#will probably rework a little before i throw it on ao3

[miasmaghoul]

@st-danger said horn play and I said okay let's make Mountain cum in his pants about it

roughly 1.3k of mountrain morning head and new discoveries under the cut

(ft transmasc rain, use of cunt/clit/etc for his anatomy)

(secretly for @forlorn-crows teehee)

Most mornings, Mountain wakes slowly. Rises with the sun, his east-facing windows allowing in the first rays of the dawn's light. Most mornings he heads to the kitchen to get his day started with a froofy cup of coffee for his barefooted walk to the greenhouse.

Today though, Mountain woke up chubby. Bulging in his boxers and curled up against a still-snoozing Rain. He'd just looked so pretty and serene that Mountain couldn't help himself from indulging his baser needs.

Nothing too lascivious - he'd kissed Rain's arm and shoulder, rubbed at his chest, soft stimulation intended to wake. It's true that Rain doesn't mind being played with in his sleep, enjoys it even, but Mountain always prefers him awake. He's always noisier that way.

Rain had woken slowly, humming at the feel of Mountain's hands, of his lips. He'd rubbed his ass back against his half-hard cock with an amused chirrup, had let Mountain move him onto his back with coaxing hands. Not a word needed between them, not when Mountain's mouth busies itself with Rain's throat.

Twenty minutes later, Rain's groaning and stretching like a cat while Mountain dips his tongue into his navel. Rain chitters happily, letting Mountain take his time. His cock hangs heavy in boxers, twitching with every breathy sigh Rain offers him. He looks up to find Rain flushed and smiling, pink tongue slipping out over his lower lip.

"I love when you have morning wood." They both chuckle, and Rain reaches down to run an affectionate hand through Mountain's hair, and a cool fingers grazes the base of one of his horns.

Mountain gives a completely involuntary soft sigh and shivers at the brief contact, and misses the way Rain's eyebrow twitches upward. He doesnt speak on it, though. Simply lets Mountian continue his worshipful line of kisses.

He works his way down Rain's happy trail, over his hip, along the milky stretch of his thigh, sliding back as he does. Shimmying until he's on his knees at the end of the bed, elbows on the mattress. Mountain gets a grip on the backs of his knees and tugs him down while Rain giggles, wiggling his hips to aid the slide. Mountain watches him grab a pillow and stick it behind his head, getting himself comfy for the show. Rain offers Mountain a lazy smile.

"Someone's eager," he teases, though his voice is kind.

"Can't help it," Mountain purrs, resting his head on Rain's slender thigh. "Not when you look so good. Smell so good."

Mountain shifts forward and presses his nose to the slightly damp crotch of Rain's sleep shorts to breathe him in deep, groaning on exhale. He plants a kiss just above the spot where Rain's rapidly thickening clit makes itself known - a sweet litte bump in the fabric - and looks up at him with heavy eyes.

"Let me taste you?"

Rain smiles.

"I don't know why you aren't already, sweet pea."

Mountain purrs deep in his chest and ducks back down to lap at damp cotton. It tastes divine, like sea-sweet air mixed with just a touch of floral fabric softener. The shorts are thin, and in no time at all Mountain can make out the plump outline of Rain's folds. The sound he makes at the sight has them both throbbing.

Above him, Rain lets out soft vocalizations. Not quite moans, but pleased sounds nonetheless. Rain doesn't rush him, and Mountain is eternally grateful for it. Not that he has much patience this particular morning, not when his cock is so hard he can feel it poking out of the leg of his boxers. Can feel it leaking against his thigh.

He wastes no more time, hooking two fingers into the crotch of those shorts and tugging them to the side. Mountain grunts, a gut-punched sound. The same one he always makes when he has the privilege of enjoying this view; Rain is beautiful everywhere, and his cunt is no exception.

Mountain runs reverent fingers between his legs, caressing soft, swollen lips coated with slick. Dragging through soft hair. Rain's little dick pokes out from his folds in a way that makes Mountain's mouth water, pink and stiff and just long enough for him to bob his head over. He grazes gentle fingers over Rain's entrance and the other ghoul gasps, twitching at the prospect of Mountain's touch.

Mountain doesn't slip those long digits inside, though. He's too enraptured by the feel of Rain's long lips Too busy spreading them wide to get a good look at his hole, wet and open. To watch him clench around nothing. It's enough to make a ghoul drool, and Mountain does, right down his chin.

Rain chokes on his eagerness, breath catching in his throat when Mountain buries his face in his cunt and presses a suddenly unglamoured tongue inside. He arches off the mattress with a tight cry, the hand in Mountain's hair gripping hard. The other flies to his chest, plucking at a still-puckered nipple, tender and purple for how long Mountain spent working his little tits. Mountain's tongue hits every good spot Rain has, he thinks. Wriggling, working to wring the neediest little noises from Rain's throat.

Mountain loses himself in this every time, in the feel of Rain overwhelming his senses. His voice, his taste, his scent - to say nothing of the way Mountain has the perfect view of Rain's pleasure-slackened features. His hung jaw and darkened eyes, his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. Mountain can't look away.

"So good," Rain pants, moving to abuse his other nipple. "So fucking good with that tongue, Mount."

He scratches his claws along Mountain's scalp and Mountain shivers, cock spitting more pre over his thigh. It aches for the lack of attention it's gotten, his balls too, but Mountain ignores it all. Too lost in what he gets out of eating Rain like a man starved to worry about something as trivial as his own needs.

Rain's rolling his hips now, grinding against Mountain's face and drenching him from nose to chin. Mountain's head feels foggy; he's drowning in Rain's...everything, and the only thing that keeps him from passing out is the firm brush of that stiff clit over the bridge of his nose.

He pulls back just enough to breathe for a moment, tongue still working at a good spot just inside Rain's entrance, and the move makes Rain's hand slip. It slides from Mountain's hair, and the side of Rain's finger drags along the spot where Mountain's horn meets his skin. Just for a moment.

The reaction is immediate and embarrassingly obvious; Mountain lets out a choked cry and pulls his tongue back, gasping and grabbing at Rain's thigh. Rain peers down at him, past his own heaving chest, and Mountain can see the gears in his head turning. Rain grins, rubs that sensitive spot again with definite intent, and Mountain shakes with the intense, sudden burn in his gut. Again, his cock leaks.

"Oh."

"R-Rain," Mountain stammers, licking his lips, "Rainy, please -"

Rain's smirk falters for a moment, and Mountain knows it's because of the hurt in his voice. He moves to pull his hand away, but Mountain grabs his wrist before he can.

"Do that," he mumbles, a little shy and a lot pleading, "do that again." Rain stares down at him, that grin back in full force. "Touch it, touch - oh fuck."

Mountain's eyes flutter when Rain drags the pads of two fingers along the base of one thick horn, slow half-circles. He swears he can feel every touch between his legs too, deep tension already starting to build in his gut. Rain pauses, bucks his hips, and Mountain refocuses, mouth watering at the sight of Rain's soaked cunt and hard little dick.

"Your turn," Rain coos, low. "C'mon baby, suck me off."

Mountain moans so deep Rain can feel it, and obliges. Wraps his lips around that gorgeous, fat clit, presses his tongue to the underside, and suckles.

Rain keens with it, tries instinctively to close his thighs, but only succeeds in getting his knees hooked over Mountain's shoulders. Mountain works him just the way he likes, with bobs of his head and broad, flat strokes of his now-glamoured tongue. It has him writhing, gasping and Mountain wishes he could see Rain like this always.

Rain does his part too, winding long fingers around the base of Mountain's horn and giving it a nice squeeze. The hand on his chest abandons his sore nipple, flying to Mountain's other horn to do the same, and Mountain's eyes cross. He feels a gush of a slick run down his chin and groans around Rain's short length, basking in the tight cry Rain looses at the vibration of it.

"Close," he gasps, "fuck, so close." The sound of Rain's strained words, the encroaching tightness of orgasm, has Mountian's neglected cock kicking hard. "Suck it, lick it," Rain pants, so clearly desperate, "fuck Mount make me cum, make me - oh fuck, oh -"

Rain's grip tightens, his left hand twists, and for a few long, blissful moments Mountian's world goes white.

He comes back to himself just in time to feel Rain's clit throb, his cunt clench, and manages to shove two fingers into that hungry hole just in time for Rain to cum on them. Mountain exhales hard through his nose when a rush of fluid coats his hand, working Rain through an orgasm that has his thighs shaking and his high, feminine cries bouncing off the walls.

He remains hyper aware of the way Rain's hands tremble around his horns, every twitch making him shiver and grunt. He pulls back when Rain hisses from sensitivity, burying his face in the crease of Rain's thigh instead and trying to catch his breath.

"Fuck," they groan in unison, and Rain laughs. He moves his hands from Mountain's and horns to his hair and Mountain can't help his whimper. Still, though, he lets Rain tug his gaze upwards. The smile he wears radiates warmth, but holds a certain sharpness.

"I know you came," Rain taunts, humor in his words. Mountain gives him a slow nod, trying to ignore the wetness of his boxers. "Who knew you were so weak for this?"

He drags a claw over the curve of Mountain's horn and Mountain winces, a shock straight to his balls.

"Sensitive," he hisses, and Rain sounds very amused.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, a soft laugh close behind. He yawns soon after, tugs lightly on Mountain's hair. "Come back here," he murmurs, "it's too early to be awake."

Mountain would normally agree to disagree, but his body seems to be on Rain's side. He huffs out his own sleepy chuckle, kisses the inside of Rain's thigh and pushes himself up on wobbly legs. Strips off his boxers and uses them to wipe his face and the streaks of cum from his leg before dropping them on the floor, right on top of the little puddle he made there. Rain tosses his own messy shorts beside them and curls up on his side, patting the mattress in invitation.

Mountain yawns as he crawls back in and pulls Rain to his chest. They're both purring up a storm, and Mountian catches the other ghoul in a deep, lazy kiss. Rain hums at the taste of himself, hooks a leg over Mountain's hip and snuggles in close.

"I like learning new things about you," he mumbles, lips pressed to Mountain's throat. Mountain kisses the top of his head and sighs into his curls.

"I'm going to regret revealing that, aren't I?" He feels Rain's mischievous smile against his skin.

"Absolutely," he promises, "next time we wake up."

Mountain's spent cock twitches, and Rain laughs.

[tlhrfanfic]

[Analogical ] Chemistry

Title: Chemistry Ship: Analogical Warnings:  Lots of cute and fluff. Words: 5,708 Request: So, this was the next request I chose: an analogical fic where Logan and Virgil are science partners would be vvv cute! if its ok! This was also sent in by an anon.

Summary: Logan is used to the routine of his typical life as a high school teen. When the new student becomes his brand new lab partner, however, changes seem to become the new norm. Logan, surprisingly, doesn't seem to mind.

Read on AO3

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The day was like any other.

 … until it wasn’t. 

 Logan hadn’t changed anything. He had woken up and gotten ready at the same time; he’d taken a shower just like he always did. He had then had breakfast before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door. It was the same ten-minute walk to the high school he’d been attending for the last two years. 

 Same morning chat with his friends, same walk down the Science hallway, and same Chemistry lab.

 Logan settled into his seat before pulling his textbook, notebook, and a pencil out of his backpack.

 “Logan.”

 He looked up, interest in his eyes. It was, after all, common enough for his teachers to ask him for help with little things from time to time.

 The moment his gaze shifted to the unfamiliar teen standing near Mr. Sanders was the moment that everything changed.

A young teen Logan’s age stood with his hands in the pockets of his purple and black plaid hoodie. He had his hood off but it was evident by the way it was scrunched around the back of his neck that it would definitely be on at that very moment if it weren’t for the dress code.

 Logan brought his attention back to the teacher as he started to explain that this teen was a new student. Logan glanced at the teen from time to time as he learned that his name was Virgil and that he would be Logan’s new lab partner. Mr. Sanders then asked if he would mind showing Virgil around. 

 “I would be happy to assist Virgil in any way I am capable, sir.”

 Mr. Sanders beamed at him and left Virgil behind as he left for the teacher’s lounge. 

 “Welcome to the school, Virgil. Are you from out of state?”

 Virgil shook his head. “No… he said softly. Perhaps a little shyly. Logan assumed he wasn’t going to say more but a few moments later Virgil spoke up again. “I was homeschooled up until now…”

 He shrugged, his hands still in the pockets of his hoodie.

 Logan found himself staring at the new guy, wondering why he found him so enchanting. He’d had a handful of crushes in the past but not one of them was as lovely as this one.

 “What?!”

 Logan blinked. He blushed a moment later, heat rising up the back of his neck, as he realized he had been staring at Virgil for a minute at the very least. 

 “I apologize. Now, as Mr. Sanders mentioned, my name is Logan. Logan Wright. We are going to be lab partners in this class, evidently.” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Do you enjoy Chemistry?”

 Virgil shrugged. 

 “I’m not the best at science since my mom is the one who taught me but it’s got its cool factors, I guess.” He shifted a little nervously. 

 Logan smiled at him gently, nodding. 

 “That’s more than fine, Virgil. I am quite accomplished at Chemistry so we will not see you fail.”

 Virgil blinked before slowly smiling.

 “Well… thanks for that… I uh. I appreciate it.”

 Logan nodded. 

 “It’s my pleasure, Virgil. Feel free to take a seat.” He nodded at the empty stool at his lab table.

 Virgil hesitated before dropping his backpack onto the stool. He pulled out his Chemistry book, a notebook, and a pencil before setting his bag under the table and taking the seat.

 Logan, realizing how close Virgil was, cleared his throat nervously. 

 “After class, I’ll give you the tour. It’s a fairly big high school but you seem intelligent so I think you’ll learn your way around here in no time.”

 He glanced at Virgil who actually smiled. 

 It was small and Logan almost missed it but it had definitely been there. 

 “Thanks,” the emo teen said. 

 “As I said before, it’s my pleasure.”

 The smile grew just a few centimeters more and Logan knew that this specific crush would not go away any time soon. 

»»————　♞　————««

 Virgil walked into Chemistry class two days later and set one of two coffee cups in front of his lab partner. He grinned as the bespectacled teen looked first at the cup and then at Virgil, confusion evident on his face. 

 “Salutations, Virgil. What is this and what is it for?”

 “Mornin’ Logan. That is a caramel latte and it’s a thank you… for, you know, showing me around on Monday.”

 Logan smiled and nodded. 

 “As I said then, it was my absolute pleasure. Thank you for the coffee. Really very nice of you.”

 Virgil blushed, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. 

 “Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice a little quieter. He smiled softly once Logan looked away.

 Taking a seat, Virgil pulled out his things for the class. As he pulled his homework out of his notebook, the emo teen watched Logan from the corner of his eyes. He barely held back a sigh. 

 When his mom had told him that he would be going to public school, Virgil had had a lot of hangups. He had not expected crushing on the very first guy he met to be one of them.

 Then again, Logan wasn’t just some guy. Virgil had only known him for two full days but he already felt as if he knew him pretty well. He was different compared to most guys their age, just like Virgil. 

 “Did you have any trouble with the assignment last night?”

 Virgil jumped in his seat because suddenly Logan’s voice was that much closer. He glanced at the other teen, finding him leaning in some to get a look at Virgil’s assignment sheet. 

 “Oh… uh, yeah. A little but it wasn’t too horrible, I guess.”

 Logan nodded before pointing at one of Virgil’s answers.

 “Understandable why you got this but you forgot to consider the temperature of the heat source.”

 Virgil glanced at the problem and picked up his pencil, erasing before considering the answer once more, now equipped with Logan’s hint. When he had finished, he looked up at Logan with uncertainty.

 Logan’s proud smile at the now correct answer made having to redo the whole question completely worth it. He hesitated before pushing the paper toward his lab partner. 

 “Any others I need to rework?”

 By the time the bell rang, signaling the start of first period, Logan had helped him correct the remaining two problems with incorrect answers.

 “Virgil,” Logan said as Mr. Thomas started the class. Suddenly a cell phone that was definitely not his phone was being pushed into his hand. He didn’t need any explanation, however, because the phone—which he assumed was Logan’s—was open onto a new contact entry. 

 “I’ll text you so you have my number too. This way, should one of us require assistance we can help each other out.”

 Virgil nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he ignored the heat rushing up the back of his neck and into his cheeks. Instead, the emo teen entered his information, saved the contact, and passed the phone back to Logan. 

 True to his word, he texted Virgil, the emo teen’s phone vibrating in his back pocket. He would have saved Logan’s number at that moment but class had begun and the thought of sneaking it out had Virgil’s anxiety rising. 

 Turning to Logan, he mouthed a thank you before turning his attention back to the lesson. 

 »»————　☠　————««

 Logan had hoped but honestly, had not expected Virgil to actually utilize his phone number when he gave it to him. It was with delighted surprise that two nights later—coincidentally a Friday night—that Virgil texted him, asking him for help with the assignment from earlier that day. 

 Logan called promptly. Virgil picked up by the second ring and for some inexplicable reason, Logan smiled at that. 

 “Hey, Logan. Thanks for calling.”

 “It’s my pleasure.”

 Virgil chuckled and Logan got the image of Virgil sitting there in class, a little half smile on his face as he shook his head and laughed just like that. It wasn’t a mean laugh. Just amused. Almost… fond, even. 

 Logan blushed. 

 “So… how can I help?”

 Virgil proceeded to point out the problem he was having trouble with and Logan was able to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Unfortunately, it was far easier to explain Chemistry concepts in person. 

 Biting his lip, Logan glanced at his watch and considered the time. It was Friday night and was still fairly early. He and Logan could grab a table at the local cafe and work on the homework. Logan had, after all, promised to help him, and being in person would really make it easier on Virgil. 

 Not to mention, Logan really wanted to spend time with him. 

 “Would you want to meet up with me tonight?”

 Virgil made a noise that Logan surmised was some sort of sputter and hoped it was a sputter of surprise, rather than disgust. He quickly cleared his throat and pushed on.

 “I was just thinking we could grab dinner at the cafe in town and work on this. It really would be much easier to explain and assist you in person.”

 Virgil was silent for a moment. It was just long enough that the intelligent teen was worried Virgil had hung up. 

 “Uh… okay, yeah. Sure. Wanna meet over at mine and walk over?”

 “I don’t know where you live, Virgil…”

 “Oh, right! Well, I know the place you mean and it’s really close so I guess… I guess, I’ll see you there soon?”

 “Sounds good, Virgil. See you soon.”

 “See you soon, Lo.”

 Logan gave a start at that. No one had ever called him that before. If anyone else in his life had, he probably would have had some scathing words to throw their way. But for some reason… it just sounded so nice spoken by Virgil. 

 “Yeah,” he replied only to realize that Virgil had already hung up. Blushing, he grabbed his keys, pocketed them and his phone, and headed out the door.

 »»————　♞　————««

 Virgil chewed his lip as he waited. Glancing around at other people, recognizing a few from school as he buried deeper into his hoodie, Virgil wondered if this had really been a good idea. 

 Luckily, before his negative thoughts could even hope to rain on his Black Parade, Logan was suddenly standing before him. And like moths to a flame, his attention shifted to only him.

 “Hey,” he said, smiling a little shyly. He reached up to slide his hood back enough to see Logan fully and allow the other to see him a bit too. 

 “Hey,” Logan said, smiling back. The smile was soft. It did things to Virgil’s insides, but there were too many reasons why it was soft for Virgil to be able to bank on it being a specific one. If it was soft because Logan liked him and wanted to be with him, that would be very good. It could just as easily be Logan liking him as a really good friend or regarding him as family. 

 Since Virgil really, really, really liked Logan… those, while nice, would not be good. 

 They would not be good at all. 

 Silence settled over them. Virgil panicked, fearing that it felt a little awkward. However, he was suddenly unable to use his words because he had to go and think about his crush with said crush standing right there. So, the silence stretched, making him panic more.

 Luckily, Logan was pretty good at reading signs of a potential panic attack. 

 “Virgil.” 

 Suddenly, Virgil’s focus was on Logan. He was still feeling anxious but his focus had shifted enough. Logan was a little like an anchor in that way. 

 “What… uh, sorry.”

 “I was just thinking we should head in. Grab a table, get dinner ordered. We can work on some of the homework while we wait for our food.”

 Virgil beamed at Logan. 

 With such a plan in place, how could Virgil feel anxious? 

 Well, aside from the butterflies he constantly felt around Logan, but that was beside the point.

 “Yeah… that sounds like a plan.”

 Logan held the door open for him and Virgil, ignoring the heat rising up the back of his neck, headed inside.

 »»————　☠　————««

 Logan was beside himself getting to Chemistry class that next Monday. He knew he had no logical reason for feeling this way. Even the evidence of their rather enjoyable evening of dinner and homework on Friday, and the fact that they texted the entire weekend outside of school talk, was circumstantial at best. Yet, he still felt uncharacteristically giddy as he settled in his chair and got out his things. That done, his eyes panned to the door rather than to the clock, as they would have in the past. 

 The moment Virgil entered the classroom—exactly two minutes and forty-five seconds until the bell was due to ring—Logan’s heart beat rapidly against his chest.

 Whoever said falling in love was the best thing to ever happen to a person was sorely mistaken. This cannot be good for one’s health.

 Logan took a deep breath as Virgil made his way over, dropping his bag to the ground unceremoniously as he slumped into the chair. Logan took pity on his friend. 

 “I take it you couldn’t fall asleep after we said good night?”

 Virgil, who had his arms on the desk and face pressed into them, turned to look at his friend and shook his head with a frown. Logan resisted the sudden urge to pull the other into a warm embrace. Blushing at the thought, he looked away and flicked open his textbook to the lab they were meant to cover that day. He then got his homework out, watching from the corner of his eye as Virgil did the same. 

 “Sorry, Virge.” Logan resisted the urge to correct himself. Virgil had assured him it was fine if Logan wanted to call him Virgil still, but had been sure to advise Logan that his friends usually called him Virge if they didn’t want to use the whole thing. Logan wanted Virgil to be certain in their friendship and his desire to keep it.

 He also very much wanted Virgil to be certain that if he wanted more then Logan very much desired that as well…

... but how could he make Virgil certain of that without actually confessing his feelings?

 Pushing such thoughts and questions out of his mind, Logan returned to the conversation in time to catch Virgil saying “Insomnia is a bitch, dude.”

 Logan nodded. “Yes, it is a troublesome disorder indeed.” Logan glanced around before lowering his voice. “Medication not helping?”

 Virgil shrugged. “Kinda, I guess. But it doesn’t really help all the time. It’s inconsistent.”

 Logan frowned but nodded. He wished to say more, but it was at that moment Mr. Sanders came in to remind them they were doing a lab that day. 

 Thomas gave a brief demonstration of the lab and asked them to write down the exact measurements for it. Logan took his notes in his own efficient style, often finished before the others. Usually, he would just wait patiently for Mr. Sanders to carry on with the next part of the demonstration but now he found himself glancing at Virgil. 

 He watched, mesmerized, as Virgil made big bold circles around the measurements he’d jotted down. Where Logan’s were neat and tidy, Virgil’s were scattered all over the page but a quick look over told him it was still organized, in it’s own way.

 In a way he understands… fascinating.

 Mr. Sanders finished the demonstration, passed out all the necessary chemicals and safety gear for the lab. Under his supervision, the lab went underway. Virgil watched Logan as he worked for a good part of it. 

 Logan, so lost in his work, hadn’t noticed until Mr. Sanders came up to them. Leaning down, perhaps under the guise of answering a question, the Chemistry teacher lowered his voice.

 “Virgil… don’t you think it’s a little unfair to allow Logan to keep doing the lab himself? Yes, Logan, I am aware you enjoy it and don’t mind, but my point still remains. It’s also not fair to you, Virgil, as you aren’t taking part in the experience.”

 Virgil nodded, his face beet red. Logan frowned, resisting the urge to speak up and not quite sure how to feel about it. Mr. Sanders sighed and crouched down.

 “I apologize for embarrassing you. It wasn’t my intention.”

 “N-no. I know. I didn’t mean to make him do it all… I just kinda got…” He blushed again and looked away, mumbling something that neither Logan or Mr. Sanders could hear. Logan tried his best not to focus on Virgil but rather on Mr. Thomas. He felt a little bad finding blushy red to be quite a fetching color on Virgil, considering the circumstances.

 Thomas looked from Logan to Virgil and for a moment Logan was certain he saw a little smile slip onto his face but when he tried to look more closely, it was gone. Interesting.

 “Well, that’s fine, Virgil. I get it. You guys are talking and you didn’t notice how much he’d done. But now it’s your turn, okay?”

 Virgil nodded. He waited until Mr. Sanders had gone to help someone else before turning to Logan and mouthing ‘what do I do?’.

 Logan laughed to himself, knowing that laughing out loud with Virgil freaking out would not help matters, and reached out a hand to squeeze the other’s shoulder. 

 “It’s okay. You’ve got this. I won’t let you get it wrong,” Logan promised. Virgil smiled and blew his hair out of his eyes. Logan got lost in dark pools of near black for a few moments before his bangs settled once more. He could still see Virgil’s eyes but he suddenly longed to brush his hair back just to look into those eyes once more. 

 Virgil snorted. “My hero.”

 Logan laughed, but smiled. “If that is your wish.”

 Virgil laughed and shoved him playfully. He then took a deep breath and allowed Logan to walk him through the process. He was grabbing one of the chemicals that Logan was passing to him when their hands brushed. 

 It was definitely accidental but they both jumped. Logan laughed softly and Virgil laughed as well. The laughter was different than the normal one they shared, Logan noted. He leaned in a little and offered the chemical bottle once more.

 Virgil took it, their hands not brushing this time. Virgil was still not looking away. Logan would have felt a little insecure under his sharp gaze but he was already looking at Virgil for just as long. He swallowed, unsure of what to do or say.

 Logan knew something was definitely happening here, he just didn’t have a name or a verified set of instructions on how to handle it nor what to do next.

 Virgil leaned in a little closer, his gaze falling to what Logan could only assume was his mouth. Logan swallowed hard again and felt a slight moment of panic. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to kiss Virgil. 

 He wanted that very, very much. He just didn’t want it to be in the middle of Chemistry class surrounded by of a bunch of classmates and Mr. Sanders.

 It had to be his lucky day. 

 A sudden outcry broke whatever spell Virgil was under. He blinked rapidly and blushed completely before laying his arms on his desk and burying his face in his arms. Logan glanced over to see the reason for the commotion. 

 Remus Prince and Janus Noirblanc had, from their story, done everything right and still caused the chemicals to overflow. Mr. Sanders explained once more the importance of writing down the notes rather than doodling during note time, to which Remus and Janus laughed but nodded. 

 The class settled down once more. Logan quickly finished the lab for them, keeping an eye out for Mr. Sanders, before turning to Virgil. 

 “Hey,” he said, tentatively. “Is… is everything okay?”

 Virgil let out a laugh but it definitely didn’t sound happy.

 “I nearly made a fool of myself.”

 “Because kissing me would make a fool of you?”

 Virgil sighed.

 “Well, yeah. You’re just… you and so amazing and great and… ugh, do we have to do this here?”

 Logan glanced at the clock. He raised a brow at the other.

 “Are you going to run from me when the bell rings?” 

 Virgil clears his throat and looks away. “No…”

 “Virgil.”

 “Fine… I won’t… run away…”

 Logan gave a nod of approval. 

 “Then, very well. It can wait.”

 Which made for a very awkward ten minutes but Logan supposed Virgil had a point. Confessing to Virgil in the middle of Chemistry class hadn’t exactly been his own plan either.

 »»————　♞　————««

 Virgil was always nervous but that was nothing like how he felt when he followed Logan out of class. He was quiet and making as little sound as possible, hoping Logan might forget he was supposed to be following somewhere. Still, as he had promised his friend, Virgil did not run.

 Logan led them to a little lounge area. Other people were around, unfortunately in a school as big as theirs it was inevitable, but no one was paying any attention to them.

 Virgil sighed as he took the chair next to the one Logan chose. He turned toward him but raised his hood out of habit. Logan looked at him and Virgil couldn’t resist the urge to look up at him. Their eyes met and Virgil blushed but found he could not look away. 

 “Hey,” Logan said softly, a warm sort of smile on his face. Virgil couldn’t help but smile back gently at such a display of beauty. 

 “Hey… so…”

 “It’s okay… take your time.”

 “Dude, it’s like five minutes between classes. We literally have no time.”

 Hands were suddenly offered to him and Virgil took them without thinking. Logan’s hands were slightly larger than his own and he blushed to see how well they held his. He sighed, shaking the nerves off as much as possible. 

 “We have time and I’ll talk to the Principal or whoever I have to if by some chance we are late.”

 “Yeah, okay… fine. So, yeah… I don’t know… back there, in that moment, I just really wanted to kiss you and…”

 “I wanted to kiss you too, Virgil… just not in the middle of Chemistry class…”

 “Heh, yeah.” Virgil blushed at the admission, feeling butterflies in the bottom of his belly. “It was excellent timing on Remus and Janus’s part.”

 “A little too excellent… but yes.”

 Logan and Virgil laughed, the tenseness from earlier slipping away. 

 “Look… you were correct… we are a little pressed for time…”

 “Duh.”

 Logan laughed and Virgil smiled, pleased with himself. 

 “Why don’t… why don’t we walk home together? I’ll walk you home.”

 “Logan… you live like two miles from me…”

 “Yeah. I’m aware.” 

 Virgil let out a whistle at that and sighed when the warning bell went off to advise students to start heading directly to their classes. 

 “Fine. You can walk me home.”

 “Wonderful.” Logan hesitated before leaning in to press a kiss to Virgil’s cheek. He blushed but smiled happily at Virgil, squeezing his hands. With that, he left Virgil in a bit of a daze. It wasn’t until some loud laughter broke through the fog that Virgil remembered he needed to get to class. 

 Taking off, Virgil smiled to himself. 

 »»————　☠　————««

 Logan had never looked forward to the end of a school day until that day. He wished all his classes would hurry up. He didn’t bother pacing out his work, instead getting the classwork done and waiting as patiently for possible for the class to end. 

 Lunch would have been a nice reprieve but due to being in a few Pre-Advanced Placement courses, the lunch he took was different from that of his friends and of Virgil. 

 He was grateful that his debate class took some of the edge off. He had been due to debate with Remy Lassus but, as Remy’s parents had called him out sick, Remy’s spot had been taken by none other than Janus. 

 The two weren’t exactly friends. Janus was dating Logan’s best friend Roman and they tolerated each other for the most part. In Debate class? Oh, that was another matter entirely. 

 Janus had been able to keep up with Logan for most of the class but Logan caught a weak point in his argument that unravelled the whole thing. In the end, they shook hands but both knew the rivalry was still going strong. 

 With Debate out of the way, Logan just had his teacher aide lesson and he was home free. 

 Free to see Virgil. 

 Free to kiss Virgil… 

 With such a happy thought in his mind, Logan took off for the last period of the day. 

 »»————　♞　————««

 Virgil couldn’t believe he was doing this. Just waiting out at the front of the school for his friend who he had almost kissed in Chemistry. If he were a smart man, he would have headed straight for home after school.

 Well, he’d never told anyone he was smart (but Logan seemed to think he was). For whatever reason, this seemed right, no matter how much his twisting insides seemed to tell him otherwise.

 “Virgil!”

 Virgil’s whole body spun in the direction of Logan’s voice, a smile slipping onto his face as he found the other in the distance, rushing his way.

 “Hey, dork,” Virgil said but his words were soft. His voice was even softer. 

 “Hey, you,” Logan said, wincing at what he had just said. He shook his head as if that would cause his perceived faux pas to disappear. Virgil, however, had found it cute. 

 “So, uh… walking and talking?”

 Logan smiled and nodded. 

 “Thanks for waiting.”

 “Always.”

 Virgil blushed. He’d honestly meant it. Well, as much as a 16 year old boy could mean such things, but the point was, it was true for him. He hadn’t meant to tell Logan as much. He was smiling, however, so maybe him knowing wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

 “Shall we go?”

 Virgil could only nod as he smiled. They started heading in the direction of Virgil’s house when he suddenly wondered if Logan would want to come in. Then became a little worried that his room was messy. Still, his happiness at walking with Logan—being with Logan—outweighed all the worries in the world.

 “Hey, so… thanks. You know, for earlier… talking after…”

 “It was my pleasure,” Logan said, smiling earnestly down at him. Virgil was surprised, suddenly realizing how close in height they were. Yeah, Logan was taller than him but it wasn’t by as much as Virgil had always thought.

 Would make it easier to kiss him~

 Oh, shut up, you-me-argh, just shut up!

 “About that, and what had almost happened before… let me be completely honest with you when I say that had we actually kissed in Chemistry class, I would not have been upset. Far from it…”

 Virgil looked at Logan just as the other was glancing at him. 

 “Really?”

 Logan nodded as they turned a corner into Virgil’s neighborhood.

 “Without question. I would have been bummed about the location and the lack of some level of privacy for such intimate displays, but I would have been very pleased with the kiss.”

 Virgil looked at Logan with wonder, his butterflies returning.

 “So… uh… you like me too then? I mean, you like me back…”

 Logan laughed at that but there was no malice, only fondness.

 “What is it you say… oh, right… duh,”

 Virgil blushed and shoved Logan playfully.

 “Shut up.”

 “You know… I didn’t say this earlier for obvious reasons but you look so cute when you blush.”

 Virgil’s face heated rapidly. “I do not!”

 “Oh, but you do.”

 “Jerk!”

 “I suppose that is warranted, considering my flirtation through teasing.”

 Virgil just laughed at that, shoving his face into his hands for a moment. Logan reached out to guide Virgil to a stop with him. 

 “Virgil… are you okay?”

 Virgil nodded, face still in his hands.

 “Yeah, just… give me a minute.”

 Logan didn’t say anything and Virgil couldn’t see his expression. Instead, Virgil felt Logan's hand rubbing his shoulders as well as he could around the backpack strap. Gradually, Virgil turned toward him. The other seemed to understand because a moment later, Logan was wrapping his arms around him as much as their backpacks would allow.

 Virgil closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of being pressed against the other. He already knew now that Logan liked him. The butterflies in his tummy now had nothing to do with that.

 Virgil really, really wanted to kiss him. 

 Thank God his house was not far from where they were. 

 Virgil pulled away from the other, though he hadn’t really wanted to ever leave his arms. He smiled at Logan and nodded.

 “I’m good now, thanks.”

 Logan nodded, hesitated, and looked forward in the direction they were headed. After a few moments of what Virgil assumed was deliberation, Logan looked at him with a little pink coloring his cheeks.

 “If you would permit me to, I would very much like to hold hands with you.”

 Virgil could see what Logan meant. He looked quite nice with pink cheeks as well. Of course, such a request got Virgil blushing more. Yet it was with no hesitation that he stuck out his hand closest to Logan for the other to take.

 Logan smiled and laced their fingers before they began walking once more. It was a silent agreement that any further talk could wait until they reached Virgil’s house.

 »»————　☠　————««

 Logan marveled at how wonderful it felt, walking with Virgil, the other teen’s hand in his own. Before Virgil, Logan had always wondered at how couples did such things. Now, after Virgil, he wanted all of those things. But with Virgil alone. 

 Virgil was leading them along the route he took home everyday. It was so interesting to experience, especially with the knowledge that Virgil liked him as he liked Virgil. 

 Logan squeezed the other’s hand only for Virgil to squeeze back, looking at him and smiling brightly. A little pink brushed his cheeks and covered the bridge of his nose. 

 How could one person be so mesmerizing?

 “We’re almost there,” Virgil announced. Logan swallowed hard. 

 Almost there. 

 Logan nodded and smiled. The smile felt a little forced, but Virgil smiled back. Logan tried to ignore the sudden nerves he felt and enjoy the walk. 

 Luckily, as soon as they turned the corner, Virgil was pointing out a house two buildings down on the side they were currently on. 

 “There’s my house,” he mumbled and Logan could just smile. 

 “Well, let’s go then.”

 Virgil led him to the house and inside. As soon as he opened the door, a short woman wearing a dress and apron came from what Logan assumed was the kitchen. 

 “My baby’s home!” She looked at Logan. He could see where Virgil got his sharp gaze. He smiled. “And he brought a friend…”

 Virgil cleared his throat.

 “This is Logan… I’ve uh… told you about him… he’s in my Chemistry class… we’re just gonna go up to my room for a bit before Logan goes home… kay now, bye Mom. Love you.”

 “Oh! This is Logan!” Virgil’s mom said, the words finally clicking, but Virgil had already dragged Logan down the hallway and into his room. 

 Closing the door behind him, Virgil sighed. Flicking on the light, he nodded at the bed.

 “Sorry, not a lot of options for seating,” he said with a soft laugh. Logan laughed as well and took the end furthest from the pillows. Virgil soon joined him. 

 “So…”

 “So…” Logan agreed with a little smile. He was silent for a moment more, teasing Virgil just a little, before he continued. “So… let’s go down the list, shall we?”

 Virgil snorted but nodded. Logan offered his hands which Virgil took immediately.

 Smiling, Logan began.

 “We both like each other…”

 “Check.”

 “We both want to kiss each other?”

 “Duh.”

 Logan gave him a look and Virgil rolled his eyes, smiling. 

 “Check.”

 “And am I correct in assuming that we both want… uh… something more? You know…”

 “Are you correct in assuming that we want to be boyfriends?”

 Logan nodded. “That’s better. Yes.”

 “Very check.”

 Logan grinned and Virgil grinned back. 

 Just like it had happened in Chemistry class, Virgil started to shift a little closer. Logan was more than happy to lean in as well. 

 This time, no chemicals overflowed and no one was around. This time, there was no almost.

 Virgil’s lips pressed against Logan’s first but he had definitely not been too far away. Logan hummed happily into the kiss, his eyes closed as he laced his fingers with Virgil’s.

 Logan felt such deep warmth like he had never felt before. He found himself immediately shifting closer to Virgil, as if he were his magnetic opposite. 

 Virgil chuckled into the kiss, soon having to break it. Logan looked at him with confusion and Virgil shook his head. 

 “What’s so funny?” Logan asked, tilting his head. 

 “Sorry, Logan… it’s just. I’m starting to think my mom sent me to public school just to make sure I found happiness… but I don’t really think she expected this. Maybe a favorite class. Maybe a best friend. I doubt a boyfriend was ever on her radar.”

 Logan laughed softly too. 

 “I think she will be happy with whatever happiness you find. And you’ll find many more happinesses… hopefully with me.”

 Virgil smiled. “Well, you haven’t actually asked me out yet.”

 Logan sighed. “Virgil Armitage, will you go out with me?” Though he had sighed, he was smiling by the time he finished.

 Virgil smirked. “Duh.”

 Logan would have groaned but Virgil was kissing him moments after and Logan really didn’t feel the need to stop him as he kissed back.

 A lot had changed in Logan’s life since Virgil entered into it but, as Logan had come to find, sometimes in life there were just some changes that were worth making.

»»————　♞　————««

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Thomas Sanders or Joan, nor the rest of their group. I do not own or make money off of these characters. I only own the story as it is written.

Super uber thanks to my beta reader for this fic @sunshineandteddybears​ and the two that preread my stuff to make sure its up to par: @romantichopelessly & @sunshineandteddybears.

[the-phantom-ender]

Hello folks! This is actually my first Foolish request from ao3! The request was basically just. Foolish overworking himself on the mansion and worrying Ranboo and Tubbo. So I hope you enjoy it!!

Gods did not get sick. So he wasn’t, no way, Foolish was absolutely not sick. And even if he was, which he wasn’t, he was far too busy to care. There was lots of work to be done and no time for downtime! The mansion wouldn’t build itself and only he knew what he was doing. Maybe it was a little picky of him, but he didn’t like having other people build too much for him. There was room for mistakes that way.

He sighed, watching the sun dip under the horizon. It was beautiful, really, all of the sunsets in Snowchester were. It also meant a very rapid temperature drop, though. Part of him wished he could slip back into the interior to work on that. No, though, he’d checked on the roof just in case earlier and realized that he’d managed to completely swap an entire section of it. Which meant he needed to rework that entire thing.

His breath had begun to come out in foggy puffs in front of his face. If he were more relaxed, maybe he’d imagine himself being a great dragon, blowing fire and smoke in front of him. Fire was never really his thing, though. And he was busy, so he shouldn’t be doing anything silly like that. Foolish sighed, looking back at the work at hand. The roof wouldn’t fix itself.

His hands were calloused and raw from the woodwork, he’d had to deal with more splinters than he could count. Of course, he wasn’t too bothered by it! He actually kinda liked the sensation of having rough hands. If he were a warrior, it would be a sign of strength and power. Even if Foolish was no fighter, it was nice getting the perspective of working so hard on something.

Which reminded him. He really did need to get back to working. So he did. Pulling things up and swapping them out in a rehearsed and calculated way. The motions almost blurred together sometimes. It was all very repetitive. That could be nice, sometimes, but it was… tedious, now.

The cold really wasn’t helping, truth be told. His hands were numb, the parts of him that were more… shark-like were chapped and moving slower than they should have been. It was alright, though! Necessary in the long run, so he wasn’t bothered at all. Even if he was shivering and his thoughts were… slightly foggy. That was all alright, he was a busy bee with a lot to do! Ain’t no rest for the wicked, though!

Finally, he finished reworking the roof. His chest felt tight and he took care to double and triple check to make sure it was finished. No more mistakes, right? If there were any more mistakes he’d fix those too, obviously, but he couldn’t have managed to mess up anything else! He didn’t, no, he didn’t. And he made absolutely sure of it.

By the time he’d finished making 100% sure that there were no more flaws in the roofing, the sun was coming up again. It didn’t feel that long since it had gone down, really, but time flew when you were working, he supposed. Foolish had something to focus on and that was all that really mattered.

Now, though, came the issue of getting back down. Something had knocked into his scaffolding, it seemed, while he was on the roof, and it all came down. He sighed. Jumping wasn’t going to work from this height. It was too high up to risk. Maybe he could try for some water, though? He was relatively consistent with it.

…

Foolish woke up in a bed. He did not remember getting there. There was a cold compress on his forehead, he could tell that much. Who had… that was totally unnecessary! He wasn’t- he wasn’t sick and he didn’t need to be taken care of. The sound of gentle chatter filled his ears as he forced one emerald eye open.

Someone entered the room, short, hard to make out- his vision was blurred slightly. “OH HOLY SHIT YOU- you’re not dead! That’s good!”

Yeah, okay, it was Tubbo. Foolish opened his other eye, biting back a curse as his head spun. He pushed himself up against the bed frame, looking around the room. Or, at least, he tried to, until the aforementioned cold compress fell over his eyes. He sighed, tilting his head forward and letting it fall on his lap. The room was… not his! A guest room, maybe? It wasn’t Tubbo’s, at least.

“Ranbooooooo! Foolish is awake!!!!” Foolish scrunched his nose, jeez that kid could be loud.

A few moments passed before the other teen rushed into the room, eyes wide. His expression was laced with worry, and it seemed like he had been running around for a while. Ranboo let out a soft puff of relief upon seeing Foolish, but concern still managed to outweigh it.

“You- you really should take it easy. Uh. I don’t know how high your temperature should run because you’re kinda a god, but Tubbo and I went out to check on things this morning and you were- you were passed out in the snow and you were way more still than I’ve ever seen you and- I am! Rambling. So I’ll stop now.”

Foolish raised an eyebrow. Unconscious in the snow. No, no, that didn’t sound right at all! He couldn’t have been unconscious, that was silly! Oh, who was he kidding? He probably was, they were probably right. For a moment, he opened his mouth to defend himself. There was really nothing to say, though, so he just shut back up without a word.

“How… long had you been working, Foolish?” Ranboo asked after a very long moment of less-than-comfortable silence.

How long had Foolish been working before that point? It… hadn’t been that long, right? He remembered the sun going down and rising again more than once, working and reworking sections until ichor covered his fingertips. How much time had passed since he stopped, when had he last taken more than a momentary break?

Foolish looked around,” Not to take your shtick or anything but… I don’t remember?”

“WHAT?!” Shouted Tubbo, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Foolish…” Ranboo started, eyes trained on the ground,” That’s… really dangerous. You could ha- you did get hurt!”

He shrugged, wincing slightly at the unexpected rush of pain. The fall must have done a number on him, he usually didn’t react much at all to pain. “Eh, I’m kinda a god. Pushing beyond human limits is kinda… what I do.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t still have your limits! You c- you can’t push yourself that far. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have all the same weaknesses as a human, you can still… get hurt.” The half enderman was pacing slightly, his hands knotted together.

Out of the corner of his eye, Foolish saw Tubbo place a hand on his forearm, stilling the nervous teen. It was sweet, those two were always sweet. That was part of why he agreed to build for them, to be honest.

“Look, look, if I like… agree to take it easy, will you calm down?” Foolish sighed, feeling slightly awkward,” I can like… work on room plans and stuff, nothing physical.”

“Or!” Tubbo interjected,” You could take time off! So you don’t pass out in the snow again.”

He groaned. There was that look in Tubbo’s eyes. The kid could be pretty stubborn given the chance and he could tell that there was just about nothing he could do to change his mind. Especially when he got that expression. Foolish tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling.

“Fine, fine. If you insist. I’ll just go back to my summ-” this statement was cut off by him attempting to get out of the bed he was in, only to crumble uselessly to the floor. He let out a frustrated huff, grumbling,” Or maybe not.”

“You can stay here until your health improves…” Ranboo offered tensely,” It won’t be too much trouble. Uh. I’m not always around but I can… clear some time to check up on stuff.”

To be honest: Foolish was not sure what to do here! He was thankful for the help, really, he was. But he didn’t want two stressed teens doting on him. It was embarrassing, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself! The help was appreciated, he figured they were just going by what other people had done for them in the past.

“I can take care of myself, man. You focus on your own stuff. I’ll let myself get back into working order, but you two don’t have to wait on me hand and foot. You’re kids, I’m not gonna make you two take care of an adult, much less an immortal adult.”

He refused to draw attention to how taken aback both boys seemed by this. He refused to draw attention to the way Tubbo looked genuinely confused. This place was unkind to the children, he knew this. They were just kids, he refused to put more on their plate. Besides, Foolish really was more than capable of handling himself. As long as he didn’t force it, he knew he’d recover quickly enough.

… Didn’t stop him from knowing they’d still worry. He’d cross that bridge when they got there.

[sitabethel]

Fic tag game, and I was tagged by @rochelle-echidna, @isisishtar, and @ninjam117

1 - how many fics do you have on ao3?

Like any good Suikoden protagonist, I have 107 Stars of Destiny in my castle

2 - what’s your total word count?

2,445,507 (Daddy...Imma get that to 2.5 mill by the end of the year. Watch)

3 - what are your top fics by kudos?

The Lemonade Stand

Out From the Cold

King of Thieves

Safe

Talk Dirty to me

wtf, y’all. The puppyshippers are giving out more kudos than the thief stans. Shame. Shame. Talk Dirty To Me isn’t even a fic??? It’s an RP supersteff posted for funsies??? 

4 - do you respond to comments why or why not?

Most of the time (as long as I’m not overwhelmed with life). Responding to comments is how I’ve made most my friends in this fandom, so A++ would recommend. 

5 - what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Definitely Three Nights. My only fic w/a sad ending (which is why I wrote Three More Nights b/c I couldn’t handle having a sad ending. I had to fix it.)

6 - what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I honestly couldn’t say. I’m here to have a good time and to make sure all my favs also have a good time, so I’m always actively trying to give them the happiest possible endings. 

7 - do you write crossovers?

Nope.

8 - have you ever received hate for a fic?

I sure the hell have

9 - do you write smut? What kind.

ROTFLMFAO

10 - have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. It was kinda funny b/c out of all the fics, it was “Me” a 5k deathshipping one shot that is one of my least popular works. But like...I don’t really think they were *trying* to steal it so much as homage it? But they were too young and unskilled to know how to rework something properly, so it was almost an exact copy of my fic. I tried to go over it and show them how to rewrite parts in order for it to be more original (Like, you can give YM piercings, just don’t give him the exact same piercings. You can have YM play with his hair/clothes/presentation in order to explore his identity, but pick different things that are more unique and how *you* would imagine YM being as his own person, instead of just copying exactly what I did). 

11 - have you ever had a fic translated?

There’s an Italian version of Storm of White on ao3 (go kudo bomb it!)

12 - have you ever co written a fic before?

Lots! I love colabs <3 The last one I did was Conspire With You, but there was also A Way Home, and I’ve co-written a few things with SuperSteffy. Please support all the other writers who worked hard on these fics with me! (kudo-bomb the hell out of them)

13 - what’s your all time favorite ship?

*Cries in polyamory* 

I can’t...choose one. Thiefshipping and Deathshipping were my first favorites, but like...damn, Kingshipping and Trapshipping have honestly ruined me. And Arrestshipping...Euroshipping...Rustshipping...Boundshipping...LISTEN!!! If it’s any combination of Seto/Atem/Yugi/TKB-YB/Ryou B/YamiMa/Malik it’s my favorite, okay? I’m a dragon who hoards ships. Especially polyships. I will literally froth at the mouth at any combo of those 7. Now let’s move on to the next question before I add more characters to the list........

14 - what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

That demon/angel au I was working on years and years ago. A shame, since I think there was a lemon that spilled into 3 chapters in that and it’s what Bakura deserves, but the plot was just...meh. 

15/16 - writing strengths and weaknesses

Strengths: Dialogue, sometimes imagery, projecting the right trauma/personality traits on the right characters in a way that can make scenes relatable/authentic. 

Weaknesses: I can be lazy with some plot points b/c it’s fanfiction, and I’m only here to have a good time, so eff it. And I will absolutely “sum up” certain chapters in order to finish a story at 80% potential. Anons used to get on my ass about this, and some commenters too, but I refuse to repent of my hasty ways. I write a lot of stories, and sometimes it’s better to get 3 80% stories out instead of one 100% story (for me. absolutely nothing wrong with ppl who want to write their best all the time. Like, mad respect to those peeps). Anyway, the ppl who complain are 100% accurate, right, and valid, but again, If you call me out on this I’ll just shrug at you and remind you of my commission prices b/c I’ll be happy to personally tailor a story for any angry anon-- if they want to put their money where their critique is *blows kiss*

17 - what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Depends on the context and how it’s used. 

18 - what was your first fandom you wrote for?

FFVII, but I never posted any of it thank god

19- what’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I honestly love so many of my stories. I honestly re-read my own stuff all the time for comfort/self-care. I especially love a lot of the more intense, emotional pwp one-shots. It’s extremely difficult to pick one, but let’s go with humor and link 

Measuring Up 

Gotta love Bakura’s monster **** And the interaction involved with writing that story made it so much more fun. I really miss the days where you could slap a vote on tumblr and get a lot of responses, and dammit I miss Abby throwing random things into my ask box (like Bakura’s monster ****) 

Not going to tag anyone, since so many ppl are in the same little thiefshipping circle and I’d probably just accidentally tag a lot of ppl who have been tagged by others already. 

[irondadbigbang]

IronDad Big Bang 2019 Masterlist

Masterlist below the cut! Or read on AO3.

Baby Bird by WhimsicalEthnographies @whimsicalethnographies

Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab. He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock. And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.

art by ulzyuu

Castle on a Cloud by CaptainStarSong @captainstarsong

“How the Hell am I supposed to help some kid when half the time my own life is crashing and burning,” Tony asked, incredulous that Fury was thinking that he could possibly take care of some little boy that he didn’t even know. There was a reason why Tony’s life was practically always falling a part, why the closest people around him either died or left him. It wouldn’t be fair to bring some kid into the mix of his crazy life, especially after Afghanistan. 

Fury took a deep breath as looked at Tony with a hint of pity. “Because, Tony, his name is Peter and he’s your son.” 

Or in which SHIELD finds a young and hurt Peter after raiding a HYDRA base, and Tony must learn how to become the father Peter needs.

art by eve-valution

Casualty of the Darkness by kianisabitch @kianisabitch

Peter remembers when they used to cuddle or simply curl up together and listen to each other’s heartbeats. They used to be the perfect couple. Alex would bring him milkshakes when he had a bad day, he always came to Peter’s science fairs and he even let the boy sleep over at his house whenever May had a night shift at the hospital (which was more often than not at this point due to a single paycheck never being enough to support their small family). But slowly, Alex stopped doing those thing. It started with him forgetting to bring Peter milkshakes when his eyes were red rimmed or anxiety attacks shook through his bed like a hurricane, but quickly morphed into daily insults and verbal abuse and then backhands to the face when he was angry or hands grabbing him too hard and finally the violent sex he was now so used to. Sometimes he missed how their relationship used to be. But the good times were a thing of the past and there was no use mourning what he no longer had. 

OR 

Peter is stuck in a highly abusive situation and Tony starts uncovering the truth in order to save the spiraling teenager.

Damaged At Best (Like You’re Already Figured Out) by JolinarJackson @jolinarjackson

”Don’t come any closer,” Spider-Man said, his hand raised threateningly, his fingers resting against a trigger mechanism nestled into his palm. 

”Alright,” Tony answered. For a moment, they looked at each other – Tony stuck to the wall on one side of the alley and Spider-Man stuck to the other – then Tony opened his helmet to show his face. 

”Hey, there”, he said. ”Nice to finally meet you.” 

— 

The Avengers are left shaken in the aftermath of the Sokovia Accords. With half the team under house arrest at the Compound, Tony finds himself seeking refuge in Avengers Tower and starts forming a tentative friendship with the neighborhood vigilante Spider-Man. A friendship which is quickly threatened by Secretary Ross doubting Spider-Man’s intentions and integrity. 

Tony is left wondering who to trust, especially when Spider-Man manages to uncover the one secret Tony never wanted anyone to know about: the child Tony had with a woman named Mary Fitzpatrick sixteen years ago.

art by @shoyzz-art

Dreams Like Ashes by Captainkirkmccoy @captainkirkmccoy

Tony Stark may not know the danger he’s unleashing on himself, his team and his kid by reworking the old plans for the PASIV/Dream sharing project his father sold to the military, but he does have the best intentions. Irondad Big Bang.

How The Mighty Fall by Meep_Morp @gayspiderboy

Since his duel against Toomes on Coney Island, Peter’s life has settled down considerably. May knows about his double life and accepts it (mostly). Tony has welcomed him back, and given him more independence as New York’s Spider-Man. 

One night during patrol he crosses paths with Connor, a teenager who has Extremis in his blood and answers to the wrong kind of people. Though Tony is quick to distrust him, Peter finds himself reluctant to follow his mentor’s lead, and a bond develops between the two boys. Their relationship is further complicated when Connor’s former master, Negative, makes it a personal mission to destroy them both in his quest for power. 

Taking down a superpowered psychopath? Tough, but Peter isn’t going to back down. 

Stopping Tony from blasting his first potential boyfriend into space? He might need a miracle for that.

If You Could See Me Now by geekymoviemom @geekymoviemom

New York City is bracing itself for the worst hurricane to hit in over thirty years, and the kid isn’t back yet. 

Light by funnygirlthatbelle13 @funnygirlthatbelle

Tony Stark has given up. While the other heroes are in Wakanda trying to figure out a plan, he drinks to forget in New York. But when he discovers tickets to Next to Normal; a rock musical about mental illness, grief, the misuse and abuse of drugs, and parents recovering after the death of their child; that he and Peter had bought, he is forced to face his worst fears all over, and learn that, despite everything he’s been through, there may still be light.

Look Over Your Shoulder, I’ll Be There by Colourcodedbinders @colourcodedbinders

It starts as a simple enough gag: see how long he can manage to keep sneaking into Avengers Tower with his friends before Tony Stark notices. But when an unexpected gaggle of men wearing identical ugly navy blue suits and driving around in equally hideous blue cars join the mix, controlled by a guy with horrific fashion sense and the strength of twenty pumas, Peter has to suit up and do what he does best: superhero the hell out of it. 

And if it ends up being the hardest, scariest, most unplanned thing he’s ever had to do? Well then that’s no one’s business but his. (And Tony’s. Definitely also Tony’s.)

Radioactive by Emily_F6 @justme--emily

Things haven’t always been great between Tony Stark and his son. He wasn’t ready to become a father…didn’t even know he had a son until the boy’s mother died. Over time, though, he thought he got the hang of it. But that was before his son went on a field trip to Oscorp and was seemingly left fighting for his life.

Sea Spider by Bean_reads_fanfic @the-reverse-mermaid

“Tell me I’m not the only one seeing this,” Tony prompts, gesturing to their catch. 

It’s a kid. A teenager, by the looks of him, no more than 15 or 16, with curling brown hair plastered over his forehead and eyes. He lays there prone on his side, covered in cuts- some shallow, some deep, all of them most likely caused by the barbs on the fishnet. Tony can just make out blood matted on the back of his head- he probably hit it on the side of the boat and got himself knocked out. Clinging to his torso is a soaked, faded t-shirt and below that… 

…below that, his lower body is a tail. A full-on fish tail. 

(Mer!Peter AU)

Sometimes, a Family Is by CrystalRoza19 & NeonCrayons

Sometimes a family is comprised of you, your recently divorced dad, an unruly group of teenagers and a semi-unemployed former world-class neurosurgeon… 

Peter Stark hoped that moving back to the city would help his father get passed all the struggles and animosity that plagued him after his divorce. What he hadn’t thought to hope for was a way for his father to move on; he’d always had a hard time letting people go, after all. 

Stephen Strange was everything Steve Rogers was not. Maybe he could be everything Tony Stark needed to heal his broken heart. Throw in an unruly group of teenagers and you have yourself a family.

turn back the clock (and I’ll try again in the morning) by madasthesea @madasthesea

Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through. 

And if that isn’t bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

art by @the-reverse-mermaid & starlight-sparks

VERENDUS by Lorein_nur 

New York 1935, Trish Parker was on her way to deliver a letter when all hell broke loose on the busy streets. Due to fates twisted sense of humor she found herself caught in the middle of a mafia disspute, if a stray bullet doesn’t kill her May sure as hell would.

art by @hereandnowwearealive

We’ve Made It This Far, Kid by EmAndFandems @jlmarch

Tony’s just trying to protect the kid from SHIELD. Why does everything have to be so hard? 

Meanwhile, Peter’s biggest problem is buying movie tickets, until he gets a harsh awakening.

[scintillating-galaxias]

all the time in the world

(read it here on ao3! sorry for the double post of this, i’ll delete the other one now that this one is properly up :,)

-

Perceptor suppresses a yawn as he watches Brainstorm's servos fly over the keyboard to their command console. Perceptor had finished his own tasks long ago, and although he's spent many nights alone in berth while Brainstorm continued to work, he refuses to let him stay here again. So he quietly waits from the doorway, watching his partner's as he hunches over the console. He can tell his partner is tired because instead of being a fluttering blur, Perceptor can actually make out the individual digits of Brainstorm's hand with shocking clarity. Other than the rapid-fire tak-tak-tak of the keys, their lab is almost entirely silent.

It's unnatural for quiet and Brainstorm to exist in the same instance of space. Where one exists, the other does not. But his usual muttering and noisy methods of working had ceased long ago, snuffed out by frustration. Now his work is punctuated only by sharper sounding stabs at the keys or huffs of dissatisfaction. Usually, there's something to be said for when Brainstorm's so focused on his work he forgoes his usual ruckus. It's like his intensity is so compelling, it demands every drop of attention from absolutely everything in the room. Perceptor himself is no less affected by this phenomenon, willingly drawn in by the enigma that is Brainstorm. But knowing it's only happening now purely because he's so exhausted somewhat dampens that fierce swell of adoration.

For the fifth time that night, Perceptor calls, "Brainstorm, please come to berth."

"I've almost got it," comes the predicted response. "Jus' one more test. Last one, I swear."

"You said that seven trials ago."

"Funny how that works out," mutters Brainstorm. But he still doesn't move. After a moment, Perceptor sighs and crosses the room to slot himself right beside Brainstorm. One arm loosely wraps itself around Brainstorm's, and the other loops around his middle. Brainstorm stiffens for a moment, then with one long, hissing exvent, sinks against Perceptor.

"I hate being smart," he moans.

"That's a first for you."

"I can't get my stupid processor to shut up about this thing. I need it to work so I can fraggin' recharge, but I keep messing up 'cause I'm tired." He huffs and throws up throws up the arm not being held by Perceptor exasperatedly. "I just don't get it. I was doing great a few hours ago, and then I just—fizzled out. Blanked. Totally blanked. I don't 'fizzle out,' Percy! I don't 'blank!'"

"You do when you overwork your systems for cycles on end," Perceptor chides gently.

"Eh, I've done worse for longer. You shoulda seen me P.T.S."

"P.T.S.?"

"Pre-timecase success. It's a working title. You would've had a conniption."

"That's not better. You understand that's not any better, right?"

Brainstorm shrugs and resumes typing. Perceptor idly examines the complicated equations and diagrams on the screen. Brainstorm's latest project involved a new form of teleportation technology that, hypothetically, would completely rework the field of space-time travel. Only, right now, it's only capable of spitting out distorted and completely unusable drinking cubes in different places in their lab. Hundreds of them fill the disposal bin in the back. A few more spill onto the floor. Perceptor has one on his desk that vaguely resembles a bit of waste left by alloygator labeled "NW-BS-TST238." It holds approximately a single mouthful of energon and is simultaneously one of Perceptor's most useless and most dear possessions.

"You're working yourself beyond efficiency," Perceptor hums, bumping his helm against Brainstorm's. "You can only go for so long before your efforts begin to go against themselves. You need to recharge."

Brainstorm's arms strain slightly towards the console. Perceptor squeezes him a little bit tighter in response. "I can't stop now," he says reluctantly. "I really have something going here and if I—"

"And you'll think of something even better tomorrow," Perceptor says, unwinding his arm from Brainstorm's to instead thread his digits in between his to hold his servo in the same loose grip. "You always try to make things better. You don't settle for enough. That is only a small fraction of what makes you extraordinary." He presses a soft kiss to the side of Brainstorm's helm. "But that doesn't mean you can completely omit recharging as a necessity for your function. Come."

"Maybe that's what I should work on next," Brainstorm says half-jokingly. Perceptor shoots him a flat glare. "Kidding. I couldn't give up coming online beside you anymore."

Perceptor's monocle fogs up a bit with how quickly his faceplates heat. "Well," he says as diligently as he can, "we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Pit, no." Brainstorm finally lifts his servos away from the keyboard. "You're right, though. I'm probably gonna end up deleting everything here tomorrow anyway."

He hits "save" and steps away from the console. Or, he at least tries to. Perceptor suspects Brainstorm somehow forgot someone was holding on to him because he stumbles right over Perceptor's pede and only stays upright because of Perceptor's hand on his waist. "Huh," he mumbles.

"Tired, are we?"

"You can't prove anything."

Perceptor chuckles as he gently begins to lead Brainstorm out of the lab and guides them down the darkened hallway to their shared suite. Now that he's out of the lab, Brainstorm seems completely unable to halt the exhaustion washing over him. He falls silent once again, concentrating on placing one pede in front of the other. Perceptor is still practically carrying him by the time they reach the door to their hab suite.

As he enters the code to their suite, Perceptor asks, "I wasn't aware of any upcoming expos."

"Nah, 's a personal project." Brainstorm furrows his browridge slightly. "I think I kinda hate not having a deadline. Back in our original universe, there was always something that necessess—nessess—" He yawns. "Ugh. Required a schedule. Something to work for. A mission, or some weird new way someone got hurt, or, hell, Whirl getting bored. And now... Yeah. There isn't one now, and that's weird, so I gave myself one. Don't get me wrong," he adds hastily. "I love being here, being with you. Infinite universes? Frag yeah! I just haven't... adjusted." "I think I understand."

The door opens. Perceptor steps into the room and carefully maneuvers Brainstorm into the berth first. Everything about him screams fatigue. His biolights are practically pink with how weak they are; Perceptor is the one to move his drooping wings out of the way when Brainstorm can't even summon the energy to do it himself; his field is feeble and fluttery. Perceptor tsks and moves to plug Brainstorm in, only to frown when he sees the dismaying low numbers on the readout attached to their berth. System failure surely would have been imminent if Brainstorm had spent even one more cycle without recharge.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Worrying you. I don't mean to."

Perceptor smiles as he sits down on the edge of the berth. "I know you don't," he says quietly, stroking Brainstorm's wing with a light touch.

"Good."

Perceptor plugs himself in, then goes to lay down right up against Brainstorm, who sleepily shifts his arm enough to allow Perceptor to nestle in close to his chest. Like most fliers, Brainstorm runs warm, and Perceptor can't resist nudging around their limbs a bit to maximize their contact. Judging by Brainstorm's happy sigh, he doesn't mind the arrangement either.

They share a few long, slow vent cycles together.

"It's incredible, really," Perceptor says.

"What is?" "That we're... free. From our planet. Our old lives. The war. Everything." Brainstorm doesn't answer right away. Perceptor wonders if he's finally fallen into recharge. His field is still enough to make him think so. But after a moment, Brainstorm says with a voice fuzzy with sleep, "Never really thought about it." "We can finally create without fear driving us, or anger, or revenge. We can invent not because of mortal peril, but for our own satisfaction. Your very existence was created for the name of the war. Mine, perhaps less literally so, but most of my function was still spent with the Wreckers or inventing the next biggest weapon, our newest shield, the best way to mobilize ourselves to fight or to run." "But that was then." "That was then," Perceptor agrees softly. "This is now. There's no need to run. There's no need to fight. There's a new purpose for us in this universe." He kisses Brainstorm's chest plate, right over his spark, and smiles when he feels Brainstorm's frame rumble happily beneath his lips. "And we have all the time in the world to find it."

[blarrghe]

The Merrill Sessions: Ch. 3

Another chapter of this theraputic character study fic. A day spent with Varric. Read it on AO3!

--

Varric struts out into the Lowtown marketplace like he owns it, because he does. At least some of it. He's got investments in at least three shipping companies, and probably some contracts with a fence or two that need reviewing. People recognize him when he walks by, either because they're regulars at the Hanged Man or because he owes them money, but either way he gives each face that stops to look up at him a tip of his hat and a confident little nod.

He makes his way over to the collection of produce stands, all of which look a little dingy and smell a little rotten, and scans the crowd.

She's easy to spot, a dark shock of bead-decorated hair contrasting against tawny, boldly tattooed skin, leaning her face in close to inspect something that's a little too lumpy and beige to be a pear, and he shoulders through the crowd toward her.

“Hey there, Daisy.” He says, rocking up beside her as she passes the fruit vendor a copper coin for the lumpy...probably pear. Maybe turnip. He isn't sure if a turnip is a fruit. Either way, if she's paying a whole copper for it, she should at least get two, and he says so before he says anything else, leveling a shrewd eye against the fruit vendor until Merril is passed another one.

She smiles at him as she places the produce carefully into her basket, and he takes her arm by the elbow. 

"Glad to see you made it." He teases, and immediately he has to pause to pull Merrill back from stepping into the road and getting bowled over by a courier. "You remember your list?"

Merrill nods and reaches into her basket. "Here, everything I need for the stew." She proclaims, producing a wrinkled scrap of paper lined with her tiny, messy handwriting. Varric squints at it. Vegetables, spices, some cuts of meat, nothing too extravagant. But she's added in notes, in her longhand way, alternatives to buy if the right ingredients can’t be found, directions to remind herself of where each stall is that rely on things like "next to the stand run by the red-haired dwarf" and "second street after Hanged Man" to be followed. Pears, he notices, aren't anywhere on it.

"Alright." He says, "what have you got?"

"Two pears, six sweet potatoes, green yarn, and a pair of wool socks." She says proudly.

"From the list, Daisy."

"Oh!"

Varric shakes his head and sighs.

“Well the socks are for you, anyway.” Merril says, fishing them out of her impossible, probably enchanted basket and holding them out with a smile.

He takes the socks, used to random gifts from Merrill by now, but not entirely sure what he's done to deserve them. They're thick, and bright green, and will probably stretch halfway up his calves. He raises an eyebrow and looks up at her with a curious smile.

"It's getting cold out, and I know your socks are all wearing too thin. Your feet will rub and get blisters and smell even worse." She remarks in her usual way, dropping the insulting tidbit like an innocent fact. She does know, of course, exactly what she's said; she's not overly fond of sarcasm, but she's taken to the concept of "messing" with people with delight. 

He chuckles and stuffs the things into his own bag, though they're so absurdly fluffy that they still stick out a bit. They will, undoubtedly, prove an invaluable gift when the snows really do hit.

“Come on Daisy,” He tugs her by the elbow, leading her in the exact opposite direction of the one that she had started off in, “let’s get you groceries.”

He takes Merrill’s list and in a moment has calculated a route through the marketplace that will see her stocked with optimal efficiency. Merrill perches by his shoulder as he guides her around and does most of the talking, passing from stall to stall collecting produce and collecting on favours to lower the prices. Merrill tells him which vegetables are ripe, which cuts of meat are the best butchered, and when she starts down one of those rambling lines of fretting she does over the spices, he scoops them all up before she can finish her conversation with herself. 

“Well, the nutmeg is expensive, and I don’t really need it for the recipe, but it is traditional… I suppose if I bought some I could use it with the pears as well, oh but then I should be getting fresh ginger, not dried, and that’s more expensive too. Maybe I could use it with the sweet potatoes too, to make it worthwhile, but then that’s more sugar and --” 

Varric drops a large horn of ginger and a paper-bagged collection of the nuts into her basket, along with several bunches of leaves she didn’t ask for and a sugarloaf, tossing a few of his own coins over to the vendor before Merrill can finish reworking her menu. 

“Varric!” She protests, not catching what he’s done until the weight of the sugar tugs at her shoulder, and he pulls her along to the next stand without looking back, though Merrill does, guiltily. “Those were expensive!” 

She sounds concerned about it, which makes him a little sad. She’s always concerned when people dote on her, and it’s a damn waste of time; people don’t dote around Kirkwall very often. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, because he’s trying to coach her into just saying thank you when they do. 

“I didn’t need all that.” She doesn’t get the hint, and she’s still looking back, neck careening around to glimpse the stall through the crowds, no doubt debating if she should spring from his arm and attempt to return half the spices. He shrugs and gives Merrill’s arm a gentle pat. 

“Were they? Seemed like a bargain to me.” He keeps a good eye on his money, but he hasn’t troubled about how much of it he spends on items of taste for years. “You know I can’t cook for shit, Daisy. Bring me an extra plate of whatever you make, and we’ll call it even.” He winks. 

Most of his relationships are transactional, and he keeps a sort of running tab with even his closest friends, though for them the deals tend to be rigged in their favour. Blondie owes him a drink because he lost more than he had the last time they played cards, Rivaini owes him a new hat because she’s stolen half of his, and they look better on her, Hawke owes him a story, the next time she’s up for it. Merrill doesn’t owe him anything, she’d bring him an extra plate anyway, but he throws her the line to make her feel better. 

“I will!” She says enthusiastically, “I’ll bake you a whole pie!” 

Varric chuckles, wondering what he’s gotten himself into. “In that case we’ll need ale,” he declares, “good, strong, dark ale; nothing goes better with pie.” 

Merrill giggles, and he leads her through the marketplace towards the docks, where his favourite smugglers should be unloading barrels of the stuff. 

Her basket is full, and probably heavy, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she hops along beside him. She’s stronger than she looks, and probably stronger too than the vagrants leering out at them from the alleyways, though not as perceptive as she should be. He glares away the potential muggers and she is none the wiser, and before long he’s helping her unload more things than should rightly have fit into her bag, back in her little kitchen. 

Merrill sighs happily, hands on her hips as she surveys her newly-organized array of spices. “Thank you so much Varric, I’d never have gotten all that done in one trip; I always forget something.” She turns, smiling, and then her eyes land on her desk and she shouts “oh!”, because she has forgotten something. Varric chuckles.

Read the rest on AO3!

[camomills]

Title: Old Souls Relationships: Sinon/Lisbeth; Sinon & Agil Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 1767 Summary: Sinon realizes she is allowing others to become closer to her, and that scares her. A conversation with an older friend might help assuage her fears. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 1: Small Steps. This is a reworked draft from last year's SAO Pride Week that I turned into some Sinon/Lisbeth, mostly Sinon-centric. I also just really wanted to do something with Agil because I think he's a fun character, and I personally think his wise demeanor makes him a nice character to bounce off the younger cast.Thanks to redbluezero for beta reading!

AO3 Link

-

The smell of coffee has always been one of Shino’s favorites. It reminds her of rainy days spent in the company of a book in her favorite bookshop, staring mindlessly at the steam as she waited until her drink cooled. It’s no wonder Dicey Café became one of her dearest places.

“Here’s your order!”

The company might have something to do with it, too.

“This one’s on the house,” Rika declares as she sets the cup on the counter, then winks.

From behind her, she hears someone clear their throat.

She slowly turns to meet Agil’s gaze, and sure enough, he’s scowling at her. The grip on the glass he’s drying has turned vice-like.

“That one’s on your salary.”

“Agil, c’mon! Let me be cool!”

They bicker for a short minute, Rika being cheeky whereas Agil is composed. The tone of the discussion is more akin to foolish banter between friends than a squabble between a boss and his employee, so Shino allows herself to laugh at it. 

Rika’s shift soon ends and she heads to the ladies’ room to change. As per usual these days, Shino waits for her so they can keep company to one another on the train ride back home. 

*

Yesterday’s commute was much like any other.

The train car shook and rattled against the steel and gravel tracks as the whirls of metal and the passengers’ chatter filled the compartment. The two girls partook in idle chatter, holding onto the same metal pole to keep their balance inside the box car. Shino’s proximity to Rika allowed the girl to filter the blacksmith’s words through the fog of sound.

Shino’s hands scraped against Rika’s on each stop. 

“So, so,” Rika continued telling excitedly, “he destroyed the best sword in my shop! My masterpiece, turned to smithereens.”

Shino let out a horrified gasp in jest.

“Oh, my. I lost my dear Hecate’s scope trying to help him out in BoB. I wonder if we’re liable for some sort of compensation?”

The two nodded in tandem over their two-person class-action lawsuit plans. They broke the comical act when the train stopped at the next station a bit too roughly, bumping them into each other. They couldn’t contain their chuckles at their own silliness.

“Ah, next one’s my stop,” Rika announced.

Shino knew. They’d been sharing this commute for a while. 

“I’ll be seeing you then. Until next time, Rika.”

Shino expected Rika to leave as the train doors opened, but she approached Shino instead. Rika’s arms bundled around Shino’s frame.

It’s a moment that allowed Shino to take note of a small list of Rika Things. Rika is only taller than her by a few inches, but it’s enough that it allowed her chin to rest on Rika’s shoulder slightly. The fake fur on Rika’s coat bristled against Shino’s nose, gentle and irritating— much like Rika herself, she thought. The pressure at the shorter girl’s back where Rika’s slender fingers intertwined was rough, yet fond.

A wave of warmth radiated through Shino’s body. She weakly squeezed Rika back.

“Until next time!” Rika said as she uncoiled her arms from around the other girl. 

She beamed at Shino before hopping through the train doors, waving as she exited at the station. 

That was the first time Rika had ever hugged her. 

Shino’s body wanted to feel elated, but her brain didn’t allow it; the affection in Rika’s gesture got muddled in her spiral of guilty thoughts. Since when did she allow people to get so close? 

Since when did I let myself want that?

The rest of her commute was spent staring out the cart’s window, hoping that the train’s AC would manage to cool down her emotions before long.

**

As the bathroom door slams shut, Agil rests his arms on the counter and leans against it, a hand sitting upon his bald head.

“Can you believe her? I offered her this part-time job because I knew it’d help her with college, but...” He throws his hands out, his fondness for Lis peeking through a smile fighting his scowl. “You know?”

Mm-hmm, Shino nods empathically, as she’s wont to do with Agil. The company that lures her in here, of course, includes both of the bartenders.

She had grown to care for all of her new friends, but she was caught by surprise at how much she related to Agil, of all people. He is the oldest in their merry band of players, by far, and despite that– no, because of that, they got along.

People her age, throughout most of her experience, were uncaring at best and cruel at worst. The adults around her, dry as they could be, served as the closest to good company she had growing up. There’s a bitter taste in her mouth as Shino realizes she’s grown more proficient in talking to adults due to the past cruelty of all the people her age in her life up until very recently. Thankfully, it’s easy enough to wash it down with the sweetness of the cappuccino Rika had mischievously handed her.

Agil, on the other hand, appreciates having a regular other than Asuna with whom he could default to intellectual conversation and wouldn’t call his establishment, ‘a dump’. How did Kirito manage to rope even Silica into it?

As their conversation strays away from Lisbeth’s demeanor, they fall to their more usual topics: Shino asks about how he manages to do latte art so perfectly every time and he asks if she finally reached the fourth chapter of the book he lent to her a couple of days ago. One “final” plea for him to try out Gun Gale, and his unacceptable excuse that he doesn’t have the time.

Mundane topics like that are their speed, but for once,  Shino has something less mundane in her mind. There’s something in that space, with the gentle ambiance music and the calming presence of a wiser friend, that brings her to feel that Agil is the right person, at that time, for those thoughts.

“I think I like Lis,” she professes like a secret she wished wasn’t true. It doesn’t seem to be the meat of what she has to say, judging from the way her jaw clenches.

Agil simply hums. He’d rather talk about latte art.

“Yeah, I figured. I mean, you really started coming here more often once she started working here.” 

He laughs, a wry, good-natured sound, hard to define between his fondness for the girls and his apathy for the topic.

“I mean… yes. But that’s not the point. How do I…”

 Shino gulps. Her gaze turns to the counter in front of her, where her hands lie. She fiddles with her fingers, watching as her thumbs graze each other through their rotations; staring at them without thinking about the words she’s about to say, are the only way she manages to go through it.

“I guess…  I don’t know if I remember how to be around people. Or if it’s... right, for me to be around people?”

She remembers what those hands did; the cold of steel and the heat of gunfire, the maroon of splattered blood and the gray of post office tiles.

Is it okay for a broken person like me…?

Agil would be lying if he said he’s particularly interested in involving himself in the romantic squabbles of teenagers. The other aspect of her plea, though, is something he’s unfortunately familiar with. He ponders, his face a mix of sagely and worried, as the soft thudding of her trembling hands are barely drowned out by the bar’s blues music.

“I was worried, too, back when I had to come back to my life after SAO.”

Shino raises her gaze to Agil’s eyes. 

“I mean, it's not the same thing, but… it’s hard being around people who judge you for what you went through, and trying to make connections when everyone thinks you’re screwed in the head is a pain in the ass. ‘The game where those freaks killed each other.’ ‘The murderer girl’.”

Agil knows what Shino did. Shino told all of them, eventually. 

“But everyone who spent those two years in the flying castle went through a lot of things they shouldn't have had to, and probably did some things they regret. To others. To themselves. I did, Kirito and Asuna did, and so did Rika. We talk about it…” 

His eyes turn to the ladies’ room’s door, where Rika is changing. He decides her past is not his to divulge.

“Uh. I guess all I’m trying to say is that you’re friends with people who get it, because none of us are sure it’ll ever be okay with people. So, we just stick together. I doubt Rika minds… whatever it is you're worried about? I think people like us have little besides each other.”

The last bit sticks with Shino. As she chews on the words once more, she stares at her hands. The weight they carry is impossibly heavy, but if what Agil says is true, then that means others, too, carry the same burden. 

Her trembling ceases.

He pauses. “Or something?” 

He’s not sure how much sense he is making. 

“I’m not sure how much sense I’m making.”

That gets a chuckle out of her, and that’s good enough for him.

*

Rika exits the bathroom, her former bartender-y, formal-ish ponytail from a few minutes ago undone into a mess of brown hair. Her lack of an apron reveals the cute hammer patterns on her graphic shirt.

"Are you two nerds done talking about nerd stuff?" She says, as if not just as much of one.

Agil and Shino roll their eyes.

"Yeah, we’re done with our nerd stuff."

Rika starts sliding her arm into her jacket, then turns to Shino. “Sweet. Are you ready to go then?”

Shino looks at Agil, who simply offers her a friendly wave and a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

*

The two girls walk off together to the train station. The empty night streets give them quiet, with little to focus on other than the sound of boots hitting pavement, the cold breeze, and each other. It’s then when, bashful yet confident, Shino tries to interlock her fingers with Rika’s.

Rika squeezes her hand in return, rough yet fond. 

As Rika wordlessly taps her fingers on Shino’s knuckles, Shino realizes that Agil was right. There’s no way that those hands, fitting so perfectly together, were meant to be apart. Perhaps such heavy hands have no other pairs but each other, and that is fine.

[echo-bleu]

Mud Stains

This isn’t a new fic, I posted it on AO3 during Whumptober, but I recently got a comment on it and went to reread it, and I decided I should post it here too. Heed the warnings, it’s dark.

Stains (1/5)

[torture, graphic violence, kidnapping, prison, violent deaths/killing, loss of control, serious injuries, blood]

Michael frowns at his ringing phone when he sees Valenti's name as the caller ID. He only has Valenti's number saved in his phone because Isobel made him, since Valenti is the only doctor they have in case of an emergency, but they've never even texted each other.

“What?” he asks brusquely as he picks up the call.

“Is Alex with you?” Valenti asks, sounding worried. “I can't reach him.”

“No, we haven't spoken since last night,” Michael answers. They're taking their relationship slow, since the mess with Maria. They're trying to date and actually talk, in the middle of the government conspiracy craziness, and one of their rules is no using sex to avoid talking. That means that they avoid staying overnight at each other's place. “Why ? What's wrong ?”

“I don't know, something's not adding up,” Valenti says. “He was supposed to be at the bunker an hour ago, and his phone goes straight to voicemail. And we have a huge problem.”

“What is it?”

“Jesse Manes escaped the hospital sometime yesterday, probably early morning. It was my day off, the first time I haven't checked on him in five weeks, and he somehow woke up enough to walk out and disappear.”

“Shit!” Michael exclaims. “Does Alex know?”

“Not yet. That's why I'm worried. I'm on my way to his place, but you're closer. Meet me there?”

Michael stands up and starts putting on his boots one-handed, the other holding his phone to his ear. “Yeah, leaving now,” he says.

“Thanks,” Valenti says before hanging up.

Michael makes it to Alex's cabin in record time. He tried to call Alex's phone twice on the way, but there's no answer. By the time he pulls up in the driveway, he's so worried his knuckles are white from gripping the wheel.

Things have been quiet for a while, which just made Michael wait for the other shoe to drop. Nothing in his life has ever been easy, so why would it start now?

They're still grieving for Max, though they've all given up hope of reviving him. He was too far gone by the time Liz managed to get him to his pod, and nothing they've tried has worked. They haven't held a funeral yet, but even Isobel has accepted that it's over.

The grief has been brutal. Where Liz obsessed over bringing Max back, working days and nights in her lab, and Isobel isolated herself from everyone and slept fifteen hours a day, Michael took a downward slope into self-destruction, chucking down tequila and acetone by the bottle, destroying what was left of his relationship with Alex to casually sleep with Maria and breaking both of their hearts over and over. He's come out of it now, mostly, even though Maria won't talk to him and Alex is still tentative and guarded. But things are looking up−and that's exactly why it couldn't go on.

That's why Michael knows long before he sees the signs of a fight in Alex's cabin that Jesse Manes made it here before he did.

There are mud tracks all over the floor in front of the cabin, as if someone drove all the way up here and then sped off. It's probably what happened, Michael thinks when he sees the door hanging off its hinges, wide open. The whole room inside looks like a hurricane has been through it. The couch is overturned, and the coffee table broken to pieces.

“What the hell?” Valenti murmurs when he joins Michael to look at the wreckage.

“Alex put up a fight,” Michael says. “But his father definitely wasn't alone. They're gone.”

 Alex lets himself slide down to the floor as the Airman pushes him into the cell. There's little else he can do. The shackles don't let him lie down fully, so he has to curl up on himself, the chains linking his wrists and ankles clicking as he moves.

The cell doesn't have a window, but at least a day has passed since four Airmen showed up at him door, ordering him to come with them. He almost obeyed, before he opened the door fully to see his father in the passenger seat of the waiting Jeep. He fought tooth and nail, but it just wasn't enough against four able-bodied trained men.

He has a badly broken arm and a concussion from hell to show for it. He doesn't know how long it took his father and his minions−because that's, clearly, what they are−to get him here, in what looks like another abandoned prison reworked for Project Shepard's uses. It certainly wasn't on any files that Alex has seen, and he doesn't even know in which state they are.

Which means that no one is coming for him. Michael or Kyle might worry that he's not answering his phone, but they won't have anywhere to look for him. If Alex didn't find out about this place, from his father's bunker or the Caulfield data, then they won't either.

So Alex bides his time. He's in no shape to try to escape, even if he wasn't in an airtight cell inside an airtight prison. His right arm has gone numb below his elbow, and even just shifting his shoulder makes him scream. His head is still bleeding, and he's so dizzy he can barely tell up from down. His stump is on fire, but he doesn't dare remove the prosthetic in case he gets a chance to run. Not that he'll be able to run in shackles. Alex doesn't know why they even cuffed the damn prosthetic rather than removing it, except perhaps so they don't have to carry him everywhere.

And then, there's the interrogation sessions. Three so far, and counting. Jesse Manes knows better than anyone that Alex is trained in counter-interrogation−he's the reason Alex passed that particular test with flying colors on his first try−so he stepped up his game from the beginning. He started with waterboarding, which just made Alex's head wound worse and ended with him to woozy to tell his father what he wants, so now it's just mind games. Threats. Detailed accounts of what he'll do to Michael once he puts his hands on him. More creative every time.

“What do the aliens know about Project Shepard?”

Alex's mouth is bloody from biting his tongue. He's almost out of his mind with pain. One of his captors uncuffed his arms only to tie them above his head, and the broken one is sending sharp spikes that have already made him throw up all over himself. Jesse just gave him a disgusted look and stepped further back.

“What's their plan?”

In the cell, the noise starts. Alex knows the technique: sleep deprivation. The speakers screams heavy metal at him, songs that he might even have enjoyed if he didn't feel like tearing his head off. He shivers uncontrollably, drenched from the water they threw at him to keep him awake.

He doesn't wonder whether his father will go all the way with the torture. Jesse Manes would rather see his son dead than alive and causing him problems, and he will kill anyone who stands in his way without hesitation. Even Alex.

He does wonder if death would be better than this.

No . Keep them occupied. Keep them away from the others. From Michael.

Alex will hold on as long as he can, to give the others a chance.

He hopes they won't waste that chance trying to save him.

 It takes nearly five days of gripping fear to even get their first lead. Michael spends them stone-cold sober, because he can't afford to spend a single thought on anything that's not Alex, let alone get himself inebriated. He bites his nails to the blood before he starts pulling at his skin, at his lips, at his hair. None of that helps with the crushing anxiety that constricts his stomach.

Alex has been kidnapped by his father, and Michael knows exactly how much of a monster Jesse Manes is. He sees it every time he closes his eyes, the skeletal prisoners behind glass taking Alex's features, and Alex's hand under the hammer, Alex's face as his father tried to choke him.

If Michael doesn't make it to him in time, Alex will die at the hands of his father. Maybe he's already dead. Every day a little more hope flies away, and Michael is left with more angst.

The others are scrambling too, doing their best, but it's not enough. Kyle and Rosa spend their days down in Manes's bunker, going through everything Alex might have missed−but they already know Alex didn't miss anything. Michael, Liz and Maria ride out to every abandoned place they can find around the town to no avail. Isobel approaches as many Airmen as she can to scan their minds without them noticing.

Their first break comes from there: the names of four Airmen declared AWOL on the day Alex got abducted. It's a lead, but it's not enough. It doesn't give them a location.

What it gives Michael is more nightmares. Those men are specifically trained in interrogation methods. With Jesse Manes ruthlessness, God only knows what they might be doing to Alex.

They don't get anything actionable until day six, though, and it comes from a source they didn't expect at all. At dawn on the sixth day, Kyle receives a call at the hospital from Flint Manes.

“He's going to kill Alex,” Flint says. “I can't let him go through with it.”

He gives them the location of another abandoned prison, at the Arizona border. He tells them that he refused to get involved, months ago, when his father planned to take out Kyle and deal with Alex, so Jesse Manes didn't tell him what he was doing, but he's apparently so far gone in his blood lust that he called Flint to brag about torturing his brother.

No six-hour drive has ever felt so long to Michael.

 Between Michael and Isobel's powers, getting into the prison isn't complicated. Isobel encourages the one man who comes out to meet them to think of them as military officials, and although it doesn't work for long, it gets them through the doors. Michael sends the man into a wall to knock him out the moment he gives signs of turning on them.

After that, he focuses on finding Alex. He tried hard not to think of what state Alex is going to be in. He was still alive last night when Jesse Manes talked to Flint. That's enough for Michael.

Except it's not. Not when he turns a corner and sees him.

They've spread out over the prison to cover every floor, so they can find Alex faster. Flint is certain that Jesse Manes is there with only the four Airmen, that the prison was truly abandoned years ago, so they don't expect to have to take on an army. Even Caulfield barely had any staff, despite the number of prisoners, Michael remembers. This prison only has one prisoner.

Michael is the one who finds them. He's taken the west wing of the first floor, with Flint covering the east, as they're the two with the most firepower. Michael runs through the corridors as fast as he can, not caring about being discreet, and he stops short at the entrance of what must have been a laundry room.

It's been repurposed as a torture chamber, apparently. Jesse Manes and his three remaining Airmen are standing with their back to him, but Michael barely pays attention to them, beside flicking their guns out of their hands.

In the middle of the room, Alex hangs from a chain that comes down from the ceiling, binding his wrists above his head. Michael's brain immediately starts cataloging injuries, but there are too many to count. His face and his tattered clothes are drenched in blood, and Michael can't even see where it comes from. Shackles encircle his ankles, the prosthetic one obviously angled wrong, the wrist cuffs hanging open. Alex's eyes are closed, and he looks already dead.

“Alex!” he shouts.

Alex barely reacts, just opening his eyes a little. Michael runs to him, spreading his arms to throw the four Airmen out of his way. “Alex!”

“Michael,” Alex murmurs through bloody teeth, when Michael reaches him. It's all he can say, though, before his eyes roll back into his head. Michael only has time to untie the chain, catching Alex with his power and his arms so he doesn't fall to brutally, before Alex starts seizing.

“Alex!” Michael cries out, even more desperately. He's finally found him, but it may well be too late. Alex keeps shaking in his arms, his whole body moving uncontrollably.

It lasts maybe a minute, a minute out of time. Nothing else in the room moves, whether the men are afraid of Michael or he knocked them unconscious. Until Jesse Manes stands up.

“Get away from my son, monster!” he exclaims.

Michael loses it.

“I'm the monster, am I?” he says through gritted teeth. “I'll show you a monster.”

Still cradling Alex's now still body in his lap, kneeling on the dirty, bloody floor, he buries his head into Alex's chest−barely moving, but he can hear a faint heartbeat−and he lets go.

He lets go of ten years of pain and anger. Of six days of the worst fear he can imagine. Of all the rage inside him.

It's a hurricane.

He can feel their neck snap. He can feel it all, the destruction, the violence, the death. It feeds him. The body are whirling around him and Alex and he can feel the foundations of the building itself, where to push to make it collapse, to destroy it all.

He hears, at the edge of his perception, cries from voices he recognizes, but he can't make out what they say. He's too far gone for words. The floor starts shaking.

A hand grips his arm weakly. “Michael,” Alex breathes into his ear. “Stop.”

Sobbing, Michael closes his hand, and the hurricane stops.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, before he closes his eyes and loses consciousness.

I’ll post the other parts in the next few days.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Terms of Engagement ch.6

Summary: Rus is still a kid himself and with his life turned upside-down, he has no idea how he’s going to take care of his baby brother. Having other kid skeletons appear in his world wasn’t exactly the help he was looking for.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Undertale Sans, Undertale Papyrus, Babybones, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Possible Past Child Abuse, Skellie Daycare, Growing Up Together, Big Brothers Caring For Their Little Bros, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence

Notes: Finally an update!

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Read Chapter Six on AO3

or

Read It Here!

~~*~~

Rus couldn’t say how long the walk to Snowdin was. He drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally blinking out hazily from the safety of strong arms to see Edge skirting more traps, working his way through icy puzzles, and before he realized it, he’d drowse off again. Healing magic was draining on both sides of the equation; the Monster doing the healing using up magic to urge bones to knit or HP to rise, and the one getting healed was stuck dealing with the unnatural aftereffects. Eating some good food or sleeping it off was about the only way to handle it, and Rus was fresh out of snacks.

The last time he roused, Rus lifted his head and found himself gaping at a tall, sturdy fence. Honestly, it was more like a wall with the same graffiti and barbed wire as the sentry post in the woods. Every few feet were roughly painted letters warning off XP hunters, declaring Snowdin under the protection of the Royal Guard. What that sentry post didn’t have was the shielding Rus could feel coming off of it, strong enough to make him cringe, beating a tattoo of warning inside his skull. No single Monster did that, not even a Boss Monster; that was the work of dozens, the spell constantly reinforced.

What kind of place had Edge brought him to?

Edge carried him up to the gate, lifting a heavy fist to pound on it. An eyehole slid open, two deep brown eyes surrounded by equally dark fur widening as they peered out. Rus flinched, curling in closer to Edge’s chest, away from the gaze he could feel moving over him.

“Captain?”

“Protocol,” Edge snapped.

“Sorry, sir,” The Monster blustered out, “Password.”

“Tea kettle,” Edge said and there was the sound of many bolts being thrown before the door swung open. Edge strode through immediately, the gate quickly shut behind him.

“Bringing in a prisoner, captain?” The Monster sounded doubtful, like maybe this wasn’t the norm.

“No. A friend.” A hand on his skull urged Rus gently to look up and he did, blinking at a familiar face that was nonetheless unknown to him. Robbie was a massive Bear Monster back in his Snowdin. Here he was larger still, already fierce teeth larger and more saw-edged, and a large, furless scar ran jaggedly down the side of his face. But rather than threatening, he only seemed confused and Rus wince back as a Check fell over him.

“No LV?” Not-Robbie said disbelievingly. “How long as he been out of stripes?”

“Long enough,” Edge said, tinged with impatience. “Now let me through.”

The Bear scrambled back, mumbling apologies, but the weight of his gaze followed them as Edge strode away.

Inside the walls was a more familiar sight. Tidy houses, their windows lit, and if they maybe looked a little more rundown without the Gyftmas lights that liberally decorated his Snowdin, the windows crisscrossed with bars, it was still a relief to see Monsters on the street with grocery bags in hand and a small group of children in ragtag stripes playing, laughing and tossing snowballs as they ran.

Every Monster they passed spoke to Edge, a variety of greetings that all boiled down to a form of, “Good morning, Captain.”

None of them talked to Rus, though he could feel their curious gazes crawling up his spine.

There wasn’t really a way to describe the surreality of being carried up to a house that was a near exact copy of his own, sitting plumly in an entirely other world. Only this house had a row of locks strung down the door jamb rather than colorful lights, its windows barred with scrolling iron, and again Rus could feel shielding prickle over him. Edge shifted Rus to one arm as he undid the row of locks, opening the door and carrying him in. He kicked the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the house shudder.

“bro?” Called from the kitchen. “what are you doing home already?”

“I brought you a gift,” Edge called back. Rus tried not to cringe at that; he already felt a little like a bone drug home by an enthusiastic dog and there was a thought he shouldn’t be having after already nearly ending up a chew toy.

The kitchen door swung open and a short skeleton came out, wiping his hands on a towel. Red, it was Red, Rus’s blurred, childish memory laid overtop his vision, only instead of the boots he remembered, Red was wearing a pair of fuzzy pink slippers that seemed incongruous paired with his sharky teeth. No jacket in sight, he was actually wearing an apron of all things over his t-shirt and shorts, and when his crimson eye lights glanced over Rus, he only shook his head in resigned amused, “boss, what have i told you about bringing home strays?”

“I’d like to keep this one,” Edge said dryly. “Have a closer look, it took me a moment as well.”

That humor faded into shock as Red stepped closer. He froze, his sockets going wide, “rus? what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Brother,” Edge interrupted. He grunted, shifting Rus in his arms. “he’s cold and hurt, and not particularly light, if you don’t mind?”

“sure, yeah,” Red shook his head and stepped back out of the way, “yeah, fuck, bring him over here.”

Edge settled Rus on the sofa with a guttural sound of relief while Red shoved a somewhat tatty throw pillow under his leg and dragged a blanket off the back to tuck around him.

With an unexpectedly gentle touch, Red inspected the torn pant leg, tutting at the damage, “didn’t heal him? after all that bitching you put out while you was learning how?”

“I did.” Edge was turned away, kicking off his boots on the mat. “He was hurt too badly for me to finish, I couldn’t risk being drained out at the borders.”

“damn,” Red hissed, prodding at one of the bruises hard enough that Rus ground his teeth against a cry. “must’ve been nasty.”

“It was,” Edge’s voice echoed within the heavy chestplate as he struggled to lift it over his head. “He stepped into one of the razor-wire traps.”

Red let out a low whistle, “shit, good thing he still has his leg.” He moved that prodding finger up to Rus’s sternum and gave him a sharp poke. “didn’t hurt your chatterbox, didja?”

“what?” Rus managed, thinly. Years ago, he’d read Blue a bedtime story about a girl named Alice, lost in a Wonderland. He felt something like that now, the rabbit hole he’d tumbled through leading him someplace strange and awful, and Rus didn’t think he’d be surprised if the Queen came barreling through the kitchen door demanding his head.

“you’re awful quiet,” Red said, speculatively, jarring him from his tumbling thoughts. “shit, we ain’t seen you in close to twenty years, you got nothing to say?”

“i...yes, yes, i do!” Rus burst out. He heaved in a pained breath, all the strain piled on top of him since the moment he’d fallen through that awful shortcut clenching tight in his chest. No, no, it was much longer than that. Since the moment a portal stopped opening and he’d lost two of his only friends, and all of that poured out him in a tangled clot of words, “you...you complete asshole! you lying, stupid prick! you were supposed to come live with us, why didn’t...what happened to you, where did you go?! asshole!”

“yeah, that was more like what i expected.” Red settled back on his heels. He reached back to untie his apron, slipping it over his head. “couldn’t get through with the machine, am i right?”

“yes! it didn’t work, it only flashed warning lights,” Rus paused, took a deep, hitching breath before he said, “red, it wasn’t me, i swear, i had nothing to do with it. i really wanted you two to come stay with us.”

Red was already shaking his head. “course not,” he scoffed. “if’d been you, you would have taken along the kid and left me, yeah?”

“i…” He would have, had even thought of it in that first moment of panic when he saw Red’s LV. It was harder to admit that here, with Red looking straight at him and this newer version of Edge over by the door, peeling off that wicked armor.

But Red nodded knowingly, “yeah. it’s okay, rus. cause i was the one who did it. pulled the plug and the fuses, every one of ‘em.”

“you,” Rus said slowly. He’d always suspected something like that, played so many scenarios over and over in his skull. In one of them, Red was too afraid to leave his world, maybe, selfishly keeping his baby brother with him. That’d been one of the worst, too many times Rus curled up in his bed while that ran through his skull, picturing sweet little Edge afraid and weeping while his own cheek bones were soaked with tears. He wiped one away now on his sleeve impatiently. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he wanted answers. “why? why would you do that?”

“He had to, Russy,” Edge said, low. Rus jerked his head to look at him. He’d stripped off the rest of the armor, all of it carefully settled on a sort of stand, and crimney, Rus’d helped Blue build his battle body, but compared to Edge’s, it was probably about as effective as tissue paper. But the differences without it was staggering; with the bulk stripped away, Edge was left in a plain black shirt and matching pants, and he was almost as lanky as Rus, forcing him to rework his mental picture of Edge yet again. But there was still something of the little kid Rus knew in there and it was in his voice as he soothed, “Let him explain.”

“ain’t much to it,” Red’s gaze was steady, but his face went pinched and tight, “we were packing up, getting ready to hit the portal over to underswap when they came.”

“they?”

“XP Hunters,” Edge said, the words couched in a low growl.

Red nodded grimly. “the ones i’d taken care of earlier, turned out they had pals. edge and me took care of ‘em, but that was when i realized we couldn’t just pack up and go to underswap.”

“i don’t understand,” Rus whispered. But he was very afraid he did.

Red lightly tapped his forehead. “think about it, genius. the machine. we leave and the machine is sitting around waiting for any asshole to use, ain’t it.”

Helplessly, Rus shook his head, but wasn’t that the same thing he and Sans came to realize? Moving to a different world wasn’t the answer, the machine had to be active for it to work, it would always be left behind. But.

“i should’ve taken you two right, then,” Rus said thickly. His sockets burned, begging to cry over a child’s decision fifteen years gone. “shouldn’t’ve have let you pack anything, i should’ve--”

Edge made a low sound, face twisting as he reached out to him abortively, but he hesitated when Red waved him back.

“nah, don’t you get it?” Red said. He took Rus’s hand in both his own, cool phalanges gently squeezing. “ ‘s better that you didn’t. eventually someone would’ve come through. they’d’ve come and hurt you and blue, maybe did somethin’ worse. we couldn’t let that happen.”

“but edge, he could’ve--” Even as he said it, Rus knew the answer to that, Edge already shaking his head.

“I couldn’t leave my brother,” Edge said firmly, “Not even for you, Russy.”

Yeah, okay, he got that, but. “wait. you said you two took care of them.” He recalled what the sentry said about his lack of LV, swallowed hard and refocused on Edge. Who only stood straighter as Rus Checked him, eye lights flashing as he lifted his chin.

Papyrus: LV 7 70 ATK 40 DEF *he’s worried about you

“oh, kid,” Rus said, brokenly. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t, that sweet child, that little baby bones crying as burning cold LV settled into his soul. Edge who always giggled so easily and was so painfully astonished by treats and cheap magic tricks, and always, always, insisting that he and Rus would get married someday, oh, that poor little kid--

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Edge said stubbornly.

“he don’t need to be ashamed,” Red said and there was a touch of warning in his voice. “he hasn’t taken any more lv in years anyway. think you’d be proud of him, rus, he can take anyone down to 1 hp. that takes the fight out of most of em right quick. he sets those traps to keep the lv hunters at bay. edge got a pretty good look at your world back when you took the kiddos out to play and he was damned determined we could have something like that here in snowdin. it ain’t perfect but we do what we can.”

Rus swallowed hard. “but, the dogs--”

“I can’t completely control the others, that’s true,” Edge said. “We take turns in the Guard so that no one person’s LV gets too high, but the Dogs can be a little...enthusiastic.” He moved to sit by Rus’s feet, reaching out to carefully cradle his injured ankle in warm hands, fingertips smoothing over the bones as he checked them. “And I’m not a kid anymore, I left my stripes behind a while back, as you should know, the same as your brother. How is Blue, you were alone in the woods.”

“he’s….he’s good. he’s good. he’s...back home. i think.” Rus closed his sockets. Fear was starting to grow in his mind, threatening to overflow like bitter black coffee poured into a too-small cup. Please, let him be back home, don’t let him find his way here to this nightmare.

“hey, HEY!” The shout so close to his audial canal made Rus gasp, panic receding. Red studied him, his crimson gaze seeing Angel only knew what. Abruptly, Red stood. “yeah, okay, i think russy’s had enough for now, bro, his eye lights are about swirlin’.” He gave Edge a rough nudge with his elbow, jarring him from his inspection of Rus’s leg. “how’s about you get him some of the quiche i just took out of the oven, should be cool enough by now.”

Edge nodded curtly and stood. Rus watched him go. It was so weird to think that this Edge was the baby bones who used to beg for rides on his shoulders. He latched on to that observation eagerly, better to think about this, and if he didn’t think about Blue, about the void, then maybe it would be okay. From the look of him, Rus guessed Edge was probably still a few inches taller than him even without the boots.

“he’s so tall,” Rus mumbled. “brings new meaning to all grown up.”

“yeah, and it was a bitch to feed gettin’ him that way, too.” Brotherly indulgence and pride faded, and Red took on a grim look. “and don’t take it personal, the dogs coming after ya, they was only doing their job. snowdin is one thing, but out there in the woods, it can get pretty bad.” Red stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his slippered feet. “i’m getting that you’re about running on empty right about now, but i got one more question for you, rus, and it’s important. don’t take this the wrong way, it’s damned good to see ya, but what the fuck are you doing here? how the hell did you even get here without our machine?”

Rus shivered as he recalled that shortcut, the cold of the void crushing him, the feeling from the machine shadowing over his soul, and whispered, “i don’t know.”

“yeah.” Red sighed. He closed his sockets, rubbing a knuckle between his brow bones as if there was a growing ache there. “that’s kinda what i was afraid of.”

The kitchen door swung open again and Edge came out with a plate holding a generous portion of quiche. It was probably delicious, better than any of his own efforts at cooking, but it may as well have been sawdust for all Rus tasted of it. Didn’t help that he was hyper-aware of Red and Edge watching him eat, staring at him like a new Napstatton special.

As soon as he scraped up the last bite and forced it down, Red whisked the plate out of his hands. “okay, time for you to head upstairs and get some more sleep.”

“it’s the middle of the morning,” Rus protested. A gleefully hysterical voice chirped up in the back of his skull, that wouldn’t his brother love this? Rus actually protesting taking a nap. Easier to think of that than the simple fact that he didn’t know what else to do.

“You’re still healing,” Edge said firmly. “Trust us, Russy, we know how to handle injured Monsters.”

Yeah. He bet they did. But he didn’t protest as Edge leaned in, lifting him back into his arms. Rus awkwardly wound his arms around Edge’s neck, holding on. This was so much different than before, it felt weirdly intimate being pressed against Edge without that heavy armor between them. Stupid, really, he used to carry Edge around all the time when he was little, how was this any different. Just helping out while Rus couldn’t stand, was all, and Edge took the stairs a brisk two at a time, carrying him into a darkened room.

The light creeping in through the barred window didn’t give Rus much of a view, but he didn’t care. By the time Edge settled him on the bed, helping him draw up the blankets and settle his skull on the pillow, he was already half asleep.

“Sleep well, Russy.” A soft, rough whisper.

Rus rolled over, curling up on the mattress sleepily as he mumbled, “you can call me rus.”

“I really couldn’t.”

He wanted to question the soft amusement in those words, wondered what Edge meant, but he was so tired, There was a faint touch on his skull, fingertips maybe?

Then the door closed softly behind light footsteps and Rus sank into oblivious sleep.

tbc

[paradisobound]

World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 5

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Mature (For Now)

Word Count: 3.2k (this chapter)

Warnings: Drinking/Drunk Interactions 

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins​

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The wind billows against the window of the library as the rain hits harder and harder. It’s coming down hard outside, and that freaks Dan out a bit, knowing he has to walk home in it. He doesn’t even think he brought an umbrella.

He looks down at his forgotten English homework on the table in front of him and looks between the window and the male sitting in front of him. His eyes are blue as ever, his lips curled into a soft smile, and his black hair falling over his forehead.

But yet, Dan can’t quite make out who it is. The face is unrecognizable, the features a blur. He feels his chest tighten and he lets out a loud gasp.

Dan sits up in bed, heaving loud breaths as he fists portions of his hair in his hands and wills himself to calm down. It was just a dream. A really dumb dream again about high school and about Phil.

He hadn’t had a dream like that in so long that it almost felt more surreal. When he was living in America, studying at the private school in Long Island, he had these dreams all the time, nearly every day. He would fall asleep every night and dream of the faceless figure with the stark features.

But now that he knows that the figure was Phil, his heart beats a little harder, a little faster, and he feels like he might have a proper panic attack. He lays back down into bed, his head hitting his thin pillow, and he looks at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

It’s half past five in the morning. He should really try and get more sleep, but Dan also knows that he has to finish an important proposal to turn in to Phil at seven. So he throws back his comforter and turns the light on next to him. His naked torso shivers as the cool air in his apartment hits his skin and he grabs the first sweatshirt he sees on the floor and puts it on.

Dan doesn’t even want to look at where the rest of his close are scattered. He knows his room is a mess. His apartment is still a mess...his entire life is a mess at this point. He feels like he doesn’t even have control over his life anymore.

What happened to the promising young heir to the Howell Publishing Company? The kid that everyone talked about, that everyone was excited to see come into fruition?

Oh, yeah, he died the minute he got his heartbroken by a fuckboy in high school, that’s what happened.

Dan walked into his bathroom, relieved himself quickly and brushed his teeth, and then hopped over to the shower where he turned on the tap to nearly the hottest setting. He got inside the spray, his clothes dropped behind him in a pile on the floor, and let the searing water touch his skin. It probably wasn’t healthy, to be showering in water this hot, but yet the slight pain and ache that it gave him definitely felt worth it.

In the end, he turned the water a bit cooler and then stood under the spray for a while, just letting the water cleanse him.

***

“No.”

Dan blinks a few times and then furrows his brows. What do you mean no?

“What?” He asks, genuinely confused.

Phil hands him back the proposal form and shakes his head, “That’s not a good proposal so I’m rejecting it.”

In the background, Dan can hear the other workers snicker about the newbie being rejected by Phil. Dan feels his cheeks heat up. It’s been a long time since he’s been rejected for something, let alone rejected by Phil. What was so wrong with the way he wrote his proposal? He wrote it the same way that the examples that Phil gave him told him to write it.

He literally followed them step by step.

“Why isn’t it?” Dan presses, taking the proposal form back from Phil. “You didn’t even look at it, you just skimmed it.”

That part was true. Right before Phil had told him a firm no, Dan had seem him take the form, glance over it, and then immediately reject it. Had he even taken the time to read what Dan had actually written?

Contrary to what Phil must be thinking right now, Dan did put a lot of effort into this. It was his first time ever doing one because at his fathers company, the sales department took care of the proposals for the books. Apparently this company was not like that.

“Well, to start with, you’re not detailed enough,” Phil says. “Where it asks for how you plan to promote the book, you have ‘posters’. That’s not going to be detailed enough for the sales department. Are you doing a signing? Signed posters? Is the author going to do something with these posters? What about commercials? You never even mentioned commercials for it.”

“Oh, well, I can make that more detailed,” Dan countered. “That’s not going to--”

“And!” Phil interrupts, “You’re not proving to the sales department why your specific graphic novel is worth the money thats going to be put into it. You need to convince them that they’re not going to make a mistake publishing your book. Right now, you don’t have an argument and the sales department is going to eat you alive.”

Dan feels humiliated, like he failed a simple task. He feels like he let his author down, who has been working so hard on finishing her piece. He also feels like he failed the company, he failed Phil...he failed himself.

“Dan…”

Phil’s voice cuts through Dan’s head and he sees Phil staring up at him with a soft expression reading on his face, “It’s okay. Every editor here has had their first proposal rejected. It’s not as big of a deal as you probably think it is. It’ll be okay.”

Dan feels like a child, wanting to shrug his shoulders and bellow out it’s not going to be okay! But he knows he can’t do that, because that’s not reasonable. He needs to take a few deep breaths and refocus.

“Your proposal isn’t due until the end of the day today to the sales department,” Phil continues. “Take the time today to work on it. Fix all the mistakes I told you about and then have me look over it a few more times. Really, I promise it’s going to be okay.”

Dan nods his head and forces a smile as he turns on his heels and walks over to his desk. He pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on his workspace. He opens the file that he needs with his proposal in it and he begins to slowly rework it.

Nearly two hours into the revising, he can see how much better the proposal is looking with the advice that Phil gave him. He’s coming up with actual reasons on why his authors book deserves to be marketed and sold by their company after editing it. He knows now that the sales department can’t possibly reject this version.

He’s typing away, lost in his own little world as he finishes up the last part of the proposal when a chair is put next to him and he looks over his shoulder to see Phil sitting down. He leans his arm on the desk and looks down at Dan’s laptop.

“Let me see what you have,” Phil says, grabbing the laptop and yanking it from under Dan’s fingers.

“But I wasn’t finished.”

Phil just shook his head and scrolled to the top of the file and began reading it. He fixed a few mistakes as he went, but by the end, the look on his face read as satisfied to Dan. He seriously felt so much relief from that.

“It’s much better,” Phil says. “Finish the last part, give me a printed copy to look over once more and then we’ll bring it to sales.”

He stands up from his chair and puts it back where he took it from and walks back over to his desk. Dan smiles to himself as he finishes the last paragraph, and then hits print in the corner.

Dan makes his way to the printer and picks up the fresh copy of his proposal and he can already feel a much bigger weight lifted off from his shoulders.

***

“Congratulations on getting your first proposal approved by the sales department!”

Dan is putting away his belongings into his bag, ready to go home for the day. He’s actually able to leave a bit early which makes him feel really good for once. He turns to Mitch who is still sitting at his desk, working on his own manuscript for his author.

“Oh, thank you,” Dan answers. “I didn’t realize it was that difficult to have your book be sold.”

Mitch let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms up in the air, “Onyx is a tough company to please,” Mitch says. “It’s really hard to get your proposals and everything approved the first time. Even I didn’t get mine approved the first time.”

“Oh no. Really?” Dan asks, feeling genuinely sympathetic for Mitch.

Mitch shrugs, “It’s not a big deal or anything. But I also didn’t have the help of Phil either.”

“Oh?”

“Phil wasn’t here yet when I started working here,” Mitch says. “When I started working here, the editor in chief was a guy named Bradley. He was never organized and he was a complete prick. Hated dealing with him. When Phil was named the new editor in chief, we all thought Phil was going to be the same way. But Phil actually took our branch and turned it completely around,” Mitch says. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Sapphire is the leading graphic novel branch right now in the London. No wonder we’re always busy with new authors and paperwork. We were always the last choice until Phil got here.”

Dan took in Mitch’s words and felt a warm feeling deepen in his core. He doesn’t know why, but it felt really warming to learn about how Phil turned this branch around. He hadn’t honestly heard about any of that.

“Anyway,” Mitch continues, “I’m sure you want to get home so I’ll save this convo for another time.”

Dan just laughs and nods and finishes grabbing his stuff. He stuffs everything into his bag and puts it on his shoulder as he grabs his coat and heads out for the evening.

It’s not as cold in London tonight as it normally is. It feels nice, the wind doesn’t burn his cheeks. He walks for a while, not quite wanting to take the tube right away as it was actually still daylight for once as when he left work. Albeit not for long it wouldn’t be, but it was nice for the time being.

As he walks to the station, he passes by a W.H Smith and he suddenly feels like he wants to go inside and check out some of the books. Now that he works for Onyx, he definitely wants to check out what books are actually being published by the different departments of the company.

He walks inside and takes a look around at all of the different books. He lets out a deep breath and makes his way up the stairs to where the rest of the books are and he heads to a stack of new books in the corner on the table. He picks one up and looks at the binding and laughs when he sees Onyx Publishing on the bottom.

It’s satisfying in a way to know that the company he works for is actually producing books that he can find in a bookstore. He goes to pick up another one when he hears his name called from behind him. He turns and sees a short female with brown hair and instantly, he knows it’s Kelsey.

“Kels!” Dan says, extending his arms open as Kelsey gives him a quick hug, “How are you?”

“I’m great but how are you?” Kelsey asks. “I haven’t heard from you since you left the company.”

Dan worked with Kelsey at his dad’s publishing company and she was the only coworker he got along with. She was nice and friendly and always willing to help him when he struggled with anything. He relied on her and he knew he was going to be sad when he left her behind to work at Onyx.

“It’s not going too bad,” Dan admits. “I’m editing graphic novels though which I never expected.”

Kelsey cocked her head, “Graphic novels? What?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Let’s go for some dinner and drinks then!” Kelsey says, “We need to catch up anyway.”

***

In hindsight, Dan should have known after the first drink that things were going to go south because he hadn’t ate anything the entire day. His body was drumming with the alcohol and he was already feeling a bit cloudy in his head.

“What is it like working with graphic novels?” Kelsey asks, picking up the last bite of her food with her fork. “Is it easier then working with novels?”

Dan shakes his head, “It’s hard. There are a lot of components to it.”

“Oh really?” Kelsey asks. “They seem like they would easier.”

Dan nods, “I know. But they have like a complete storyboard and everything with them. You have to have the manuscript with the dialogue and the plot points and then after they submit that to you and you approve it, they do the storyboard and that gets approved and then piecing them all together is a whole different story.”

“Sounds tough.”

“It is.”

Kelsey lets out a snort and then downs the rest of her mimosa.

“What is it like working for Onyx?” Kelsey asks, suddenly. “Is it different than working for your dad?”

Dan raises his head up a bit because his reaction is say yes, this is 100% different but then as he actually thinks about the question, he realizes that maybe it isn’t? Yeah, working for his dad was a totally different area than working for something like Phil but…

“It is,” He finally says. “It’s a lot different.”

The door to the bar opens and a bell rings in the air and most patrons turn their heads, Dan included. At first he doesn’t see anyone, so he just dips his head back down but then Kelsey suddenly gwawks, “Oh my! That’s Phil Lester!”

Dan’s head immediately picked up and he saw Phil walking to an empty table with a woman by his side. They were laughing, looking like they were having a good time and for some reason, that really made Dan’s heart race.

“You know him?” Dan asks.

Kelsey nods her head, “Of course! He’s considered one of the best editors in London. He’s fantastic. I knew of him briefly when we worked together but I never spoke to him.” She turns her head towards his table. “He’s with someone. Not all that shocking. I always heard he was a bit of...you know.”

Dan’s stomach turns a bit more but he tries to ignore it long enough to say, “He’s my editor in chief.”

“He’s your editor in chief?” Kelsey asks, her voice higher in pitch. “Why didn’t you bring this up earlier? That’s such a big deal. What is it like to work for him? Is he tough?”

“Phil is…”

“Phil is what?”

Dan whips his head around just in time to see the person in question standing behind his chair with a grin on his face. Dan’s cheeks flush and he opens his mouth to speak but Phil interrupts, “I’m being serious. What were you gonna say about me?”

“I...I was just gonna say that you’re easy to work for,” Dan stutters.

Phil lets out a laugh and then reaches out and gently pats Dan’s shoulder, “Keep telling yourself that,” he teases.

He turns on his heels and walks the other way and Dan definitely now feels like he’s too sober for this. So he raises his head and calls over a waitress and order a few more drinks to take off the edge.

Dan is proper pissed by the time he leaves the bar with Kelsey. She is too but they help each other get a taxi to their apartments. Dan says his goodbye to her and then gets out at his stop and staggers his way inside.

He manages to get his key out to unlock his apartment door just in time for the elevator doors to open and for Phil to step out from behind them, walking a lot straighter than Dan just was.

“You get back okay?” Phil asks and Dan starts to laugh because to him, that’s a dumb question. He’s at his apartment door isn’t he?

Phil reaches out and helps Dan steady his hand long enough to get his key into the slot to turn it. Dan pushes the door open and goes to stagger inside when Phil speaks again, “Are you going to be okay being here by yourself for the night?”

Dan turns his head and when he comes face to face with Phil, his mind instantly starts going back to Phil being with that woman earlier. To him eating dinner with her and sitting with her and laughing with her all night as Dan watched with a sick stomach from the across the room. His blood begins to boil and he suddenly scoffs as he barks out, “Why do you care?”

Phil’s eyes change and soften and then he shakes his head a bit, “What do you mean? Of course I care about you, Dan. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you had that girl you were with tonight. That’s why. You can’t be after me if you’re dating someone else.”

Phil’s mouth opens and shuts and then his brows tighten, “What on Earth...Dan, she is my author. She’s my author who I’m mentoring. She wanted to meet up to go over her storyboard corrections and since we both worked so late in the day, we decided it would be best to grab some dinner and some drinks. There is nothing else going on.”

Dan’s cheeks flush and he tries to hide the obvious guilt he feels in his stomach from accusing Phil of being with anyone because...why is that any of his business? He doesn't like Phil...like that. Not anymore. He hasn’t in ten years so why did he suddenly feel so jealous seeing Phil with someone else? He doesn’t understand.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe he just really doesn’t understand what is happening but he also doesn’t want to find out. He begins to shuffle inside his door when Phil stops him and says, “Make sure you’re sobered up by tomorrow morning. Don’t forget that you have a meeting with your proposal to go over it. It won’t look good for either of us if you stagger in late and hungover.”

Dan doesn’t say anything else. He just nods quickly and then spits out a goodbye and rushes into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He sinks to the floor and puts his head in his hands because he needs to get this shit figured out.

[cosmicoceanfic]

Inspired by a post on tumblr.

AU where the government finds Bucky Barnes first and holds him in a cell. The Avengers are less than thrilled.

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

It’s the first in what I guess we’ll call my Self Rec Quest to Increase Ocean’s Self Esteem! here goes nothing

This is the first fic I ever published on AO3, so even though it’s not the neatest fic I ever wrote, it’s gotta be given its due. Commentary below.

When I tentatively got back into fic writing in my late teens (old enough to be out of high school but not by much), I used to send them to a dear friend. When I was in my mid to late (though not as late as I was when I published this) teens, I got very self conscious about writing fic, and dropped it, feeling it was something I’d outgrown. A little ways on from that, I realized that I enjoyed writing fic still, actually, but still felt vaguely embarrassed and ashamed of that impulse. I started writing fic with one that I’ll post down the road, but dropped it for a while, and instead started writing X-Men AU Cherik stuff that I’d send to her (that I did not publish, and will probably never publish: it’s not quite up to my standards). I knocked this out after seeing the tumblr post linked in the author’s notes here, and my friend encouraged me to create an AO3 account and post it (you can find her at FindingZ, btw, she hasn’t posted for a bit but she is luverly). The prospect made me deeply anxious, but also kinda excited, and I bit the bullet. Turns out it was a wise call, so thank you, darlin.

This fic is, by no means, perfect. There are some fics out there that are a moment frozen in time, reflective of the state of the fandom they were created in, and this is one of them. If I had to redo this fic, the big glaring thing I would fix is how absolutely calm and understanding Sam is. This was still part of the mindset in 2015 as far as the post TWS mindset went: Sam would be the kind and encouraging VA counselor. This, of course, turned out not to be true, which in retrospect really was reflected in TWS itself (he’s not the kind you save, he’s the kind you stop), and considering the racial dynamic, uncomfortable on the whole to say the least. I would also rework Natasha’s understanding of how to alleviate PTSD and trauma influenced actions, actually doing any form of real research into how you help someone with PTSD, which I did not do when I wrote it.

I’m currently in the mindset that I’m not going to fix these things, as it feels kind of like a cop out, like I’m trying to rewrite stuff to seem like I actually had my shit together a little better than I did at the time. The only instance I’ve forgone this is altering the way I explained that Wendy was trans in family means no one gets left behind or forgotten (which will also be linked in the future), and I may change my stance on this, but for now, I’m leaving things the way they are.

However, this whole self-rec thing is designed to try and make me more okay with admitting when I’ve done some solid stuff in my work without shrinking into myself, so while it’s important to me that I clarify before each fic what I think I could’ve done better, I’m also going to say what I like in this fic. So, here goes. Spoilers underneath if you haven’t read the fic.

-the banana plague is also one of those things that freezes this fic in time, and it’s a little silly, but man, I liked the banana plague, so fuck it

-there’s two Comrades in this fic like 150 words in, which is not something I’m proud of, I’m just throwing it in here to say how thoroughly embarrassing that is. What did nineteen year old me think Russians born in the pre-World War Two era sounded like? I deserve to be dragged on this one

-I know in Civil War Tony didn’t take the matter of his parents death as well as this (and honestly who can blame him), but I’m actually still pretty okay with how it was written here, he’s had time to digest it and work with it and through it and see how he felt on the other side, and while it’s maybe unrealistic, I feel like I actually handled that all right

-the bit where Tony winds up the government agents is actually still funny, which startled me. I really enjoy getting the chance to write Tony being cheerfully an asshole, and I didn’t expect that to age as well as it has

-the decision to have Bucky distance himself from that name was a solid choice (god, I cringed inwards on writing that, I really do suck at saying I’ve done things well huh), and I think that’s probably something you see recurring in my work, is a certain dichotomy between what our names mean to our identities, so honestly it’s interesting to see it this early

-Clint and Bucky is probably not a dynamic that would have occurred to me now, so that’s a good call on my past self’s part

This is, in all honesty, a lot better fic than I would’ve expected from one of my very first ones out of the gate in what must’ve been about a year and a half to two years since I’d written fic (before this it would have been I think those three Cherik fics and the beginning of the fic I’ll post down the line), and I’m actually kinda pleased to see that it doesn’t suck.

[a-goddess-called-infinity]

Chapter 1: Overcharge

Synopsis: Wanda loses the one she loves in order to protect the universe, only for her efforts to be thwarted. Then something unexpected happens.

Words: 1,529

read on AO3 here

this is the first chapter silly - next

-

“Wanda. It's time,” Vision says. Although his voice is naturally monotone, there is a weight on those words. Thanos was advancing on his and Wanda’s position with five of the six infinity stones. Thanos’s final goal is nestled into Vision’s forehead, rippling softly with untold power. Power they cannot allow the titan to possess.

“No,” Wanda she replies, her voice wavering. She didn’t want to destroy the one she loved. There had to be another way.

“They can't stop him, Wanda, but we can,” he insisted as he took her hand, “Look at me. You have the power to destroy the stone.” As discussed, she would destroy it as a last resort to keep Thanos from the stone.

“Don't—”

“You must do it. Wanda, please,” he pleads. Vision gently lifts her hand and presses it upon his face. She forces herself to look at him.

“We. Are. Out of time,” he adds slowly.

She shakes her head, her voice a whisper, “I can't.”

“Yes, you can. You can,” he quietly insists, now pushing away her palm so that it’s hovering above the stone. Its yellow depths still churn, like a sea full of life and energy.

“If he gets the stone, half the universe dies.”

Wanda steps back, grief already gracing upon her face. Sensing her hesitation, Vision continues.

“It's not fair. It shouldn't be you, but it is,” there a pause as she prepares to do what she has to do, “It's all right. You could never hurt me,” he assured. Wanda opens her mouth as if to reply, but nothing comes out. Years of love and grief flood her mind all at once. There’s a familiar ache in her heart, like when her brother died in Sakovia. Only that was sudden, sharp like a knife. This, this is slow and agonizing. The weight of what she has to do and what it means poisons her.

“I just... feel you.”

The pain it causes her is unbearable, but she has to do it. Red energy beams from her shaking hand to the mind stone.

Just behind her, Thanos is gaining on their position. Every avenger that attempts to intervene is easily swatted away like annoying flies. That’s all they were to the titan; entitled pests pointlessly keeping him from bringing them prosperity. Wanda tears her gaze away from her love and glances over her shoulder towards the chaos with fearful eyes. Seeing him advance so quickly, she adds her free hand so that two beams focus on the mind stone. So far it shows no sign of breaking. She begins to sob.

Steve Rodgers is Thanos’s last opponent before he reaches the duo. Thanos goes to grab him but Steve holds him back, keeping the gauntlet unclenched. It takes all of his strength and he screams in defiance, but it is short-lived. Soon he’s swatted away as well.

Looking in horror as Thanos approaches them unopposed, she points one of her beams at Thanos to keep him at bay. It takes so much effort to deal enough energy to push him back while simultaneously trying to destroy the mind stone. Fear and grief constrict her and almost suffocate her.

Thanos fights for every inch of ground, yet she forces herself to focus on Vison. He feels every thought racing through her mind, every emotion tearing through her heart, every shred of energy coursing through her being. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push.

“It’s alright,” he breathes. She can barely hear him over the rushing energy and her heart pounding in her ears, but she can make out what he’s saying.

“I love you.”

The stone finally begins to crack. For a moment, Vision closes his eyes and looks at peace. Whatever he’s actually experiencing—if it’s the sensation of energy being released from the stone, if it’s his consciousness slipping, or if it’s simply a figment of his artificial imagination— is a mystery. At last, the stone breaks, releasing a shockwave of energy that blows Wanda and Thanos back. When the flash fades, Vision is nowhere to be seen. Wanda is on the ground, catching her breath. She exerted herself so much and feels so drained.

Thanos approaches her. “I understand my child. Better than anyone.”

Wanda’s grief and fear are replaced with blood-boiling anger, “You could never,” she snarls.

“Today I lost more than you could ever know, but now is not the time to mourn,” Of course, he was referring to when he had to sacrifice Gamora, but even if she knew that her argument would not change. Fundamentally the actions were the same, but what they meant was entirely different. Thanos seemed to mistake guilt for compassion and cruelty for sacrifice. He seemed to mistake Vision’s and Wanda’s mutual understanding of what had to be done as being the same as his justification for his daughter’s death.

“Now, there’s no time at all,” he continued reaching forward. The time stone hums to life as he reworks the threads of time itself. The very explosion that was the mind stone shattering starts to reverse itself as he twists his hand. At last, Vision is returned, and he gazes at Thanos with a horrified expression.

“No!” Wanda screams as she jumps to stop him, but he swats her away. She helplessly watches as he picks up Vision by the neck and plucks the mind stone out of his forehead. Vision’s body becomes lifeless and grey. Thanos throws the husk away and Wanda stares horrifically into Vision’s hallow, lifeless eyes.

Thanos’s lips curl in satisfaction as he adds the mind stone to the middle of the gauntlet. Colors of electricity-like power flow through him and he gasps. The power was exhilarating. His breathing becomes increasingly labored as the searing energy prevails. What was happening? He was supposed to have gained control of the gauntlet by now. He was no mere mortal, he was strong enough to handle the power. Wanda can only watch as the chaos plays out

The energy radiating from the gauntlet is strong and writhing, Wanda can feel it, it’s like a beast craving escape, clawing away at freedom. Waves hit her with monumental force, a shrieking wail rips through the air. Where it’s coming from is unknown.

“This. Isn’t. Right!” Thanos manages to bellow between gasps of agony. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He manages to look towards Wanda, who’s sitting on the ground dumbfounded.

“What. Did. You. Do?” He snarls. She shakily scrambles away from the mad titan. As she watches, he’s seemingly staring at her, but his gaze isn’t actually upon her.

“Wanda, what’s going on?” Banner’s crackling voice transmits over the commlink but she does not answer. Her eyes widen as she’s starting to understand the wail; as she’s hearing what Thanos is hearing.

Release us!

Release Us!

RELEASE US!

It’s too much for her. She covers her ears with her hands to drown it out, but it won’t stop. She screams.

Thanos turns at a new source of commotion. Thor rips through the clouds, Stormbreaker in hand. He throws it and Thanos, being mildly incapacitated, can’t defend himself. The magnificent ax lodges itself into the titan’s chest. The pain hardly compares to the overpowered gauntlet. Thor could care less about what the hell is happening, he’s got one thing on his mind.

Before he can reach Thanos, before Wanda can warn him, a shockwave of energy erupts from the gauntlet. Thor, Thanos, and Wanda are blown back. Streaks of color mark the sky as various stones are launched away from Earth.

Thanos groans as he sits up. Stormbreaker is no longer lodged into his chest, and the gauntlet is no longer radiating unbearable amounts of energy. Wait. He turns his hand over. There was one stone left, shining a brilliant blue.

"No," he hissed. He had the stones, he won! How could this have happened?

Thor is quick to his feet. He reaches his hand out and Stormbreaker flies back into his grasp. Thanos turns his gaze to the Asgardian.

“This,” he huffed between labored breaths, “Isn’t over.”

Thor leaps up and swings the ax at him again, but Thanos is quick to summon another portal with the space stone he managed to hold onto. Stormbreaker strikes empty ground. Unsatisfied, Thor rips his ax from the Earth. “Should’ve gone for the head,” he muttered to himself.

Steve has woken up by now and makes his way over to Thor while slightly limping. Before he could ask anything T’Challa reported to him over the commlink

“They’re… retreating,” Steve says. The alien army was probably trying to regroup with Thanos. He looks to Thor, “What happened? Is it over?”

“I… Don’t know,” he admits. His gaze falls over to Wanda, still unconscious on the ground but something yellow is glowing in her hand. The mind stone.

“If anyone knows, it’s her,” he says, gesturing to her.

Steve nods. He noticed the stone, but looking around he didn’t see Vision. Unfortunately for them, his body had been destroyed in the blast.

“Alright, let’s regroup, count our losses, and figure out what happened.”

The war was far from over.

[areiton]

text me maybe

Summary:

He’s drunk and there’s a really hazy decade in the nineties that Rhodey looks pained when he even thinks about that says doing shit when he’s drunk is a bad idea.

There’s also a new building on MIT campus and a yearly donation that supports that theory.

But MIT and Rhodey are far away and that clunky black flip phone is not, and he snarls as he snatches it up and punches in the message.

It takes almost five minutes because the tech is obsolete and he is drunk but he does and he smiles at it, viciously pleased.

~*~

Chapter 5 of 5. Lots of angst and miscommunication and pining. Enjoy.

Read on AO3

~*~ 

I hate you. 

 I know. 

 ~*~ 

 I miss you. 

 That isn’t fair. 

 I know. But it’s true. 

 ~*~ 

 Steve is an asshole. 

 Trouble in paradise? 

What is going on with him and Sam? 

 He thinks he knows what’s best for me--keeps tryin to protect me. 

Doesn’t get I don’t need or want to be protected from you. 

They’ve been fuckin since before SHIELD fell are you just now noticin?

 I have a company to run and a world to save, I don’t know who the geriatic captain is sleeping with. 

I thought he was still hung up on peg. 

 He is. Sam puts up with a lot more shit than i would. 

 I dunno, you put up with me. 

 ~*~ 

 How pissed would you be if I murdered someone in your Tower? 

 It bothers me how much I don’t mind it when you talk about murder 

Who pissed you off? 

 Wanda. 

 Won’t bother me at all. But don’t get caught. 

 Would that bother you? 

 More than I like, yeah. 

 ~*~ 

 Stop stealing Pete. 

 No. 

But you can have Pepper--she scares me. 

 Coward. 

 ~*~ 

 Why did you do it? 

 Because you fascinated me. And because I wanted to say I’m sorry. You--nothing that happened was your fault. You were tryign to protect the Avengers, and you had every right to be angry, when you found out what I did. 

I knew you’d never listen to me. And i took the opportunity that I found to say what i needed, and I shouldn’t have. 

I knew you’d be angry, and I did it anyway. I was wrong. 

I’m so sorry, baby. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony? 

 ~*~ 

 Peter said you left the Tower. Please--i didn’t mean to chase you away. Please come home. 

 ~*~ 

 I’ll leave. I’ll take all of them with me, and leave you in peace. But please come back. 

 ~*~ 

 I’m sorry. 

 ~*~ 

 Don’t go. 

 ~*~ 

 He comes back. He thinks, for a brief moment, about slipping in while it’s dark, before he remembers this is his fucking Tower, and he isn’t sneaking in like a goddamn criminal. 

He comes back, an explosion of noise, flanked by Rhodey and Pepper as he strolls through the common area, and brings all the Rogues to a stop. 

Pepper ignores them completely, rattling on about SI and missed meetings, looming deadlines and a problem in R&D and he nods along, hiding his smile when Wanda shifts, angrily. “Send Pete down to R&D, get with Friday about the deadlines and meetings, and I’ll have everything on my desk signed and in your assistant’s hand by morning. Good?” 

She huffs, and he grins, drops a kiss on her cheek before she gives the Rogues an unimpressed glare and stalks away, already on her phone. 

Tony takes a moment to breath, and then shifts, turns his attention to the team staring at him with mixed expressions. Resignation and dislike and confusion and hope. 

“Rogers, we need to talk.” 

Wanda tenses, “You don’t really think--” 

“I think,” Tony says, sharply, “that this is my home, my property, and if you are going to stay here, your leader and I will be having a conversation. That isn’t asking for much, but if it is? No one is keeping you here.” 

Wanda’s eyes are wide and furious and there is a soft red glow to her fingers. 

“I will stay with you,” Vision says, abruptly appearing. He’s kept his distance from the Rogues since they returned, and the sight of him jerks Wanda to a hard stop. 

“Vis,” she whispers and Tony huffs. Turns his attention to Steve and arches an eyebrow. 

“Now?” Steve asks, startled and Tony smiles. 

“Now.” 

 ~*~ 

 Steve doesn’t say, after, what he and Tony talked about. 

But they don’t leave, and Tony doesn’t leave and Bucky thinks--maybe that’s saying enough. 

 ~*~ 

 I don’t trust wanda. 

 Wanda is Steve’s problem, Bucky babe. Not mine. 

 She’s dangerous. 

 Yep. But she’s also under his protection. So until that changes, my hands are kind of tied. 

 I won’t let her hurt you. 

 That’s a sweet sentiment--but it doesn’t change anything. 

I think it does. 

 ~*~ 

 Steve Rogers in his workshop was becoming a familiar and disturbing occurrence. Tony huffs and says, “FRIDAY, we have a pest problem. Call the exterminators?” 

“Sure thing, Boss,” she answers chirpily, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“What can I do for you, Cap?” 

“I read them. The Accords. And the pardons you negotiated.” 

Tony freezes and Steve gives him a searching stare. “Why didn’t you tell me, you were trying to bring us home?” 

He doesn’t say, I thought I did. 

“Because it wasn’t done. Didn’t make a lot of sense to promise something I couldn’t deliver. And last time I brought you something and tried to explain it, we ended up destroying a German airport.” 

You almost killed me. Rhodey was paralyzed. 

He bites back the words. The accusations. There’s no room for them, not if they’re going to fix things, and he’s tired enough to admit, to himself, that he wants to. 

He’s scared enough, of the threats beyond their tiny blue planet, to admit that they have to. 

“I was never going to give the Avengers to a bunch of politicians, Rogers,” he says, tired. Quiet. Not looking for a fight, just trying to explain and hoping that maybe this time, Steve would listen. “I was always going to rework the Accords, make them something we could live within, work within--and maybe, maybe when we fight whatever alien army that lands on our doorstep next time, we’ll have more than the six of us and a ill-timed nuke. Maybe the rest of the world can pull its weight.” 

Steve stares at him. “We’re supposed to protect them.” 

“We can’t,” Tony answers, simply. “Not without their help. We can’t save people who don’t want to be saved, Steve.” 

Steve is quiet, for a long time, and then. “Wanda is going to stay with Barton, for a while. Strange has agreed to work with her, try to train her. But the distance--the quiet--it’ll help.” 

Tony blinks at him, and Steve flashes him a smirk, something that’s almost what they were, once upon a time, before Ultron and Triskelion and Bucky. “Figure out what you’re doing with my best friend, man. The pining is getting unbearable.” 

 ~*~ 

 “Do you like having them back?” 

Tony glances at Peter. The kid is frowning at the suit, gaze intent as he plays with the wiring--but he know this kid, know him better than he probably should at this point, and it’s not hard to see the way Peter flicks a look at him, curious and weighted. The way the question is deliberately casual, like it doesn’t mean anything when they both know it means so much. 

“I haven’t decided,” Tony says, honestly. “It’s a lot.” 

Peter nods, and there’s something very tired in his gaze, something that makes Tony ache. “Is it--I’m still angry.” 

“Because of Siberia?” Tony asks, gently, and Peter’s gaze flicks to him. 

“Because of Siberia. And because they came back, but only Mr. Bucky ever apologized. That isn’t right, Mr. Stark.” 

He pauses, and puts his tools down, gives Peter his focus. “I know it isn’t, kid. I--there’s a lot going on. A lot you don’t know--” 

“What, you mean about Maximoff’s parents? About Cap lying to you?” There’s a bite to Peter’s voice that pauses Tony in his tracks. “I know more than you give me credit for, sir.” 

“So what do you think,” he says, throwing the ball back at Peter. If he knows the kid as well as he thinks he doesn't, he knows he thinks something. 

“I don’t trust Wanda. And I don’t like Cap. Wilson--he follows orders. They’re stupid orders and I think that’s the problem with him--but I can’t fault him for being loyal.” 

Tony’s lips twitch a little at that, and he pokes the bear. “And Bucky?” 

Peter smiles, a teasing, happy thing that makes his heart ache to see. “Mr. Bucky is the only one I do trust.” 

 ~*~ 

 My kid likes you. 

 I like him too. 

 My kid shouldn’t like you, Barnes. 

 All your kids like me, Tony. Even the bots do. 

 You make that sound like an achievement. 

They like everyone. 

 Is that why DUM-E gave Wanda a motor oil smoothie? And used the fire extinguisher on Sam’s wings? 

 Shut up. 

 ~*~ 

 They’re smart, you know. 

The kids. 

For liking you. For trusting you. 

 Baby 

 ~*~ 

 I miss you. 

 I’m right here, baby. Until you send me away, I’ll be waiting, right here. 

 ~*~ 

  Can you come to the workshop? 

 ~*~ 

 Bucky steps out of the elevator anxiously, and freezes there. 

He's heard about the workshop, of course. He was head over heels for Tony and even if he could manage to forget that, there was Peter and Rhodey and the casual way they peppered talk of the technological wonderland into every conversation. 

So he's heard of it, but it's different, stepping into it. There are projects scattered around like half-wrought miracles, holo screens glowing in the air, a  line of shiny cars and one that's rusty and in pieces. The bots are chirping and whistling as they chase each other around the room, and Tony shouts at them. 

Because in the middle of it all, is Tony. In ratty jeans and bare feet and a black tank top that leaves Bucky's mouth dry. His hair is messy and his arms are sweat slick and smudged with grease, and he looks beautiful. 

Utterly breathtaking. 

He makes a noise, small and hurt and Tony and the bots pause, twisting to him. 

DUM-E whistles, shrill and pleased, and drops the screwdriver he's taunting U with to race toward him, arm waving maniacally. 

The bots cluster around him, plucking at his sleeve and his shirt, tugging him deeper into the workshop, toward Tony and he looks up, smiles helplessly. 

"Sorry," he says, and Tony shakes his head, waves him off. 

"I should apologize," he starts and Bucky snorts. Laughs. 

"You don't ever have to apologize because the kids like me, Tony." 

It makes Tony pause, makes him study Bucky a little harder, and Bucky is quiet, let's him look his fill, content to take the ball Butterfingers presses into his gut and roll it gently across the floor and grin as the bots all shriek and race after it, fighting and bumping into each other. He grins, and looks back at Tony. 

He jerks, almost as if slapped. "Right. I--I have something for you." 

Bucky straightens up and follows Tony. "You don't--I won't be upset if you don't want it. I just--I--" 

"Just show me, darlin'," Bucky murmurs and Tony flicks a look at him, and then nods, short and choppy and throws a schematic from his tablet to glow in the air before them. 

It's gorgeous. Sleek and metallic, but a deep matte black, with hints of gold, a bare shoulder. "Tony," Bucky breathes, and Tony fidgets. 

"I kept the plating--it gives you more motion and the fingers. I might have hacked the Princess' server to find out about the neural interface, so it should be compatible with the hardwiring you have left behind--but there's upgrades. Better sense receptors and reaction time." 

"Tony," Bucky says again, helpless. 

"You don't--I was working on Rhodey's legs and it got in my head. I'm not going to be upset if you don't want it. I just--it's here. And it's yours. If you want it." 

"Why?" Bucky asks, his voice hoarse. "Why would you do this for me?" 

Tony flushes. Bites his lip and Bucky twists, drags his gaze away from the beautiful arm that Tony *made for him, to the man himself, beautiful and so close Bucky can feel the warmth of him, against the skin of his right arm. "You hated me. You didn't know." 

"I didn't," Tony says. 

"You hated me," Bucky says, brokenly. 

Tony softens, his gaze gentle and his fingers in Bucky's shirt twisting and soft. "I never hated you. I was--I was so angry. But I never hated *you. I never could." 

Bucky makes a noise then and he presses close, almost--almost--kissing Tony. He stops, just barely, hovering, breath brushing hot against Tony's lips.

"Tony," he whispers, pleading. 

"You dumbass," Tony breathes, and yanks him forward. 

It's hard, messy, desperate. Bucky's hand is hot and heavy on Tony's hip, and that touch, that grip on the man grounds him. It's sloppy and not very good, and then Tony's fingers slide into his hair, grips and *tugs, just enough to change the angle, just enough to drag a hungry groan from Bucky, just enough to turn the kiss filthy wet perfect. 

"Bed," Tony manages to press into the kiss, drags over his lower lip with his teeth, and Bucky makes a noise he'd be ashamed of it, it didn't makes Tony shiver against him. 

He's herded back, back, until they leave the workshop for a small room set to the side. Bucky sees a small fridge, a battered couch, and then he's being pushed down onto a bed, and Tony is crawling up him, chasing his lips, and rocking down against his hardon. Bucky's hand on his hip grips, convulsive, and it makes Tony breath a laugh against his lips, giddy with triumph. 

His laughter is the sweetest damn thing Bucky's ever tasted, and he wants it, wants it forever. 

He's so damn gone on this beautiful brilliant bastard. 

"Tony," he whispers, helpless and entranced and it settles some of the frenetic energy rolling off the genius, who stretches himself out, rubbing slow and soft against Bucky as he kisses him, soft and deliberate and thorough.  

"Gonna let me see you, darlin?" Bucky asks into the sticky slow kisses.

"Yeah," Tony breathes, and he pulls away to wiggle out of his jeans, shoving them down and off without hesitation and or shame, tugging off the tank top with the same impatience that leaves Bucky's fingers shaking and his mouth dry. 

He reaches for Tony, without really thinking, just desperate to get his hand back on that sleek beautiful body, desperate to drag that warm skin and strength back against him. "Lemme blow you," he murmurs against the warm, sweaty skin of Tony's throat, and feels the man shudder against him. He smiles, and presses Tony to the mattress and slides down his body. 

Later, he'll take his time, tease and taunt, play with him until Tony is begging. 

Later, he'll give Tony his mouth, work him open with lips and tongue and finger until Tony is shaking and sobbing and coming against the sheets. 

Later, he'll grip Tony's hip and fuck up into him as Tony rides him, slow and syrup sweet and soul shattering. 

Later, he'll do all of that. Later. 

Because for the first time, he thinks--they have a later. 

They have a future. 

For the first time, he isn't afraid of the silent dark phone forgotten in his pant's pocket. 

He shoves his jeans off and let's Tony help him from his shirt and they've barely collapsed back on the bed before Bucky has his cock in his mouth, and Tony's fingers in his hair, and the deep groans and bitten off curses fill the air, and it's not everything he wants, not yet, not yet--but it's damn close. 

He closes his eyes and gives himself up to this beautiful man and thinks, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

 ~*~ 

 Tony wakes up alone,  sore and sticky, aching in that way he does when he's had very good sex. 

Tony wakes up alone, to the familiar sound of his bots beyond the door, and Bucky's voice low as he teases them and plays with them sounds so right it feels familiar. 

The phone buzzes next to his head, again, and he picks it up and smiles at the text that’s waiting for him.

[oceanmastertrash]

the tide knows our names- part 6

gif from @voyevoda-thejoy

Summary:  Takes place after the events of the movie. You are part of an old branch of Atlanteans known as Tidewatchers who can see/predict the future. As Arthur settles into being king, you get a powerful vision of an attempt on Orm’s life. Now you must work with your former king to try to keep your vision from coming true.

Part: 6/?

Word Count: 1,638

Warnings: none for this chapter

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / Read on Ao3

Orm seemed to grow uneasy at Arthur’s expression, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

Then Arthur burst into a shit-eating grin and when he looked at Orm all doubts were erased as he said, “You are definitely going to hate it, little bro. Congrats, you just won a trip to the surface.”

-

To say that Orm was not enthused about this plan was like saying that the ocean was wet.

“You honestly expect me to hide out on the surface for this?” Orm seethed.

“Yes I do,” Arthur said gravely, just about fed up by his younger brother’s obstinance. “What else would you have us do? Unless you hadn’t noticed, you’ve pissed off a lot of people down here. You killed the Fisherman king for christ’s sake. That’s not something they or anyone else are going to get over in a hurry. And if you want any chance of sticking around and making things up to people, you’re going to have to trust us. Please, give us a chance to figure things out.”

Orm was silenced with that. It was certainly not an easy thing for him to hear but Arthur was right to say it. If he was going to survive this to help fix things one day, he was just going to have to deal with this. Sacrifices must be made for the sake of his people after all. Because whether or not any of the other tribes even believed in him anymore, he still believed in them and wanted to do what was best. And if Arthur was to evolve into a king skilled enough to rule them he would need Orm’s help and he’d be no help if he was dead.

“Alright,” Orm finally agreed and you let out a breath. “We’ll try it your way, brother.”

There was almost a trace of affection there but if nothing else it showed you that he was trying make things right.

Vulko had a suspicious look in his eyes, almost as if he couldn’t fully believe Orm was acquiescing this easily. You knew the truth though, nothing about this was easy for Orm. Each effort at civility and deference in such a charged situation was a heavy and grueling burden.

“How would we do it though?” You couldn’t help but ask before clarifying. “I’m not saying it’s a bad plan. It’s actually pretty clever but how would it work logistically? Would you drop him off at your parents’ lighthouse or what?”

Both brothers had a very visible reaction but while Arthur’s was more disapproving, Orm’s managed to have equal strokes of pain and distaste. He clearly had no desire to play audience to his mother’s happily ever after with her surface dweller. Especially considering it was their romance that had ultimately taken her from Orm, leaving him to grow up under the sole care of his violent and tempestuous father. He may be willing to submit to a stay on the surface he hated but he was not desperate enough to agree to that.

“No,” Arthur said, “I don’t want to put this on them. Besides, if it's crossed our minds, anyone after Orm would think of that too.”

Over the past few hours it seemed to you that you four had spent a lot of time contemplating this problem in silence. It also seemed that you all hadn’t gotten very far in any angle of tackling it.

“Well what do you think?” You asked. “Are we supposed to just pop him on the surface by himself?”

None of them looked even remotely interested in that idea.

“Certainly not,” Vulko responded, “We can’t just send the prince to the surface by himself.”

“What then?” you asked, seeming to track where his thought had trailed, “You can’t exactly send a whole squadron with him. I thought we were looking for inconspicuous. If you do that, you might as well be broadcasting his location. Besides, someone would notice if a whole battalion went missing at the same time the prince disappeared.”

“You’re right,” Arthur agreed, an almost mischievous look in his eye, “but they probably wouldn’t notice if it was a single Tidewatcher.”

You were struck utterly speechless, your mouth hanging open. Then, trying to make sure you hadn’t just hallucinated, asked. “You want to send me?”

Orm was similarly surprised but he had yet to say anything, as if waiting to hear exactly what Arthur intended.

“Why not? You’ve already saved his life once,” Arthur pointed out.

“I did not-”

You spluttered at the same time that Orm said, “I would hardly say that.”

Arthur held his hands up to quiet further objections on that score, “Say what you want but I think it’s the natural choice. It was your death vision that got us started on all this and you would be the ideal option for protection up here. You’d be right there in case you saw anymore visions of attacks.”

Vulko spoke next, “It makes a certain kind of sense but would she be enough to fight off any real threat? It’s not like she’s a trained warrior.”

“Warrior? No.” Arthur agreed, “but she is trained. You saw her in the attack, from what the guards told me, she’s more than skilled enough to not only hold her own but watch Orm’s back.”

You ought to have been flattered at that but you were still stuck at flabbergasted over his bombastic plan.

Orm, strangely enough, did not dispute your skills. Instead he said, “You can hardly plan to send just the two of us up to the surface without any kind of reinforcement.”

“Her tide watching is reinforcement,” Arthur countered. “And from what Mera told me, the Tidewatchers are all connected by the tide or something so if anyone was able to track you down she could reach out to the council and we’d come find you.”

You blinked, that was a gross oversimplification but it wasn’t exactly wrong. And it’s not like you could take any kind of Atlantean tech to communicate, that would be way too easy to track. Seven Seas, were you actually considering this?

Orm was trying to hold back, “Yes but they would likely come too late. If something went wrong, it would be just us out there.”

“The idea is less about fortification and more about subterfuge and deflection,” Arthur said. “We’d be doing our part down here to throw anyone off the track while you two are supposed to disappear on the surface. Who knows? You may even learn a thing or two about it; Y/N seems to have.”

It was then that you realized your mention earlier at having spent time on the surface had not been forgotten by the king and he was in fact, using it as evidence that you were the right choice for this. You had to admit, even if this whole idea completely baffled you, it was smart thinking.

Orm made to object again but Arthur stopped him, “I know, it’s not what you want and it certainly isn’t the most ideal, but right now, it looks like it’s our best shot unless anyone else has any other ideas.”

Orm furrowed his brow, trying to think of one, but like you, failing.

“Besides,” Arthur began, “this way, with you exploring the surface more, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Orm outright scowled at that, “A charming surface expression, I take it.”

Arthur grinned, “Yep, and you’re going to get to learn a whole lot more.”

You didn’t think that was the best way to persuade Orm to agree to this but you weren’t exactly about to say that to your king. Besides, Arthur’s blustery confidence and decisiveness were certainly doing a lot of the work on that score.

Despite all your gifts with the Tides if someone had told you yesterday that the King was seriously planning on sending you up to the surface alone with Prince Orm to protect him you would have thought they were crazy. You supposed this was proof that the tides could still move in ways that were mysterious even to you.

Orm hung his head and you could see him resign to it but he kept his back straight and his gaze steely as he fixed Arthur with his stare. Oddly though, you could sense he was taking special care not to look at you as he finally said, “Very well, my King. But I trust you to do your sworn duty to look to your kingdom, no matter how odious a meeting or how dull you may find it. Atlantis looks to you.”

He then looked to Vulko, “And I trust you not to forget to investigate this matter to the very best of your ability, lest you seek to use this as an excuse to exile me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Vulko said icily though it certainly seemed to you that he had, in fact, dreamed such an idea.

“We’ll keep looking, Orm,” Arthur assured him with a determined set to his jaw, “On that you have my word. We’ll get to the bottom of this and get you back here before too long.”

Orm seemed to take, if not comfort, then assurance in what his brother said because he chose not to snipe back at Vulko. He seemed to have resigned himself to whatever this was that you two were about to embark on even as you still could hardly grasp this was happening.

You wanted him to look at you, to see what he really thought of you being the one to join him on the surface but he kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on his brother as he asked, “When will we leave?”

Arthur looked to Vulko then, decided, back to Orm and you, “Tomorrow.”

IMPORTANT UPDATE: After this chapter, I'm looking to rework this fic so that it features an OC instead of the Reader. Because this story it blossoming to be much longer than I'd anticipated, I feel like being an OC fic would be better for it in the long run. So when chapter 7 or 8 posts, look to see Elara instead of You. I'm hoping you all understand this change and I thank you all for bearing with me. I'm also looking to go back and rework these already posted chapters to fit with this new direction. The story itself is the same, just the main character will be shifted. Thank you!

[crushingonrazz]

The link above will lead you to the reworked chapter, just like how 15 worked. Below the cut is the significantly shittier version of the ending of Tenacity. 

The epilogue is the same for both versions, and will just be on Ao3 like the rest of the story. 

Blue had forgotten how soft his scarf was.

He ran his fingers along its bright blue surface, reveling in the texture even as his mind is screaming at him to snatch his hand away.

Intellectually, he was aware that there was no reason to. The dust was held in a delicately carved glass ornament, specially made for the purpose it served and placed carefully on top of the dresser. If he looked up, just a glance, he could see it. He could assure himself that the scarf is clean. He didn't. But he knew he could.

The bag he pulled down from the top shelf of the bedroom closet was nearly half as big as he is, but it still seemed too small. After retrieving what few items Razz owned, placing them inside, it had become very clear that he would also be taking only what was absolutely necessary.

He had already broken the rule twice. Once for Stretch’s baby blanket, the last reminder of a little brother that had once looked up to him like he could change the world. Once for a hardbound children’s book, stained and torn but held so dearly to his soul that once he noticed it on the shelf, he couldn’t bear to leave it behind. The bag was quickly filling with clothes, shoes, and other essentials, and space was beginning to run low.

He shouldn’t bring the scarf.

It was basically useless, unable to be worn as the clothing it is. He could barely bring himself to touch it, let alone tie it around his neck like he used to. He shouldn’t pack it.

Picking it up, he brushed his thumbs over the cloth, staring down at it like it held the answers to the universe. He couldn’t bring the dust. He knew better than to even consider stealing something like that from Sans and Red. Especially Sans.

Carefully, he folded the blue cloth into a smaller square, tucking it into the bag before turning back to the dresser.

He made short work of the rest of his packing, pointedly ignoring his tighter clothing in favor of what was loose and roomy. If he was going to have to replace everything he owned, he may as well start out with some clothes he’d actually be able to wear for a while. Then he zipped the bag, taking a step back and looking down at himself. That was everything, right? He had shirts and pants and--

Oh.

His left hand rose, turning from side to side to watch the metal of his wedding band gleam. They’d had to be specially ordered, made with three colors of magic instead of two. The weaving strands of blue, navy, and red had been on his finger for so long that he’d nearly forgotten it was there.

Working it off the phalanx carefully, he turned, setting it on the dresser next to the carved glass that held their baby’s dust.

One last look around the the room, then he settled the strap over his shoulder, pulling it off the bed and nearly falling over with the weight of it. He groaned, setting it back on the ground as he rethought how to make this work. The most frustrating part of it was that he knew he would have easily been able to carry it if half of his magic wasn’t going to the soulling. He paused, settling a hand over his midriff. He allowed himself the barest smile, closing his eyes as he focused on the feeling of his child. His second chance.

He jumped as noise blasted from his pocket, tugging out his phone quickly and hitting accept as soon as he saw the Caller ID. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Razz said, and Blue’s smile grew at the sound of his voice, holding the phone closer to his ear as the other continued. “We’re finishing up here. Slim is going to stay the night again, apparently, so it’s going to take me a little longer than usual to get back.”

“Okay,” he responded. “I’m packed, and I...I told Red. Sans probably knows by now.”

“Are you okay?” His voice was so full of worry, Blue’s smile flashed back onto his face for a moment.

“Yeah. I’m just ready to go. I want to say goodbye before I do.”

“Of course. Be careful, and I’ll see you in a few minutes.” There was a pause, then, “And...Blue?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His soul warmed, filling with Razz’s emotion alongside his own. “I love you too. See you soon.”

The phone clicked as Razz hung up, and Blue tucked his phone back into his pocket, taking a deep breath before pulling the bag back onto his shoulder, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him. He shifted the bag one more time before he made his way to the stairs, descending slowly as he huffed from the effort of carrying this much weight with so little magic.

He was cursing under his breath, almost all the way down the stairs before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, taking the bag from his grip. He looked up to see Sans descending the stairs ahead of him, setting the bag on the floor before turning back to face him.

Sans’ face was tear-streaked, blue staining the bone under his eyes as he watched Blue come downstairs more slowly. They made eye contact for a moment, and Sans’ mouth trembled before he spoke.

“Hi.”

His voice broke on the single word, and Blue’s soul contracted with guilt.

“Hello.”

Hesitating, Sans folded his arms. “So you’re… you’re really leaving?”

“Yes,” He replied quietly.

“Where will you go?”

“He has a place, over in Waterfall.”

Sans opened his mouth, then closed it, finally looking at the floor. He started to speak again, but cut himself off halfway through the first syllable. Finally, he shook his head, lifting his chin as he gave up asking his question.

“Make sure you still go to the doctor,” he murmured instead. “Red is angry, and… so am I? But just… take care of yourself, o-okay?”

Blue nodded, holding back tears. Despite everything, he really didn’t like seeing Sans in pain. “Are you guys going to be okay?” he couldn’t help but ask. “With… with the house, and getting to work, and--”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

Sans’ voice was still soft, and he hesitated again to glance towards the kitchen doorway. Then he stepped forward, pulling Blue into a tight hug. Blue returned the hold, arms wrapped around his back and face pressed to his clavicle.

“I still want you to be happy, Blue,” Sans whispered, voice just barely audible even right next to him like Blue was. “I’m sorry that we didn’t see that you weren’t.”

Blue didn’t reply, closing his eyes and hugging impossibly tighter until Sans pulled away, wiping at his eyes.

“D-do you need a shortcut anywhere?”

“No, I’m--”

“I thought you were leaving.”

They both jumped, facing the kitchen doorway to see Red, standing with his arms crossed and glaring directly at Blue. His first instinct was to glare back, but he refrained, drawing himself up.

“I wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Blue sighed. “I am sorry to have hurt you, Red.”

“I don’t care how sorry you are,” he growled, straightening up and advancing a few steps into the room. “You should have talked to us about how you were hurting, trusted us. A marriage is about trust, Blue! And you tossed that out the window, so don’t pretend you care what happens to us. Just go.”

“Red--”

“Sans. He’s making his own choice. He’s made his own choice.”

Blue swallowed, looking away. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yes. You said that.”

“Red,” said Sans, more quietly this time. Red glared at the ground, but went silent, and Sans turned back to Blue. “Will we ever see you again?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Blue saw Red shift, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. Blue pretended he couldn’t see the tears gathering under his sockets.

“I don’t want to cut you out. Either of you,” he added, glancing again at Red. “You’ve been so important to me for so long that I couldn’t really imagine never seeing you again. But it’s up to you. I’d understand if you don’t want to, and I’m not going to force you to--”

“We’ll have to see each other again to sign the divorce papers, won’t we?” Red spat, and Blue flinched, closing his eyes for a moment before turning to fully face him.

“Yes. We will.” Red looked shocked at the honesty, but Blue continued on without pause. “I’m making a new life for myself. I hope that the two of you will be able to do the same.” A wry smile twisted his face. “It shouldn’t be too different, after all.”

“No, Blue--”

“Don’t give him what he wants, Sans.”

Blue opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, sighing as he reached up to rub his face. He didn’t know how to--

A spike of anxiety hit his soul, and he jumped, recognizing the feeling as belonging to Razz only when the door had already been opened, the other entering after kicking the snow off his boots. Blue could feel him projecting as he did so, a tentative sort of concern making its way across their bond. He was quick to respond with reassurance and anticipation, hoping he was signalling his intent to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Did you know?”

Razz looked up to where Red was standing, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“You’re his best friend, aren’t you?” he demanded, throwing a hand harshly in Blue’s direction. “Did you know he was fucking around like a cheap whor--” He choked out a sob in the middle of the word, hands coming up and digging into the sides of his skull as he stalked away and then came back, too angry to give up but too hurt to get the slur all the way out. “Did he tell you?”

Face flashing with understanding, Razz glanced at Blue before returning his focus to Red. He forced a shrug, but Blue could see the stiffness of his shoulders and back hidden in the motion. “I don’t know what you’re--”

“Why are you lying?” Red demanded, taking a pace forward. Tears were leaking freely down his face, but he made no move to push them aside. “We already know he’s been… been r-riding the neighborhood, you don’t need to keep his secrets anymore!”

Razz took a step back, hands coming up in defensive posture as he opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, however, Blue heaved his bag back onto his shoulder, speaking quietly in an attempt to avoid further upset. “Razz, can you please help me get this outside? I need to get out of--

“Hang on,” Sans said, settling an hand on Blue’s arm at the same time that Red snarled out a “Stop.” He was looking between them, eyes narrowed as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Blue. Who was it?”

He forced his eyes to stay locked on Red’s, refusing to even glance at Razz. “Red, it doesn’t--”

“Who did you cheat on us with?!”

Sans let go of his arm, taking half a pace toward Red, but before any of them could react, Red shortcutted across the room, seizing Blue by the wrists and squeezing just to the point of pain. “Whose fucking child is that?!”

Blue cried out, more in surprise than pain, then Razz was between them, slipping his fingers into the pressure points on Red’s carpals and forcing him to let go of his hold. “Don’t touch him like that, you fucking--”

The sound of Red’s fist colliding with Razz’s face was a horrible sort of crunching noise, ringing out into the dead silence of the living room. Razz groaned, doubling over as he reached for his skull. Red hauled back again, and Blue cried out as Razz stumbled back into him, nearly sending them both to the ground.

“Red!” Sans shouted, his voice a mix of disbelief and horror, but Red ignored him, eyelight flashing with excess magic. “How fucking dare you. How fucking--” A blaster materialized in the air behind him, and Blue grabbed Razz to him, pulling him out of range before he could--

“Stop!”

Blue looked up to see that Sans had a hold on Red’s arm, breathing heavy as he forced the other to look at him.

“Red, you need to stop! This isn’t going to solve anything!”

Shaking, Red forced himself to relax. His chest was heaving, anger clashing with the misery in his expression as he snarled, “We showed you mercy, you fucking bastard! Do you have any idea what you’re putting our family through?”

Razz had straightened, and Blue stood just to his side, one hand gripping Razz’s arm. He examined the injury to the other’s face, relieved to find it minimal. One of the cracks in his eye sockets seemed to be widened, but it was barely noticable. Tears still sprang to his eyes at the magic running freely from his chin, and Blue turned to look at Red. “It’s not just his fault!”

“Don’t even get me started on you!”

Sans sucked in a sharp breath, and Blue looked to see the other’s eyes locked on the place where his hand was in contact with Razz’s arm. After a split second of hesitation, Blue let go, dropping his grip instead to clutch tightly to his hand. Razz squeezed back, glancing down to meet Blue’s eyes before looking back up at Red. “We never wanted to--”

“You have no clue!” Red yelled, voice breaking on the last word. “You have no idea what we’ve stood through together, what this is going to do to… to Sans!”

Sans didn’t move, still focused on Razz and Blue’s clasped hands.

“Maybe if you’d been as concerned about Blue as you are about Sans, he wouldn’t have been so lonely he needed me!” Razz shot back, grip tightening. Sans finally looked up, expression stricken, but Red was seething, finally wiping away the tears streaking his face.

“Fuck you, you have no idea the sacrifices we’ve made for each other! You have no idea what we were missing, and there is nothing to excuse the fact that he tossed six years of trust back into our faces! There’s nothing to excuse you living under our roof and taking advantage of the opportunity to get your fucking dick wet!”

“I was ready to give up my child so that he could be happy with you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you were ready to give up!” Red’s voice was shaking, but he powered on. “I was ready to be a father! I was ready to have a family, and I have always been ready to give up on that dream in order to be with the two people I love more than life! And you have the fucking gall to blame me for not reading his fucking mind?! To pretend it was our fault that he never even trusted us enough to tell us--” He cut off, breath choking in a sob, and Sans wrapped an arm around his waist. “Fuck you,” Red managed to force out. “Fuck both of you. Get the hell out of our house, Razz, and take the fucking trash out with you.”

Razz took a step forward, but Blue tugged on his hand. He was shaking, and the guilt and sadness filling his soul finally seemed to reach Razz because he flinched, looking back at him in concern. He opened his mouth, but Blue shook his head.

“Let’s go, Razz. Let’s just go.”

After a second of hesitation, Razz took the bag from Blue’s shoulder, settling it on his own. Something crashed in the kitchen, and Blue looked up to see that Red had disappeared, leaving Sans to stand alone in the middle of the living room.

They locked eyes, just for a moment.

Blue turned around, following Razz out the front door and into the cold of Snowdin. They walked in silence for a few seconds. Blue took a shaky breath, zipping his coat snugly around his stomach.

“Are you okay, Blue?”

He looked up to see Razz watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I will be.”

“Did they ever do anything wrong? Or hurt you?”

There was a long pause. “I don’t think they meant to,” he finally murmured.

Razz seemed to think this over, then dropped Blue’s hand to loop an arm around his waist, drawing him in closer.

“Razz?”

The hold tightened. “Yes?”

“Do you trust me?”

He wasn’t sure if Razz could even hear him at first, his voice came out so quietly, but he couldn’t bring himself to repeat the question.

Razz stopped walking, bringing Blue to a stop as well as he looked down to meet his eyes. “Always,” he murmured, his soul in Blue’s proving the truth of the statement.

“Why?” Blue asked, voice breaking as he looked up at the most beautiful monster he had ever met. “You saw what I--”

“I have very good reason to make this work,” Razz interrupted, tilting his head to one side. “I love you.” As it had the last few times, Blue’s soul made it known exactly what he thought of those words. Razz smiled.

“And I can feel you in here, loving me too. That’s as good a reason as any, I would think.”