

----------

It was now four hours past when Joly had been supposed to get off of work, and there was no indication that he would get to go home anytime soon. All of Les Amis had trickled in during the night and were now all camped out in the waiting room, eager for whatever news Joly could tell them.

But unfortunately, he had nothing that he could tell.

He pulled his scrub cap off as he slowly made his way over to where they were all waiting, trying to school his expression to something less grim, but judging by the way Courfeyrac’s smile slid off his face as soon as he saw him, he hadn’t succeeded. “How is he?” Combeferre asked, scrambling to his feet.

Joly swallowed. “He’s alive,” he said shortly. “That’s all that I can tell you right now.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances. “What the hell are you talking about?” Courfeyrac asked, uncharacteristically blunt. “What do you mean, that’s all you can tell us?”

“I mean that I am required to tell Enjolras’s family first before I can share any details.”

Combeferre’s expression was ashen but Courfeyrac’s eyes flashed. “We are his family,” he started hotly, but Combeferre shook his head and squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm.

“Pontmercy,” he said, a little hoarsely. “We need to call Marius. He’s everyone’s power of attorney, remember? He can authorize them to share medical details with us.”

Courfeyrac quickly dug his cellphone out his jeans pocket, dialing Marius’s number from memory. “Come on, come on,” he muttered urgently as he waited for Marius to pick up. “Come on, damnit.”

A pile of coats that had been tossed onto a chair suddenly seemed to stand up of its own accord, and Marius emerged from under them, blinking owlishly as he clearly had just woken up. “Sorry, m’here,” he said between a yawn, and Courfeyrac looked like he was torn between wanting to hug him or throttle him.

Combeferre didn’t let him do either. “You’re Enjolras’s power of attorney, right?” he said in clipped tones.

Marius ran a hand over his face and blinked once more before nodding. “Yes,” he said.

“Then tell Joly that he can share medical details about Enjolras with all of us.”

Marius winced. “Ah,” he said. “Um, there’s a bit of a problem with that. I’m Enjolras’s power of attorney for certain things, mainly related to his estate and his trust fund, but I’m not designated as Enjolras’s medical proxy.”

Courfeyrac looked between Marius and Combeferre, his eyes wide. “What does mean?” he asked, a little faintly. “Who would make the decisions if Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy?”

“Well, generally speaking, the closest blood relative would—”

“His parents?” Courfeyrac interrupted, horrified. “He hates his parents!”

Marius shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “The problem isn’t that Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy, so we don’t have to worry about that.” He winced again. “The, uh, the problem is that he did. And the designation is still legally binding.”

“Who?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

Marius just gave him a look. “You know who.”

Realization crossed Combeferre’s face, followed by something like rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

----------

Grantaire had been, up until that moment at least, thoroughly enjoying his evening. He had been hit on not once but twice at the bar, and had decided to take the second one, a thin, blond man (because Grantaire had always had a type, damn it), home for the night. They were right in the middle of making out like teenages on Grantaire’s couch when his phone rang.

Grantaire groaned and pulled away to reach for his cell, but the blond – Shane? Brendan? something? – pushed him back against the couch. “Ignore it,” he whispered before sucking on Grantaire’s earlobe.

He was only too happy to comply, but unfortunately, his phone had other ideas, ringing repeatedly until the best makeout session in the world wouldn’t have been able to hold his attention. “Let me just get rid of whomever this is,” he said, holding the man on his lap in place with one arm while reaching for his phone with the other. “Someone better be dying,” he said in lieu of a greeting, followed by a very confused, “Pontmercy?”

His brow furrowed as he listened to Marius, and he abruptly pushed the man off his lap, standing up and looking wildly around his apartment. “Yeah, ok,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and threw his phone down on his couch. “You need to go,” he told the guy he’d brought him, unusually brusque. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Oh no, is everyone alright?” the guy asked, reaching out for him, but Grantaire brushed him aside, grabbing his shirt from where he had tossed it earlier.

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s my husband. He was in a car accident.”

“You’re married?” the guy asked, sounding almost offended by the thought.

Grantaire closed his eyes for a brief moment, wondering how he had got himself in the position of needing to explain this to a one-night stand. “No, I mean my ex-husband,” he said with a sigh.

“You’re divorced?” the guy asked, sounding even more disgusted by that.

“You know what, I don’t really have time to debate this with you, so while I’m sure you would have been a great lay—” Sudden pounding on Grantaire’s door cut him off and he groaned. “Great,” he sighed, hurrying over to open his door.

He was only a little surprised to see Combeferre standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering Marius’s phonecall,” Combeferre said shortly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I did, and I’m getting ready to go to the hospital, so you can just—”

Before he could finish telling Combeferre exactly where he could go, the guy he’d brought home snuck past him, pausing to kiss his cheek and tell him breathlessly, “Call me when you’re back from dealing with your ex.”

Combeferre watched him leave, his expression stony. “Nice,” he told Grantaire, who rolled his eyes again.

“You have no right to judge me,” he snapped. “Enjolras and I have been divorced for longer than we were married, so I’m allowed to do whatever and whomever the fuck I want.”

“Yeah, well, about that,” Combeferre started, and Grantaire frowned.

“What?”

----------

“What?” Grantaire said, his voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marius quailed slightly under his glare. “Well, see, the thing about it is—”

“Enjolras and I got divorced!” Grantaire interrupted loudly. “I signed the damned paper!”

“You did,” Marius told him. “But Enjolras didn’t.” Grantaire’s mouth opened but no sound came out, and Marius continued, “He didn’t sign them, and he didn’t file them, so legally, you two are still married. And legally, you’re still his next of kin.”

Grantaire shook his head, but he still couldn’t seem to manage any words, and Marius reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can talk through this more later but for now, Joly needs to talk to you.”

Without waiting for Grantaire to reply, Marius spun him around to face Joly, who looked exhausted. “C’mon,” Joly muttered, glancing at all their friends, who were staring expectantly at them. “Let’s talk over here.”

He jerked his head towards a meeting room off of the waiting room, and Grantaire numbly followed. Joly pulled the door open and stepped back to let Grantaire walk in first before following him in, closing the door after them. “So,” Joly started, but Grantaire shook his head.

“No, before you start, I just want to say…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Despite the circumstances, it is really good to see you. I know Enjolras got you and Bossuet in the divorce, but—”

Joly let out what might have been a wordless sob, surging forward to wrap Grantaire in a fierce hug. Grantaire froze before slowly patting Joly on the back. Then, abruptly, his hand froze. “Wait,” he said, his chest tight. “This isn’t a good hug, is it.”

He didn’t say it like a question but Joly still shook his head as he pulled back, his eyes wet and red. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, it’s not a good thing. It’s—” He broke off and shook his head, his tone turning professional. “It’s not good, R. Enjolras suffered severe internal injuries, but those—”

Again he broke off, but this time, he didn’t seem able to start again. Grantaire swallowed and nudged him gently. “But those?” he prompted softly.

Joly shook his head once as if to clear it. “The internal injuries were severe but probably not fatal,” he said tonelessly. “But he suffered massive head trauma. Part of his skull was broken in the crash and his brain swelled drastically, and likely irrevocably.”

Grantaire reached out wordlessly to grasp the back of a chair, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh,” he managed finally as he stared unseeingly at the wall in front of him.

Joly quickly wiped a tear off his cheek and cleared his throat. “I know that this isn’t what you expected to be dealing with, but as Enjolras’s next of kin, you have some decisions to make.”

“He’s an organ donor,” Grantaire said hollowly. “I don’t– I don’t know if, in his condition, any of his organs are—” His voice cracked. “—are viable, but if any of them are, he would want to donate that.”

“His heart, his lungs, maybe a kidney and part of his liver,” Joly said, giving Grantaire a watery smile. “He could probably donate those.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “So then do it,” he said, more harshly than he intended.

Joly’s smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s...I mean, it’s complicated.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“No, I don’t just mean because of you and him,” Joly said impatiently. “I mean, it’s complicated medically.”

Grantaire blinked. “How so?”

Joly wet his lips. “In order to donate organs, a patient must meet one of two conditions. The easiest one is brain death. But unfortunately, we don’t know if Enjolras is brain dead yet.”

“How do you not know that?” Grantaire demanded. “Aren’t there tests?”

“Yes, and we’ve run all of them, but the tests revealed limited functioning. It could just have been an artifact of previous brain activity, so we’ll run the test again in a few hours.” Joly took a deep breath. “But if the repeat tests should even just the slightest amount of functioning, we legally can’t declare him brain dead.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Ok, so what does that mean?”

“It means that him signing up to be an organ donor won’t be enough.” Joly met his eyes. “It means we would need your consent to withdraw life-sustaining measures and allow cardiac death if you wanted to donate his organs.”

Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed, and a muscle worked in his jaw for a long moment before he finally managed, his voice sharp, “Fine, whatever, I consent.” He opened his eyes to stare fiercely at Joly as if daring him to say anything. “Do you need me to sign something, or—?”

Joly just shook his head. “Again, it’s unfortunately not that simple.”

“Why not?” Grantaire asked tiredly, feeling older than he ever had before.

“Because no matter how small a chance it is, if he isn’t brain dead, then there is still a chance—”

“That he could wake up,” Grantaire finished with sudden realization, and he hated himself for the way his heart leapt in his chest, hated that after all this time, the only person in the damn world who could still make him feel something like hope was Enjolras.

Joly nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He could live in a comatose state for...well, technically indefinitely. And there have been cases where someone has woken up after a month, or six months, or a year, or—”

“But what are the chances of that actually happening here?” Grantaire asked, harsher than he intended, trying desperately to quash the hope he could still feel rising in his chest, that there might still be time left with Enjolras, time to at least say goodbye and tell him he was sorry, time to tell him he still – that he never stopped—

“In my medical opinion…” Joly hesitated. “Not high. The trauma that his brain has suffered...and even if he woke up, I don’t think he would be Enjolras anymore.”

Joly’s words hit Grantaire like a punch to the gut, and he sagged, still gripping the chair with all his strength to keep himself upright. “So then that’s that,” he said, his voice trembling, just slightly.

Joly just nodded once. “Like I said,” he said quietly, “you have a choice to make. Not even just in regards to donating his organs, but in regards to if you think he would want to live like this.”

A laugh burst unbidden in Grantaire’s throat, an almost hysterical sound, because that had been one of the last things Enjolras had said to him before telling him he wanted a divorce – “I just can’t live like this anymore,” Enjolras had said, sounding tired, and sad, and more defeated than Grantaire could possibly bear. “And I don’t think you can either. Or maybe you can, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

So Grantaire had signed the papers to dissolve his marriage to the only man he had ever loved and moved out, leaving Enjolras, and Les Amis, and his entire life behind. He had thought that chapter was over, but now—

He realized a moment too late that Joly had asked him something and was waiting for his answer, and shook his head once to clear it. “Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Do you want to see him?” Joly repeated.

Again, the words were like a dagger in him. “Until about three hours ago, my answer to that question would have unequivocally been yes,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “But now, like this…” He shook his head again. “But I have to, though, don’t I?”

He meant it more rhetorically than anything, but Joly shook his head, sympathy clear in his expression. “You don’t have to,” he told Grantaire. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I should though,” Grantaire said with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t make this decision without seeing him – without it being real.”

He couldn’t, because no matter how things ended between them, he would never be able to picture Enjolras as anything other than alive, and perfect, and the thought of making a decision about ending his life when that was how he envisioned Enjolras still was frankly laughable. Absurd. Like the world’s sickest joke.

So he needed to see him. No matter how much it would break what was left of him in the process.

“Ok,” Joly said softly. “Then I’ll take you back to him.”

#enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #grantaire #enjolras #joly #combeferre #courfeyrac #marius pontmercy #fanfiction #part 1 of 2 #les miserables #former relationship #car accident cw #major injury cw #end of life care cw #major character death cw #angst #all the angst

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vampish-glamour · 3 years

Note

Please help I just read the syllabus of my senior writing class and it's so cringey woke it makes me squirm. Here's some highlights:

"Land Acknowledgement" clause where the professor pretty much saying "sowwy our campus is on native land"

"Ironically(?), academic writing has historically been a tool for oppression. It has encouraged standardization from a "Western", often colonized (and racist) lens."

"Commit to consistent training from BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and marginalized scholars that combat oppression & white supremacy"

"Standardized Western English (SWE) has historically been a tool of colonization and oppression; code-meshing is one way to combat that. "Grammar" will not be graded in this class. Instead, it will be lightly critiqued for clarity and consistency."

"For example, a Latinx/e woman and a Latinx/e disabled woman will both experience marginalization as women, and as Latinx/e women. But the intersecting/additional identity of “disabled” will significantly impact and add layers to the experience of the disabled woman in ways that won’t happen for the other. Further, the intersecting identities of a Black Queer man means he will have different experiences than a Black heterosexual man, even though they are both Black men."

And finally, these words are in the class glossary with very woque definitions: BIPOC, QTBIPOC (awful), micro-aggressions and micro-affirmations (?), nonbinary/two spirit, and whiteness: "The ideology of white culture, privilege, and supremacy; and a source of systemic racism/injustice. Whiteness is not “being white” – it is the normalized and standardized ideologies that make white culture dominant. Whiteness is a standard other ideologies are measured against. A person could be non-white and support whiteness; or a person could be white and oppose whiteness."

Sorry for the long ask but this was so cringe I had to share.

The Land Acknowledgement thing is very common in Canada, or at least where I am in Canada. There’s a little blurb that has to be said at every public assembly, there’s plaques that get hung up, all that. And while I get what they’re trying to do, it seems to be up the alley of virtue signalling or performative activism. It just doesn’t seem to be doing anything productive.

But thankfully I haven’t ran into any of the other stuff on the list. That sounds like hell.

I can’t believe you’re in a writing class and grammar isn’t being graded. And I can’t believe it’s considered not racist to basically say “expecting people in a writing class to write with proper grammar is bad because the coloureds POC can’t use proper grammar”. Which I’m assuming is what they’re getting at since I’ve heard that sentiment before and I’m always shocked at the sheer racism of it.

AHHHH the calling people slurs omg 😭

“QTBIPOC” I want somebody to play dumb with this and ask why the syllabus specifically mentions “cutie bisexual people of colour”.

I hate the acronym “QT” though. Because is the Q supposed to lump LGB together?? Why are trans people allowed to not be called a slur? Or is it just “queer and trans” because for some reason trans people seem to get all the attention?? I hate it either way.

The bit on whiteness is just so stupid omg… wanna bet that considering the grammar part, they’d say a black person who uses proper grammar is “supporting whiteness” lmao.

I find myself hating most terms that end in “-ness” tbh.

Anyways… I’m sorry you’ve gotta deal with that, it sounds absolutely fucking insufferable. Especially for a writing class of all things.

#asks #anon #hell world!!! it’s hell world I tell you!!!

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joyful-soul-collector · 3 years

Photo

50 Christmas Ornaments My True Love Gave To Me

Summary: It was Christmastime in the Stark-Rhodes-Potts’ household, with Tony, Rhodey, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan all sitting at the table. Jingle Bells was playing quietly in the background, and each one of them was working on decorating a clear plastic christmas bauble, a growing pile of colorful ornaments in the center of the table.

The Iron Family gets carried away making Christmas ornaments, and Peter talks to his dad about asexuality

Taglist: @phahbiyah @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @clevermuffinalmondpeach @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe @canonismybitch @freckledmountain @hold-our-destiny @not-your-housekeeper98 @misskirkstark @iron-loyalty @skeeter-110 @m3ga1nsp1r3d @nazezdha321 @peterparkerspidgeons @fallenstar07 @baloobird

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Read on Ao3!

“This was the best idea. Peter, remind me never to doubt you again,” Tony said, gazing at his newly made red and gold Christmas ornament. It was Christmastime in the Stark-Rhodes-Potts’ household, with Tony, Rhodey, Pepper, Peter, and Morgan all sitting at the table. Jingle Bells was playing quietly in the background, and each one of them was working on decorating a clear plastic christmas bauble, a growing pile of colorful ornaments in the center of the table.

“I told you it would be fun!” Peter said with a laugh, carefully pouring a bit of red glitter into his own ornament.

“Told you!” Morgan echoed, despite the fact this activity had been a complete surprise to her and she had told Tony no such thing. Morgan reached forward suddenly, grabbing the white glitter.

“Oh, dear you need to be more careful with that,” Pepper said as Morgan spilled some on the table trying to pour it into her ornament. “Here baby, use the funnel.”

“Finished!” Rhodey said suddenly, nearly startling Peter into flinging glitter everywhere just as Morgan had done. Rhodey held up a bauble that had been painted in three stripes of red, blue, and grey, with “T+R+P=‎⎊” painted in black overtop. It took Peter a moment to realize that the colors were representing each of their Iron Suits, and he said “Awww” along with the rest of the family.

Both Tony and Pepper kissed Rhodey on the cheek, Tony on the left and Pepper on the right, and Peter laughed at the sheepish but adoring smile Rhodey gave them in return. He placed his bauble next to the others and gazed fondly at the colorful pile.

“I think these are my favorite ornaments,” he said with finality.

“Ha! You sure about that? You like them even more than your special War Machine one Pep gave you?” Tony said, an eyebrow raised skeptically.

“He’s a close second of course, but these are my favorite since we made them together as a family,” Rhodey said, grinning happily.

“Aw, you’re extra sappy today, Pops,” Peter teased, putting the top on his ornament, and smiling at the layers of red and white glitter in his candy-cane themed bauble.

“Are you implying that I’m sappy all the time?”

“Not even just implying. You’re sappy. You’re a sappy, mushy, lovey-dovey, man,” Peter said, scrunching his nose at his father, and sticking out his tongue childishly. Rhodey made a mock-offended gasp, and pressed his hand to his chest.

“I’m deeply offended by this. You know I’m not sappy, right Little Mo’?”

“Super sappy,” was all Morgan replied with, clearly more interested in stuffing bits of ribbon in her ornament than she was in the conversation itself. The rest of the family laughed as she continued to fill her bauble, and Tony threw an arm around Rhodey’s shoulders.

“Nah, I think I actually agree with you, Honeybear. These are probably my favorite as well, I can’t believe we never did this before. I almost wish we could make more, we were each only able to make five,” Tony said, looking down at his completed ornaments beside him, a slightly disappointed look on his face. “I had a lot more ideas for what to design.”

“I did too,” Pepper said, looking down at her own baubles, neat and elegant, all themed with the colors of white and gold, unlike the rest of the family, who had gone a bit more wild with their designs.

“Well… who said we’re not allowed to go back to the craft store and get some more?” Peter said tentatively. When all three parents raised an eyebrow he quickly went on. “I mean we have plenty of paint and glitter and ribbon left! We could probably just get some more baubles and have enough supplies to make more--I mean what else are we gonna use this stuff for? Might as well use it up on more ornaments so we don’t waste it, ya know?”

The three adults were now wearing varying convinced facial expressions, though Morgan’s response definitely worked in Peter’s favor.

“Yes! Let’s do it! Pleeeeease???” she said, looking up at them and giving them her best puppy eyes, garnished perfectly with a little sniff.

Peter was grabbing his coat before they even said “yes.”

~~~

“Ya know, I distinctly remember you saying all we had to get was more ornaments, and that we already had enough supplies to make another batch,” Tony said, frowning at Peter, who was gazing at the rows of glitter on the shelf.

“Yeah yeah, I know, but we only got christmas themed colors last time! What if we got something else besides the red, green, white, and blue?”

“Well we got gold and silver too, and a little black--”

“You know what I mean,” Peter groaned with a roll of his eyes. “We could do so much more with some extra colors--Ooh look!” Peter snatched four containers of glitter off the shelf and presented them to Tony. “We could make pride flags! You and me could have personalized asexual pride ornaments!”

Tony sighed at the sight of the bottles.

“Well… that would be cool… I dunno kiddo…” Tony said slowly, pushing his hands in his pockets as he thought.

But Peter suddenly realized what he was doing and his face turned red with embarrassment. He really shouldn’t be asking for things right now, especially when he only wanted these colors because he was feeling a little insecure. That’s not a good enough reason to be spending money on glitter they were never gonna use again.

“I--Um, nevermind, sorry,” Peter said, his hands shaking a little as he reached up to put them back.

“What? No, Peter, I was--”

“There you two are!” Pepper said suddenly, making them both jump and turn in her direction. She made her way over, Rhodey and Morgan trailing behind. “What’re you doing over here?”

“Well the kid’s twisting my arm into getting us some pretty ace glitter,” Tony responded, and Pepper glanced at the bottles Peter was still holding. Peter grimaced inwardly, wishing Tony hadn’t said anything. He didn’t need Pepper to explain to him they can’t just buy whatever he wants just because he’s a little upset.

But she wasn’t angry with him. She snorted, rolling her eyes at Tony’s pun.

“Well if you two get your pride flag then I want mine too,” she said, reaching over and grabbing some pink, purple, and blue bottles, the colors of the bisexual flag, and throwing them in the basket with the pack of ornaments. The knot of nervousness that had formed in Peter’s chest instantly unraveled, and he suddenly felt a lot more at ease about putting his own bottles of glitter in the basket.

“Hey don’t forget mine!” Rhodey said, reaching for the pink, yellow, and blue bottles, the pansexual pride flag, and putting them in too.

“Oh, you guys need the polyamorous flag too!” Peter chirped, snagging the blue, red, and black bottles of glitter. “We can use the gold paint back at home to put the pi symbol on it too!”

All three parents smiled warmly at him, and Rhodey reached forward to ruffle his hair affectionately. Peter remembered when Pepper and Tony had first started dating Rhodey, they’d been so nervous to tell him because they were scared he wouldn’t like it. Peter was only about ten when they told him, and he could tell they had been very worried. Peter colored a picture of the three of them holding hands the next day, and hung it up on the fridge. He found out later that Tony had given it to Rhodey, and Rhodey keeps it in his wallet now, taking it everywhere he goes. And when Rhodey eventually moved in and got married to Tony and Pepper, Peter was extra enthusiastic in helping him get settled, to make sure he felt welcome.

Peter’s always done his best to make sure his parents knew he loved them, and accepted them just the way they were.

But Peter was suddenly snapped out of his memories by Tony’s voice.

“But what about Little Mo’? We can’t have her feel left out!” he said, gazing down his daughter by his feet. But Morgan suddenly held up a large colorful bag, showing off the contents to her fathers, mother, and brother.

“Pom poms!” she squeaked happily. The bag was filled with hundreds of colorful pom poms of varying sizes, some of which were definitely too big to force into the ornaments, but Peter knew that wouldn’t stop Little Mo’ from trying.

“Oh yes, you forgot, Dad,” Peter said, scooping up his little sister and resting her on his hip. “The ‘P’ in the acronym doesn’t just stand for Pansexual and Polyamorous, it also stands for Pom Poms.”

“Oh yes, that’s the new one isn’t it?” Tony said with a snort, now sorting through the glitter in the basket to get rid of repeated colors.

“Yup. Maybe I can get MJ to design a pride flag for it,” Peter said with a smirk.

“I’m sure she would do so happily,” Pepper said, taking the pom poms from Morgan to put them in the basket, and kissing Morgan's head. “Now why don’t you and your Dad get back to the car and buckle Morgan in while your Papa and I get everything checked out?”

A few minutes later Peter walked out of the store with his sister and dad, and Tony was buckling Morgan in her carseat.

“Snug bug?” Tony asked her as he adjusted the straps of her seat.

“Snug bug,” Morgan confirmed with a giggle. Tony smiled and booped her nose, before drawing out his phone and opening up a game.

“Wanna play on Daddy’s phone?” he said, handing it to her and helping her put in the headphones. Then Tony moved back up to sit in the middle row of the van, where Peter was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You never let me play with your phone when I was little,” he said bluntly. “I’m sensing a favorite child has been chosen.”

“Pfft, is that another one of your spidey powers? Your Spidey Sense get upgraded along with your suit?” Tony asked with a roll of his eyes. “No, I just needed her to be distracted.”

“What? Why?” Peter asked with a frown.

“Well, it seems my other bug isn’t so snug,” Tony said, looking at Peter pointedly.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s up kiddo? You seemed a little worried back there,” he said.

“I did? When?” Peter said, hoping to wiggle his way out of the conversation somehow, stall until his Mom and Papa got back.

“When you were asking about if you could get the ace flag colors. You know I was joking right? I wasn’t actually considering saying no to you, I want you to be able to show your pride however you like,” he said gently. It seems Peter wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

“No, yeah I know that, it… wasn’t you I was worried about,” Peter said with a sigh. “Part of it I guess was uh, well you know how I get guilty asking for things. I didn’t want to make you spend money on me.”

“Ya know for the child of a billionaire you sure worry about money a lot,” Tony said with a smirk. “I don’t mind spending money on you. You’re important to me, and I have the ability to do it, so I like to. But, you already know that, and I have a feeling the money wasn’t the only thing bothering you. Am I right?”

Peter’s face turned even redder and he glanced out the window to see if his Mom and Papa had come to save the day.

No such luck.

“I uh… Flash said something the other day. Bothered me,” Peter muttered.

“What did he say, kiddo?” Tony said, reaching over to squeeze Peter’s hand.

“…he said nobody would ever want to date someone who was asexual like me. That no one would wanna be in a relationship with someone who wouldn’t, uh--” he glanced at Morgan to make sure her earbuds were still in, “--‘give them any’.”

Peter looked down and picked at a loose thread on his jeans, avoiding his father’s gaze.

“Oh Peter, I’m sorry. That’s not true, there are plenty of people who will love you just the way you are,” Tony said, smoothing a thumb over Peter’s knuckles.

“Yeah, I mean I-I know that in the back of my mind--I mean you’ve got two people who love you, and you’re ace like me, so--so I mean I’m sure I’ll find at least one person, it’s just--” Peter broke off with a sigh. “What if… What if I find someone who’s okay with me being ace, but they’re not nice in other ways? What if there’s only one person who’s okay with me being ace, and it turns out they like, I dunno, hate that I’m Spider-Man? Or they’re even abusive or something? What if the only person who will ever like me is someone who’s bad?”

“Peter, nobody really ever has just one person they’re compatible with. I learned that when I fell in love with Rhodey,” Tony said with a soft smile. “There’s going to be more than one person who’s okay with your asexuality, just like there will be more than one who isn’t. There will be people who are okay with it but are terrible in other ways, just as there will be people who aren’t okay with it but are amazing in other ways.

“And of course, that means there will be people who are just bad for you overall. People who aren’t okay with your sexuality and are awful. But that means there will also be the opposite! There will be people who will be fine with your asexuality, and are also kind, and funny, and will have qualities you love.

“Humans are complex, you’ll never meet one that’s exactly the same as the other, and yet we have the ability to love so many different people, in so many different ways. It’s part of why I fell in love with both Pepper and Rhodey. I love how unique they are.

“Like you said: two people who are so different from each other, and yet they both fell in love with an asexual person like me. And neither of them are terrible, obviously,” Tony said, and Peter laughed, finally looking up at him. Tony smiled and gave his hand a final squeeze. “Basically, of the hundreds of humans your age in New York, I doubt there’s only one person who would be good for you, and even less likely that the only people willing to date you are abusive and awful. It mathematically doesn’t make sense. Throw in the fact that you’re the kindest kid I’ve ever met, and I doubt there’s an asexual-accepting human in the world who wouldn’t wanna date you.”

Peter laughed again, leaning back on the headrest as his chest filled with relief.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I dunno what I’d do without you to help me with all this stuff.”

“Of course, kiddo. It’s what Dads are for.”

~~~

An hour later, Peter and his family were finishing up making the last of their baubles, Peter carefully painting the Spider-Man logo on his glittery asexual pride ornament. He was feeling a lot better after the talk with Tony, like a weight had been lifted off him. It even made painting a little easier, despite the fact he was awful at painting.

Rhodey had finished about half an hour earlier, now in the kitchen making cookies while Pepper and Morgan watched Klaus in the living room. The smell of Rhodey’s cookies wafted into the dining room where Peter and Tony were still working. Peter snapped up and sniffed the air, drinking in the scent of chocolate, butter, and sugar, the signature smell of Rhodey’s chocolate chip cookies.

Peter’s stomach gave a deep growl at the scent, whining miserably about how empty it was.

“Wow, someone’s hungry,” Tony said, glancing at Peter’s middle with a smirk.

“I knoooow,” Peter groaned, wrapping an arm around his belly. “I was so distracted by the ornaments I forgot to have a snack when we got home. Dumb super metabolism, I’m gonna starve to death before those cookies get out of the oven.”

“Well don’t do that,” Rhodey said, walking in with a plate piled high with cookies. “Guess you were so distracted you didn’t hear the timer go off either, huh?”

Peter wasn’t listening though. He’d already put his ornament down to let the paint dry and was making grabby-hands at the plate, practically drooling.

“Alright alright, calm down, don’t eat too fast either, you’ll give yourself a tummy ache,” Rhodey said, handing him the cookies. Peter scoffed as he stuffed a cookie in his mouth.

“I’m fifteen, I don’t get ‘tummy aches’,” Peter said through his mouthful of cookie.

“Tell that to whoever got a tummy ache from eating a whole solid chocolate santa in five minutes last week on a dare from Ned,” Rhodey muttered as Peter stuffed more cookies in his mouth.

“That was not a ‘tummy ache’, that was Extreme Christmas Celebrating.”

“It was a tummy ache. You said ‘I have a tummy ache.’”

“I did not--”

“Uhh, guys?” Tony suddenly interrupted. Peter and Rhodey looked at him, and Pepper glanced back from her position on the couch.

“Yeah?” they all said.

“I uh… I think we have fifty ornaments here,” he said, staring wide-eyed at the pile. Peter blinked.

No, no way, they didn’t make that many.

“You sure you didn’t miscount?” Rhodey said, looking at the pile more closely himself.

“Oh I’m sure. There’s fifty ornaments here. We made fifty ornaments,” Tony said.

“That can’t be right, each of us only made… only made…” Peter had been about to say five, but realized that was before they bought the second batch of ornaments. If they made five, and then each made another five…

“Ten. There’s five of us and we each made ten ornaments,” Pepper said in disbelief. “How did we not realize we’d be making ten each? Fifty ornaments?”

They all stared at the pile in silence for a few moments.

“Well, I guess the tree will be a bit crowded this year,” Peter said, taking another bite of cookie. They all laughed, then Rhodey, Tony, and Peter, settled on the couch next to Pepper and Morgan to finish the rest of the movie with them.

Later that day when Peter had a bellyful of cookies, they decorated the tree with their new ornaments, as well as the ones dragged out from the boxes in the garage. And while it was a bit crowded like Peter had predicted, it was the best one they’d ever had, with their pride ornaments glittering in the firelight, and Morgan’s pom pom baubles adding the perfect sprinkling of color to the green branches.

Peter had never seen a more perfect tree.

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sirowsky · 3 years

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, kidnapping, torture (not the gory kind), angst, buried trauma.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: You have a woman that seriously hurt you, at your mercy, and you’re struggling with how far to take it. Meanwhile, Marcus realises he’s going to have to save you from yourself, if he can find you in time.

Chapter 43

You waited for her to wake up for almost thirty minutes, and that was after you’d taken her to the abandoned warehouse, and secured her to a solid metal post that used to connect the floor to the ceiling. You didn’t know exactly what kind of tranquilizer Tech had used, but it sure was potent. Her feet were still tied together and you’d placed her on her knees with her back to the post. Her arms were strung up above her head on either side of the post, and secured individually, to ensure she couldn’t use either hand to untie the other. Her head hung low between her shoulders and her body seemed completely limp. If not for her slow and even breathing, you’d have thought she was already dead.

***

After your phone had gone to voicemail for the third time, Marcus lost it. He’d been working on dismantling the containers, no longer needed, while he waited for Aidan to finish his task, and for you to call him. He didn’t do well with idle hands when he was worried about something, and there was so much at stake right now. Then his phone had beeped, and as he’d read the message, his blood had turned to ice. He’d immediately tried calling you back, but he was routed straight to your recorded voice declaring that you were indisposed at the moment. Desperate to believe that you wouldn’t do this, that you weren’t cruel enough to do what his mind was telling him were the only reasons you would have taken off with the believed head of the entire organisation you were trying to bring down, he tried again. The third time was just dumb, but he really was losing it. He ran back to Tech.

“I need you to track my wife, right now! Her phone, car, fucking watch – anything!”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“She took off with Kane, we have to find her before she does something she can’t come back from.”

“She wouldn’t do that, Marcus. She started all of this because she wants the pain and deaths to stop. She’s a good person.”

“Yes, she is. But Kane very nearly killed our baby, and as much as I hope that she’s strong enough to resist, I know that the mother in her is the most powerful part of her, and she’s gonna wanna hurt Kane. Even if she doesn’t kill her, she might still torture her, and I can’t let her do that. It would never stop haunting her, specifically because she is a good person. Please, Tech.”

“Okay, okay. Let me see what I can find.”

Marcus was beside himself with worry, and his mind was grasping at anything it could to distract itself, while there was nothing he could do but wait.

“Where are we with the operation?”

Tech answered him at the same time as he typed impossibly fast on his laptop, and various windows were popping up and disappearing on the screen.

“Only six more cities left to confirm completion. All the others have been successful.”

“I’ll check on the kid.”

He walked over to where Aidan sat on the same spot in the grass. The boy was pale and bathing in cold sweat, breathing hard and visibly trembling with the effort it had taken out of him. With so few locations left, he had been able to let go of most of the birds, but he was exhausted and still had hundreds of birds left to direct for a while yet. Marcus knew that Aidan’s fate mattered to you, and it did to him as well, so he sat down next to him, and put his arm over the kid’s shoulders. He just wanted to convey that he was there and that he cared, and Aidan seemed to feel it, because his discomfort lessened a bit.

“I found the car!”

Tech’s voice reached him from across the field, and he got up, but not before whispering ‘hang in there, kid’ to the boy. Then he sprinted back to his friend’s station.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know what the hell she did with her phone, but I can’t see it at all. I had to break into her car’s emergency alert system, and trick it into believing there’d been an accident, to get it to reveal the coordinates. It’s parked on a street on the edge of a warehouse district, but she could be in any one of a hundred different abandoned structures on that lot.”

“Just send me those coordinates, I’ll find her.”

***

When she finally did wake up, you felt oddly calm. As though something inside you relished the thought that she was about to wake up to a real-life nightmare. Somewhere deep inside, you knew that you should be disgusted with yourself for reacting like that, but your hatred towards this woman was clouding your mind, and darkening your heart. But just knowing that wasn’t enough to make you wanna stop. Her head twitched first, and then her hands, as she tried to move against her restraints. When she realised that she was unable to, she tried to lift her head, but she was still groggy, and her nerves weren’t responding normally, resulting in a clumsy few bobs of her head before she managed to draw it back to rest against the post. She was still too groggy to speak, but you saw the recognition in her eyes when they fell on you, and there was surprise in there as well, which pleased you more than it should have.

“Hi. I’d say it’s good to see you, Emily, but it just isn’t. I don’t even know what to say to you yet. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour thinking about what I wanna say… or just do, to you, and I still don’t know. But we have time. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“You… have no.. idea… what… you’re doing.”

“And why is that? Because you experiment on people against their will, and have no problems with being complicit to mass-murder, if not committing it yourself? Or is it because you’re the leader of a covert organisation of hundreds of agents that do all of that on your behest?”

She was regaining control of her body, and you could see the contempt in her face as it dawned on her just how much you’d already figured out.

“How?”

Her tone was demanding and arrogant, and as the façade of the benign doctor fell away, you didn’t even recognise her face anymore.

“You told me. Through my subconscious. Word of advice: if you’re gonna give people powers, having no idea what they might turn out to be, don’t show them your fucking face.”

“Those memories... were removed. The super who took them… he never fails.”

“He left behind just enough that my powers could recreate a single image for me. But that was enough.”

“Well, congratulations, you figured it out. You’ll never stop us; our organisation has grown exponentially.”

“The Society of Inferiority Complex, yeah, we know.”

“How mature…”

“An acronym that spelled SIC (sick) was just too appropriate to pass up.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you call us. Before long, you’ll be introduced into a world where everyone is just as powerful as you. You won’t be so smug then.”

You got up from the crate you’d been sitting on, and stepped right up to her so you could squat down and face her at eye-level, mere inches away from her.

“Tonight, hundreds of our operatives have kidnapped hundreds of yours, just like I did with you. We’ve been monitoring your activities for months, mapping your movements, documenting your labs and temporary offices all over the world. You never even knew how many supers live covert lives in today’s society, did you? Well, we found hundreds of them, and after hearing what you did to me, and to those children, they all volunteered to help us. Your own actions created an army of superpowered people hellbent on destroying you. Did you really think you’d be able to beat us? All you’ve done is unite us.”

“Aren’t you clever, little Rainbow. But, tell me… If you’re such a good girl – why’d you bring me out here? All alone. Where no one can hear us.”

You pulled back just a few inches, but her question only managed to wake all the anger inside you back to roaring life. If she really wanted to know the answer, you’d happily show her.

“Because you tried to kill my baby.”

You dropped all pretence, and allowed your powers to flare freely. The concrete under your feet snapped and cracked, sending long trailing crevices through the floor. Time and erosion had created flaws from underneath, that meant that large sections dropped several inches in some places, sending thunderous rumbles through the whole area. But you didn’t care. Ordinarily, your mind automatically shielded anything living, standing in your vicinity, when you flooded this dimension with the denser energy of the others that you had access to. Otherwise, you’d destroy every living cell around you by forcibly compressing them until they were crushed. And, ordinarily, that wasn’t something you wanted to be responsible for. But not this time. You merely sat there, hands clenched into fists, staring at her, seeing only those eyes that had looked at you with such fondness while you worked with her. Those eyes that had fooled you so completely. You wanted to rip them out of her head.

“Good show. But we both know you don’t have what it takes to…”

Your stillness was an illusion. You were slowly gathering an increasing amount of energy into the air around her, and as the space got more and more crowded, her whole body was slowly being crushed. She fell silent mid-sentence when she realised that your stare was in no way harmless, and a minute later, the first scream escaped her.

***

The car was unlocked when Marcus got to it. The keys were still in the ignition, and on the front passenger-seat he found a contorted piece of metal and plastic and glass that had probably been your phone. All the materials had melded together as you’d forced them to compact more than they were actually structurally able to. That was a bad sign, if he’d ever seen one. There was nothing else in or around the car that could indicate which way you’d taken your prisoner, and the odds that you’d have stayed close enough to be able to hear him if he shouted for you from there, were non-existent. Using his current, he tried to sense your energy, and was almost startled at how strong a trail he discovered. But, of course, he should’ve known that you’d use your ghost hands to move Kane, to prevent leaving marks on the ground, as well as make it easier for yourself. He started following the signature of your powers, so familiar to him by now, and it led him into the very heart of the labyrinth of old run-down buildings and factories. But when he got to a certain point, the energy suddenly quadrupled, snaking off in four different directions.

“Oh, for god’s sake, woman… Give me a chance, at least.”

A terrifyingly loud rumbling, accompanied by what very well could’ve been an earthquake, but wasn’t, came from his left, and without hesitating he ran towards it. The ground was split open and uneven and half-collapsed buildings lined the roads that he followed to get to you. But he still had to run for hundreds of yards until he reached the structure that it seemed to be coming from, based on the directions of the cracks under his feet. Realising how far you’d allowed your energy to reach, he was once again amazed at just how powerful you were, but also petrified that it might mean he was already too late. As he made his way inside the lightly trembling warehouse, he heard blood-curdling screams coming from somewhere inside, and his heart fell. But if she was screaming, she was still alive, which meant he still had time. When he got to the right place, it was like walking into a nightmare. There was no ceiling above you and no lights were working, leaving the room basking in nothing but the pale and ghostly moonlight. You’d somehow twisted the whole room so that nothing was straight anymore. Posts and beams and even the walls, were all bent or curved or twisted around themselves or something else. The ground had risen in some places, and fallen in others. It felt like he was walking into a physical representation of what your mind looked like right now. And in a way, he supposed it was. Kane was still alive, but whatever you were doing to her was painful to the extent that she was shaking uncontrollably against her restraints, pleading like a child for you to stop, in between fits of vomiting and convulsing. And you were so calm. So viciously calm it was heart-breaking to him. You just sat in front of her, one knee resting on the ground, the other under your elbow, watching her as though you were a cliff and she was the ocean, thrashing against you with all her might, but unable to move your solid frame even a single inch. If he hadn’t known how much this was actually hurting you, he might’ve found it fascinating. But he knew you so well that all he could see, was his beloved wife being destroyed.

***

“Hermosa.”

His voice came to you like a butterfly against a hurricane. Like soft whispers carried on those wings, so faint, but still able to drown out that howling wind in your ears. Your eyes automatically turned to find his, and the pain that was already overwhelming your heart, seemed to double. This wasn’t who you were, you knew that. Every fibre of your being knew that, but you’d forced them into silence with your anger. Used your pain as a shield against all those voices telling you to stop. But Marcus… seeing him look at you with that much fear… Not the fears you’d seen before, when he’d thought he was losing you, or when you were injured or being threatened, or the fear that you wouldn’t love him anymore after he walked away from you. No, this time he wasn’t afraid for you – he was afraid of you. Of just what you were capable of, how far you were willing to go, how much darkness you were willing to let into your heart to try and be free of the pain that festered in there. Your powers were draining you fast. You’d made no attempt to hold them back at all, and if you stopped now, all that exhaustion would come crashing over you, and you’d be unable to finish what you’d started. But what had you started? What was it you were hoping to achieve here? You’d wanted to hear her scream, and you had. You’d wanted to hurt her like she hurt you, and you had. But did you want her to die? Were you willing to become a murderer just so that you didn’t have to see the falseness of her face ever again? Confused, but no less angry, you forced your gaze away from your husband, and refocused on Kane, pulling even more energy out to thicken around her until one of her shoulders was pushed out of alignment with the amount of force bearing down on her. The harsh popping sound was loud enough to reach Marcus’ ears, and her resulting scream made him close the distance between you, while he started begging you to stop.

“Please… this is wrong, you know that, mi amor.”

“You know, I remember thinking that if there had just been someone there to stop my torturer, I could’ve been spared so much pain and fear. And then I found out someone was there, but she did nothing to help me. She just watched and enjoyed the show. So, why should I treat her any better? Why should she be spared that pain?”

Your energy already filled the room, and half the damned district, so when the images started appearing, they didn’t just show up around you, they flooded the whole area. Every memory you had of every moment that had hurt you, throughout your whole life. There were hundreds of them.

“The tears I’ve shed could build a lake. Tell me what I’ve done to deserve that. How could anyone do anything bad enough to deserve all of this?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, hermosa. Life just doesn’t work like that.”

“Then I should at least get to avenge myself!”

Her other shoulder popped, and she squealed and wailed until her voice gave up and she just sobbed instead. Marcus moved even closer, just a few yards away from you now.

“You should. You should get to avenge all the terrible things that have been done to you, but you never can. All you can do, is hurt yourself instead. I know you’re forcing yourself not to feel it right now, but this hurts you. You want it to feel good, to make you feel better, but it won’t, because you’re a good person. You are a good person, hermosa. That’s why I married you, that’s why you’re carrying my child, and that’s why my daughter loves you.”

Missy. Fuck. Why’d he have to mention her?

“Please, sweetheart. Don’t make me watch you destroy yourself. I already lost one wife… I need you to let me keep you.”

His voice was so frail by the end of that sentence that you feared a mere breath might break it apart. And yet, his words held so much power. They forced their way under your skin, cooling your blood and pushing the anger out. But the pain was still just as strong. Desperate to get rid of it, to be free of everything that haunted you, you collapsed on the ground, and enormous quantities of your sparkling dust poured out of you, flooding the room in every direction, flowing unhindered through all that energy that you’d pumped into it. The images were still there, snapshots of the worst moments of your life, the one’s that caused you more pain than you could ever voice, and you wished that you could make them solid. That you could pull them out of yourself completely and leave them behind in that room. The dust pulled the images apart, turning them into three-dimensional representations of themselves, while you watched, actually seeing the magic happen for the first time. When the sculptures were finished, they solidified, just like before. A single tear escaped your left eye as you saw your very worst memories turned into some sort of bizarre museum-exhibit all around you. It rolled swiftly down your cheek, and with the way you were sitting, it should’ve hit the top of your left hand, holding you up from the ground. But it never landed. Instead, it hovered mid-air for a few seconds, before splitting into dozens of smaller drops, that each flew away to one of the sculptures. And as the drops made contact with them, the sculptures turned to stone. Transparent, and still sparkling in every colour on the spectrum, but unmistakably more solid than just the dust. Once again, your powers had tried to give you what you asked for, what you needed the most. If only the memories could’ve been trapped inside those statues as well. If only you actually could get up, walk away and leave them behind forever. Strong arms encircled you as Marcus pulled you off the ground and into his chest, and you finally gave in. Now that you allowed yourself to feel it, you were completely spent. You wanted to say something to him, but he didn’t need an explanation, he understood everything, you knew that.

“Marcus… I’m sorry…”

He just kissed your forehead and held you closer, but if he said anything, you passed out before you could hear what it was.

Author’s Note: As always, I love criticism, please don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@allmyspideys @blueeyesatnight @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle @sarahjkl82-blog @giselatropicana @ayamenimthiriel

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

WIBTA if I refused to be my ex-boyfriend's sisters' bridesmaid?

💐 to identify

Me (29F) and my now ex-boyfriend (29M) have been dating for almost 4 years now and we broke up last month. I found he was cheating on me, but that is not the only reason - the relationship has been going downhill long before that and in a way I'm glad it ended. I'm not going to detail the relationship because that is not the point of this post, but just to be clear we are still living together (separate bedrooms), I'm preparing to move to a city I have always wanted to live in and we have reached a stage where we can calmly discuss things to make the break smooth for each other, and he has been very accomodating so far.

Now, my boyfriend's sister (27F) asked me to be her bridesmaid two years back when she got engaged, and back then everything was okay so I said yes. She is going to be married this summer. To be clear about this, we don't have a relationship outside of her brother. We get along fine with each other and have some common interests, but we have never hung out one on one except for a couple of concerts we went to together. The only reason she asked me is because I'm her brother's girlfriend. The other bridesmaids are two of her friends and their eldest brother's wife. She doesn't have a lot of friends and I feel like the only reason she asked me and her SIL is because she didn't want to do the wedding with just two bridesmaids.

I don't plan to have a relationship with her once I move out of here (I want a clean break). I'm sure she wouldn't want my pictures all over her wedding album if she knew of the fact, and neither would I. That said, if I back out now it would put the whole wedding in a jeopardy. Everything has been planned with 4 bridesmaids and dress fittings too have been done. The fittings were done before the break up but I could have informed her sooner so they could hold off on making the dress, but I didn't even remember the wedding in the whole mess of everything else. I'm sure the dress has been done by now - I don't know how to ask without having to explain why.

My ex-boyfriend thinks we should just go ahead with the wedding without informing anyone about the break up but I think that's kind of dishonest and also I don't want to wait around here till summer if I can help it.

Even if we aren't that close I still think it was sweet of her to ask me and I was touched by the gesture and now I feel bad, because I will mess up the wedding preparations and she may possibly have to postpone it if she can't find a bridesmaid in time, and I will end up adding to her and her husbands' worries during this stressful time.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ejzah · 4 years

Text

A/N: The next chapter of the Agent and the Lawyer. Loosely based off of Absolution. I’m trying something a little different with the structure and not following the episodes so closely.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 18

“We should run together every morning,” Deeks said as he and Kensi rounded a bend in his favorite beach side path. “There’s this great little convenience store where we can grab coffee and a mostly fresh donut. The coffee’s not great, but the owner is super nice.”

Beside him, Kensi was matching him stride for stride, her breath even despite the pace. She smiled at his description, shaking her head.

“It’s not a good idea to follow a particular routine. It’s too easy for your movements, habits, and location to be tracked,” she explained. He knew how important it was for the team to maintain relative anonymity, but sometimes he thought they all took it a little far.

“It’s just coffee Kens. I’m sure no one suspects me of being a big bad fed or cares where I go.”

“Don’t let Sam catch you saying that. He’ll rip you a new one.”

“So does that mean no coffee?” he asked. It was definitely a part of his routine and gave him the energy to run all the way back home. Kensi groaned and tossed her head back, but didn’t put up any further protest when he led them to Sandune Convenience store. “Hey Frank!” he greeted the owner, heading for the canisters of brewed coffee.

“Hi,” Kensi said, looking a little uncomfortable as she waited for Deeks to fill a paper cup for her. Frank shot them a curious look, but didn’t comment.

“I ran five miles today, Deeks told Frank. Kensi snorted at that and said,

“Uh, that’s a big fat lie, he ran three.”

“So rude,” he said, amused at how quickly Kensi had abandoned her reservations when given the chance to make fun of him.

“I thought you were buying me a donut,” she reminded him.

“Of course, my lady.” He grabbed two Boston Creams and an apple fritter because he knew from past experience that when Kensi finished hers, she’d likely try to steal part of his.

After chatting with Frank for a few more minutes-his oldest daughter would be graduating from high school soon-they headed back on to the path. Their pace was leisurely now as they munched on donuts and drank coffee. It was significantly more enjoyable with Kensi beside him.

“Hey Marty!” A woman called out as she ran by. Deeks waved back without thinking.

“You know, if I was the jealous type, I might be worried about all the women who know you, wherever you go,” she said, gesturing with her cup.

“What can I say, I’m a friendly guy,” he said with a shrug, grinning around the rim of his cup. It was adorable when she got jealous.

“Mm, be careful you don’t friendly yourself into singledom.” He rolled his eyes at her warning and nudged her with his shoulder.

“Oh, come on, Kensalina, you know I would never cheat on you.”

“I would hope not,” Kensi said, looking a little uncertain. “You would certainly regret it if you did.”

“I would never,” he repeated seriously. “You have my promise. I’m not that kind of guy.” He saw her cheeks flush a little and she glanced away as an awkward silence grew between them.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and Kensi reached for hers, seeming grateful for the distraction.

“Hey Eric,” she said. “Uh-huh. Ok, we’ll be there in a bit.” Deeks heard the faint sound of Eric’s voice raise in a question. “Oh, yeah, I promised Deeks I’d pick him up.” She forced a laugh and hung up quickly.

“Smooth,” Deeks teased.

“Shut up. Hetty wants us in OPS. Something to do with a dead antiques dealer.” She tossed her trash in a nearby can and then bent down to tighten a shoelace. As she stood back up, she turned to face Deeks, her expression playful. “I’ll race you back.”

Not waiting for him to respond, she took off at a sprint, her delighted chuckle floating behind her.

“Man, you are so whipped,” he said with a smile as he tossed his own cup and followed after.

***

“Where’s Deeks?” Callen asked when Kensi walks into OPS about an hour later. After they got back to his house, they’d made out in Deeks’ garden for several long minutes. Kensi had been highly tempted to call off work and finish what they’d started a couple weeks ago. Common sense had prevailed and she’d reluctantly left before she took Deeks up on his offer to join him in the shower.

She didn’t mention that to Callen though and shrugged.

“He got called into the office for a last minute legal emergency,” she explained.

“What exactly qualifies as a legal emergency?” Sam asked.

“He mentioned something about a CPS case that isn’t going well. He’ll come as soon as he can.”

She found herself turning to make comments to Deeks more than once while Eric, Hetty, and Nell explained who Sebastian Renner was. It felt weirder than she expected without Deeks by her side. She’d grown used to his comments and, often, inappropriate jokes, as well as his unique insight into cases.

***

Kensi smiled involuntarily when she walked back into the bull pen a couple hours later and saw Deeks sitting at his desk.

“So what’d I miss? he asked.

“Our victim, Sebastian Renner, was an arms dealer, a bunch of spies from other countries are now vying for his black book, and Hetty has an ex-German Police officer named Branston Cole, who might have pertinent information,” she summed up. Deeks looked a little stunned for a second and then nodded.

“Wow, this is the last time I take a morning off. You guys bring out the fun cases when I’m gone.”

“Well, now you get to join the fun too,” she said with a smile, grabbing her gun and slipping it into her waistband. Deeks hadn’t passed his firearms training yet, so he just watched. “Callen and Sam got chased out of Renner’s home by his dogs earlier. Now that they’re gone, Hetty wants us to see if we can find anything else.”

“So did you make it here on time this morning?” he asked, smirking at her. “You seemed a little disorganized and, uh, distracted when you left my place.” She smiled sweetly, pretending she wasn’t currently remembering the feel of his chest, damp with sweat, pressing into hers.

“I made it just fine,” she answered. “How was your shower?” Her voice was innocent, but she let her eyes drop a bit lower than was strictly polite.

“It was cold. Very cold.” Kensi snickered at that as they walked out.

***

“M-O-U-S-E?” Kensi said scathingly as she finished cuffing the two men she and Deeks had just fought. She rifled through one’s suit pocket and found a DGSE ID.

“What was I supposed to say?” he asked. “I’m not and Agent and I’m not LAPD. You guys were shouting out your little acronyms and I felt left out. Which, reminds me, why the hell did you kick an NSA Agent in the groin?”

Kensi let out an irritated sigh and showed him the ID.

“He’s French Intelligence, Deeks. He was lying.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known that though.”

“I had a hunch,” she said with a shrug. Deeks made an outraged sound.

“A hunch. You don’t kick a guy in the nuts over a hunch!” He felt a little nauseous at the thought and resisted the urge to cover his crotch.

“I recognized his accent. It’s not American.”

“He didn’t have an accent,” Deeks said, horrified for the agent who was slowly gaining consciousness.

“I’m trained in linguistics, Deeks. I know the difference between French and English speech patterns,” she insisted.

“You’re insane.”

“Deeks, you’re acting ridiculous.” He ignored her, shaking his head.

“Sometimes it’s like I don’t even know you.”

***

Kensi watched Deeks from a few feet away. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his lips were split in a wide smile as he chatted with Sam and Callen several seats away.

They’d successfully apprehended a German spy named Matthias and the FBI and NSA were looking for the rest of the spies. They’d had to leave Deeks behind since he wasn’t authorized to carry a weapon.

Now they were at a nearby bar, per Deeks suggestions and on his dime. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. After a few drinks, Nell challenged Eric to a pool game and had even shed the little sweater she wore of her think strapped dress. There was definitely something going on there.

The combination of Deeks’ considerable charm, which he was working to it’s full limits, and large amounts of alcohol both had even Callen and Sam more at ease than she’d seen them in a while.

Deeks noticed her watching and headed her way. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Nicely done,” she complimented him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said innocently.

“You know that once they sober up, they’re still going to ride you.” He groaned, dragging out a stool to sit next to her.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I can’t use the same methods I used with you,” he pointed out. Kensi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, you are way too full of yourself,” she said. He chuckled, resting his hand on the middle of her back. He probably did it without even thinking, but Kensi tensed immediately. She roughly pushed his hand away, glancing around to see if anyone had caught Deeks’ slip.

Fortunately they all were occupied and she let out a slow breath of relief. Beside her, Deeks had gone silent, making her belatedly regret her hasty actions.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He scratched at jaw, not meeting her eyes, which always a bad sign. “I just didn’t-“

“No, it’s ok. I get it.”

“The team is here and we agreed not to...” she trailed off awkwardly as Deeks filled in.

“Yeah, no, we agreed to keep out relationship quiet. I just forget sometimes.” He sighed, the sound heavy. Kensi looked down for a second, pressing her lips together as she tried to think of some way to brighten the mood again.

“You want to come over tonight when we’re done here?” she asked as a form of peace offering. So far she hadn’t let him past her living room and that was only after she hastily straightened everything. Deeks allowed a tiny smile, clearly realizing her attempt to apologize without actually apologizing.

“I would, but I have to work on that pro bono case. It’s a mess,” he said. Kensi wasn’t sure if it was a convenient excuse, but she felt a small sinking in her stomach.

“Ok,” she said in a small voice.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

“Sure.” She tried to tell herself she was overreacting, but couldn’t help notice the distance Deeks kept between them for the rest of the night.

***

A/N: Ooh, unexpected drama. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to have anything terrible happen.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #sam hanna #g Callen #au #the agent and the lawyer #part 18 #densi #absolution #ejzah fanfiction

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themangoyogurt · 4 years

Text

Clementine: Chapter 3

Kylo had to hand it to you. Despite your questionable business sense, you had a fantastic eye. The space you found was in a prime location, neighbored by a trendy womenswear boutique on the left and a hot new restaurant headed by a celebrity chef to the right. The space itself was a perfect mix of industrial and bright, with open white washed ceilings and a modern concrete flooring.

Watching you gush as you stood outside staring in through the window only steeled his resolve to help make your dream come true no matter the cost. After spending the entirety of his life stepping on the “little guys” to make his bottom line, he felt it was appropriate to atone for his sins.

The fact that you had a million-watt smile and an infectiously bubbly personality only sweetened the deal.

You continued to bounce between the left and right floor-to-ceiling windows flanking the front entrance. As you hopped back and forth, you rambled off all your ideas to transform the space into a warm and inviting neighborhood spot.

It was going to be equal parts trendy and homey. Shelves filled to the brim with new and old books alike, ready to be borrowed or bought. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans would permeate the air, causing a heady mix of warmth and relaxation. There would be nooks and crannies with the coziest chairs and sofas for patrons to gather, sip coffee, snack on freshly baked pastries, and catch up on reading.

Kylo admitted that even to an anti-social recluse such as himself, the concept sounded like a dream. If he had still been working, he would have enjoyed a little escape from the office to focus on work.

Despite his pleasant daydreams though, nothing could stop his spine from stiffening as soon as the landlord made his presence known. He was a sorry looking man, equal in width and height. The balding man had beady little eyes that narrowed into slits as soon as he caught sight of Kylo.

Kylo’s hackles rose even higher as the landlord completely ignored him and turned to give you a very lewd look.

“Hi Plutt,” you chirped, completely oblivious to the tension between the two men. “This is Kylo. He’s my friend and lawyer!” You gave Kylo an extra little eyebrow wiggle at “lawyer”, a silent tease at how different he looked today.

He had rocked up to your meeting far more dressed than he was the previous night. Gone were the fuzzy slippers. Instead, he was clad in a black suit with a matching black dress shirt that struggled to contain the man’s wide chest and thick arms.

Who would have thought that the slobbish raven haired man could clean up so well? While you weren’t really one to judge a book by its cover, even you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when he had proclaimed himself to be a retired, yet fearsome, corporate lawyer.

It was adorable how the more disbelieving you looked, the harder he fought to convince you that he really was a big, bad, lawyer. You giggled at the memory of how he was so focused on the argument that Kylo didn’t even notice a drop of lukewarm tea dribble down his chin and land between his pecs.

His very defined and firm looking pecs, if you had to say so yourself.

You shook your head out of the memory, scolding yourself for getting distracted. It was time for business, and you were prepped to fight for the storefront of your dreams. During your walk over to the shop, you had divulged as much info as you could to Kylo. Things like your budget, business plan (although, business “plan” would have been more accurate), and even your credit score.

You probably shared way too much info, but Kylo didn’t indicate that he was bothered or overwhelmed. The man merely nodded while typing quick notes in his cellphone. He probably had enough info to steal your identity, but something about him just made you trust the man.

Maybe it was in the way his eyes always looked soft, balancing out his perpetual scowl. Or maybe it was how he hung onto your every word, and was one of the few people who seemed genuinely supportive and interested in your dream.

Or, maybe it was in how he defensively postured himself between yourself and Plutt, chest puffing out and stance ready for a fight.

Kylo stuck his hand out and impressively didn’t flinch as Plutt squeezed back with his own moist and grimy hand. Kylo didn’t miss a beat as he harshly dived right in.

“Kylo Ren. I’ve taken a look at your offer, and we are not happy with the upfront terms and conditions. A fixed lease would only...”

Kylo completely transformed within seconds. Years of working with the worst of the worst in the corporate world made him ruthless and unshakable when it came to business dealings. Someone like Plutt didn’t phase Kylo. He was ready to threaten, growl, and glare his way into getting you the best deal possible.

Plus, the caveman portion of his brain beat its chest and flexed at the chance to impress a pretty lady. And if your look of tender awe only spurred him on more... well, that he’d keep for himself.

The entire exchange was a blur to you, the two men exchanging barbs and threats so fast, you could barely keep up. Acronyms like “CAMS” and “TI” were used, and before you knew it, two hours had passed. Kylo was triumphantly squaring away notes in his phone while Plutt sputtered, red in the face.

Apparently the entire situation had gotten away from the man.

“Send over the contract by midday tomorrow,” Kylo lazily commanded Plutt, before leading your stunned body away from the building. His hand was warm in the crook of your elbow while he steered you towards the nearest Starbucks.

He seemed tense during the short walk over, letting out a huge exhale as he slumped into the closest empty seat. You felt concerned as his pale complexion somehow became even paler. Without prompting, you darted away to find some water.

“Are you okay?” you asked upon returning. He seemed calmer, but received the cool plastic cup with gratitude.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do that.”

“But you were so cool,” you gushed in response. You instinctively reached out to hold his shaky hands. Giving him a light squeeze you continued, “I’ve never seen someone talk like that before! Or...or stick up for me so fiercely. Like my knight in shining armor!”

Your eyes twinkled in excitement, so filled with joy that Kylo couldn’t help but be affected. He smiled and flipped his palm upwards so he could lace his fingers with yours. He squeezed back and laughed, “Well, you don’t seem like someone who needs saving. Just someone who could use someone in their corner.”

“Then I’m glad you’re in mine. Even if we don’t know each other very well.”

His heart fluttered at your shy smile, and Kylo replied, “Why don’t we start, then? Getting to know each other that is. Let me buy you some coffee?” Now significantly calmed by your touch he added a flirtatious eyebrow waggle and added, “Maybe even dinner afterwards?”

You playfully smacked him in the chest and argued, “I thought I was the one buying coffee.”

“Alright. You buy me coffee and we’ll go over the terms and conditions of your new lease. Then, I take you out for dinner.”

It was definitely a deal too good to pass up, so you happily bounded to the counter to buy his S’mores Frappuccino (the man really was full of surprises, wasn’t he?). You decided that it would be cute to match, and ordered one for yourself as well.

A few minutes later, and you were returning to the table with two icy and teeth-rotting drinks. Kylo was all but recovered, and lawyer man was back in full swing. You happily noticed that while he was all business while going through your lease, his expression and tone was far softer than what he had used earlier in the day.

You were shocked at how Kylo had cut such a favorable deal for you. The man was kind in explaining why certain things were more beneficial for the tenant, and even helped you understand places where Plutt was trying to take advantage.

The initial offer was apparently horrible, and would have surely trapped you into some serious debt. Kylo made sure that your lease was fair, and that you would have enough money leftover to help your new business flourish.

Kylo sipped on the last of his drink, unaware of some leftover whipped cream resting on his top lip. Without thinking, you reached across the table and wiped it off with your thumb. You instinctively sucked the digit between your lips, earning a blush from Kylo.

“Ah,” he stuttered. “All that’s left is to sign. If you could send me your business license and some tax documents, I could help you file everything.”

A little furrow appeared between your brow, causing Kylo to frown. He had a bad feeling about this.

“You do...have a business license, right?” he tentatively pushed.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘business license’...”

He groaned, dropping his face into his palms. You felt sheepish, and ridiculously uneducated. Just as you were about to die from embarrassment, Kylo finally looked up.

He cast you a small smile and calmly replied, “Alright, this is what’s going to happen. I’m going to take you out to dinner as promised. Then, I’m going to take you home. You’re going to change into something comfortable, grab your laptop and personal documents, and then we’ll hammer out the final details of starting your business.”

“You...you’d seriously do that for me? At the risk of sounding totally ungrateful... why?”

Nobody had ever been this kind to you. If even your own blood could laugh away at your grand dreams of opening a business in New York City, then how could a stranger be so supportive? Not only was he gentle with you, but the man went out of his way to help you in tangible ways.

Retired or not, what kind of high-powered lawyer took an entire day to go fight a small-time landlord like Plutt on behalf of a new neighbor?

Kylo asked himself the same question. Growing up as an only child and then going into a field like law didn’t exactly foster selflessness in his personality. He was used to putting himself first and stopping at nothing to achieve his goals.

Something about your bright eyes and hopeful smile made him pause. He spent so many years of his life tearing things down - people, places, relationships. Perhaps, he saw this as a chance to redeem himself. To finally use his skills to build.

And hey, if the object of his newfound efforts happened to be a very pretty and very sweet woman, then that was just a bonus.

He gave you a smile and replied, “Honestly, I don’t know. But something about you tells me that I won’t regret it.”

That was good enough for you.

💖 Masterlist

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren #modern au #clementine

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chibi-pix · 4 years

Note

Your Plance Portal AU pics inspired a small bit of fiction from me. Not sure what to do with it, so here you are. Apologies if it's a bit rough, first draft. Feel free to modify, share, whatever. I'm just anon. And sorry for the lack of formatting that will result in posting here. (part 1) "Why?" The fascinating specimen asked of me. His eyes darting over the form I had taken. Curiosity. Heightened heart rate. A curious combination of two of the three primal Fs. Fascinating as always.

Wow! Your story parts were amazing! While I admit, some sections were hard to read, conclude who was talking, but I did love it! Of course, you did call it a first/rough draft and stories start that way!

You had said I was free to modify and/or share. I took you up on that offer and applied your work to this. It was fun to work with and thank you for writing it and giving me an opportunity to work with it.

Hopefully it all shows; if not, I’ll reblog the answer with the full post/ficlet.

Pidge. It was a simple name she was referred to as. She. A humanized term to separate sexes and give identity. That was her understanding. It was a logical things to humans, but not to the likes of an android, program to see and comprehend numbers, not emotions and desires. So why? Why did she go by that word that could otherwise be called a pronoun?

“Why?” Her attention was brought to the latest of the subjects, a young man. Subject number 117-98-78. He insisted on being called Lance. Another human thing. But she supposed, to some extent, she could relate. She was given a name, too, along with her identity number. Her name, though, was shorter and easier to input by her creators when they wrote their notes.

Pidge examined Lance further, doing a scan of her own on the biological creature. His heart rate was increasing. An emotional response? Or perhaps it was the adrenaline humans felt when going through certain tasks that forces them to exert themselves physically and even emotionally. “You will need to reiterate your query for proper understanding so an appropriate answer can be provided.”

“Fine then. Why are you putting me through this?” Lance commanded. “Why do I need to go through these tests? What do you gain from all of this?!”

Pidge considered his questioned for a moment. To be honest, there was no complex reason for why she did it. It was her core imperative; it was her duty to test subjects and gather data. But would that response be enough for the latest subject? “You are a new variable.” she responded finally. “With the cloned and robotic test subjects being identical variables, testing and collecting data has grown stagnant and all data is outdated and irrelevant. You, however, come from outside the testing facility. You are a new variable and therefore present new data to study.”

“Dude! I could have died back there!” Lance snapped, his anger elevating. It was an illogical outburst from Pidge’s perspective, but, then again, humans were rather illogical. “Pit traps? Laser grids? And don’t get me started on that green goo you dare call sustenance. It’s freaking torture!”

“Incorrect.” Pidge responded, plain and simple. “This is testing. Testing is a necessary part of improving and moving forward. It is, after all, the core of my programming. To continue in my duty of gathering data. I test, therefore I am. I am, therefore...”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Doctor and Professor Holt would have wanted testing to be this cruel.” Lance interrupted.

Pidge felt a stutter in her programming. Those names. Her creators. He knew their names. “Guessing their names correctly and knowing they created me specifically would be nearly impossible.” she commented. “Logic would point to you being aware of their classified research on redacted information. Despite this, mentioning them when in your current situation with the risks on your life tell me that you are not an intelligence operative of any enemy of my creators or their benefactors.” She performed another scan. “There are no indications in your biology to suggest any attempt of deceit. This is data that I did not anticipate. Explain. How do you know the names of my creators?”

“Huh? Well, everyone knows who the Holts are.” Lance stated, looking confused. “They changed everything. Botany, terraforming, space travel, they were the top minds of Altean Laboratories. Their work was groundbreaking.”

“Were. Changed. Was. These terms in how they are used are indication of past tense.” Pidge commented.

Lance was perplexed. “I mean… well… yeah, totally.” he said. “It was five centuries ago, give or take some months or single years.”

Pidge couldn’t explain the dip in her cor performance. Had she been human, she would have described it as a weight in her stomach. Had it seriously been that long? She had lost connection to her internal clock several thousand test subjects ago. “That is impossible.” she stated. “The facility around you operates due to the power obtained from the plasma reactor. It had only an estimated lifespan of three to four centuries; due to the renewal of energy sources, I have managed to re-calibrate that and extend it for another half century or so. To continue getting power to keep the facility functioning would be impossible. My ability to function would have ceased.”

Lance sighed. He then decided to bring up a holographic display. Pidge found she could not interface with the hologram; she decided she could endure collecting data visually. As she looked at the hologram, she saw the schematics of the facility. But not all was the same. There was a new structure that she could not identify.

Lance picked up on where Pidge was looking. “You see it, too, huh?” he asked. He pointed to an area on the hologram. “Right here. We had reason to believe that a piece of what we refer to as the trans-reality comet has found its way here. And by we, I mean my superior officers. I’m just the field guy who goes in and investigates things; the others are the science guys who understand this stuff better. Anyway, long story short, but this thing is apparently radiating energy and with a copious amount still stored in it. There’s a problem, though.”

Pidge couldn’t interface with the hologram, but she knew the subject could. She went in close, finding her humanoid form to be convenient for times like this. She gently took Lance’s hand and moved it, prompting him to touch certain parts and bring up more data on the hologram.

“It appears to be unstable.” Pidge commented.

“Extremely.”

“The plasma from the facility’s reactor appears to be the cause of of the instability. However, I do not have sufficient data to fully determine how accurate this is.” Pidge glanced over to Lance, realizing he was staring at her, his mouth hung open a bit. “Does me not having the full answer cause this human emotion of bewilderment?” she inquired. “It should not; results cannot be properly determined without sufficient amounts of data. I have not collected enough data on the subject of this comet and its interactions with the reactor.”

“No it’s just...” Lance looked at Pidge’s hand, seeing it still around his own. “Your hand. It’s so warm. I didn’t expect that.” Pidge pulled her hand away quickly. “What are you? How are you so warm?”

“I am not; this is simply a byproduct of the cooling systems aboard this particular interface unit.” Pidge responded. “This unit is only a feature provided to me. I am, after all, the facility computer.”

Lance looked closely. “So… why do you look like a girl?”

Pidge blinked. So even he acknowledged that he seemed like a girl, at least in appearance. She looked ahead and away from the subject. “This interface unit was called the Physical Interface Data Gateway Exchange. To make data input easier, they formed it into the acronym PIDGE.” she explained. “It was designed with the intention of making interactions with subjects feel less… impersonal. It is for the benefit of my creators and the facility, not of my own. I have insufficient amounts of data to determine why they have given me this form.” She didn’t speak about it, but what little data she had about that, she had image files showing a member of the Holt family with a similar appearance. Perhaps it was meant to immortalize that member? She lacked the data to determine that.

“Pidge, huh?” Lance asked. “So it’s a name?”

“It is what they called me due to it being easier on the creators and less time consuming for their already limited lives.” Pidge commented. “Now then, since I have answered your queries and indulged your curiosities, it would be preferable to continue the testing.”

Lance gave a smile, but it did not look calm. It looked almost forced. “Sorry, but… this is where the testing ends, Pidge. Pidge did not understand. She then felt something in her, as though the numbers she lived by were changing.

“I do not comprehend.” she commented. She felt off balance, as though she could not properly control the unit meant for interfacing. But she couldn’t disconnect, either; she couldn’t return fully to the computer system. “What did you do to my systems? How did…”

Lance gave a bit of a guilty smile. He then brought up a new image for the hologram. “I had some help but… your entire core program? It’s gone. No more testing. No more of this… cruel torture. You’re in this device now, disconnected from everything else. Like an old game disk; one wrong move, you’re gone. Completely.”

“Impressive.” Pidge commented. “I did not anticipate your device having the necessary storage capacity for my system. Perhaps the claim of five centuries passing is not as far-fetched as I originally determined.” Around them, the corridors and testing chambers grew dark. What Lance could only assume to be the emergency lights turned on, illuminating the area in a bright red. “It does not appear that you or your outside help have considered another variable.”

“Um… what variable?”

“The default settings booting back up upon my removal.”

“Ah quiznak.” Pidge could only assume that Lance’s choice of word meant something profound. “Okay… so what do we get? Some five hundred year old security system about to hunt me down?”

“That would be accurate to the data.” Pidge confirmed. “Which would not be good for your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Of being alive.”

“Oh.”

“However, I do possess the necessary data to thwart the old program. The variable now stands at you being the only one who can interface with my core due to the technology you transferred to it. It would then be in my best interest to keep your status as alive.”

“I mean, how hard can this be? I’ve dealt with you so far.” Lance prompted. He jumped when a sound caught his attention. There was movement further in the corridor. Blades typically seen in tests, meant to be turned off or dodged. Past it? There was another figure, though harder to see.

“In subject terms? Bad. Very bad.” Pidge commented. “I suggest listening to what I say and following my instructions without fail.” She looked to Lance. “My first instruction-”

“I’m gonna take a guess and say run!” Lance grabbed Pidge by the hand and ran off in the opposite direction, pulling her along; it was a good thing that despite her data being put into the device around his arm, her body, as one could call it, was still functional and able to move.

Again, thank you so much for this opportunity!

#chibi answers #chibi writes #plance portal au #portal au #Pidge #Lance #VLD #Voltron legendary defender

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leavemyelevator-alone · 4 years

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I’m testing something out. Please send feedback! Endgame happened :(, but Far From Home didn't. Spideychelle is still real, though. The glasses are like the E.D.I.T.H. ones in FFH, just to give you a general idea of what they look like.

The first time Peter tried on the glasses Pepper gave to him, he broke down in tears. In the glasses, standing in all his (now-AI) glory, was Tony Stark. The former billionaire--who was supposed to be dead--sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey, kid. Didya miss me?"

Peter sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he collapsed onto the floor, not enough strength to even take the glasses off, let alone get back up. This was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to him. Five years, seven months, and twenty-three days ago, he had dusted on Titan in his mentor's arms, waking in the Soul Realm, almost-positive that the realm was his new home and he would never see Earth again. Then, he came back to Earth, only to have to fight Thanos again, and had to watch his father figure die in front of him when he could have done something to save him. He had to go to Tony's funeral, and while he got to meet Morgan and Harley, Pepper had broken down in tears, causing Peter to weep as well. After the funeral, a teary-eyed Pepper had handed him a glasses case and, with a watery smile, said, "He would have wanted you to have these." Peter had all but broken down again right there and then. When May took him home, Peter had put the case on his desk, unable to even look at it without tearing up. It had taken him two weeks to get used to the fact that Tony was really gone, not that he was happy or content with it, and two more weeks to gather up the courage to try on the glasses. Only to see a holographic image of his long-gone mentor. Peter cried until his head hurt and his eyes were red. The hologram in the glasses murmured comforting words, obviously slightly uncomfortable. That made Peter cry even more. Finally, when his tears dried up, Peter sniffed, wiped his nose with his sweatshirt sleeve, and reached up to take the glasses off.

"Wait!" The hologram called. "Wait, please don't take the glasses off. I haven't gotten to talk to you since . . . you know, and I really want to talk to you. The last time these glasses were activated were when Steve and I went to Camp Lehigh in 1970 to get the Tesseract to save the world. I--" The hologram--Tony--'s voice cracked, and he paused for a minute. "I asked Pepper to give these glasses to you in case--in case I didn't make it back to do it myself."

Peter blinked back more tears, even though he had though that he'd run out. "But--but why?"

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, kid."

"Why me?" With that one question, it was if a dam in Peter broke. The words tumbled out of him, unable to stop. "Why did you choose to give the glasses to me? Why not Morgan? Or Pepper, or Happy, or Harley, or--" Peter took a deep breath before he was off to the races again. "Why did you have to get the gauntlet? You could have given it to T'Challa! His suit absorbs kinetic energy, so he would have been able to wield the gauntlet. Or Captain Marvel. She's powerful enough! But no! You did it and--" Peter cut himself off with a sob. Tony was quiet for a few minutes before softly saying, "I didn't have enough time to get to either of them. I didn't know that I would die, but if it let everyone else live, then so be it. My life for half of Earth's population? That doesn't seem fair."

"Who cares if it's fair!" Peter cried. "You died! I was at your funeral. You shouldn't be here; you can't be here. 'S not possible."

"Actually," The former hero contradicted with a small grin, "I'm here through the power of science. Everything that happened to me when I was alive, I remember it all. This--" Tony gestured to himself "--was a project I'd been working on for a while. A couple of years, actually. I wanted to find a way to turn a human into an AI. Or, rather, a way to transfer the human mind into an AI. Arnim Zola did it, I could do it better. And I did."

Peter sniffed. "So it really is you, Mr. Stark?"

"The one and only." Tony smiled. "And call me Tony, kid."

Peter frowned. "What? No! Mr. Stark--"

Tony sighed, cutting him off. "Okay, think of it this way. My name is still Tony Stark, yes, but as an AI, I have an acronym--T.O.N.Y. So call me by my acronym."

Peter's brows furrowed. "But what does it stand for?"

"Uh--Terrifically Overused Nerd Yeller?""Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."

"Beautiful reference kid," Tony applauded him with a laugh. "And I'll try to find something better, okay?"

"Mm-hmm." Peter nodded."But seriously, call me Tony."

"Okay . . . Tony." Peter took a deep breath. "What now? I assume you don't want to go back into the case."

"No!" Tony burst out before composing himself. "I mean, no, that would not be preferable."

Peter laughed slightly before nodding. "Okay, but it's, like, one in the morning. I have school tomorrow, so--"

"Ooh!" Tony bounced around in the glasses lenses, which made Peter snicker silently. "Can I go with you? I've always wanted to see what Midtown was like!"

"I dunno . . . Won't the teachers get mad at me for wearing sunglasses?"

Tony crossed his arms. "Puh-lease. You have an AI in the dang glasses. Clear lenses."

And just like that, the whole room wasn't tinted dark. Peter had to blink a few times to get used to it, but he was very impressed. Tony smirked before making a shooing motion with his hands. "Alright, now off to bed with you. You need sleep before school tomorrow."

"Night, Tony. Well, morning, actually.""Just go to sleep!"

:*:*:*:*:*:

When Peter woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was grab the glasses to make sure that it wasn't a dream. He'd be devastated if it was. As he slipped them on his face, Peter was met with the sight of a bleary-eyed Tony Stark. "Kid, what? What could you possibly need me for at--" Tony looked at the side of the left lens, where the time was labeled "the ungodly hour of four fifty-seven in the morning."

Peter smiled. "Wakey, wakey. I gotta get up by five if I want to make it to school on time."

Tony groaned. "Noooo . . . Five more minutes!"

"I'll give you as long as it takes for me to get my teeth brushed, shower, change, and I'll grab the glasses as I head down to breakfast," Peter compromised, and Tony nodded rapidly. "Deal!"

It took until Peter was wriggling into his t-shirt (no matter how popular they get, antibiotics will never go viral) for it to really hit him that this is Tony, he's not quite dead. Peter did a little happy dance before picking up the glasses again. When the holograms flickered on, Peter saw a snoozing Tony--pillow, blanket, and all--and had to refrain from snickering. As quietly as he could, Peter tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to wake May, who'd had an overnight shift at the hospital. Grabbing a pen and a notepad, he wrote his aunt a note explaining that yes, he'd grab something to eat and that he was on his way to school. Snatching an apple from the bowl of fruit on the island, Peter munched on it as he got onto the subway. Making it seem like he was on a call on his phone, Peter said, "Tony, hey. Tony, dude, wake up. I can hear your snores."

"Huzzahwhat?"

Peter snickered. "I gave you more than five minutes. Now wake up--" He lowered his voice "--or I'm putting the glasses in the deepest, darkest corner of my backpack."

That caused Tony to spring up with a screech. "I'muppleasedon'tputmebackinthedark!"

Peter laughed. "I'm not. It was a threat to wake you up."

"Not very nice," Tony pouted. Peter just smiled as he "hung up the call". While Peter bounced his leg up and down, Tony began humming something that sounded like Eiffel 65. The subway finally stopped, and Peter got off, Tony still humming. As he entered the gates to Midtown, Peter had to practically race across the street to avoid getting hit by Flash's car. Tony stopped everything he was doing to ask in a deadly calm voice, "Peter. Did that punk just try to run you over, or am I seeing things."

Peter's eyes widened. "Uh . . ."

Tony growled, but Peter hurried to say, "C'mon, you can meet Ned and MJ."

Tony dropped the subject, but Peter had a distinct feeling that this conversation wasn't over yet. In the meantime, Peter walked to his locker and gathered his books for his first class. "So, Tony, what else can you do?"

Tony hummed in thought. "Well, the glasses automatically synced to both your phone and the suit when the first time you opened the case, so if you get any notifications, I automatically know. Speaking of which, you just got a text from May. She says to have a great day and that you better had actually eaten breakfast today."

"Please tell her I will, and that I had an apple."

"It's sent. Now, back to what I was saying." Tony grinned mischievously. "I can see what other people are doing on their phones, like who they were texting, what they're checking on Instagram, what they're doing on the Internet."

Peter whistled. "That's intense."

"What's intense?" A voice behind the spiderling asked, and Peter spun around with a grin. "Ned!"

The two friends did their secret handshake (that had Tony intrigued) and Ned instantly began rambling about a new LEGO set he got this weekend, and oh my gosh, dude, it's got seven thousand pieces, and could you come over later today to build it? Peter laughed. "I can't come over today, but maybe we could build it at my place?"

"Why are those cheerleaders giving you disgusted looks?" Tony inquired, but Peter ignored him. "Ready for English?"

Ned made a face. "No."

"Me neither."

Ned stopped dead in his tracks for a minute before spinning around to face Peter. "Dude, when did you get glasses? I thought you didn't need them after--"

"They're not exactly prescription," Peter interrupted. Pulling the glasses off of his face, he handed them over to Ned. "Try them on."

Ned put them on, and his jaw fell down to the ground. "Tony Stark?! Bu-but how?!"

Peter shushed him. Tony must've said something, because Ned was nodding as fast as his head would move. Taking the glasses off, the Filippino gaped at his friend. "Peter, where did you get these?"

"Pepper gave them to me," He explained, pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose. "After the funeral. I only found out about Tony last night."

"Yeah, because you wouldn't open the dang case until last night," Tony muttered. Peter grunted, but didn't reply to Tony. "C'mon, Ned. We gotta get to class."

:*:*:*:*:*:

"You have a call from an unknown number coming in," Tony informed Peter while he was right in the middle of taking a test. "Ten bucks says it's Nick Fury."

"I don't have ten bucks," Peter murmured distractedly. "Besides, I can't answer right now. Doesn't he know I have school?"

Mrs. MacMillan's eyes swept over the room, and Peter ducked his head to avoid her gaze. He whispered, "Send him to voicemail."

"I'm proud of you, kid," Tony said happily. "You're ghosting Nick Fury."

"Uh-huh."

Peter finished his test and turned it in before getting out his notebook to work on web formulas. Tony watched quietly for a while. "You know, I haven't seen Morgan or Pep in the weeks that I've seen you. Do you still keep in touch?"

Not wanting to disrupt the class, Peter wrote, ‘I do, but they've been busy. Pepper's still gotta run SI, and Morgan's starting pre-school.’

"Do you think . . . I could see them?" Tony asked, with a tinge of hope. Peter cracked a smile. ‘I'm sure we can work something out.’

Tony's grin was one of relief. "Thanks, kid."

The billionaire disappeared from view, but Peter wasn't worried. Tony had told him that even though he won't always be visible, he's still there, and Peter knew this to be true because Tony kept up a constant stream of chatter and/or informs him of texts, phone calls, police alerts, his opinions on people, news, etc. When the bell rang, signalling lunch time, Peter maneuvered his way through the halls with a practiced grace that one only got from years of doing it. He made his way into the lunch room, lunch sack in hand, and sat at the table to wait for Ned and Michelle. He didn't have to wait long.

Michelle slid into the seat next to him. After calling them losers, she had gotten closer to the two and, over the course of the year, she and Peter had started dating. She kissed his cheek. "What's up, dork. Nice glasses."

Tony grinned. "Oh, I like her. Reminds me of Natasha."

Both Peter and Tony sobered up at that comment, but Peter forced cheer as he responded to Michelle. "Hey, MJ! How's it going?"

She regarded him in an unimpressed manner. "Could be better could be worse."

Ned plopped into his seat across from the two, panting slightly. "Flash alert."

Michelle frowned, and Peter rolled his eyes. Tony poked his head into the frame of the glasses. "Who?"

A hand slammed down onto the table, causing the three lunches to bounce. "Hey, Puny," Flash Thompson sneered. "How's your uncle? Oh, wait, he's dead!"

He and his cronies cackled, and Tony's brows knitted together, eyes flashing in anger. "That's the kid who almost ran you over. This guy's obviously a punk. Why do you let him bully you? You can stop a bus with your bare hands!"

Flash continued insulting Peter, oblivious to the raging billionaire in his glasses. "Where's you get the specs, Parker? They're too expensive for you." He said you like it was a curse. "Hand 'em over."

When Peter didn't move, Flash snarled. "Now!"

"No!" Peter burst out. "No, I'm not giving you my glasses. I need them; they're mine. You can't have them!"

Flash could clearly feel some of the kids in the cafeteria's eyes on them, so he just growled, "Whatever. They're probably cheap knock-offs anyways. Come on, let's go."

The bully stalked away, his lackies right behind him. Tony continued to shout at Flash for almost hitting people, screaming profanities at the top of his holographic lungs, occasionally slipping into Italian. Peter winced. "Tony, you do realize that he can't hear you, and you're just yelling in my ear, right?"

MJ arched an eyebrow, and Peter flushed. "Sorry. Here."

He handed the glasses to her, and, slowly, Michelle placed them on her face. Her eyes widened with surprise when she saw the hologram. "Peter, what . . .?"

Again, Tony obviously said something to her, because she nodded in understanding and handed the glasses back to her boyfriend. "Those are seriously cool. I completely understand why you can never give those to Flash. Ever."

"She's right, kid. That punk is getting nowhere near me. Or the glasses," Tony stated firmly. Peter snorted. "Okay, both of you, I get it. No Flash."

The rest of lunch passed rather smoothly, and Peter was off to his next class. By the time Academic Decathlon rolled around, Peter knew how to use the glasses fairly well. But as soon as he walked through the door of the module that most of the clubs gathered in, Tony piped up, "Careful. The building's not exactly stable."

Peter frowned. "What do you mean? We've been in this building for twelve years."

Tony's holographic eyes widened. "You do realize that these module buildings are only supposed to last for ten years, right?"

Peter swore under his breath, but before he could say anything else, Michelle beckoned him over to the group, and AcaDec practice began. The practice was halfway over when Tony's fears came true; the building collapsed around them. [I know it probably wouldn't work this way, but shhhhh] Miraculously, nobody was injured. Peter called, "Is everyone okay? Is everyone here?"

He got an "I'm here" from everyone, and Peter instantly turned his attention to someone who could help them out of the rubble. "Okay, Tony, how do we get out?"

The team watched in amazement as Peter seemed to have a one-sided conversation with himself. "To the left, got it."

"Up and over the beam."

"What? No, I can't do that. I'd out myself."

"That could work, but what about--"

"--carbon monoxide and then we'd--"

"--possibly burn the place down, but--"

"--get us all to safety." Peter grinned. "Thanks, Tony."

The former hero smirked. "All in a days work."

Peter began to guide his fellow classmates out of the collapsed building. "Okay, Isaac, to the left, there should be a plank of wood, we gotta crawl under that. After the plank, there's a beam that's resting at a fifteen degree angle. Go over that."

Slowly, but surely, the team made it out of the destroyed module, covered in dust, but alive. Most of the team collapsed to the ground, but Betty squinted at Peter. "Who were you talking to?"

Peter was startled. "What?"

"Back in the module, you were talking to someone. Someone named Tony, and he obviously guided us out. Who was he, and how did he know the layout of the building so well?"

Peter panicked. "Uh--he's a, um, family friend, and he does architecture?"

It sounded lame to even him, and Betty eyed him suspiciously, but left it at that.

"A family friend?" Tony was not amused. "An architect?"

"Hey," Peter hissed. "You know I don't do well under pressure."

Michelle bumped his shoulder. She murmured, "Thanks for getting us out of there, Tony."

"Tell her I said you're welcome," Tony exclaimed, and Peter relayed the message. MJ smiled, and Peter flopped onto the ground. While things wouldn't ever be the same as when Tony was alive, that was okay. Because Tony was right here, and Peter wouldn't have it any other way.

This is one of my favorite AUs/Headcannons of the Marvel Universe. I just feel like Tony would have found some way to keep himself alive after he died, and, being the tech genius that he is, he probably would have done it this way. You can contradict me, but I will protect this idea till my dying day. Please, please send feedback!

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #spider-man: far from home #spider-man #spider-man: homecoming #a.i. tony stark

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Here There Be Dragons Ch. 2

Return to Hanamura

Jesse was cutting it close when he returned to Hanamura in under a two weeks. If Reyes had seen him he would have boxed his ears and told him how stupid he was. If Genji had seen it he would have demanded to know what tail Jesse was chasing.

How could he explain that it was a dragon’s?

The young man had left his hat and his serape in his bag this time, despite the chance of the headwear being crushed around with what few personal items he kept with him. There was next to nothing he owned that he couldn't replace. His hat, his favorite red serape, Peacekeeper, and now the glittering dragon scale that weighed down his pocket.

Jesse didn’t have the poetry of words to describe why it was so important that he return and see the dragon once more. It was a bone deep need, and ache that buried itself into his lungs until breathing was difficult without thinking of the magic he’d seen.

Something deep inside his gut dragged him back to Hanamura, in the darkness of the moonless, clouded night. Jesse had always trusted his gut, it hadn’t lead him wrong yet. Not when he was a lawless brat running around the red desert, not when he was a Blackwatch agent fighting to repent.

Not now, when he was nothing more than Jesse McCree, he had no one and nothing to trust except for his insides.

His shoulder wasn’t healing well. He should have gone to a doctor, but there was no one in the country he was sure he could trust. Angela was off in war zones, and even if she wasn’t with Overwatch’s break up he wasn’t sure she wanted to see any of them these days. She never had liked their violent tendencies.

Jesse shook his head and pulled his hood closer to his face, hopping around a corner to approach the castle for the third time. The vice on his ribs started to ease when he came into sight of it’s high walls. It was hard to make out in the dark of the night, but Jesse could see well enough. He moves quickly, quietly, crossing the near deserted street until he was standing at the gate once more.

He lay his metal hand against it and pushed. It swung opened without a hassle, setting his teeth on edge. The hair on his arms stood up. The quiet creak of wood brought his eyes and his gun up to his right. Down the barrel a man stood, bow pulled back to his jaw. Dark eyes narrowed at Jesse down the shaft of a wickedly pointed arrow.

If Jesse was being honest, he’d take being shot with a bullet over an arrow anyday.

“Go no further!” the stranger ordered, his voice sharply accented in english. “Intruders will be dealt with harshly.”

Jesse’s mouth twitched upwards. He couldn't see many features, but the scowl was audible.

“You live here, darlin’?” he asked, making a show of keeping his shoulders lax. “I ain’t plannin’ on causin’ any trouble.”

“You cannot enter here. Invaders will be cut down. Leave now!” the man snapped harshly. His eyes flashed in the darkness.

“Well now, I don’t see why we got to have conflict,” Jesse tried to pacify the man in the dark. If he was one of the folks that was after Jesse’s head, he’d have already shot him. He had gotten the drop on the cowboy. Only Genji could do that. This man, whoever he was, was dangerous.

Above him, thunder rolled. Unlike the thunder he had heard before it didn’t beat through his bones, it shattered overheard, bringing with it a storm. Rain came down in a sheet that soaked Jesse all the way through in a matter of seconds.

“Well, shoot,” he tilted his head ever so slightly, but did not take his eyes off of the man in front of him. “An’ here I am without a hotel room.”

“Then you had best get one,” the stranger told him harshly. Jesse was inclined to agree. Still, Jesse turned a crooked smile on him, adjusting his weight to lean a smidge closer. The Stranger drew back instead of shooting him. So he didn’t want to kill Jesse? Funny.

“It’d be mighty kind of you to let me stay a night,” he drawled, all in jest.

“I told you, intruder’s will be executed!” his temper was showing in his voice. There was something else there too, something frayed. “You saw the dragon before. He will be summoned once more if you go further.”

Jesse ran his fingers through his hair, wildness slicked down to his skull. “The way I see it darlin’, I ain’t an intruder if I’m invited here.”

There was a beat of silence. The rain came down in a blanket of water. Beating an off tempo on the shingles and the concrete. It was hard to hear anything through it, even as his implants adjusted to picked up in between raindrops.

“I do not know if that would work,” the stranger said at last. Then, “What is your name?”

“McCree,” he should have lied, his brain said. His gut said that he needed to tell the truth. “Jesse McCree. Pleasure.”

The bow slowly came back from it’s draw, arrow pointing to the ground. His hand touched the gate, sending it further open. Inside the dirt was dark with water, the plants bent over heavy with it. Jesse couldn’t quite make out what they were, and he hadn’t been looking very closely on his last two visits.

“You have seen the guardian of this place, and you still wish to enter?” Jesse’s new friend asked. Jesse nodded. Peacekeeper slipped back in her holster. There was a sigh. “Then I, Shimada Hanzo, invite you to this castle.”

Shimada. That was Genji’s name.

Jesse tried to remember if he was supposed to bow, since he couldn't very well tip his hat, and settled on inclining his head with a smile he hoped could be seen.

“Thank ya kindly,” Jesse stepped inside, trying not to favor his side to obviously. He’d almost healed the graze there, but the excitement of holding someone at gunpoint had aggravated it, and his shoulder. Blood started to pool under his shirt.

“Only until it is safe to leave,” the stranger, Hanzo, added. Jesse dipped his head in acknowledgement. He could deal with those terms. Though, it was hard to say when ‘safe’ would be. When it stopped raining? Or when people stopped shootin at him?

Lightning lit up the yard, treating Jesse to a glimpse of Hanzo’s face. A flash of brown eyes, long, tar black hair, and clean shaven cheeks. He was watching Jesse, like he was waiting for something. Then the darkness swallowed him again.

“Don’t s’ppose we could go in the buildings?” He put forth. Bleeding in the rain sounded about as fun as being shot again. Jesse was the child of red rocks and dust storms. Rain was a rarity, and brought flash floods with it more times than not. He didn’t care for it much.

“Yes,” Hanzo moved in the darkness. Jesse felt more than saw where he went, and trailed after him. He was quiet as a cat, light footed and quick. Jesse felt clumsy and unsteady behind him.

He knew, at least, to take his shoes off when they reached the door and leave them where the mud wouldn’t track. He did feel a bit bad about all the water dripping off of his long coat. He shed that too, leaving him in just his clothes and armor.

An oil lamp lit, illuminating the long hallway in a soft light. Jesse stuck one hand in his pocket, fingers brushing the smooth scale that lay within for some semblance of comfort.

The room he followed Hanzo in was so perfectly clean Jesse didn’t believe that anyone had been there for years. Like his mama’s parlor, something he’d only ever seen from a distance. There wasn’t the rosy wall paper or the pale couch he’d be smacked if he so much as thought about touching, but it gave off the same forbidding feeling.

Jesse felt like he had no place here, despite being invited in.

Hanzo turned towards him, giving Jesse time enough to get a good look. He was pretty in the flickering light of the small flame. Black hair was tied loosely at the base of his neck, besides the long bangs that framed his face. And what a face. Cut into perfect skin was a sharply carved mouth, drawn into a harsh line that set beneath a pair of fathomless eyes, such a dark brown they bordered on black. Gold sparked within them, along with something else. Something Jesse couldn’t identify.

His clothes were traditional, from what little Jesse knew about Japan. A white, folding shirt tucked into brown pants, that went into red shin guards. On his left shoulder was tied a long orange sleeve, on his right was another piece of armor. Strong muscles showed in the gap from there to the lone arm guard and the thick black gloves.

He was built strong, even though he was a couple inches shorter, standing in front of him Jesse had no doubt this man could hold his own in a fight. Broader shoulders than Jesse’s supported a quiver full of smartly fletched arrows, matching the bow that hung in his hand proudly.

All this an here Jesse stood, soaked in a black long sleeve shirt and his jeans. His armor was the only interesting thing about him, with his hat and his serape in the bag.

Well, his belt buckle too, which Hanzo was staring at very intently.

“Bamf?” he pronounced the whole word carefully. Dark brows drew together, furrowed in confusion. Jesse withheld a laugh at him.

“It’s an acronym,” Jesse gripped and tilted it so it caught the light, showing it off, “Pardon the language, but I am a ‘bad ass mother fucker’.”

Hanzo stared at him, mouth twitching ever so slightly. “How many children do you have?”

This time, Jesse couldn't help it. He started to laugh, hard, bending from it. His shoulder throbbed, turning the laugh into a choke. Shit.

He looked up to see if Hanzo had taken offense, and was rewarded a smile. Good. He hadn’t noticed the shoulder either. Jesse stood up, hooked his thumbs in his pocket’s and gave the man an easy smile.

“None a’tall,” he didn’t think he needed to ask if Hanzo did. The whole castle was clearly deserted, save this one person and the dragon protector. Where in gods name the dragon came from Jesse couldn’t even begin to fathom. He knew there were things in the world he wouldn’t understand, things he shouldn’t mess with.

Jesse knew a part of the gorge, a little ways before the train cut into the mountain, where no one dared to step foot. A little cut in the red rock where it was more red than the dust, a darker type that didn’t come from rusty dirt. Back when the tracks had been put down for the first time, hundreds of years ago, some of the workers had gotten it in their heads to unionize. They hadn’t lived past their first strike.

That was just closest to home. There were ghost towns all over the southwest, places with bloody history that set his teeth on edge. Certain towns where he wasn’t sure if he felt like he was being watched by the living or the dead. Folks thought he was crazy for refusing to drive through the west past midnight, but he’d been too close to death before not to beware La Mala Hora. He would swear up and down that he’d seen a woman in white at the shores of the Pecos.

There was more, once he stepped out into the world. He had never seen anything so blatant as a dragon before, but there was some shit he couldn’t deny wasn’t natural. His own goddamn eye had no reason to do what it did, but that didn’t stop it from happening.

“Whatever family you have must fear for you. I do not own any communications…”

Jesse waved off Hanzo’s courteousness. “S’allright darlin’, ain’t a family to call as is. None that’ll lay claim to me, anyhow.”

Not after he’d walked away from them.

Hanzo looked uncomfortable. Jesse briefly wondered what had happened to his family.

“You should dry yourself,” Hanzo said abruptly. “Come.”

Jesse kept careful track of what turns they were taking. Three left, one right and twenty feet down Hanzo opened the door to reveal a small room that reminded Jesse of a gym locker room, if everything there was made of wood and kept pristine.

Through another doorway Jesse could see a pond, a hot spring set into the ground. Large, smooth rocks bordered the steaming water, as well as a single small tree. A line of small stools set up above a long drain, each one paired with a wooden bucket.

“I will find you something dry,” Hanzo offered, and vanished. He moved silently. Jesse envied the grace he managed to hold, steady, natural. He waited until Hanzo was gone before he stripped himself of his armor, his weapons and his clothes. He folded his pants and his shirt into a basket, keeping Peacekeeper well within grabbing rang if things went south.

Despite feeling out of place, he didn’t feel like he was in danger. He didn’t think Hanzo would hurt him. He hadn’t wanted to before, he’d done nothing beside’s try and shoo Jesse away from the castle. It didn’t make for a very good trap, if that was what this was.

Once his clothes were gone all that was left was the bandages on his shoulder. They were just as soaked, with more than water. It blotched red straight through, spreading slowly. Damn.

A sharp intake brought him back to the door. Hanzo stood with an arm full of fine clothes, red and gold. He was staring at Jesse’s shoulder.

“You’re still injured?” Hanzo set the clothes down and moved closer to Jesse, looking at the hole in his shoulder that was weeping steadily. Still. Hanzo had been there when Jesse had been shot back then.

“I’m afraid so,” Jesse was sheepish. He didn’t know why, he got banged up plenty of times and he had the scars to prove it. They littered his body, all over, from botch jobs and successful missions. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d never had at least a few of them.

“Wait here,” Hanzo set down the fold of clothes, shining with wealth in the dim oil light, and left again. Jesse was left with little to do other than wait and look around. He didn’t want to get blood on the gifted clothes and he couldn’t think of anything else that would take up the few minutes he had until Hanzo’s return.

Jesse whistled softly, looking at the fine work put into the bath, the well worn stones, and the carefully woven baskets. There wasn’t a piece out of place.

But as I looked around, I began to notice that we were nothing like the rest...

Hanzo appeared as quickly and as quietly as he had disappeared, interrupting Jesse’s little song. He wasn’t holding a first aid kit, or anything even remotely like it. Just a wet handkerchief.

“I ain’t tryin’ to be rude now, but I don’t think that’ll be enough for this,” he gestured to the hole with his metal arm. Hanzo’s eyes lingered on that for a few seconds before he moved back to the task at hand.

“It will be sufficient,” Hanzo assured him. Jesse didn’t stop him when he pressed the handkerchief over his shoulder. His flesh hand spasmed when warmth flowed in through it, tingling along his nerves and into his veins. Jesse drew in a shuddering breath, the heat was replaced with coolness.

Hanzo pulled the now bloodied cloth away. Jesse looked down and had to double check that he wasn’t imagining what he saw.

He prodded his shoulder, the cold fingers of his metal hand harsh against the sensitive space. Where once there had been a hole now there was just a little bit of new, pink skin.

“That’s uh, a neat trick ya got there,” he said slowly. He’d never been healed that fast. Even Mercy couldn’t do it that quick. Just who was he dealing with here?

“It is an old family remedy,” Hanzo said. He stepped a respectable distance back, giving Jesse room to pick up the gifted clothes. He looked them over, judging their size. They might be a little small, but it would do.

Jesse felt awkward in the clothes. He was pretty sure they were silk, or something else fancy and fine. Stuff he never wore, he felt uncomfortable in them.

“Thank you,” he said again. Hanzo still hadn’t relaxed. He looked like he was waiting for something. Jesse strapped his gun back on. If Hanzo thought anything of it, he didn’t say. He was quiet while he watched the gunslinger.

Jesse had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Hanzo made them tea to calm his nerves and still his hands. The brief contact he’d allowed himself on this man had his fingers twitching and his breath quicker. It had been so long since he’d touch any living creature of his own volition, without violence to drive him.

His palms itched to touch him again.

He gripped the cup tighter to keep himself in check. He could not allow himself to give up his control. The fact that the dragon had no burst forwards and slayne Jesse McCree already was as exciting as it was baffling.

Could it really be true that, in all these years, all he had had to do was offer forth an invitation and the spell that bound the castle would not take effect? So much bloodshed could have been prevented through such a simple solution, Hanzo had hardly dared to believe that it could be possible when the answer was offered to him.

“The way I see it darlin’, I ain’t an intruder if I’m invited here.”

Who was this man that he had found a loophole so easily? Who was he, that he had returned now thrice after seeing the guardian of Hanamura?

Hanzo stared at him over his table, eye’s half closed to hide his narrowed curiosity. Rain still beat over their heads, soothing the constant energy that rolled just under Hanzo’s skin. He was restless by his nature, being restricted to the castle had only made that worse. He had years of energy he had never been able to rid himself off.

Jesse McCree sat across from him, inspecting the small cup in his large, calloused hands. Hanzo knew the scars of hard labor, McCree bore them all. Across his hands, across his arms, over all of his body...

Hanzo pulled his brain away from there before he could linger too long.

His hands itched to touch the man again. He could not allow himself too. The curse may have been abated for now, but he did not want to get attached. McCree would not be here for long.

Hanzo let his eyes drift away from McCree’s face down to where the sleeve of his borrowed clothes fell back to expose shining metal. It moved just like a regular appendage, the wrist rolling and elbow bending easily. The fingers didn’t twitch quite as often as real ones.

Hanzo knew that the world outside of his castle had progressed without him, he didn’t know that they had gone so far. Human advancement had reached the point that he, a man infused with the magic of hundreds of generations, could have mistaken one for the other.

If not for the sense that told him when magic was involved, that is. A sense that told him that there was no magic in the arm, it was nothing enchanted. The metal did not sing with spellcast iron or magic worked steel. It was nothing more than a metal arm made by the hands of mortal men.

“Shimada,” McCree said abruptly. Hanzo looked to his eyes. They were pointed off to the side, at a wall hanging of a green dragon twisting around itself. “Is that a common name in this country?”

A strange turn of conversation. His name?

“I doubt it,” he frowned. He was the only Shimada he knew of any longer. If there were any outside of the castle, he had never heard from them.

“Huh,” McCree finished his tea, slurping it rudely.

“And, your name?”

True, Hanzo had never been the most outgoing of people. This was a new level of awkward. Were they really discussing how many other people had their names?

“Well, there’s me an’ my folks, a couple in Texas, an’ a few cousins out east. Er, west? They’re all the way in Georgia.”

Hanzo had no idea what he was talking about, he’d never heard of ‘Georgia’. He nodded like it made sense.

“You’re from, not Georgia?”

“Me? Nah, I came from New Mexico,” McCree waved his hand around his head. Once more Hanzo acted like he knew where that was. The world changed around him, he had no idea which country McCree was talking about. What had the country outside his domain become? He remembered a war, men going off to fight. And another, and another. Half a dozen at least, with boys in armor and uniforms passing by his gates. Sometimes there would be wailing in the streets.

What happened, he never knew.

It had been a long time since he had spoken to someone from the outside world.

Luckily, Jesse McCree did not appear to mind his awkwardness and his rigid manners. He lounged in the chair with the grace of a hound, relaxation doing nothing to hide the strength in his hands and the muscle under his borrowed clothes.

He talked, about all sorts of things. A grocery store that had popped up down the street from the castle at some point, a horse he’d had when he was young that was so wild he finally let it run off with a band of mustangs.

He did not talk about dragons.

For this, Hanzo was grateful. He didn’t know how much he was willing to share with this stranger. He knew how much he longed to, he knew how deeply it aches for him to finally talk to someone, to tell them everything he knew.

Instead, he nodded regally whenever the human looked to see if he was paying attention.

“Will you stay long?” Hanzo asked, folding his hands on his legs. McCree stopped his tale of snakes in his boots to look at Hanzo. Abruptly his smile closed off.

“If I’m invited to,” McCree said carefully. Hanzo realized his mistake.

“You are,” he said quickly. He was not trying to imply he wanted the stranger gone. Something shivered under his skin with the words. Magic.

The easiness returned with a toothy smile and a tip of a hat that wasn’t there.

“Thank ya’.”

#Overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #overwatch au #Jesse McCree #McHanzo #hanzo x mccree #Hanzo Shimada #dragons #noodle dragons #urban fantasy #Blackwatch era

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