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tssidesfics · 1 year

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Credit to @wisecolorthing for helping me come up with this nightmare crack fic. I can't entirely remember how we started talking about it but the conversation wandered to Remus in a Spencer's and this was born. It is pure crack. Completely ludicrous and ridiculous while also being completely in-character because we're talking about Remus, here.

God should have skipped the flood and just unleashed Remus on the world a few thousand years early.

Then again, humanity might never have recovered at that point, so what do I know?

Welcome to my little circle of hell, everybody. Yes, you are all correct that my relationship with the others can be best surmised with the "this house is a fucking nightmare" vine, but you don't get any points for it because it's not hard to figure out. I subsist off coffee, spite, and sarcasm (but differently from Janus, who subsists off wine, spite, and sarcasm) and exist solely to, in Remus' words, "vibrate like an overripe chihuahua on meth and five espressos with a dildo turned on up its ass"--AKA I am an anxious mess when I'm not spiraling ever-deeper into the bowels of worst-case scenario-ism. I live in a very weird gay man's head with my roommates, some of which (Logan) feign sanity 80% of the time and the other 20% conduct deranged experiments on furniture, food, and sometimes people like he's the last mad scientist left and has to preserve his culture. Some of them are actually (mostly) sane, like Patton (although we have to affectionately--and in Rage's case, literally, but they have a complicated relationship--beat on him to make him start crying when he needs to, so all things are relative). Some are just plain weird, like Roman (seriously, he's not even a type of crazy I can qualify, he's just unhinged). Some delight in feigned psychopathy (Janus). Some really need anger management therapy (do I seriously need to clarify?...actually, yeah, Logan could use some too). And some, AKA the problem child of this fever dream, defy description, but a DSM-5 edition bursts into flames every time they get a very specific little lopsided smile on their face--the one that slowly dawns like panels of light until it's blinding and suddenly nauseating to look at. That feeling is always proceeded by destruction of property. Always.

And of course Janus and Rage are gleeful enablers. Is it any wonder why I yeeted myself off the first exit ramp out of that 24/7 Mardi Gras festival?

In case it was not made shockingly apparent by literally everything about me, hi, I'm Virgil. Kill me.

My Nightmare #347 began with Patton yanking himself out of Thomas' head into the passenger side car-seat with a giddy smile on his face. "Hi, Thomas!"

Thomas screamed and jumped so hard he swerved. I neglected to appear to him physically--given I didn't want to make matters worse--but I did start fluently cussing and climbed the wall.

"Patton!" Thomas righted to the car as a cacophony of honks chastised him. "Hi, buddy. Next time, not in the middle of traffic!"

"Oop. Sorry, Thomas." At least Patton was appropriately contrite. I didn't often consider him an asshole--"cinnamon roll" is so apt he literally turns into a cinnamon roll sometimes--but today, I could make an exception. "I was wondering if we could all hang out with you at the mall today."

"Pat, it's hard enough with you guys providing running commentary on my every social interaction in my head," Thomas pointed out. "I'd like to just enjoy seeing Joan again while they're in town and I will have to corral at least five of you if I let you out."

"But Thomas..." Patton whined, bouncing frustratingly in his seat. "The Mindscape is boring!"

"You can bake an endless amount of cookies and turn it into whatever you want. I literally don't see how it could ever become boring."

"Logan won't let us change it from your living room."

Thomas sighed. "What are the chances I can convince Logan to lighten up a little?"

I snorted so loud Thomas heard it.

"Thank you for your contribution, Virgil." Thomas rolled his eyes. "If I let the rest of them out, do you promise you won't let them get into any trouble?"

I squawked. "You're expecting Patton to control the others? Are you insane? Patton couldn't control a drowsy teddy bear!"

Patton popped back into the Mindscape to turn hurt eyes on me. I crossed my arms. "No," I said. "I stand by what I said. Your backbone is made of silly putty."

"All right, Virgil," Thomas interjected before Patton could crank up the Guilt Trip'O'Meter as high as it would go. "You raise a good point. Why don't I leave you in charge?"

"I would rather crawl into a hot and rot, thanks."

"C'mon, I can feel how stir-crazy you're all getting. It's making me more antsy than usual."

"I don't see why that's a problem, considering you have never sat still anywhere a single day in your life. Someone could hold Joan over a barrel of piranha telling you they'd drop them if you couldn't sit still for an entire five minutes and it would be all your fault that Joan died."

Too late, I realized my mistake. Remus cackled loudly and sank out somewhere I didn't want to know but had to follow lest he murder the literal only reason Thomas had ever gotten me remotely under control.

"Why would you do that?" Thomas asked dully.

"You see why it's a bad idea to expect me to control these lunatics?"

Logan sighed, adjusting his glasses and snapping his folder closed. God knew what went on in those things; we only got independent internet access when we manifested and he certainly couldn't raid a bookstore without manifesting, yet he always had one in his lap, diligently working. It was morbidly fascinated. "Honestly," he grumbled. "Thomas, I believe that yes, your mental health would benefit from letting us manifest as a group. I can control the others."

"Logan," I began. "Buddy. Pal. My guy."

"Call me three of those ever again and there will be scalpels plunged into locations you do not want to think about."

"You cannot control them," I told him. "History has demonstrated multiple times that the only person who can control us is Thomas, and he's going to be busy catching up. He's going to let go of Remus' leash. Do you really--and I mean think about this--do you really think the time you want Remus off Thomas' leash is in a mall?"

"Fine. Then we'll leave him behind. At least venting some of--"

"He'll just start shooting off intrusive thoughts like a machine gun. You let more than one out, you open the floodgates."

"You're being paranoid."

"Funny that. I can't imagine why I'd be paranoid. Sounds completely unlike me, I'm normally so laid-back."

"The sarcasm was unnecessary."

"You're finally learning when I'm sarcastic." I was impressed. "Nice, Lo. I was getting worried."

Logan clicked his pen menacingly.

I grinned. Logan was easily one of my greatest allies in the Mindscape--Roman was insufferable, Janus, Remus and Rage were out of the question, and Patton could be obnoxiously patronizing--but never let his capacity for violence be underestimated. I once saw him take Roman's katana to a bundle of sticky notes because one of them gave him a paper cut. Despite that capacity for violence, however, I delighted in pushing his buttons.

"Are we manifesting today?" Roman called down the stairs with barely-restrained delight.

"Unless you can guarantee Remus won't set the mall on fire, hell no!" I called back up.

There was a long moment of silence. "Remus, I'll let you have Mrs. Snuffykins for one night if you behave yourself if we manifest!"

I had absolutely no idea what that was--I wanted to think a stuffed animal, but with Roman and Remus, all bets were off--but Remus' ecstatic screech was enough to tell me I probably didn't want to find out.

Roman looked back down at me. "He'll behave."

I arched an eyebrow.

"Prince's honor."

"Historically meant shit, Princey."

"Yes, but not Disneyally."

"That is not...remotely a word," Logan said, somehow a mix between dumbfounded and awed.

"Look, I'm just not optimistic that letting Remus out when Thomas isn't keeping an eye on him would end in anything except Thomas going to prison for arson, murder, or public indecency. Or worse."

"I'll keep him in line," Roman vowed. "Please, Virgil? I'm going stir-crazy in here, we all are."

I crossed my arms.

Roman pouted.

I snorted.

Roman glared.

I arched an eyebrow.

Roman slumped.

I grinned. "Deal with it, everybody. No manifesting. Get comfy. Janus, think about pushing your luck and I am ripping out each individual one of your scales and burying them in places you don't want."

"How delightfully Remus of you. Except for the part where you'll actually follow through on the threat."

"From Remus it wouldn't be a threat, it would be a bonding activity."

"Speaking of," Patton said shyly. "Didn't Remus run off after you said something about Joan getting hurt, kiddo?"

My eyes bugged out of my head. I sighed and hung it. "Why is it always me?" I mumbled and sunk out to chase Remus through the Mindscape.

~*~

After fishing out Remus' limbs from a pond of piranha he'd dismembered himself into when he heard me chasing after him, I borrowed some super glue from Roman's room and stuck him back together. It should have fixed him up good as new but it was Remus and any attempts I made to change things around here were easily superseded by one half of Creativity. Which meant Remus was now walking around with his penis glued to his forehead, fully erect.

Not as much time had passed by the time we returned as I expected. Which would have been great if not for the fact that the Conscious Mind was conspicuously quiet. All the dishes were clean, there wasn't any crap on the floor, and there were no Sides milling about. I could have taken the time to check each of their rooms upstairs but why waste the time when I knew exactly where they all were?

"Roman, you are in your thirties. A store called Forever 21 is not for you," Logan was saying after I manifested in the general direction of the others. "Hello, Virgil."

I glared. "What did I say?"

"Aw, but Virge--"

"You're inviting a Remustrophe right now, you realize that, right?"

Janus grinned. My blood ran cold.

"I WANT EVERY DILDO YOU HAVE!" echoed across the mall, and with horror, I realized what I'd done.

I'd loosed Remus Sanders on the Spencer's department store.

~*~

The good news: nothing had caught fire yet. Potential loss of life was yet to be determined as Patton yelped and rushed over to the prone body of the clerk behind the counter. That also proved fine when I saw him slump in relief after probing her neck for a pulse.

The bad news: Remus had slipped the superglue I'd used to piece him back together out of my pocket and was now using it to attach dildos, ripped out of their packages with plastic and cardboard shredded across the floor, to his costume. He was also dripping with something viscous, disincentivizing me from touching him to stop him from unleashing more chaos.

By rights, seven dildos glued to his top should have torn the damn thing, but it was made of sturdier stuff than that. I studied him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to approach, while he just continued to wreak havoc. Janus, meanwhile, the only one not preoccupied with horror or despair at Remus' antics, meandered over to the bowl in which they kept their sarcastic pins, perusing them idly.

"You better be planning to pay for those," I warned, then looked around. "Wait. Where's Rage?"

Logan glanced around. "Likely inflicting property damage on a jewelry store. He rather dislikes those."

I pinched my sinuses. "Logan, could you rein in your alter ego, please?"

"I am too evolved for my alter ego to be that idiot," Logan told me with overblown indignity.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, you're the only one who can talk some sense into him. The cameras may not be able to recognize Thomas' face on all of us, but the less reason the cops have to potentially stuff him in a cell, the better."

It was true. Somehow, whatever bizarre magic allowed us to manifest in the real world also confused cameras and people so no one could trace the destruction of property likely to follow us back to Thomas. It was the only reason I wasn't already in the fetal position on the floor forgetting the basic components of breathing.

Logan rolled his eyes and broke off to track down Rage. I turned my attention to Roman.

"No," Roman said firmly.

"He's your brother," I told him.

"Yes, and it's your fault he's here. You were supposed to watch him."

"I wouldn't have had to take my eyes off him if you guys hadn't snuck out in the first place. I'm one Side. Do you really think I would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of keeping Remus from doing exactly this?"

"And I have any better chance?"

"No, but the alternative is explaining to Thomas what you guys did."

Roman glared at me.

I glared back.

Roman pouted.

I continued glaring.

Roman stomped his foot and whined.

I pointed at Remus, who was now smashing glasses on the ground and eating the shards. Blood was rushing from his mouth and gathering in puddles on the floor. He was still dripping.

"I hate you," Roman informed me bluntly.

"Oh, like you've ever made a secret of that?"

Roman adopted a punched puppy expression at that one.

I sighed. "Yeah, yeah, you've been doing better, now go wrestle your brother into a cage or something."

Roman dragged his feet over to Remus and summoned a hasmat suit he put on. Remus sliced into it with a rather sizable shard and sprinted away before Roman could catch him. Without thinking, I lunged after him, only succeeding in sliding down the length of his body like he was covered in lube.

Oh, wait, it was lube. It smelled like one of Remus' worst farts and tasted like it too. You would have thought the dildos would have either failed to stick with his clothes soaked in lubricant or at least they would have given me something to hang onto to stop him from escaping, but all they did was slap me repeatedly in the face with silicon penes of various sizes.

Remus left a slimy trail behind him as he cackled deeper into the store. I was positive he was headed somewhere with matches so he could set the building on fire.

I pressed my face into the floor, into a puddle of lube, and sighed. Miserably, I hauled myself to my feet and turned back to everyone else. "You are in so much trouble," I assured them without passion, dragging myself off to find Thomas and get him to suck Remus back into the Mindscape before additional damage could be done.

I found him in the food court, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding deeper into the store. Altogether the world seemed relatively unaware of the happenings, another magical defense mechanism. It wasn't that people never noticed what we were doing, it was just that they were less likely to find it alarming. Although once the fire alarms started going off, people would pay attention.

"Thomas," I greeted without etiquette, coming to pause next to his table.

"Holy shit," Joan summarized perfectly. People aware of our nonsense were usually pretty good at spotting us and processing our appearances.

Thomas looked dejected. "No."

"Remus escaped."

Thomas flopped forward like a fish on land and smacked his head full into the table. The pain reverberated through my skull. "Time to--"

The fire alarm blared. Rage ran past with a shotgun, screaming, "Adios, coppers!" as he went.

Thomas watched him run past. "We don't have to stop him, do we?"

I considered it for a moment. "Nah, he can stay. As long as everyone goes back in, we should be able to keep Remus there."

People ran past screaming. A panicked exodus spilled from the food court. Some people knocked into me and I stumbled. Thomas caught my hoodie sleeve, then gagged and pulled his hand back.

"Remus," I explained.

"Right." Thomas looked in the direction everyone was running from. "I guess I have to go toward the fire to stop him, huh?"

I nodded sadly.

"Sorry, Joan," Thomas explained. "Next time, my place."

"Deal. Want some help?"

"You don't need to see what I'm about to see."

With that, Thomas and I made our begrudging way toward the fire.

~*~

It resolved relatively easily once Thomas gave Remus a disapproving stare. We all didn't do well with Thomas' disappointment, even Remus, so he moped back inside the Mindscape without much complaint. Everyone else returned to the living room in my doghouse and I locked myself in my room, refusing to emerge. Rage stayed out for a while longer and later we found out three police stations had been set on fire with all prisoners escaped. No loss of life, which I didn't know how to feel about.

Later, through mystical means, the stolen dildos Remus had taken were discovered in Ron DeSantis' home. We laughed for a week.

I amend my earlier statement. Maybe we really do need to use Remus as the next great flood. He'll just focus his attention on the fascists and we'll all be better off.

Yo, God, you should get on that.

#sanders sides fic #character thomas sanders #virgil sanders #virgil pov #first person pov #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #rage sanders #anarchist sides #rage blows up police stations #and remus frames george santos for petty theft #antifascist #acab #crack taken seriously #funny talk of god and biblical stories

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itzcherrybonbon · 11 months

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For the Cookie Run fans.

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[Before I start with this ranting essay I'd like to apologize beforehand. I'm really really angry right now. So I'm gonna swear a lot and definitely sound rude. I'm sorry. It's toughness you all need, really.]

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I think it's about time someone talks about one of the greatest flaws the Cookie Run Kingdom has: The problem with shipping characters.

Now, there's no problem with shipping the characters with eachother! (as long as it's not toxic, fetishizing, abusive, minor x adult or incest, like ew, what the actual fuck is wrong with you.)

But here's the problem. Something that really pisses me off about the Crk fandom is how they're so goddamn gatekeepy of the characters and some ships in particular. Like, chill the fuck out. They're just fictional characters, snap back to reality.

For example, Espresso x Madeleine. You people have made me hate this ship with all my heart and soul. No, I won't bash you for shipping it, I'm a nice person and I respect everyone's opinions and boundaries. And I expect you to respect mine, please. Please try and understand where I'm coming from.

One of the reasons I hate this ship is because I don't see them involved in a romantic relationship at all. I only see them as close friends. Plus Espresso used to be so irritated around Madeleine, like- the guy didn't even want to be around him until later on at the end of the odyssey when their friendship started getting better a little. Espresso clearly disliked Madeleine.

Here's the part where I'm gonna sound rude.

The main reason however..is you. Yes you, toxic fans. You all act like Espresseleine is the only thing people are allowed to ship. I've been bashed a lot of times for liking Espresso x Éclair, and that alone added fuel to the fire. And now the damage is done, so next time I get bashed expect me to lash out all my anger at you :)

Hell Espresso can't even be shipped with a woman. Because you people are convinced he's gay-coded. I'm sorry? Did the fucked up Devsisters confirm it? No, no they didn't. This is just something your delusional asses made up and thought it was canon.

No I am not homophobic, I'm literally pansexual myself. So don't even try and bash me. I've actually wanted to ship Espresso with a woman before, him with Chocolate BonBon! It seemed cute to me but then someone told me "Espresso is gay-coded so nah". They know who they are. I'm not mad, just disappointed.

Again, no it isn't confirmed. You all made this up! Let Espresso be shipped with someone else other than Madeleine, goddamn! Ship him with any other character, man or woman! Any gender! Go wild! People are allowed to ship whatever they want, so who are you to stop me? Who are you to bash me??

Mad respect to the actual sane fans, you all are gems. But seriously, let people ship what they want. Don't bash people for what they like and what they don't.

WAKE. THE FUCK. UP. PEOPLE.

THEY'RE COOKIES.

C O O K I E S.

FUCKING. FICTIONAL. C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R-S.

People are allowed to ship whatever they want, who are you to start lecturing them when you don't like it? Keep quiet and respect eachother, you wild animals.

"But he's gay!" "But she's a lesbian!"

I'll believe it when Devs say "Haha yes they're gay!", got it? Because so far nothing about the cookies has been confirmed, NOT EVEN THEIR AGES.

And when a ship is confirmed to be canon, again, people are still gonna keep shipping what they want. That's how fandoms WORK.

In conclusion: Please, stop. Stop bashing others for the ships they like, and stop putting labels on the characters and act like you own them. You can't expect people to completely agree with you when you say "Espresso is canonically gay!" "Espresso x Madeleine is canon! >:(("

Like, no. Shut up. Don't act like you own them. I'm getting sick and tired of the Crk fandom, I only stick around to see where the story is gonna go, and also to continue writing my Crk Oc's and roleplaying them. I'm actually scared to interact with other Cookie Run fans, because you all act like spoiled brats when something doesn't go the way you want or people don't ship what you like.

Get a life. <3

#cherry rambles #ranting #crk #this fandom sucks #but at least the characters are neat #and let's not forget about the ocs people make #personally i think ocs are awesome #most of them are well written!#some designs aren't so well-done but that's okay #validating ocs is something i wish people would do more often #anyways i'm sure some crk fans are going to start attacking me once they see this.#i'm preparing for the worst-

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vivisandg · 2 years

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“Oh, sorry!”

I had this idea at four in the morning, and it’s 4:15…so, yk how it goes. I’m thinking this could be a series.

Summary: you quite literally run into an infamous Weasley while on the train to Hogwarts.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem! Reader

Requested: no

Warnings: prob some cringe worthy moments and fluff, Im also American so Ill rephrase stuff, but otherwise, no.

Excited, nervous, anxious, happy...all words for what I was feeling about this school year. On my eleventh birthday I was sent an owl, no joke. An owl flew up to my kitchen window with an envelope in its mouth while Mom and I were making cookies. The envelope happened to be a letter from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a school of magic. Mom and I were shocked, so we followed the letter’s directions and the next thing I knew this guy named Rubeus Hagrid was leading Mom and I to a place called Diagon Alley. There were so many magical shops including Ollivander’s which held my very own wand that I will have for the rest of my life. 14 inches of beautiful, silvery-white, aspen wood with a unicorn hair for a core. It’s already my closest friend aside from the white Eurasian Eagle owl I bought from the Magical Menagerie. I named him Pogonip, or Pogo for short. After I got everything, Mom and I went home to get ready for King's Cross the next day.

I start walking to platform 9 with Mom and see a ginger lady sending off her kids by telling them to run through the wall between 9 and 10. I don't know what to think so I say one final goodbye to my mother and off I run through the wall. I appear in a crowded area where kids are getting on a train called the Hogwarts Express. This is it, I think, I'm going to Hogwarts.

I board the train with Pogo and find a compartment to sit in. I decide to go to the bathroom once the train's pulled out and on my way back I run into a blur of red hair. "Oh, sorry!" a voice says to me, the weight had actually knocked my light ass onto the ground. "Are you alright?" the voice asks me. I respond with a muttered “yes” as the surprisingly strong arms help me up to my feet. When I regain my vision completely I see a very handsome boy about my age, by the looks of it, scanning my face for bruises or whatever might appear on my complexion. “I’m Fred,” says the freckled ginger, “Y/N,” I respond.

Fred offers to walk me to his compartment where I am greeted with another ginger that is obviously his identical twin. Which one was older or more sane, I couldn’t tell…yet. “Y/N met George, George, Y/N,” Fred says as he opens the sliding glass door for me. I meet George’s gaze and realize that George has stony, cold, blueish-grey eyes, while Fred has warm, chocolate-brown ones. I learned quickly not to let his eyes deceive me; George seemed more devious and silly than Fred which was saying a lot. Fred appeared almost shy next the younger twin. “So, Y/N,” George begins, “did the letter come as a shock to you?” Fred elbows George lightly, but hard enough to make George let out a slight grunt. I didn’t know of this was supposed to be rude or anything, so I took the safest route possible and answered with a “yes”.

*later at Hogwarts for the sorting. We’ll make Y/N a Gryffindor just fro the sake of the story line…and in case I make this a series😏. She’s gotten to know the twins very well by this point*

I walk with the twins and all the other first years to Gryffindor common room. My new home, I think to myself. My new family for the next seven years, actually scratch that, my new family forever. The thought gives me this feeling that I can’t figure out the name of. It’s not a bad feeling, though, so I don’t worry about it too much. After the three hour train ride, I’e gotten to know the Weasley twins quite well…especially Fred. Have I started to grow feelings for him? Maybe, do I know yet? Im pretty sure I do. Will I let that get in the way of our new-found friendship? Absolutely not, it might just be a crush. I guess I’ll wait and find out.

“So, how you doing Midget?” I already know it’s Fred, he developed that name in the first 20 minutes we met. It’s been almost a week since that wonderful, anxious, nerve-wracking day that I would pay anything to go through again. “I’m alright, Ginger,” I didn’t make that name up until now, I just wanted something to retaliate with. “Ginger? Since when was that my name?” He asks. “Since now,” I say. He smirks at this, I think he thinks it’s some sort of game I’ve managed to make up in my abnormally large brain; I’m currently excelling at everything, including Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts which my professors were not expecting. “Alright,” he says, lightly slugging me in the shoulder. If he thinks it’s a game, then let the games begin…

Part 2?

#fanfic #fred weasly x reader #daddy #MESSAGEMESTUFFTOWRITEPLEASE!

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

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the babysitter

pairing: reader x peter parker

summary: Babysitting the little Stark is an adventure, of some sorts. Well, being a (adopted) Stark is an adventure in itself. However, nobody told Peter Parker about the Stark babysitter.

author’s notes: I love Morgan Stark. I would die for her. Kill for her. MURDER even, just to keep her safe. Also, I love how easy we can just make her and Peter come together because they’re Stark’s kids (one biological, one is a sort of surrogate). Also, this idea is a common trope but eh, what’s not to love about it? Had to tweak it a bit by making reader two years older. And yay, I finally got to finish this before its initial release date (which is on Valentine's haha sorry yes am cliche like that sue me).

also available on ao3.

disclaimer: i own NOTHING but the plot.

"Ah, shit."

"Shit!"

You froze, quickly turning on your heel to find a mass of brown hair and big brown doe-like eyes, filled with innocence and mischief all at once.

"Morgan! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she replied easily, tilting her head to the side. "Mommy said she has something to say to you."

"Oh, really now?" releasing a breath - not really shaky but something sort of relief, frustration, and a little bit of nervousness, you kneel to her level, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. "How long have you been looking for me?"

"A few minutes. Maybe 30."

With a smile, you get up. "Well, best not keep her waiting!"

Morgan giggles, seeing through you. She was always too sharp for her age.

You smile with her, a painful tug at your heart when you see the twinkle in her eye - an all too familiar twinkle.

Swallowing the dread, you plaster a quick smile and get to your feet. "Come on now, munchkin!"

She willingly lets you take her in your arms, walking along the compound down to Mrs. Stark's office.

Your relationship with the infamous CEO of Stark Industries was that you’re her cousin's daughter, making her your aunt-in-law. And in the absence of said cousin - your father, as he lived far off or on the other side of the planet, and after some unfortunate events, you were under Pepper's care.

Well, at least for the last 8 years of your life.

And since then, you could always remember how uptight, stern, and organized she was. It came with her job apparently. As was being stressed 24/7 because she had been dealing with the one and only Iron Man, Tony Stark.

Pepper had a great way of dealing with things, keeping some things to a T, and to keep a cool head with it all. Also, she was adamant about keeping you from Tony, away from the epitome of a machine of a man that he was. Oh, many were the nights where you were a witness to just how frustrating the man was, to how much Pepper had to keep herself from breaking down. You were not very fond of him – to say the least, you kinda hated him.

But upon meeting the man, later on, you found that he wasn't all that bad. In fact, he reminded you a lot of your father - workaholic to an extreme, and a bit of a softie. Just big on his ego.

As an added bonus, he completely won you over for being the guy for Pepper after deciding that you weren’t some runt after all.

After the events of Ultron, Tony decided to take you in and take you as if you were his own, treating you like his little assistant. (As he wasn't comfortable with having kids just yet.) You were pretty young, Pepper had that argument too and was fairly backed by Happy, but Tony was all, ‘then best start them young!’ and all went his way, one way or another. You were a smart cookie, at least that’s what Tony said, Pepper added that, and Rhodey – who still didn’t want to force something on to someone so young. And thus, your life with the Stark-Potts couple would never be the same - for better or for worse.

After the Accords, however, things were different. Much different. Both Tony and Pepper were never the same even way before that, but the former looked like a hollow of a man he once was.

As much as Pepper had more rights over you, she didn't want to be unfair and cut you off from Tony completely, and thus, let you do as you please. Honestly, it hurt having to go back and forth between the two, seeing two of the strongest people in your life thread on thin ice. Try as you might, you even attempted to get the two together only to end up with nothing. Happy was there, at least, to make you sane and moving. Rhodey, who still scares you, keeps you in check and on your toes.

However, things managed.

Then a lot of things happened: Tony and Pepper finally patched things up, finally got married - you were Pepper's maid of honor, you were whisked to some Ivy League thanks to Pepper and Tony’s recommendations, Tony suddenly was whisked away to the stars to save the universe, some war FRIDAY relayed in Wakanda, and then half the population turning to dust. A week later, Tony came back - with new friends from different galaxies, you all moved far away – far away from the Avengers, Tony insisted you to help Pepper to keep you busy, Morgan was born, you finished university, and were working on a master’s degree.

And then...Tony-

God, just the thought of him - what he did - still chokes you up. It hurt to hear from Pepper what had happened, to see her – the strongest iron lady you know and love – break into a million pieces, crumbling to the ground and disregarding every rule about grace and poise. Tony. He was like a father to you, the best and worst one you could ever ask for.

After his passing, you made it a point to keep his legacy alive, to ensure that it was protected at all cost - Morgan.

You loved the littlest Stark with all your heart, like the little sister you wished you had. Ever since she was born, already, you vowed to keep her from anything.

She was Tony's legacy.

Well, one of many...

There was that kid from Tennessee, Harley Keener, whom you had the chance and pleasure to be acquainted with.

And then there was-

"Who're you?" a voice asked behind you, breathlessly, curiously.

Turning on your heel, you found a guy - brown hair, pale skin, average height, fit in build, looked like he was around your age - walking in, looking like he had run a marathon.

Scrunching your nose, not really like the way he was trying to piece who you were, you fixed him a questioning look. "I'm-"

"(NAME)!" a bubbly voice called behind you, causing the two of you to turn.

Eyes widening, they then relax, you then sagged in relief and all but ran towards the little girl, taking her in your arms.

"There you are! Where've you been, you?" you ask, tucking strands of hair away from her face.

Giggling mirthlessly, eyes twinkling with mischief, she replied. "Nowhere~"

You rolled your eyes at that, playfully. Her grin grows, eyes crinkling when her lips lift, exposing dimples.

Looking over your shoulder, you nearly forgot the guy behind you, hoisting Morgan up.

"Oh, I'm (Name)," you tell him. "but I think you got that already."

The younger teen looks from the brunette in your arms to you, the cogs in his head whirring. "Are you...?"

"Nope, I'm just a babysitter." Quick to dismiss his question, you shake your head lightly. "An on call at that."

"Ah," was the only thing he could say, not sure what to say next.

"Peter!" the girl in your arms says, a smile still in check.

"Morgan, hey." he walks up, about two feet away.

It was your turn to look between him and the brunette in your arms, fixing an inquisitive look as to the cogs in your head begin to turn - two and two adding up. You did hear things from Pepper, Happy, and Tony.

Like a light bulb moment, you pointed at him. "You're the Spider-Man, aren't you?"

First, he sputters, face morphing into a look of surprise, shock, and embarrassment which ends with his face flushing to the tips of his ears.

Little did he know that you knew long before his cover had been blown.

"Don't worry. Happy's not really that good at keeping a secret." You assure him. At that, Morgan chuckles. You chuckle with her, sharing a knowing look as you bump your noses together. "Well, more like, he's slipping."

"Or getting old!" Morgan chirps.

You share a laugh, again. This time, Peter joins in.

"Anyway, is there something or anything you needed?" you asked, remembering his sudden appearance, adjusting your hold on Morgan, who now was resting her head on the crook of your neck.

"Oh...I, uh, I was just..." he fumbles, fidgeting with his fingers as you stand there, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence. "...um, I was told to come over...?"

Puzzled, your brows narrowed together. "By who?"

"Me." A voice booms, you all turn, staring at a dark-skinned man donning familiar colors. A taller man stands by him, almost like a shadow.

In the years under Tony and Pepper’s tutelage, months spent and having unlimited access to nearly everything that is related to the Avengers, you found yourself in contact with the new Captain America and his trusty companion, the Winter Soldier.

At first, it was quite intimidating. They were intimidating. But soon, you found yourself warming up to them. They were like brothers, you adored them so much.

Suddenly, the room felt like there was purpose as the two men strode in, and you felt even smaller in their presence.

Just as you motioned to leave, Morgan pipes up, “Sam! Bucky!”

Over time, Peter became a familiar face in the compound.

Aside from helping clean up the mess that Quentin Beck and his lackeys did to the poor boy, he was also heralding in for his part with the new Avengers - Sam Wilson, now bestowed with the mantle of Captain America, with the infamous Winter Soldier, Sgt. James Barnes, as his right hand, much to the displeasure of many governments.

Then again, who were they to decide what's best for this world when they knew nothing of the battles these brave men fought for? Who were they to decide who carries the mantle? It's not theirs, government-issued or not.

Also, in the past years of their hiding, and fighting off Zeemo, they've proven themselves countless times and earned the hearts of many. Whether they like it or not, they were the best choice to serve and defend the innocent.

For Peter Parker, physically 18 years old, filling in his spot for the team was huge.

He was in leagues with a whole bunch of other heroes – Hulk, Dr. Bruce Banner; War Machine, James Rhodes; Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff; Dr. Strange, Dr. Stephen Strange; Ant-Man, Scott Lang; Wasp, Hope Van Dymme; and off the grid were the Asgardians of the Galaxy, and Carvol Danvers, Captain Marvel. Just to name a few. Sure enough, there would be more heroes coming in, it’s only a matter of time after all.

It was a big world - universe, rather.

Eventually, the kid also grew on you, for many reasons. But in those many reasons, it also felt kind of weird - you werethree years older than him. Physically speaking.

He would have been 23, just three years older than you, had he not been snapped away. Or blipped away.

Yawning, you leaned back, stretching your arms overhead. Peeking back at your laptop, to your dismay you found that was still 10 in the morning, there was still a lot of work to do!

Groaning, you made sure to drag on said groan as you massaged the back of your neck. There were a bunch of emails to check, some invitations to decline, and one Thaddeus Ross to bitch about-

“Coffee?”

At the sound of the voice, you looked up and were met with soft brown eyes belonging to one Peter Parker.

“Peter, hey!” reaching for the cup, you wrap both hands around it, relishing in its rich aroma. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Having to face your laptop for hours' end, glancing up just barely with how slow your morning was, it really was. Taking a sip, you let the beverage warm your system and kick in, shoulders sagging. “and a savior.”

The corners of his mouth lift, eyes shining a bit, awkwardly shifting foot to foot. “W-Well, I know how much you work. And how much you love your coffee" he does, strangely enough, to note that you loved it black in the wee hours of the day with a bit of cocoa nibs.

"That I do, Petey, that I do."

He watches you take another sip, your eyes momentarily meeting your laptop screen before looking away quickly - nope! Here's your coffee break, take it.

"I see, uh, that you've been busy."

Sighing, you lean against your seat. "Kinda. Sorta. But, yes."

A little while after you first met, you made sure to properly introduce yourself to the lad, keeping in mind that he was an Avenger and that he'd see more of you now that you worked for Stark Industries, and the Avengers.

"Even though you should be…” he glanced away, words failing him.

“I should be…?” you picked up on the end tail of his sentence.

Gulping, his gaze suddenly drops, looking around helplessly. You sat there, worried, taking sips time to time.

It might be his sixth sense – aptly dubbed as his Spider-senses, but he seemed to know exactly how much you loved your coffee. That, or he was really observant.

“Peter, are you okay- “

“Writing!” he suddenly bursts out. “You like writing, right?”

His eyes land on the books on the side of your desk, and a framed article you had written years back for TIME magazine.

Following his gaze, causing you to turn in your seat, you can’t help the soft expression on your face. “Ah, that.”

Using the heel of your foot, rolling forward, you reached for the frame then rested your still warm drink between your thighs fingers smoothing the corners. “Funny story, Tony made me write it. Pepper gave me the idea.” The article was basically about questioning Thaddeus Ross and the Accords and if it was really pro-government and pro-hero at the same time. “Mind you, at the time, things had just been rocky with the whole mess of the Avengers, Tony and Pepper were not in good term. Writing this had been the closest I got them to speak again, because of how I had written it and its effects.” Memories of Pepper giving snide remarks at people who talked shit to you, rebutting gracefully, and Tony, wisecracking any troll who messed with you online. Those were fun times. Messy, but fun times. As you spoke, Peter quieted down, eyes never leaving you as you spoke. Looking at the article one last time, you set it back on your desk before picking your drink and taking a sip. “So, yeah. I do. Love writing, I mean. “

“And haven’t you thought of doing that instead?”

Noting his implication with a hum, you continued. “Instead of handling hero-related antics, right?”

Instantly, his face flushed, expression mixing up as he jumbled on his words. “N-Not that what you’re doing is wrong or anything! I-It’s just…you can-“

“Relax Peter!” You laugh, hand raised to calm him. “I know what you mean. It’s just that,” pushing yourself back, you swayed a bit in your seat “this is my job now, something I’ve been doing for a while and one I enjoy. Stressful as it is, it’s still fun. At the very least, I’m still writing. Plus, I get to be with you guys! So, that works, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” breathing returning to normal, he nods, replying breathlessly. “yeah, yeah, yeah. T-That’s true.”

Tilting your head, seeing that he wasn’t fully satisfied with your answer, you humor him. “Given the chance, I would’vebeen in the writing field. Who knows? Writing as some underground slob, some hermit, or rise amongst the ranks of those high-profiled writers, or for TIME...”

Smiling wistfully, you were just about to take a sip again when it dawned to you. “Oh, what are you doing here, anyway? Do you have a meeting with Pepper?”

“Miss Potts- oh. Oh, no!”

“Did you wanna see Morgan then?”

“No, no!” he was getting more panicked, which was worrying. Putting down your coffee, you brought both hands to your desk and pulled yourself in, the desk separating you and Peter. He was muttering something under his breath, something you didn’t catch.

“Petey?” ducking your head, for a closer look at him, getting a closer inspection of how hazel brown his eyes actually are.

“U-Uh…” he gulps under your gaze. "...um..."

“Hey, (Name), I need your help with someth-“a new voice pipes in.

The two of you turn, (E/c) eyes widen at the new visitor, instantly, you were on your feet and running towards him.

“Harley!” engulfing him in a hug, you laugh mirthlessly at his presence. “Oh, my god you’re here! How are you? What are you doing here?”

Dang, you forgot just how tall he was!

“Uh, I’m supposed to work on my grant with Miss Potts,” he says, almost carefully staring from you to the lad behind him.

“Ah, yes,” you nodded, snapping a finger and pointing at him in realization. “that was today. Unfortunately, Pepper’s busy with something. Fortunately,” you tilted to your side, hands clasped in front of you then pointing index fingers at him. “Ican lend you a hand.”

Harley smiles at this, especially at your dorky dramatics, you grin back toothily.

Then you remembered that you weren’t alone.

“Oh! Where are my manners? Peter, this is Harley Keener, one of Tony’s boys.”

“You make it sound like I'm a booty call.” Harley grumbled beside you, making you snort and elbow him playfully.

“Well, Tony has a way of calling people and it rubs off pretty easily when you’re around him a lot.”

The taller lad rolls his eyes – playfully, used to your language and overall attitude as a reminiscent of one Tony Stark. Peter, who was still standing there, looks dumbfounded between the two of you, unsure what to do before you called on him.

“Sorry Peter, but I have to attend to Harley. Guess I’ll see you around?”

“U-Uh, sure…yeah.”

Hooking your arm around Harley’s you both walked out, but not before grabbing your still warm coffee from your desk. “Thanks again for this, Petey, bye!”

“He seems nice,” Harley comments, once the two of you get to the elevator.

“Yeah, he is.” You nod, sipping your coffee. “Now tell me, any updates on that crush of yours?”

At this, Harley’s face burns as the elevator doors open.

As Pepper’s assistant, you were basically tasked to help make Pepper’s job easier. As PR, at the same time, you were tasked with dealing with the Avengers’ publicity and ensuring that they look good and handling whatever the media throws their way. Because you were practically raised by Pepper, and the one and only Tony Stark/Iron Man, schooling the media was child’s play to you. Plus, it was really fun dealing with famous people who weren’t super-powered.

Still, as much as you enjoyed your job, you especially loved the quirks that came with it. One of the obvious being that you get to hang with the Avengers. Half of them – who were Tony’s faction during the Civil War bullshit, you grew up with, and the rest just grew on you later.

It was a Friday when you found yourself swinging by the training grounds, looking for Bucky or Wanda with a bag of cheeseburgers to share with and some papers. However, the floor seemed to be empty. Just as you were about to call for F.R.I.D.A.Y. (the AI), you found yourself slipping on some liquid, falling backward with your arms flailing in the air, smacking a nearby tray holding a pitcher and glass.

Faster than you could react, a blur was by your side, a firm grip on your shoulder, and with his free hand, easily caught the tray, the pitcher, the glass, and its contents. All before you could even blink.

“W-Woah…” you breathed, feeling your heart beating wildly against your chest. That could’ve been one nasty accident where you could’ve been wet, hurt, or both!

“(N-Name)! Are you alright?” asked your savior, making you blink at him.

It was Peter.

“Peter…” you said, almost to yourself.

Effortlessly, he set the tray aside, his hand still on around your shoulder, making you feel his strong arm around you.

“I-I’m sorry about that, must’ve tried to do some physics trick but ended up failing and all…” he replied, looking at the water on the ground.

“Ah,” you responded, getting the idea. Surprisingly, with a crinkling sound, you were still gripping unto the cheeseburgers and the papers- no, wait, they’re gone.

Turning your head around, you searched for those papers – which probably should be on the ground from the way you threw them up from the slip.

“Here,” Peter suddenly appears in front of you. Upside down.

“Woah, this is cool,” you remarked all wide-eyed, taking the papers from him, watching him bend over the ceiling to drop to the ground. “Seeing your abilities up close and personal.”

“I-I have other abilities, too!”

“Yeah, I know. You have superhuman strength, enhanced agility, and a super brain.” You list off, heading to the counter to drop the cheeseburgers and papers Pepper assigned you to send around. "No, wait, Happy mentioned it was something else..." scrunching your face, you ransacked your brain for it. "Er, what was it...oh! Peter tingle, right?"

He nearly tripped on his feet but caught himself instantly. "Spider senses! It's called 'Spider Senses'!"

"Ah, is that what it's called?"

That makes Peter sigh, almost frustratingly – like he was to throw a tantrum then and there. He really is a child, you thought.

“I’m teasing you, Pete.” You laugh, leaning against the counter, watching him seemingly deflate, ears slightly red. “But, if you don’t mind me asking," folding your arms behind you, you carefully approach him "can you just break it down to me just how your Spider Senses work?”

Caught off guard by your question, Peter puffs his cheeks. “Um, err…” he shuffles, scratching the back of his neck as words fail him.

Circling, you hop on the counter behind you, patiently waiting on him.

Seeing just how genuinely interested you seemed to be with his powers, it excited him a bit. You weren’t being pushy about it either. In fact, he’s seen you quite a handful of times, and you were always sure to be nice and welcoming, treating him Peter first, Spider-Man second. There were only about a few people who were genuinely interested in how his abilities worked really, one of them was Ned, then there was Mr. Stark, then there was Sam, and then Bucky. And then, you.

“So, um…I’ve got these senses.” You nod encouragingly. “And, uh, they help me be keenly aware of my surroundings and help me react.”

“Meaning, you have times ten the reflexes?”

“…kinda?”

Recalling the almost incident earlier, it was amazing to know just how quick he responded before the inevitable. “That’s cool. I didn’t know spiders could do that.”

“Y-Yeah…” he could only reply, noting how pleased you were with his explanation, how your beating calmed him-

“If this were a comic book, then what you have would probably be the most overpowered ability of all. Still, thanks for telling and trusting me.”

Clearing his throat, he slowly approached you. “So, uh, what brings you here?”

“What, I can’t be here?”

“N-No- th-that’s not-“

Really, he was so cute with the stuttering and all.

“Are you always this awkward around people? Or just girls?”

You really reminded him of Tony Stark with your charm and quips.

“You’re kinda difficult to approach, I guess?”

“Oh, so, I’m a science problem now?”

Peter’s mouth gaped at that, at a loss what to say next. Which in turn, caused you to laugh, head pulled back.

“You’re cute, Peter Parker.” Hopping off the counter, you reached out to pinch his cheek before turning back to fetch the paper bags. “I brought burgers for Bucky and Wanda, sadly, they’re not here, wanna eat them?”

Ever since the spider bite, life for Peter Parker was never the same. And it was probably a given to those who wielded great power, and now, he was one of them.

However, he would never imagine that because of that very spider bite, he’d be in leagues with people he’s admired for a while – the Avengers.

His life would forever change the moment Tony Stark sat in his apartment living room, chatting casually with his aunt, interrogated, and basically recruited him to his faction. Unofficially, that had marked his joining the Avengers.

But it was the Battle with Thanos months later that he was officially an Avenger, which later resulted in him dusting away for five years, then he came back for another fight for his life and the universe, they won but at the cost of Earth’s mightiest heroes. Months following after that were spent in constant fear and mourning that he tried to fight with his teenage life.

Funny thing was, just when he thought life was going his way, there’d always be something to nope him out of it. Mysterio, for one, hijacking his Europe trip and revealing his identity to the world.

For a while, his life was sure to spiral out of control and he’d be torn from his life. Nope.

Because he was an Avenger, not only was he backed by his colleagues, the government – what good half of it anyway, S.H I.E.L.D. and good civilians who were recipients of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’s kindness, the fear of his civilian life was protected and secured.

He just never expected that with becoming an Avenger, he’d have the chance to go places, experience new and exciting things, still be himself whilst growing up-

"Alright, little munchkin, open up!"

-and then there was meeting you, (Y/N) (L/N).

By blood, you were Pepper Potts-Stark’s niece-in-law, but by paper, you were practically her daughter/sister, more so as her trusty assistant.

Physically, you were three years his senior. Had the Snap not happened; however, he’d have been three years older than you. Still, he towers over you despite being the ‘littlest guy’ – as Sam would put it.

Using his heightened hearing, he followed after until the voices were closer, and he was standing by the doorway to the kitchen where you were.

You weren’t alone though. No, sitting by the counter, happily watching and smiling at you was little Morgan Stark.

It's a first for him to see you like this - in more casual, comfortable clothes, especially in shorts where he can see your legs. He had to pull himself out of it as he remembered that Morgan was there, singing some song as you sang with her.

It was a Disney song, he realized, from that one movie.

While the two of you were having a mini-concert, the smell of something being cooked filled the kitchen.

“Pasta,” he thought to himself, aloud.

“Peter!” the littlest Stark called from the counter, struggling to hop down, before you helped her down, tiny legs barreling towards him.

Anticipating her approach, he knelt to catch her in his arms, twirling as he entered the kitchen – the smell growing stronger.

“H-Hey, (Y/N),” he says to you, standing straighter.

Offering a smile, you turned back to check on the pasta sauce you were making. “Hey Peter,”

Unsure of what to say next, he lets Morgan play with his hair before coming up with a reply. “F-Fancy seeing you here,” he said lamely.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Realizing his mistake, he nearly drops Morgan, sputtering words. “T-That’s not- No! U-Um,” you were calmly stirring the pot, body turned to him, letting him know that you were listening. “I-I…It’s just, I’m not used to seeing you so casual…I guess?”

“Ah,”

Seriously, why was he so lame?

“It’s my day-off.” You say simply, switching the fire off. “And I make sure to use up my time keeping sane with the help of the world’s most adorable little girl, isn’t that right, Morgan?”

"Working too much is evil!"

"Sometimes I wonder where and how you learn these things," you mumble laughingly, head shaking. "must be a Stark thing."

He laughs with you in agreement. Morgan was scaringly too smart for her own good, clearly from her Stark genes.

"Most definitely a Stark thing," he agrees with you, laughing, eyes glued on your form as you hunt around the kitchen for something. "Need some help?"

"Ah, yeah." Pointing at the pot of sauce, you say. "Can you be a dear and bring that to that table over there?" with the same hand, you bring it back to the small dining table behind you, where plates and utensils sat. "Oh, and be sure to use mittens," you add, producing two kitschy kitchen mittens - one that was an embroidered goldfish, of some sort. "I'm not sure just how strong you are, but you can't be that strong against heat against metal."

"Ha ha, a science joke, I see." he says, taking the handle with both hands.

"It's not rocket science, silly." Holding a bowl full of pasta, you hastily grab a pair of tongs, before the two of you were walking towards the dining room. "Okay, there we go. Oh, just put it right here, Petey." you point at the empty coaster next to the pasta bowl, where he carefully lays it down. "Great, thanks!"

Hands on your hips, you admire your work, clasping both hands together before rubbing. "Okay, lunch is set! Now, where's my little Morgan?"

It was almost too cliché and overused at this point, but nobody that deny that charity galas were almost always a selling point to earn the trust of the most esteemed, high-profile, and probably the snootiest people in the world- all of which, were Tony's words that he had told you years back.

You hated these kinds of events, but again, they sold off to the rich and the famous. And they were a great way to rub elbows with just about anybody.

Never leaving Pepper's side, the both of you welcomed in guests after guests, receiving warm regards from ambassadors, warding off leering looks from power-hungry businessmen, laughing with nobles and socialites, and being graced by esteemed guests. Honestly, you had to give it to Tony and Pepper for bearing with these lot, just being in the same room with them and inhaling their pricey perfumes made you feel ten times older.

When all was said and done, you rushed towards where the Avengers were - all of which were dressed to the nines, all looking like literal gods in a sea of mortals.

Laughingly, half of them seem to enjoy the festivities, some looked bored to death (but came for the chance of exposure), some looked uncomfortable, and mostly seem to just enjoy parading themselves.

It was easy to spot Peter Parker among them, being - as Sam put it - the littlest guy because the rest of the women were in heels.

Meeting your gaze, he lifts his hand into a tiny wave. Giggling, you winked and gave him a peace sign, before turning to a waiter offering drinks. Taking a flute from his tray, you were unaware of the boy's eyes locked on you as you clung to Pepper's side, wearing a polite smile that illuminated your face and the dress you were wearing.

It's just...You look pretty in that dress. Like, really pretty. Maybe prettier than usual

Well, you were always pretty to him whatever you wore - may it be office wear, casual wear, even a bean bag, but tonight, that dress made you look mature, exquisite, and divine. The makeup on your face highlighted some of your features quite well - not too much, but enough to really emphasize your cheeks, your lips, your eyes. And your hair was in a simple style but enhanced your look. Overall, again, you looked really pretty.

Too engrossed in his stare, he nearly jumped in place when Shang Chi came into his field of vision, smirking knowingly down at the young boy.

"That's an intense stare you got there, wanna go talk to her?" the newest Avenger asked, golden eyes alight with life.

"U-Uh...?" he sputtered, feeling the blood rush to his face, just as he saw your face light up - if possible, it made the whole place shine brighter - when Morgan ran up to you. Her dress was a poofier and lighter version of yours.

"No worries, little brother," whispered the man, smirk still in place as he watched you nuzzle Morgan's nose with yours. "I'm not telling."

Okay, he felt screwed.

With all the glitz and glamour that filled and surrounded the life of one Tony Stark, it takes a certain amount of temperament and training to turn one so thick-skinned and fluent in the art of socializing from the regular folk to the nouveu riche to the beau-monde. Despite careful years of watching, observing, absorbing, and taking things into action, the results were the same: it was pretty exhausting.

You didn’t know how Tony did it, nor do you want to know. I mean, there were years of alcohol and therapy. Not to mention, his hands just itching to tinker.

Pepper fared in the best way she could. Seriously, she was the personification of the phrase, ‘grace under pressure’.

Well, maybe until she has someone she can finally rip apart.

Having excused yourself from the scene, you desperately needed to be away from all the glitzy fanfare – too much of it might actually render you insane.

You find yourself in what seems to be a lounge area. There were plants, paintings, some comfortable sofas. Music could be heard from the gala nearby, but here it came as a gentle thrum and hum.

“How’s the party going?” someone asked.

You whipped your head around, searching, finding an old man sitting by one of the sofas.

Putting on a smile – tired, but polite, you say. “Well, it’s still going,” he laughs at that. “Starks’ legacy continues to fill the night. Hopefully, it’ll end well for business and pleasure.”

He laughs again, a gentle, hearty laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. And quite the expectation.”

“Well,” you didn’t mean to sigh so heavily, brows raised slightly. “it is what it is.”

Nodding at the older man, you were just about to find a balcony only to stop in your footsteps.

Slowly, very slowly, you looked back to the lone soul sitting by the sofa – sharply dressed, small, frail, but his posture said otherwise, as did his smile.

And his eyes.

Suddenly, you realized why that old man with astoundingly baby blue eyes with a kind smile looked familiar. You were careful in your approach, as to not bring any attention. "Mr. Rogers?"

Familiarity radiated off his features as he took you in, the same familiar smile on his face. "Hi, (Name),"

"Hi..." you said back in awe, unsure what to do, or say.

"Wow, you're so big now." Baby blue eyes take you in, so warm and threatening to swallow you whole. "And you used to be the littlest thing."

Memories flash of a younger you meeting the famed war hero, Tony by your side. His dashingly, boyishly handsome face. Walks around the compound or the park with his gentle hands in yours. Warm hugs after a bad day at school. The sad look in his eyes when he left the compound. Regret, guilt, and sadness during Tony's burial-

"Come sit by me," he invites, patting the spot next to him.

That seemed to snap you back to your current time, forcing your legs to move. One step becomes two, then three, until you were next to him, (e/c) eyes not leaving his now small and frail form. A far cry from the hulking teddy bear of a man you're used to.

Gentle music from the gala filled in the silence, which just dragged on.

Steve smiled, simply smiling by the silence, blissfully knowing your state of confusion by his presence. But he was content, to say the least, to share the silence with you.

This man, Steve Rogers to many, known as Captain America to all, but to you – and a select few, he was more than that.

In spite of what happened – Ultron, Sokovia, their Civil War, Thanos, this man meant a lot to you, had a special place in your heart that rivalled only to Tony Stark.

"You know,” you said slowly. “Pepper never blamed you...after everything that had happened."

Turning to you, his eyes widened slightly. "Did she now?"

You nod, earrings dangling with you. "It was inevitable, ever since Tony was kidnapped and Iron Man happened. Since the moment those two fell in love, and the Avengers came to be." Breaking into a short laugh, you added. “Maybe even before you and I joined in the mix.”

"Did you blame me?" he asked you, suddenly, his baby blue eyes, though faded with age still held so much emotion.

That question would've been easier to answer then - after months of seeing Pepper and Tony's relationship in turmoil, Pepper in tears, Tony's PTSD, Rhodey's injury, Happy's added stress, the death of the closest thing to a father you'll ever have - but now, all things considered, and with Tony's annoying way of rubbing off you, you knew your answer now.

"No. I don't think I could." You reply, smiling softly at him. "Plus, you remember his speech, right? 'Part of the journey is the end'? Somewhere, deep inside his clusterfuck of a brain, he knew that his death was something he feared very much yet knew would put things into perspective."

"You are Tony's girl alright,"

You scoff, ducking shyly, comforted by his words. "Adopted, maybe."

Lifting your head, it felt like you were young again, meeting Steve Rogers for the first time. Except this time, there was no Tony by your side, but you took comfort in knowing that the phantom comforting chill running down your spine was him.

Steve smiled, one that reached his eyes.

"It's so good to see you again, (Name)."

"Me, too." Eyes misting as you broke into a huge grin, it really felt like you were a kid again.

And it that moment, he couldn't help but feel the same.

"Would you care to indulge this man with a dance?"

"I would love to."

(E/c) eyes wandered about to all the couples that had gathered on the dance floor, humming to the beat of the music – jazz, was it? Maybe something gypsy-like? Do they even allow those kinds of music to be played? Soft jazz, maybe.

The music was gentle, soothing, fitting for the event. It was enough to make your heart settle, after a long, engaging, and rather exciting night.

And It was probably far from over.

From where you stood, the second floor balcony that overlooked the whole area, a rather grand view as though you were some lord. But no, you just needed a breather, to slow down the night that was far from over.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, rather loudly to catch your attention.

Looking over your shoulder, you find that it was Peter. "Y-You...uh, you look really nice, (Name).”

Lips quirked up, you reply. "Thank you, Peter. This is all Pepper. And, well, Maria." After much thought, fingers smoothing over the fabric of your dress, you added, with a pained smile. "And Morgan. Wanda. Sam. Bucky." You tick their name one by one with your fingers.

"Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barnes?" he was stood next to you now.

"They convinced me to come, after much protest. Morgan picked my dress, really."

"You sound so out of place." His brown eyes search yours. To be at the receiving end of those eyes of his, such big, kind, and warm eyes, made you feel all sorts of funny.

"Oh, trust me, I am. This isn't my scene, y'see, also because I don't really go to these kinds of events. I'm more used to being behind the scenes, working back, or doing my homework while everyone partied." A certain memory roused from the back of your brain, making you chuckle sadly. Having sensed this, thanks to this spider senses, Peter looked up. "Tony," shucks, the mention of his name still hurts. "he would annoy the hell outta me, Pepper, too," she chuckled, almost garbled by the emotions thick in her throat. "but both never forced me if I didn't want to. Sometimes, they'd finish up extra early and bring home junk food to keep me company." Finishing with a sigh, she looked out the dancing couples before her eyes landed on a familiar strawberry blonde woman effortlessly elegant in her own right, ethereal under this light, but ever so heartbreakingly lonely and painful to look at.

Peter followed your gaze, swallowing thickly at that.

"Sorry you had to hear that sob story," you says, in an attempt to lighten the mood, quirking into an easy expression.

Downstairs, the music peaks up, a new song being played.

"Well, to make up for it, do you want to take your mind off it with a dance?"

That made you jump, turning to the younger boy, who was red in the face but had that look of determination in his boyishly handsome face.

You had to chuckle at that, heartily. "Wow, you're good. But okay."

Bucky didn't like it - that little punk was crushing on (Name). Bad.

Thing was, she was pretty oblivious to this. Bucky didn’t like that either. As much as she was Stark's girl, when it comes to things concerning her, it just passed off like the wind. Or maybe water. No, oxygen. Point is, she'd never know unless it was pointed out.

“If you look any harder, the kid’s head might combust.” A voice says next to him, belonging to a familiar blonde – Sharon Carter.

The Winter Soldier made a noise in his throat, eyes cold. "I don't like the way that kid's looking at her,"

"Make you think of Becca, Buck?" Steve asks, humor in his tone.

“Shut up, punk.”

“Well,” Sam appears, elbows on the railing, faint smile quirking his lips. “they are kinda cute.”

Well, fine, they are kinda cute together.

“Good luck trying to tell her that, though.”

But he won’t say it out loud.

#alicemitch09 writes #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #reader-insert #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #peter parker #spider-man #fluff #tom holland #tom holland spiderman #spiderman #spiderman x reader

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watch-talk-fixate · 3 years

Text

The Humility of Family and Being a Hero: A Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard Analysis.

Special thanks to @stoopakoopa @mighty-ant @drakepad because they inspired me.

Ducktales 2017. A show that a lot of people saw a simple cash grab and the exploitation of nostalgia of 80s and 90s kids alike. But it was a true surprise. A show of adventure and family and exploring yourself in the family name. This show brought so many characters from the golden age of Disney Channel called “The Disney Afternoon Era” with faces from shows like: Gizmoduck, Talespin, Goof Troop and Darkwing Duck.

The whole concept of Darkwing Duck is quite silly really. A parody of Batman, superhero tropes and even James Bond but with a duck in the suburbs of the fictional city of Saint Canard living with his boyfriend sidekick Launchpad and his adopted daughter Gosalyn. As someone who watched the show in reruns back in the day and recently rewatched it on Disney Plus, I didn’t think I would have appreciated this show as much as I thought I would. Dry and witty humor that caught me off guard and it truly doesn’t seem as dated as other shows from those times.

But I’m here to talk about Drake Mallard and what it means to be a superhero and a parent.

(For the sake of the analysis, I will be referring to Drake Mallard from the Ducktales 2017 reboot as “Drake Mallard!17” and the Drake Mallard from the OG Darkwing Duck show as “Drake Mallard!91”.)

Ducktales 2017 for a long time was alluring to bringing Darkwing Duck into the universe of the show. Many fans didn't know how this was possible until a certain episode that was the rise of another superhero and Darkwing Duck’s long time rival: Gizmoduck (now voiced by the guy who wrote a Broadway musical that won many awards-- Bring It On the Musical. I’m kidding. Lin Manuel Miranda). In the episode ‘The BUDDY System’ we are shown what looks like a fight scene between Darkwing Duck and his villains, MegaVolt and QuackerJack. But then it’s abruptly cut when it’s revealed to be a video. An episode. Launchpad explains to Dewey (the blue duck nephew of Donald Duck) that Darkwing Duck is his favorite TV show’ meaning that Darkwing Duck is a TV show in the Ducktales 2017 universe. A show inside a show.

Weird, right?

But what does this have to do with being a superhero and a parent and how family humbles you? Well, in the OG Darkwing Duck show the character of Drake Mallard is shown to be a late-20s to early-40s nobody in his two-parter episode debut-- “Darkly Dawns the Duck”-- who spends his days locked inside an abandoned bridge tower and out fighting small-time crime at night as a purple masked weirdo. And I say this in the kindest way ever but Drake Mallard!91 is an asshole. It’s later revealed in the show that he wanted to be a superhero not because he wanted to protect the people in his city -- that is a parody of Batman’s Gotham -- but because he wanted the praise and attention of being a hero. He’s a hero for a selfish reason.

But how is it possible to have an asshole for a main character that lasted 91 episodes? Drake Mallard!91 has a child. It isn’t his biological daughter really but she is his daughter. In his two-parter episode his first real ‘save’ is the granddaughter of a scientist that was murdered by the mafia and now they are after the granddaughter because she has the code for a machine that they are going to use to rob banks and release mayhem across the world. Darkwing Duck!91 goes to save her and they start to have a bond that makes my daddy issues burst into tears.

Hiding her in his secret hide-out, she isn’t comfortable and Gosalyn needs to sleep so as a way to calm her down he sings her dead grandfather’s lullaby to her. I won’t reveal the rest of the episode or the “plot twist”(?) because I think it’s a cute episode. But here we see that Drake Mallard!91 does have the ability to care about others that isn’t himself or his reputation.

At the end of the episode, he goes out of his way to adopt Gosalyn and officially makes her his daughter. Throughout the series, you see that Drake Mallard!91 bonds with Gosalyn. Taking her to school, talking to her about emotional things, and doing everything in his power to protect her from the harm that comes with him being a superhero. But in one of my favorite episodes “Toys R Czar”, Drake Mallard!91 has come to the conclusion that he can’t both be a hero and great parent after one of Gosalyn’s teachers points out that she has been causing a lot of issues at school. He blames himself for not being a good parent, reading parenting books and following them to the letter. Cleaning, baking cookies and even being the director for a play where he made Gosalyn the star.

He gives up being Darkwing Duck. He gives up the one thing that he worked so hard and was so proud of. Drake Mallard!91 put his ego aside to be a good parent and was ready to throw away his cape and pick up an actual job to raise Gosalyn. He did the toughest thing about being a hero, a figure of salvation: having a family.

I think that the reason that I enjoyed the OG Darkwing Duck a lot despite me being a bitch to the pain character’s ego and pride was that yes, he would probably be a terrible parent but he has Gosalyn and Launchpad to guide him. He has them to ground him and not let his ego overrun him into believing he’s such a big-shot hero because he stops supervillains with only a gas gun, smoke bombs and a purple mask. His family makes him human-- despite him being a duck.

Now moving onto Ducktales 2017. In the episode ‘The BUDDY System’ when Launchpad is telling Dewey about Darkwing Duck being his favorite TV show and growing up on it he mentions an actor’s name: Jim Starling.

Jim Starling plays Darkwing Duck. Remember that.

(Fun Fact: the actor who voices the OG Darkwing Duck/Drake Mallard!91 does the voice of Jim Starling.)

In my favorite and comfort episode “The Duck Knight Rises” we are shown that Jim Starling has suffered the same fate of Bo Jack Horseman: a washed out actor from the 80s/90s that is living on the steam of his former success. Jim is no longer as popular as he was back in the day, making money off of signing autographs and openings of less-than-desirable stores. It isn’t until Dewey mentions the fact that there is a Darkwing Duck Movie ready to release that we see Jim Starling happy and ready to jump back into the role.

The Role of a Hero.

We discover that Scrooge McDuck is the one producing the movie and after watching the trailer both Launchpad and Jim Starling agree that this isn’t faithful to the character. Yet Jim doesn’t really care, he wants to be back into the light and have the attention and adoration of an actor. Of being a hero. How very of Drake Mallard!91 of him.

The director of the Duck Knight Rises movie tells Jim that he isn’t playing Darkwing Duck. A younger actor is. Outraged, he attacks the actor and is kicked out alongside Launchpad. Jim Starling believes that he is owed this role. That this role only belongs to him and no one else in the world. Roping Launchpad into his plan, here we see that Jim Starling never truly let go of his past when he slips on his old Darkwing Duck costume to play hero again.

It is Launchpad that begins to question him when Jim starts to ramble about revenge, Launchpad still looking at his old idol with nostalgia tinted glasses and goes along with the plan.

Here is where the analysis begins to pick up again. When LP sneaks into the actor’s trailer and immediately panics, locking himself, the Actor comes to his rescue. After some light fighting we see that the Actor is a big fan of the Darkwing Duck; possibly bigger than LP himself. LP does have a connection with the show but it seems that he Actor here takes it up more personally. That his whole ideologies and all of his morals came from a silly little show from his childhood and is the reason he is the way he is today. This whole movie is his big shot and a dream come true.

Immediately after this, we see Jim Starling running around and knocking people out. Actually hurting people just to get back into the role he’s clinging on to. Paralleling the Actor’s acceptance of the role and Jim ready to draw blood because he can’t let go.

Finally, we see the Actor and Jim Starling have a “sane” interaction. That it’s a huge honor to be here with him, says the Actor. That he wants to play the role of Darkwing Duck with Jim’s blessing. That they can do this together.

But Jim wants this for his own. All for himself.

After knocking the Actor out, we see a glimpse of how gone he is. How attention thirsty he is and that he will literally stop at nothing to get back on screen.

The whole climatic fight of the episode is the Actor putting on his new Darkwing Duck costume and heading off face first into danger to save people as Jim Starling just snaps. The new confronts the old. With the trademark, goofy Darkwing Duck openings of I am the terror that flaps in the night but more modern.

As they fight, it’s LP that finally gets to Jim with him telling him how much Darkwing Duck means to him and what it means to be a hero like him. As a power beam prop is ready to fall on top of LP, Jim does what a hero is supposed to do. Sacrifice. By pushing his biggest fan out of the way, he completes the role he has been yearning to play.

They don’t find the body. (Yes this is a kids show). But here is where we learn that the Actor’s name is Drake Mallard.

Drake Mallard!17.

Launchpad is the one that convinces Drake Mallard!17 to be the true Darkwing Duck. For Jim.

Jim Starling is what the OG Darkwing Duck was. Egotistical, wanting fame and attention, having all of the qualities that would make anyone doubt that he is truly a hero. The thing is that if Jim Starling only played Darkwing Duck, not Drake Mallard (because in this universe he is a real person), then it means that he didn’t have a Launchpad or a Gosalyn to ground him. Jim Starlings is what happens when a hero is isolated and is only a hero and not a person.

Drake Mallard!17 is a person who becomes a hero while Jim Starling is an actor who pretended to be a hero. Jim was stuck in his own vanity, not having anyone truly reminding him that he isn't’ the roles he plays; that he isn’t Darkwing Duck.

Drake Mallard is Darkwing Duck.

#darkwing duck #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #drake mallard #launchpad #launchpad mcquack #scrooge mcduck #jim starling #gosalyn mallard

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hetacon · 4 years

Text

Prom Queen: Chapter 2

First || Previous || Next

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Word Count: 1,900

Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point

Warning: Swearing, food mentions (Let me know if I missed anything, this one seemed fairly tame!)

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Summary: He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend.

(Make sure to read the notes at the end if you want to hear my thoughts on the chapter! As always, feel free to let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this story or just my art and writing ones in general! Enjoy!)

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High school wasn’t great but it certainly didn’t seem to be terrible either. That’s what Virgil was gathering from the whole experience anyways. It definitely didn’t hold as much of the awkwardness in terms of trying to find himself and who he was as a person like middle school had brought about.

But still, there were still a fair share of complications. Roman’s popularity throughout the years had started to become one of them.

Neither of them had honestly expected it really. Theater put Roman in the spotlight, both literally and figuratively, that was where part of his newfound popularity came from. With that little bit of exposure, people started to take notice of him.

First it had been Roman running late to English a few times when they started out freshman year.

That expanded to Roman joining some clubs Virgil was content to stay out of for a couple days in the week.

More interaction with more people meant Roman got to talking with some interesting people from student council through his Model UN club meetings, including a familiar face from theater serving as their stage manager in the upcoming fall production.

“Hey guys, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!” Roman said excitedly as he dragged along a guy that looked around their grade, firm hands on his shoulders. Roman beamed as Virgil and Patton looked up from Virgil’s phone. “This is Logan!”

Patton smiled at Logan and held out a hand. “Patton Hart, it’s nice to meet you Logan!”

At the sight of Patton’s hand reached out to him, Virgil noticed Logan visibly relax, reaching out to shake Patton’s.

“Hello Patton,” Logan merely said with a nod.

“And of course, Logan, I’ve told you about my best friend Virgil,” Roman’s voice cut through, Virgil’s gaze flickering over to the impossibly widening grin on Roman’s face at that little detail.

Logan nodded once more. “Ah yes, Roman talks about you often.”

“Nothing but bad things I assume?” Virgil snorted, smirking at Roman’s mock gasp of offense.

“No, he speaks rather highly of you, Virgil. Oftentimes it gets in the way of things such as letting him running lines and letting me work on my own work for his play,” Logan commented, giving Roman a pointed look towards the latter half of his statement.

“A boy can’t talk about his best friend? Harsh, Specs!”

Patton laughed at the two of them bickering. “So how’d you and Logan meet?”

“Model UN, he’s done a much better job than I have! He’s trying to show me the ropes but he’s definitely much smarter than me at it!” Roman said with a chuckle, sitting down with Logan doing so as well.

“He says that but he isn’t doing too poorly, honestly Roman,” Logan sighed.

“Yeah yeah, but not as good as you. Now hush and let me tell them my story!”

Roman considered joining student council by the end of freshman year but decided theater was already a large commitment.

Sophomore year rolled around before Virgil knew it and Roman was cast as the lead role for the fall production as well as getting on the sophomore homecoming court.

Homecoming carnival was fairly nice as Roman practically dragged him and Logan along. Virgil didn’t have half a bad time though he admittedly just stayed by Patton who was working at one of his club booths. Roman was surrounded by too many people at one point for Virgil to really want to follow him anyways.

Spring semester of sophomore year was pretty uneventful aside from Roman somehow getting even more popular. Virgil could barely get a word of conversation in with him after their school’s spring production of Beauty and the Beast, despite him going to nearly every night of the show’s run. Patton was good company during one of the nights though and the two went out for milkshakes afterwards.

“Virgil! Gosh, I really don’t need you seeing me cry,” Roman laughed as he scooped Virgil up in a tight hug before pulling away. “You didn’t have to come for closing night!”

“I wanted to, you know?” Virgil asked. “Also holy shit are you hot.”

“Oh trust me, I know! My sheer beauty is truly a thing to behold!” Roman teased, only for Virgil to shove him with a snort.

“Congratulations Roman, you did a great job!” one of their classmates said in passing.

“Thank you Cissy!” Roman called after her with a proud grin on his face.

“No, you know what I mean, you must be dying under the lights,” Virgil chuckled.

“Oh, that-!”

“Roman, you did amazing, look at you!” another person said, coming over to give Roman a hug.

“Thank you, and thank you for coming!” Roman replied.

“How could I not? You did great!” the woman said. “Hey, have you seen Chloe around? I’ve been trying to find the poor girl for ages, she might’ve been swamped.”

“I think she might’ve gone to go change, I think she’ll be out soon!”

Virgil zoned out a little as Roman continued to make conversation for a little longer.

“Ro, you down for going to get ice cream after you free yourself from your wire prison?” Virgil asked once he thought Roman’s attention was finally back on him but a hand was clapped on to Roman’s back.

“Hey dude, awesome job, how’d your voice hold up?” one of the other actors, Justin if Virgil remembered correctly, asked.

“My throat is honestly totally killing me, I can’t wait to drink my weight in tea when I get home,” Roman laughed, wincing for emphasis.

“I feel you, I think I’m going to head home after I change,” Justin said, running a hand through his hair and fixing his glasses. “You planning on going out with the rest of the cast afterwards?”

“Nah, Virgil and I are going to get ice cream and then I am going to sleep like there’s no tomorrow!”

“Fair, fair, I’ll see you on Monday!”

By the time that Roman was finally free, a dozen people had asked Roman for picture and Virgil, with a quick text, told him that his mom had to pick him up unexpectedly.

Logan started to hang out with Virgil and Patton during lunch by the time junior year came by, only skipping a portion of Wednesdays in order to go to student council meetings.

By this point in their time in high school, lots of changes happened but some things still stayed pretty consistent. Roman decided against auditioning for the fall play but still seemed to remain as busy as ever with the theater competitions he was now taking part in, fitting in clubs in seemingly any place possible. Logan had become the junior year president for student council, still taking part in Model UN and a few AP classes definitely keeping him busy. Patton had been the one to change the least aside from Virgil himself. Virgil was happy that both he and Patton were both taking AP studio art. Apart from that, the two of them just focused on trying to stay sane.

Prom came up during their junior year as a topic of discussion (seeing as only the juniors and seniors could go on their own) and the four of them decided to go together as a group. It was a disaster in Virgil’s opinion and he had to leave early when Roman was asked for a dance by one of the popular girls in their grade. He felt sick to think about it.

Virgil stared up at the ceiling for a while the night of prom after he’d gotten back home, trying to figure out what was even happening at this point. A girl had asked for a dance, Roman accepted.

Except suddenly, Virgil remembered just how many times Roman had arrived late to lunch, how many times he’d sat down only to realize he’d had club meetings, how many times Roman would be preoccupied with rehearsals and homework and conversations in the halls before English. The study sessions at Roman’s house had become minimal and Virgil’s interactions with Roman’s brother Remus were more frequent than the interactions with Roman himself.

He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend. It still didn’t feel right, like he was missing something with the realization he’d come to.

As soon as he thought of Roman asking him to dance and kissing him though, he knew.

Virgil cried for a while that night.

Suddenly after prom, Roman dropped most of his clubs.

“Why’d you stop going?” Patton asked during their current conversation, taking out his lunch. He offered Virgil a cookie who took it reluctantly.

“Eh, I don’t know, I’ve just been so busy you know? Wanted to see if it helped,” Roman offered as explanation, shrugging. “Oh hey Logan, did you finish studying for our APUSH test today?” he added as the aforementioned took a seat at the table, finished with his student council meeting.

Logan nodded and wordlessly handed his notes to Roman with a roll of his eyes. “I knew you were going to ask.”

“You know me well Specs! I swear, he’s really going nuts with AP test prep, huh?” Roman asked, flipping through the neatly written notes.

“Teachers tend to overprepare us for AP tests, I promise it’s worth it.”

Patton sighed and turned to Virgil, letting the other two talk over their test next period. “Hey Virge, do you want to come over to my house today? I got some new paints I wanted to try out but I’ve been waiting for you to come over,” Patton tried, smiling hopefully at him.

He really didn’t have anything better to do that afternoon so he nodded. “Yeah, sure, do you want me to bring anything?”

Patton shook his head. “Nope, just yourself!”

Virgil nodded.

Summer came around and Virgil started to spend less time with Roman. His family had dragged him on more than one trip so luckily he had a good excuse. Roman certainly didn’t seem very available either so it wasn’t exactly hard for their schedules to conflict.

With a week until senior year started, Virgil went to help Patton walk his dog.

“Hey Pat..?”

“Hm?” Patton asked, looking to him with a smile.

“What would you think if I wanted to... I dunno, change my style I guess?” Virgil asked, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Hmm... Well, what are you thinking about? Like, just a little change? Starting from scratch?” was Patton’s response. “Not for any reason, I’m still supportive no matter what you want to do!”

Virgil thought on it as they continued walking. “I don’t really know yet, I just know I want to change it I guess?”

Patton nodded. “Well I say do it! You can always change it back!”

With that, they moved on to other subjects. Patton was excited about school while Virgil ruminated on Patton’s questions.

The day before senior year started, Virgil knew what he was planning on, staring at the hair dye in his hands.

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Hey hey hey, we are finally going to be getting into the actual conflict! Gosh, I’ve been waiting for the chance to do so, the next chapter will definitely be interesting!

I will say I had a bit of trouble with this one. The last chapter starts off with the first day of freshman year but I just felt it was a good way to set up the dynamic. I wanted the story to be set in either junior or senior year though mainly due to the maturity level at that point. It feels more comfortable and lets me have more room with what’s to come! I tried to get there without just saying “Look, here’s a time skip, wow!” I really hope I did it well, it feels a little clunky!

I hope you guys liked this chapter and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments! I love hearing your guys’ opinions!

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Taglist: @artissijules, @virgils-paranoia, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog, @tssidesfamily, @shapa-likes-art, @isabelle-stars, @falsemood, @prinxiety-shipper101, @katlikethesword

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #multi chapter #prom queen #stan writing

59 notes · View notes

kkintle · 3 years

Text

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

#iris murdoch #fiction #quotes #literature #classic #the sea the sea #booker prize

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 3 years

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Jersey on my mind (part 39)

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” Mila looks at Daryl, while pulling the knitted cardigan over her shoulders. “You gonna interrogate him? Tie him up in a chair and go good cop bad cop on him?”

Daryl meets her eyes from the other side of the bed.

“What, ya’ don’t think he’s gonna have to answer some questions?” He asks, while searching the floor for his shirt.

The morning sun shines in through the windows in the bedroom and it looks like it’s gonna be another fine day.

Mila dozed off as soon as she laid down in bed next to Juri the night before; after she had a quick but violent shower to get rid of dirty gas station toilet-cooties, and didn’t wake up to Daryl coming to bed or to Jesus strolling into the house in the middle of the night. Baffled to say the least, Mila was therefore greatly surprised when she came out of the bedroom this morning, fifteen minutes prior around eight, and met Jesus who came out of the upstairs toilet.

“Good morning!” He said happily and disappeared down the stairs.

Mila, unable to speak, just gaped and waved back at him lazily, whereupon she closed the bedroom door again and turned to Daryl, who was in the process of turning his sleeveless shirt inside out.

“Am I still sleeping or did Jesus just walk out of the bathroom?”

“Prolly.” Daryl said with a shrug.

“Is he just-” Mila paused to find the right words, pointing at the closed bedroom door. “You know, walking around-”

“He escaped.”

“Oh.”

How he’d freed himself from the townhouse basement no one could figure out, and he didn’t tell them either; Mila was sure they’d captured a wizard.

“I don’t get why everything has to be so hostile.”

“Ya’ gonna teach me ‘bout hostile?” Daryl raises his eyebrows at her.

“Okay fine-” Mila sputters, knowing very well what he refers to. “But this guy isn’t like that- that weird wolf guy. This guy is Houdini-weird, not dangerous.”

“Are ya’ some sort of expert now?”

“Gut feeling.” Mila replies.

Daryl shakes his head at her words. Mila realizes that it doesn’t sound that convincing, but she gives him a steadfast look; she’s sure about her gut feeling. She looks at Daryl while he buttons the shirt. He must’ve taken a shower too before he went to bed. The brown hair looks tousled, as if he went to bed with it still damp. Her gaze wanders down to the unbuttoned, washed out jeans; he wears boxers underneath for once, something he probably started to do for the first time ever when he realized that there would be a snoring three and a half-year old in the bed too. Mila bites her lip as she rests her gaze at the edge of the boxers, right above his pelvic bone. Her sudden rush of desire, or blunt frantic horniness, is obviously visible, because Daryl frowns at her.

“Ain’t doin’ it in front of the kid.” He nods down at the bed, where Juri still lies asleep, bundled up in the sheets.

“We can put him on the bath rug in the bathroom.” Mila suggests half hearted. “It’s really soft. He’ll just think he’d sleepwalked.”

“Jersey-” Daryl walks around the bed and stops in front of her; softly he lets his fingers run down her hair, playing with it while contemplating under silence. “Fine.”

“About the rug or that you gonna go gently on him?”

“The latter.” Daryl mutters. “Dunno why you care-” He rests his cupped hand at her chin. “I won’t knock him, unless he’s being a-”

“Ap-ap, language.” Mila pulls his hand big to her mouth and gives his fingertips a featherlight kiss. “Thank you.” She places another kiss on his fingers. “I like you when you’re all soft and diplomatic.”

The slightly erotic gesture of tenderness is enough to turn the big man in front of her into water between her fingers. His breath becomes heavier, he exhales through his nostrils and the eyes become soft and the gaze deeper, lingering even.

“Uhu?”

“Mhm.” She leans in, places her head under his chin and kisses his collarbone, while fingering on the half buttoned shirt. “You know- I’m a good rider, like… really-”

A knock on the door drags them both back to reality.

“Son of a- what?” Daryl turns and looks at the door that opens slightly and Rick peeks into the bedroom. “Don’t ya’ fucking know how a door works either?!” Daryl mutters huskily.

On the other side of Daryl, Mila chokes a grin. Rick looks questioning, but says nothing about Daryl’s, to him, odd remark; of course he knows how a door works?

“We need to talk.” He just says.

He doesn’t even tell them about what; they already know. Reluctant, Daryl sighs and looks at her.

“Duty calls.” He says, while, discreetly, correcting the crotch on his jeans.

“Be gentle.” Mila winks.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Daryl leaves the bedroom and follows Rick; to talk to him and Michonne about what to do about the ‘situation’ walking around freely in the house. Mila sighs; so much for that ‘ride’. Not even a quiet quickie in the bathroom. She turns, combs her fingers through her hair and looks at Juri, lying on the bed with his back against her. The blonde hair looks like a bird’s nest, the only thing missing is a couple of spotted round eggs. What a fun job I have in front of me to untangle that bundle of mess, she thinks to herself and kneels down on the bed. Softly she strokes the boy over the back; the pyjamas are so warm and soft and he smells cosy, a warm, sleepy scent mixed with fabric softener.

“Prosypaysya, solnyshko.” She coos softly, tickles his warm neck. “Wake up, sunshine.”

Juri starts to move, softly pats his feet towards the covers and rolls over, to face her. He blinks, squints a little with his piercing blue eyes at her.

“It’s time to awake.” Mila says.

With the newly awakened boy in her arms, she then walks down to the kitchen, where she’s met by Jesus, sitting at the kitchen island.

“I’m not gonna ask how you got out.” Mila greets him and puts Juri down on the sofa, to awake at his own pace.

She doesn’t really believe in magic, but growing up in Russia, surrounded by ancient stories and with a grandmother who said she was a psychic and was convinced that she had seen both Baba Yaga and a vodnik, Mila’s quite versed in folklore; no sane Russian child disowned Baba Yaga.

“Slept well?” Jesus replies with a polite, even hearty smile.

Mila, still slightly bitter about the black eye and the cracked, aching lip he caused her, doesn’t answer at first; instead she puts a kettle with water on the stove and scoops up two abundant spoons of instant coffee in two mugs; the chances of her being in a better mood after she had some coffee is quite high. She needs that first sip of coffee to function. She throws a glance out of the window; where’s Carol? Her eyes are then drawn to a mint green tin can with a pattern of daisies around the brim. Smiling, Mila lifts the lid and peeks inside. Of course, Carol, she thinks with a smile. White chocolate chip cookies. She and Juri must have baked them the day before. She puts the lid back on and turns to the two cups with instant coffee. She awakes from her thoughts -mostly revolving around how unearthly tasty a really fucking strong, big salty caramel latte would be, instead of this sad, colored liquid that nowadays has to go under the name ‘coffee’- when she hears the water bubbling on the stove.

“I think the water’s done.”

Mila peers at Jesus.

“Yeah I got ears-” She replies surly. “And eyes.”

“Not a morning person?” He asks.

“I’m not super happy with you.” Mila peers at him as she pours the hot water into the cups and takes out two spoons from a drawer. “No offence, Houdini, but you gave me a black eye.” She hands him one of the cups and stirs around the coffee powder in the water. Not exactly a caramel latte with two extra shots, she thinks and sighs.

“Sorry about that.” Jesus says. “You’ve ever thought about a career in wrestling?”

“I'm good at running, shooting and drinking-” Mila takes a sip of the blant coffee. “I haven’t got the muscles.”

“I’d say the opposite.” Jesus drinks and makes a grimace; there’s a pretty valid reason why everyone says no when she offers them coffee. According to everyone in Alexandria it’s like drinking tar. “At least you got the spirit.”

“Okay-” Mila sighs. “How did you get out?”

“Magic.” The man in front of her smiles.

Over at the couch, Juri has finally awakened fully. He climbs down and hurries over to the kitchen and demands to be held; awake or not, he’s always in desperate need to be close by, just in case he needs a cuddle. Mila lifts him from the floor and puts him down on the counter.

“Ready for breakfast?” She asks and Juri nods eagerly. “Let me just finnish my coffee.” Mila looks at Jesus. “You can’t possibly be named Jesus.” She asks and raises her eyebrow at him. “I mean, I get why-” She nods towards his face, the beard and the long hair. “But-”

“Paul.” He smiles, a genuinely kind smile, and offers her his hand over the kitchen island. “Paul Rovia.”

Mila looks at it, before taking it and giving it a firm shake; like a car dealer who’s just managed to sell a poor fellow an overpriced car.

“Mila.” She replies and nods at Juri. “My son, Juri.”

With a bright smile Juri waves at Paul from where he sits on the kitchen counter in his pyjamas; Paul’s face bursts into a happy grin. Juri’s sunny demeanor usually has that effect on people.

“Any last name?” He then asks. “Just- you know. Formality.”

“Sergeyevna.” Mila says, takes the tin jar from the other counter, opens it and offers him a cookie; there, now they have put down the hatchet. “So, what should I call you? Sorry, but Jesus-” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Feels odd.”

“Paul’s fine.” He smiles as he takes a cookie and once again looks at Juri. “You’re a lil’ charmer, aren’t you?”

Juri nods and makes the ‘I know that’ sign with his hand, which makes Mila grin. Of course he knows he is, she thinks and takes out the big pack of Quaker oats from a cabinet. She pours the oats at random into a pot, covers them with water and puts the pot on the stove. It will be enough for both her and Juri. She looks up from the pot just in time to see Juri’s small hand being pulled away from the tin jar.

“No.” Mila says, takes the jar and puts it back on the other counter. “You get a cookie after you have breakfast.”

Juri nods reluctantly, then gestures ‘okay’.

“He’s mute?” She hears Paul ask behind her.

“He is.” Mila turns around in search of the salt. “Don’t need a voice to be the most charming rascal in the apocalypse though.” She smiles at Juri and winks.

“Is he the father?” Paul asks. “You know- the big guy?”

“Daryl?” Mila shakes her head as her eyes land on the pack of salt. “No, I don’t know who Juri’s father is.” She shrugs a little. “A happy accident.” She pauses and puts a pinch of salt into the pot. “Daryl’s-”

Yeah, what exactly is Daryl? Mila doesn’t have to think for long. Juri tugs at Paul’s coat sleeve and places his thumb against his forehead, with his fingers outstretched.

“Have you told Daryl?” Mila smiles at Juri while she opens a drawer and takes out a wooden spoon to stir the oats.

Before Paul can ask what Juri meant by his gesturing, the front door opens and Glenn, Maggie and Abraham enter. Mila greets them with a ‘morning’ and Juri waves frantically at everyone. From the stairs, Rick, Michonne, Daryl and Carl appear.

“Nice talking to you.” Paul winks at her, gets off the bar stool and walks over to the dining table, where they all sit down, looking at Paul.

Mila turns her attention back to her and Juri’s breakfast in the pot. Juri stirs the wooden spoon as she gets honey out of another cupboard and the home made oat milk from the fridge. She listens with half an ear to the conversation at the table while she portions the steaming oatmeal into bowls, puts a spoonful of creamy honey on top and then puts the oat milk over it. She places Juri at the counter next to the window, he likes to look out at the trees and the birds, and then starts to feed him; one spoon for Juri, then one spoon for her. He doesn’t need to hear the grown-up talk and Mila’s too tired to care, well, except for when Rick asks Paul how he got out.

“One guard can't cover two exits, or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked.” Paul replies. “Entropy comes from order, right?”

Mila grins to herself while taking another spoon; it hurts to chew. Apparently he trudged around a lot during the night, peeking at their arsenal, their storage. Juri eats with a big appetite and has soon finished his breakfast.

“Bravo.” Mila praises and scrapes the last of her oats from her bowl. “How about-” She puts the bowls into the sink and turns back to Juri. “You and I hang out today, all day? I need to repay you for not bringing back those marshmallows.”

Excited beyond measure, Juri starts to clap his small hands, which causes the group at the table to pause and turn to look at them. Mila puts her hands around Juri’s and hushes softly, resting her forehead against his.

“It’s a date.” She whispers and gives Juri a kiss on the nose. “Now- hurry upstairs, pick some clothes and pour a bath, I’ll join you in a minute.”

Smiling brighter than a sky full of stars, Juri scurries over the hardwood floors and starts to climb up the stairs while the group around the table gets up. Glenn, Maggie and Abraham leave, Abe gives her a cheeky wink and a ‘lookin’ sharp, lady’, probably referring to her ravaged face. Daryl gives the big, red haired guy’s back a squinting, dark gaze as he disappears out the door. For some reason she feels flattered about the ‘Dixon jealousy’ today; maybe because she feels anything but appealing. A confidence boost.

“So?” Mila asks. “What’s been said?”

“He says he’s part of a community.” Daryl replies, referring to Paul. “Raises livestock and crops.”

“Okay. And?”

“His job’s to find other communities to trade with.”

“That’s it?” Mila asks, slightly disappointed; given his Ninja-skills she’d at least thought he was part of a special force or something. “Okay. What’d you say then? We don’t have anything to trade?”

He thinks we may be in a position to help each other. They got livestock. Grows things.” Daryl pauses. “We’re gonna go back with him. To his community. Hilltop. See if he’s tellin’ the truth. If he does, we’ll see what they’ve got to offer. He also said they’re trading with other groups.”

Mila raises her eyebrows.

“They have contact with other communities?”

“At least that’s what he claims.”

“You think he’s lying?”

Daryl shrugs; apparently he doesn’t know what he thinks about it. On one hand; another community is something they, he and Rick, have talked about for a while. There had to be more people like them out there, other communities with survivors, they knew it. They had expected, or hoped, to be the ones who discovered the other group, not the other way around. The tables have turned and now they’re vigilant. Even though he doesn’t say anything, Mila sees exactly what he’s thinking. The thought has struck her as well. What if Paul Rovia belongs to the group they saw looting the arms deal?

“Does ya’ gut feeling say something ‘bout that?” Daryl asks with a wryly, barely noticeable smile upon his lips - sometimes it seems like they really can read each other’s minds.

“Shut it.” Mila shoves him softly. “No. No, he might fit in at that Harry Potter-school though. How else did he get out of the basement than by magic? I’m not convinced what he said before was the truth.”

“Magic ain’t real, Jersey.”

“At this point, I’m ready to believe it is. Living dead walking around, magic-” Mila shivers throughout her body; it’s as if her dead grandmother was in the room, taunting her for not believing in her wacko stories about trolls and other foul creatures. “You leaving soon?”

“As soon as possible.”

She nods.

“Ya’ coming?”

“I’ll pass.” Mila replies. She’s had it with adventures that, more often recently, ends with her getting bruises for a few days. Besides, she wants to spend the day with Juri. “Carol and I hold the positions here.”

“Good.” Daryl lightly strokes her arm. “Where’s she by the way?”

“Out, I believe.” Mila smiles. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t.”

“Worried or cute?” She gets a light buff in reply to her cheeky question. “Carol’s fine on her own.” Mila ensures her big, worried archer. “Are you going to prepare for the trip?”

“Nah, I’m ready.”

Mila smiles faintly. Had she been Daryl, she would probably at least have changed her shirt to one with sleeves. He notices her smile, frowns a little.

“What?”

“I like that shirt.”

“Ya’ flirting now?”

“Yeah.” Mila nods. “Might be because of the concussion.”

“Ya’ didn’t have one last night.” Daryl says doubtfully.

“No, you’re right. But I am actually flirting with you.”

With an entertaining, barely visible, smile, Daryl takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger; a gesture that says more than he does verbally.

“Jersey-”

Mila sighs; she may well suppress the tingling in her body for a few more hours.

“Fine.” Mila pushes Daryl towards the door. “Off you go. Discover new civilizations, Dr. Dixon.” She proclaims theatrically.

In response, she gets a teasing middle finger over the broad shoulder, before Daryl disappears out the front door. Mila turns just as Rick scurries down from the upper floor, holding Judith in his arms.

“You’re stayin’ behind?” He asks.

Mila holds out her arms; as if to show that her outfit says the most about the matter.

“Okay.” Rick nods. “Good.” He’s just about to say something, but Mila interrupts him:

“I’ll watch Carl too. Promise.”

“I think he’s sneakin’ out.” Rick says, while letting Judith chew on his finger. “He and Enid-”

“-Are teenagers.” Mila shrugs while putting the two coffee cups into the sink. “Be glad Carl’s not doing the shit I did when I was a teen.” She walks around the kitchen island and gives Rick an encouraging pat on the arm. “We’ll be alright.” She smiles overly excited at Judith. “Yes we aaare!”

As Rick closes the front door, Michonne comes down the stairs. As soon as their eyes meet, Mila grins broadly; her missing Jesus trotting into the house in the middle of the night was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt when she learned that he had stormed into Rick’s bedroom, only to discover that Rick and Michonne were lying naked in bed. Michonne raises a warning finger at her.

“Don’t-” She alerts. “Not a word.”

“Ohh I have a lot of words I want to say about it.” Mila chuckles. “How about; finally!”

Michonne says nothing, just smiles. As if Mila didn’t realize before that there was ‘something’ going on. They don’t have time to say anything else on the matter; they are interrupted by Paul, who emerges from the toilet.

“Ready?” Michonne asks him.

“Yup.” Paul looks over at Mila. “Hey- I’m really sorry about the blackeye.” He looks sincerely sorry. “We friends?”

“Hm, fine.” Mila gives him a sharp gaze. “But I want my grumpy archer back. So no funny business while you’re gone. Then we’re friends.”

Paul nods gravely; hopefully, he doesn’t dare to pull any ugly tricks after yesterday’s haywire ride. In addition, Mila offered him both coffee and cake earlier, so he owes her. She follows them out of the house, still wearing her sleepwear; yoga pants, t-shirt and the knitted cardigan, to the motorhome. Maggie stands by and watches the motorhome. The young woman looks worried, deep into her own thoughts.

“See it as a honeymoon.” Mila suggests with a smile at Maggie as she approaches. “Minus the fancy hotel, the rose petals...” She continues jokingly, in an attempt to cheer her up.

Maggie smiles a little, but there’s obviously something on her mind.

“Things don’t really go by the book ‘round here.” She replies. “I’m scared, Mila.” The green eyes look worried. “The crops, the baby, other people-” She sighs. Apparently she’s been pondering a lot lately.

“Hey-” Mila grabs Maggie by the hand. “Stop it. We all got days when everything feels like shit.” And those days you spend in bed getting jagged, Mila thinks to herself; that’s at least what she does. “But it’s gonna be alright.” She smiles. “We have made it this far. You’ve made it this far. See it as an- an adventure. And tomorrow is another day.”

Although Mila herself finds it difficult to absorb her own clichéd words, they seem to instill hope in Maggie; somehow Mila thinks that booze works better in her case.

“Wow, where did the motivational speaker come from?” Maggie smiles, squeezes her hand warmly. “Thanks.” She looks down on her bump. “You know I’ll need all the help I can possibly get when this one pops out, right?”

“Yeah I know.” Mila replies. “But we’re not there yet, thankfully.” She winks. “I have to sober up until then. Well, off you go, adventurer.”

They part, Maggie walks over to Glenn and they get inside the motorhome. Daryl shuts the small hood and brushes off oil from his hands on his jeans. Mila wraps her cardigan tighter around her; she’s still in her tank top and yoga pants, standing bare feet on the hard asphalt.

“Ya’ sure you’ll be alright?” Daryl asks.

“I’ll be fine.” Mila ensures. Honestly, she thinks, there’s not much that can go wrong when hanging out with a three and a half-year old. “Be careful.” She says and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t punch people.”

Daryl gruffs in reply.

“Let’s chew up some asphalt!” Abraham hollers behind him.

“See ya’.” Daryl places a quick kiss on her mouth, before getting into the motorhome and shutting the door.

Mila and Carl, holding Judith in his arms, watch as the engine of the motorhome starts and it rolls away along the road, before disappearing.

“Do you think it's safe?” Carl looks at her. “This other place?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Mila replies, while letting Judith grab on to her fingers and play with them. “But I hope so.” She meets Carl’s eyes, smiles and caresses his thick, brown hair. “Come on, let’s get inside. Juri’s having a bath-” Mila smiles at the girl on Carl’s arm. “You wanna bath too?”

Happily, Judith giggles; no sane toddler says no to a bath with rubber duckies and lots of bubbles.

It turns into a peaceful, playful morning. Juri and Judith bathe for probably an hour under Mila’s supervision; over and over she has to push the floating rubber ducks under the water, for them to jump out of the water again. Judith laughs to the point of her getting hiccups. With one toddler on each arm, drenched in bath water from head to toe, Mila carries them both downstairs.

“Ah, great!” She exclaims just as Carl and Enid walk into the house. “Keep an eye on these two as I get dressed, will you?”

Mila disappears up the stairs before she gets an answer. In the bedroom she removes her wet clothes and drops them on the bathroom floor. She quickly puts on a pair of jeans, glances at the long scar that runs along her stomach, before hiding it with a t-shirt. At least that’s easier to hide than the blackeye. She puts on a pair of socks, sticks her feet into a pair of Birkenstocks and hurries back downstairs. Carl and Enid sit on the carpet in the living room with Judith, still wrapped up in a lilac towel with flowers, while Juri runs around, naked, wearing his towel as a cape.

“Come here you!” Mila sweeps the naked toddler from the floor. “What have I said about being naked Batman?”

Silently giggling, Juri tells her that she’s wrong; he’s not Batman, he’s Spiderman.

“Well, first of all, Spidey doesn’t have a cape-” Mila presses her mouth into his soft belly and makes a loud farting noise, while Juri cries with laughter, silently. “Secondly-” Mila says, while lifting her head. “We gotta find you some clothes.”

“There’s some folded stuff in the laundry room.” Carl gets up from the floor and takes Judith in his arms.

They help out to sort the folded laundry while finding clothes for the toddlers. Mila’s heart swells when she observes Carl with Judith; he’s so much more grown up, so wise and kind, than she ever would have been able to at that age. He dresses Judith, who sits still on top of the washer and calmly lets herself get dressed. Juri on the other hand is in a rowdy mood. Carol returns, stained with blood, in time to see Mila chasing a laughing Juri, dressed in underwear, socks and shirt, around the ground floor; she carries a bucket in her hand, filled with acorns. She catches Juri with her free arm, like a hook, and hands him over to Mila, who can finally put him in a pair of trousers.

“Thanks.” Mila sighs and brushes her hair out of her face when she has closed the button in the small pair of jeans. “I hope he’s not this cheeky when he’s with you.” She looks at the acorns while Carol assures her that Juri’s usually very angelic when they hang out together; it’s probably just an extra exciting day. Mila nods towards the bucket. “What are the, the-” The english word seems to have disappeared from her vocabulary. “those for?”

Carol looks down at the bucket.

“You’d be surprised what you could do with acorns.” She smiles, mysteriously.

“And the blood?”

“An unpleasant surprise.”

“Ah.” Mila nods understanding; a walker. “The others left a while ago.”

While Carol puts the bucket down in the kitchen, Mila tells her about Paul Rovia and the others, Rick, Michonne, Abraham, Daryl, Glenn and Maggie, leaving with him to go to Hilltop. Carol receives the news with calm, a trait Mila loves about her; by now not much seems to surprise her. As Carol disappears to take a shower and change clothes, Juri wonders what they should do first during their extra special fun-day. Mila suggests crafting; Juri loved crafting when he went to daycare and always brought home necklaces, drawings and scrapbooking cards to her. When she was looking for new sheets in the house that belonged to Jessie one day, she found a whole lot of craft materials in a cupboard; Jessie wouldn't need it anymore, so Mila took it.

They spread the material over the dining table, Mila picks out Capri Sun as snacks and starts to make beaded necklaces and bracelets while Carol returns back after a while, and starts to bake more cookies with the acorns. Deeply concentrated, Juri methodically places pearl after pearl on the small wire, with his tongue between his teeth. He makes necklaces and bracelets for his ‘big brother’ Carl, ‘auntie Carol’, Mila gets a necklace and for Daryl Juri makes a bracelet and a little pendant to hang on his crossbow.

“That will be very nice.” Carol assures as Juri holds up the pendant for her to see, made with beads in all sorts of shapes and colors. “Daryl will be very happy.” She smiles. “I will wear my necklace every day from now on, sweetie.”

While the cookies are in the oven, Carol quickly sweeps up a vegetable soup for lunch. Just in time for lunch, Aaron pops in and joins Mila, Juri, Carol and Judith around the table to eat. Mila sits in-between Juri and Judith and has a full time job making sure Judith doesn't play with her food and tells Juri to stop making another bracelet, this time for Aaron.

“You can finish it after lunch.” Mila says, for the fourth time, before Juri listens, but by then he’s already done and stretches over the table to hand Aaron the bracelet.

“Thank you.” Aaron looks tenderly at the bracelet. “The nicest gift I’ve ever received.” His genuine expression of gratitude makes Juri blush behind his second package of Capri Sun. “I’d love to have kids on my own.” Aaron looks at Juri with glistening eyes. “They’re amazing.” He sighs. “But these times-” He shakes his head.

“You can borrow mine whenever you’d like.” Mila suggests while scooping up the soup in her spoon, pouring it down her still aching mouth. “Besides, you’re already uncle Aaron.”

Juri nods at Aaron at the other side of the table; he’s got a lot of uncles and aunts all of a sudden. But only one big brother, he assures them through his gestures.

“Yeah, there’s only one Carl.” Mila agrees.

Juri points at Judith.

“And only one Judith.” Mila nods. “And since you’re older than Judith, you get to show how to behave at the dining table. Like, you’re not supposed to make bracelets while eating.”

After lunch, Aaron thanks Carol for the lunch and heads off to the construction site, Carol clears the table from bowls and spoons and leaves to go and hand out the still steaming warm cookies to the Alexandria residents. Mila takes on the mission to put Judith to sleep, while Juri finishes off his second portion of vegetable soup at the table, now fully occupied with his walkman. It’s apparently completely impossible to sit and eat without amusement; on the one hand, Mila understands him. She herself likes to have a book or a newspaper with her at the dining table. Before the outbreak, when they lived in Brooklyn, she loved to eat in front of the TV when she was alone; channel surfing until she found a channel with a program about 'tanks in the first world war', 'ancient sharks eating ships' or 'grown men running around in the dark looking for ghosts'.

Softly Mila sings the girl to sleep while stroking the soft, light brown hair. She sings a Russian lullaby from her childhood, the one her mother used to sing to her when she’d had a nightmare; a heartbreaking song about a dying child. In hindsight, Mila’s surprised she could even fall asleep at all after hearing that song, but the way her mother sang it as they lied next to each other in Mila’s bed, was like being swept in a blanket of protection, a safe embrace from the bad dreams. Then it didn’t matter that Vanya died and was buried the next day. Mila softly strokes the now sleeping girl over her cheek, smiles and leaves the room.

“Wow, two whole rounds of soup!” Mila exclaims, as she returns to the dining room and Juri, proud beyond measures, shows her two short, tubby fingers. “Bozhe moy, I gotta find you new clothes soon, you’ll grow like a sprout-” She says as she helps him down from the chair. “So, nap or no nap?”

Juri shakes his head; no nap today. Instead he points at the kitchen island, where Carol’s left a couple of cookies on a plate. With the big cookie in a firm grip, Juri announces that he wants to have a dance party. He’s high on sugar from the Capri Sun and needs to let off some steam, pronto! Said and done, Mila runs upstairs, again, collects their dear collection of cassette tapes, runs downstairs and puts a cassette in the stereo in the living room. Having small children is a single gym workout; never a quiet moment. Juri wastes no time and starts to jump around to Van Halen’s “Dance the night away” with the cookie in his hand. Her heart overflows with love as Mila, smiling, watches as the little person moves around on the carpet, making his sporadic, spontaneous moves to the music. Sometimes he takes a bite out of the cookie.

Carl and Enid return just in time to see Juri make a pirouette to “Mr. Blue Sky”.

“Hey, great moves, dude!” Carl greets him.

They sit down on the couch and watch Juri dance, while Mila sorts the crafting supplies; she has a feeling they’re done making bracelets by now. Activities shift quickly when you’re a child and as a mother, Mila is left to clean up. But when “Dance in the dark” comes on she can’t refrain from wanting to dance; yeez Louise, she loves this song. She lets herself be dragged out on the living room carpet by Juri and shakes her head, making her hair dance.

“Dance with us Carl!” Mila pants mid air. “You too, Enid!”

Slightly frightened by the invitation, Enid shakes her head so the brown hair swings around her face. Carl on the other hand rises from the couch, widely smiling, and starts to dance with them. It’s fun, liberating; just dancing around, jumping, making silly moves, while singing their hearts out.

“Come on!” Carl grabs Enid by the hands and pulls her up on the floor. “Don’t be such a bummer. Let loose!”

“I-” Enid looks anything but pumped.

“Live a little!” Mila encourages; she herself feels very much alive at least. Her heart is pounding and the pulse is at ‘moderately working’. It’s actually quite exhausting to dance. She’s a little impressed that she used to go to parties and dance almost every weekend back in university - in heels, moreover. She looks down at her socks and Birkenstocks.

When the song fades out and the intro to KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Give it up” they hear a soft thud from the upper floor; Judith must’ve thrown her plushie on the floor.

“I’ll go get her.” Mila says. She lets Carl and Enid continue to dance with Juri, and runs up and gets the now awake, well rested little girl. With Judith locked on her hip she walks downstairs again. Judith points at Carl and starts to wiggle her arms, spits out the pacifier and starts to babble.

“You wanna dance too?” Mila asks, while bouncing Judith on her hip. “Come on, let’s dance.”

With a squealing Judith in her arms Mila sways to the music, hops around and swings the girl around the air. But Judith doesn’t get Mila’s full attention for long; Juri, unaccustomed to competition, soon wants her attention, he also wants to dance in her arms. With Judith on one arm and Juri on the other she moves over the carpet, while the two toddlers laugh excitedly by her, a grown up, acting incredibly funny.

Carol returns from her walk around the community in the middle of the chorus to [song], when Enid has returned to the couch and Carl makes an impressive attempt at a moonwalk.

“I disappear for a moment and poof; I come back to a disco.” She laughs.

“Gotta raise the roof around here.” Mila pants and twirls around with the two toddlers locked at her hips. “Right, malysh?” She gets support from Juri, who strikes a disco finger for Carol to marvel at. “But I would actually need a break now.”

The break is accompanied by “Twistin’ the night away” and more Capri Sun, taken on the couch. Carl playfully fans Judith with the wide-brimmed hat and Mila twists her hair in a sloppy ponytail and curses her poor cardio; it’s gotten pretty bad all of a sudden. That uncomfortable nausea she’s felt on and off the last week begins to creep in and she trembles at what Juri wants to do next. “Ya izmozhden.” Mila says when Juri tells her, with sugar rushed excitement, that he wants to dance more. “I’m exhausted. Mummy’s old.”

As if Juri was going to buy that excuse. He answers her firmly that she’s not old, but that they can go out and draw with the street crayons instead. Mila throws a glance out the window. It’s sunny, looks warm. “Fine.” She replies. “Let’s go, Picasso.”

While sitting on the hot asphalt, drawing with the chunky, chalky crayons Mila’s struck by a feeling she hasn’t felt in a long time; it all feels almost as before the virus. It’s been a very normal day. Just as when Mila had her day’s off from work. On those day’s Juri didn’t go to daycare; instead they did all sorts of fun stuff. They went to the park and occupied the swing sets until some irritated mother asked Mila if she would mind sharing with the other children. On the days Jim had a day off as well they went to coffee shops, had coffee and juice and tried different pastries and cookies. Other days they stayed at home playing, or Mila invited her friends (none of them had children of their own) over for lunch and to watch a day-movie with her and Juri.

Soon Mila puts down her pastel blue crayon and lies down on the warm asphalt, while Juri continues with his masterpiece; this time a zoo with green tigers and yellow monkeys.

“Right now, life’s pretty nice, right?” She exhales and closes her eyes. In the distance she heard the light, barely noticeable, breeze sweeping through the nearby trees. A gentle, soothing sound that mixes up with the faint sound from the walkman, lying on the ground next to Juri. “Pretty, damn nice.”

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #daryl dixon x oc #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition #the walking dead daryl #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic

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alloveroliver · 4 years

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Oliver Knight ⚔ Vampire!MC "Just A Quick Sip"

Sip Fics: A Dark Valentines Day Event.

Thirst Rating: Mature, Smut?

Vampire MC AU

WC: 1800+

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

Leaning over to his left, Oliver poured the steamy orange liquid into your teacup. He gave you a quick side-eye when you were close then looked away as he pulled back. The scent of the tea was lovely. You thought, from the smell alone, it would go well with the scones he made.

“So, how do you find people to feed off of?” Oliver moved the teapot to his own cup in one smooth motion.

You picked up the small cup and peered into it. “Um,” You blew on the hot tea as you muddled over your answer. “I usually just ask, typically.”

“I see. And everyone just throws themselves at you, is that it?” He smirked at his jest.

You took his joke as a compliment. You sat down the cup to allow it to cool, knowing it would scald you the moment it touched your lips. With miniature tongs, Oliver plopped a single cube of sugar into your cup.

You sighed wistfully, looking out the window at the sparkling sky. The stars looked like glitter over a sheet of black paper. It was so clear and similar to the other night when you were sitting at the tavern, alone waiting for some poor soul to hit on you. Of course, most didn’t want to be fed from and even less wanted to get to know you so you could ask them again when they were comfortable.

You wouldn’t feed on them without permission, no. You held regard for a person's choice. However, the previous nights were fruitless in the cradle. Too many people denied you your sustenance, and no willing participants existed here yet. You missed home, not only because of the familiarity or the area but from the easy pickings the London nightlife had to offer. With people as willing as them, you’d never starve in a million years.

“Actually, Not really. I’ve yet to have anyone ‘throw themselves’ at me. ”

Oliver’s brows rose as he used a tiny spoon to stir your tea to melt the sugar. The spoon looked even goofier at night in his large hand. It was a simple spoon used for only one thing, stirring tea, yet you decided you needed one even if you didn't drink tea often.

“Then, what do you do when that happens?” He sat the spoon down gracefully and regarded a scone. “Can regular food satisfy you just as well?”

“Nope, I just starve,” You shook your head ‘yes’ to drive home the point. “I have yet to get to the point of desecration. I am kind of scared what type of monster I’d become at that point if we're candid…”

You tried to keep the conversation casual, but you were invited here specifically to speak about your vampirism to a very curious hatter. He obviously put a lot of planning into your after-dinner tea. You looked over the plates of cakes and cookies he told you he’d made just for this occasion.

“What does it feel like?” He took a small bite of the scone and watched you expectantly.

“For me? Blissful.” You laughed light-heartedly.

“No, for your victim. You imbecile,” He smiled wide the longer you giggled.

“I don’t know. I’ve only been the victim once, and I immediately passed out. I think it hurts at first?”

Oliver took a sip of his tea and nodded. “Okay, a tinge of pain at first. That makes sense. Then why do they let you keep going?”

Your brows rose at the realization of how astute he was. “It starts to feel good.”

He was the first human to realize that a vampire's strength could only go so far. It was partially on the human to stay still while being fed on. If they were to thrash around, they could be mortally wounded. And humans, well, they always found a way to survive no matter the cost.

“Ah, I see. The evolution of the predator. They make it, so their victim doesn’t want to fight them off.”

“That is exactly it!” You gave him a small smile. “You get it!”

He looked proud of himself, and you wondered for a moment if, after giving him all this insider information, he would let you feed off him after all. You looked down at the table and took a quick sip of the scalding tea. You tried to push the burning feeling that manifested in the back of your throat out of your mind. It was unsuccessful but quickly replaced by the tea’s searing heat. You welcomed the small distraction.

“Oliver,”

“Yes? Do you want to try some of the cookies?” He babbled and didn’t look back at you as he looked over the baked goods. You wondered what kinds of questions still floated around his mind and if he was going to ask them aloud. Was he getting scared?

“Uh, actually, I wanted to thank you for tonight.”

“Oh! Of course. I can’t have a lady come over for tea and no snack on the table.” He laughed, and you didn’t recognize it. You weren’t used to him being so kind to you. Even in these tense moments, he tossed out a few sarcastic comments.

The way his fingers trembled as he plucked a particularly plump cookie worried you. His nervousness began to electrify the room. It caused your heart rate to quicken just from the proximity to him alone.

“Do you want me to leave?” You asked while looking up into his smoky eyes.

“Of… of course, I don’t.” He dropped the cookie onto his plate and took a deep breath. “Don’t be daft.” He gazed back down at you as if to rival your own stare.

His jab made you relax a bit. Maybe you could tease him a little bit to see where he stood. You felt that breaking the ice might help ease the tension.

“I do appreciate the snacks, but If I may.” You tapped your lips with your finger thoughtfully. “May I have a small sip of you?” You smiled wide, cocking one brow, allowing there to be no tension in the air no matter his answer.

He blinked quickly and slowly took off his hat. He placed the lid on the table out of the way and turned to face you. The way his shoulders squared made you feel a hint of intimidation.

“If I say yes, do you promise to make it a very small sip?” His pupils dilated, and you didn’t have to move any closer to hear his heart began to race away in his chest. Hell, his cheeks turning pink was enough to make you want to scream out your answer.

“I promise.” You sat still, unsure if this was really happening right now.

Oliver’s shoulders relaxed at your words. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and began to lean over to you.

The searing heat in the back of your throat only grew at the gesture. His visible veins called to you like ice cream did on a scorching hot day. Not only was his cologne strong, but the scent of his blood racing away in his veins was even more intoxicating.

“You said it starts to feel good. How good are we talking?” He cracked a smile, seemingly trying to keep things sane between the two of you.

You smirked and leaned into him. Your nose ran along his jawline, and you both sighed. You had waited too long for this. Your inner consciousness screamed at you to attack now. But your humanity urged you to take it slow. You knew Oliver. You were friends with Oliver. You didn't want to spook him or watch him run away like your nightmares pictured him doing.

On the other hand, you wanted to tease him, to make him beg you to bite him. Something inside you needed to hear his voice crack as he pleaded. However, this was a one-time treat, you were sure. There was no time to play with your food.

“So good,” You paused and latched your lips on the soft skin under his ear. “You’re going to cum.”

“Wait, what!?-Ah!” His voice trailed off as your fangs pierced his main artery.

The gush of honeyed blood rushed over your parched tongue and soothed the ache. Like water rushing over molten lava, you felt your throat cool.

“Fuck…” You groaned against his skin, sucking harder on the puncture wound.

Oliver’s arms wrapped around your back, and he held you in a tight embrace. You could tell he was holding his breath, but you knew he couldn’t hold it for much longer.

He kept you close, allowing you to continue drinking for as long as you could. Through gritted teeth, Oliver groaned quietly. His face slowly moved to rest on your shoulder while you took deep draws from his veins. Oliver nuzzled the side of your hair as if he were hiding from the world.

It was far more than just a sip, but you felt yourself regain control.

“May I have more?” You asked, licking the trails of blood that hurried to escape you.

“Sk… Yes.” He struggled to speak. His lungs must have been burning at this point from holding in his breath. It didn't matter, as long as his blood rushed freely for you to partake in.

Oliver bit his bottom lip, keeping his sounds to himself. He tugged you harder until you were out of your seat and practically in his lap. You could feel his body start to quiver from lack of oxygen. He needed to breathe before he passed out; he needed to let go.

“Relax,” You cooed, finding yet a third spot to take a bite of.

Just then, Oliver’s shoulders slumped. His fingers dug into your back while a sensual groan left his lips. He rolled his hips into your leg as another moan eluded him.

“Am I… Interrupting?” Blanc chuckled from the dining room entrance.

“NO!” Oliver yelled, gripping your arms tightly. “Yes.” You turned your eyes to Blanc while keeping your lips on Oliver’s neck.

“I see.” Blanc chuckled. “I will come back later, then.”

“Get back here!” Oliver began as Blanc turned on his heel. “See ya,” You waved with one hand while using the other to wipe the red stains from your lips.

Oliver’s cheeks were as red as yours felt. With the fresh feeding, it was as if you could do anything. Nothing at all could bother you. You were in a daze and realized this when you felt Oliver situate you back into the chair.

“That was…” He breathed, sitting back into his dining room chair. He raked his hand through his hair and took several deep breaths.

“Incredible.” You sighed “Amazing…” Oliver whispered. He looked off into the distance and absently touched the small wound with his hand.

“Oh, It’ll heal in just a few seconds. Don’t worry.” You assured him, closing your eyes as you relax your head against the backrest.

“I... I’ll be right back.” He stood on jellied legs and the room quickly.

“Told ya, happens every time.” Your arms went up behind your head, and you rested on your hands as you stared at the ceiling. Yep, nothing could bring you down now. Not a damn thing.

Thank you, Anonymous, for sending in an OLIVER ask! I LOVE ME SOME OLIVER!!! Anyway, let's embarrass the poor guy XD

The event status is at the top of my blog, along with the initial post!

#ikemen revolution #Oliver Knight #oliver x mc #ikerev #ikerev oliver #ikerev smut #sip fics

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Monarchy 7

Previously on Monarchy

“I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“It’s not a problem at all.”

Clarke smiled and stood as the queen breezed into the office. Even in a hurry, she was dignified, unruffled by the constraints of time. She did breeze. That was the best way to describe her, a gust of wind guiding her gracefully through the room. There was still a little bit of nerves to meeting with the queen. She was naturally powerful, without even the title.

But this was a business meeting, or at least as close to a business meeting as something of this nature could be, Clarke decided. That was why she asked for it.

“How was the trip in? Not too bad, I hope. I saw that you were photographed a few nights ago,” she offered as she took a seat in the chair across from Clarke, folding her folio in her lap and under her hands.

With the slightest movement, a maid nodded and left the room, leaving them alone.

“It wasn’t bad at all. Thank you for taking the time to see me--”

“Not at all. I was surprised,” Viv smiled and looked over the doctor sitting across from her for a moment, “But I suspect I shouldn’t have been with you.”

Unsure of how to take it and oddly stifled under the withering gaze, Clarke swallowed roughly and adjusted slightly.

“While it is lovely to see you, Clarke, I suspect you aren’t here to see how Lexa’s trip is going.”

“Lexa said you were the one who keeps the ship afloat and keeps the trains running on time.”

“I find it more akin to wrangling cats,” the queen wagered as she thought it over.

Clarke considered how much she looked like Lexa, or rather how Lexa looked like her. How they looked off to the side when they were feeling mischievous, how clever they got when they got a compliment, how important it was that they maintained a fairly sturdy, steady wall against anyone seeing them too plainly.

It wasn’t a fluke that Lexa raved about how precise her mother was, how smart and quick and fierce she was, and it certainly wasn’t a fluke that Lexa grew up to be all of those things as well. Sitting across from her now, alone, without a reassuring hand on her thigh or back, Clarke wavered before straightening and taking a deep breath.

“Lexa has tried to protect me,” Clarke began. “Rightfully so. It’s an adjustment and I think I played into that weakness a little while I debated. Dipped my toes, so to speak.”

“Anyone would be smart to take their time when this commitment presented itself. Thank you,” the queen nodded as the maid brought in a tray of tea and cookies. “Tea?”

“Thank you.”

“You’d be a fool not to need time to weigh the enormity of this undertaking. You have absolutely no training, nor have you had a lifetime to prepare,” Viv explained. “I’m not quite sure you’ve fully considered it now, to be completely honest.”

“I have.”

“You haven’t, because even I haven’t fully figured it out,” she explained as she put her cup down on the saucer.

Clarke sat up slightly, her spine straightening as she felt a burn in her collar.

“Lexa has tried to protect me,” she began again. “But that’s not fair of me to expect. And it certainly isn’t going to help us. I’m not just dipping my toes. Tell me what I have to do to be good at this for her. She deserves a partner, not someone she has to fret over constantly.”

The queen smiled and looked at the doctor sitting across from her. She leaned back in her chair, adjusting her legs and folding her hands once again. She took her time, looking over Clarke and debating, wondering if she could figure it all out while they sat there. It was true that she thought about this eventuality, of her daughter bringing someone home, someone who was not prepared-- it was the only math that made sense, since she highly doubted another royal would come out. And as much as she played it out in her head, the queen could not see the endgame, but rather followed a million threads to a million ends.

But Clarke Griffin made an appointment while Lexa was out of town with the sole purpose of figuring it out, and that was a thread the queen hadn’t followed.

“This isn’t a movie,” Viv began. “There isn’t a magic montage I can provide you with that will answer all of your questions, or a make over that will make this easy.”

“That’d be nice though, wouldn’t it?”

“Does Lexa know you’re here?”

“No. She’d be mortified, I think.”

“You have--”

“I was going to tell her when she got back. But I didn’t want her to try to talk me out of it,” Clarke explained emphatically as she shook her head. “She would just worry and promise me things that even I know she can’t deliver, and I didn’t want that.”

“Why do you want to do this, Clarke?”

The question was one that Clarke debated herself a few hundred times, as she herself followed many threads of her potential futures. She’d hoped to have formed a more concise or relevant answer with all of the brainpower assigned to the task, but still struggled nonetheless.

“Because I am in love with your daughter.”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

“She risked everything for me. What kind of person would I be if I wasn’t willing to do the same?”

“A sane one.”

Clarke smiled slightly and debated the response before agreeing.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” the doctor promised. “I don’t care what it is. I’ve seen enough destruction in my life to know when something good is happening. As much as I can’t believe that Lexa is real, I just can’t do this without giving my all.”

The queen eyed her again, observing the passion with which she spoke, her words warm with a bit of promise and oath and fear and joy beneath it all, wary of being allowed to exist.

“Keep Lexa out of the palace when you tell her you spoke with me. She’ll throw a fit.”

“I can do that.”

The queen nodded, her eyes changing slightly as she started to go over lists in her head of how to proceed.

“We’ll get you a history tutor, and etiquette lessons, followed by an assistant--”

“Lexa took etiquette lessons?”

“She was the best of the kids at them,” the queen boasted. “Her entire lack of rigidity is by choice, not by lack of education. She learned very young that the best way to win was to simply know more than anyone else in the room. How else would she know the tiniest ways to buck procedure?”

Clarke smiled and nodded as she set down her saucer.

“Do you think I have a chance?”

“We’ll see after the background check.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Even though it was late, and even though the entire world was asleep-- even though she’d flown from a different hemisphere, Lexa needed just one thing. She dropped her bag on the chair and slumped down next to it, prepared to slip off her shoes in favor of something more comfortable and bit more lowkey to traverse the mortal realm of midnight in her city.

It wasn’t that it was a bad trip. Lexa actually enjoyed travelling, and her it was, as her mother explained, a wonderful distraction from the rest of everything. She got to see friends and enjoy the rigidity of a schedule that was something of a welcomed distraction. It was surprisingly relaxing to be away and to mindlessly sit through meetings and formal engagements.

But with a sigh, Lexa sat back and unbuttoned a few buttons on her shirt, attempting to rally herself for the commute.

“What time is it?”

Lexa jumped slightly and looked toward the bed to find a lump surrounded by a dozen open books.

“What the hell? They’ll let anyone in here, won’t they?” the princess grinned as she caught her breath, her hand pressed against her chest. “I’ll have to have a word with security.”

“I’ve got clearances now,” Clarke grinned and flopped back against the pillows. Her girlfriend watched her stretch and get cozy once more.

“This saves me a trip across town.”

“You were going to come see me?”

“It’s been two weeks. I’ve missed my girl.”

Still half asleep and dreamy, Clarke smiled and shifted, knocking a book to the floor.

“Come to bed.”

Lexa moved around the bed, picking up the book and reading its spine.

“The History of the Empire,” Lexa read. “The Age of Kings. The Monarchy. These are all very dense old boring books.”

“Just trying to figure out what I’m getting into is all.”

Despite herself, Lexa snorted, tossing the rest of the books onto the floor, annoyed by their interruption in her bed. She slunk her way toward the much better interruption in the form of a doctor who once saved a life while someone held a gun to her head.

“I’ve been a princess for a while, but I’ve never had the benefit of having a woman waiting in my bed for me.”

“Shut up.”

Lexa smiled to herself as she hovered over the body in her sheets. She kissed Clarke’s shoulder and she ran her nose along the curve there. But the doctor didn’t move, just smiled and let herself be draped in princess, as her whole weight blanketed her.

“How was your trip?”

“Long, torturous, arduous, etc,” she muttered between lazy kisses. “I got a lot of pitying glances from friends who didn’t know how to speak to me suddenly. And I missed you.”

In the almost dark, Clarke smiled and shifted, turning so the princess could settle atop her completely. She wrapped her arms around broad shoulders and inhaled the smell beneath the plane smell, the one she found in the pillows and bed in the palace.

“I missed you.”

“You had all of these books to keep you company. Mmm, that feels good.”

Hands ran up and down her back, dipping beneath her shirt and finding the skin there. Lexa sighed against her girlfriend’s neck, fully prepared to fall asleep just like that. Clarke didn’t stop, but rather rubbed against her harder. She kissed her girlfriend’s forehead.

“Want to order food and not leave bed tomorrow?”

“Mmmm, yes please,” Lexa yawned. “I’m closing the country tomorrow. I can do that, right?”

“According to the Blackwell Edict of 1126 you actually can close the country with reasonable suspicion of tainted trading products, witchcraft, or unseasonably warm weather. I don’t think anyone actually has, but--”

Lexa lifted her head and peered at Clarke, furrowing at the new information provided.

“Why do you know that?’

“I think you have to know those things when you date a princess.”

“What do I have to learn now that I’m dating a doctor?”

“Lots of anatomy practice.”

“Are to teach me anything tonight, Doc?” she grinned.

“There are a few places we can start this lesson...”

XXXXXXXXXX

There were many ways that the queen could feel the storms shaping in her life. It was something she always prided herself on, this innate sense for the shifting winds, knowing well ahead of time when a storm was going to pass by her coast, or when a hurricane was preparing to make landfall. There was something in the air, int he feeling of the day that kept the queen with a weathered eye at all times, her internal barometer attempting to foresee all eventualities.

All of the preparation was never any use against her daughter. Her internal tracking systems didn’t prepare for Lexa and her calm facade and roaring waves and thunder clouds beneath it all.

“You told my girlfriend that you would train her to date me?” Lexa bellowed as she marched into the closet.

The only saving grace was that the queen was between interviews and changing alone versus with her advisors. Her daughter was impetuous and didn’t understand how wagging some tongues were.

“Welcome home, darling. What do you think? This,” she held up a blazer. “Or this one? I can’t tell which one will say don’t pass this dreadful housing bill, but listen to my proposal for better options better?”

In her familiar way, her daughter fumed, meeting her mother’s eyes in the windows.

“What did you tell Clarke?”

“What did she tell you?” the queen asked as she picked up another option and looked at herself in the mirror.

Strong and proud and exponentially furrowed, the middle daughter clenched her jaw and debated what to say. The queen saw the tempest, and that her daughter control it, something that always amazed her. Not many would know how ruled by her passions Lexa truly was, nor how hard she worked to control it. One had to look very close to see those cracks and these moments, when control was barely maintained.

“She told me that she requested a meeting, which you took. And that she was reading those stupid books and studying with your tutors and not having as much fun as all the montages said it would be, which I don’t quite get, but still, you--”

“I had a lovely meeting with your girlfriend, a very bright and eager doctor who understands how these things work already. You are very welcome.”

“You--- What?! How is it-- Why would--” Lexa sputtered, her face contorting and her voice raising as her arms flailed slightly, completely stupefied by the response.

“I am not training her to date you, or whatever flippant phrase you chose for a dramatic flourish, Alexandra,” her mother scolded as she decided, pulling a coat on and eyeing herself precisely. “I don’t know if there’s enough patience in the world to train someone to date you, though Clarke seems to be doing a very good job at that. I rather offered my guidance to someone who was brilliant enough to see what dating you meant within her context of the whole.”

“She doesn’t have to be good at this. She doesn’t have to learn about stupid laws from six hundred years ago.”

“She doesn’t,” the queen agreed. “But she chose to.”

“I wanted her to be separate. I like Clarke because she doesn’t care about all of this stuff.”

The wrath depleted somewhat, now just simmering in a grumpy storm, stoked by bitterness now more than outright anger, no longer lashing but rather lapping violently at the shore.

“She doesn’t care about this. She cares about you, and making sure that you’re alright and with someone who knows how to handle things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She said that you deserved a partner, not a subject,” Viv explained, turning finally to face her daughter. “I quite liked that. She came to me because you told her that I was the one who kept the family rolling, pulling the strings, or whatever poorly conceived metaphor you constructed about me running your lives.”

Lexa pursed her lips and crossed her arms again.

“Mafia don,” she supplied. “I told her you were the one that knew where the skeletons were buried and what their names were.”

“That’s actually a pretty amusing soliloquy, darling.”

“I thought so,” Lexa shrugged.

“I’m not changing Clarke,” her mother promised, grabbing her arms and rooting them together in her dressing room. “I wouldn’t want to. I’m arming her with knowledge, but like any weapon, it is up to the user to when, where, and how they use it.”

“I wanted to protect--”

“Yes, that’s what she said,” the queen chuckled and cupped her daughter’s cheeks, feeling her relax despite herself. “But you can’t. Do you love her?”

Lexa felt her mother’s eyes bore into her own. She stared back, concentrating on the feeling of her hands and her eyes and the question at hand. Quickly, she bit her tongue, allowing her brain to catch up before she allowed herself to blurt out an answer. She was a princess; she didn’t blurt.

“I do,” she sighed.

“Then for the love of God, woman, you have to help her, not shelter her. She’s amputated entire limbs and performed surgery while donating blood to the patient. She’s not a bloody peach, you know?”

The queen held her daughter’s smile in her hands, her palms growing warm with a blush.

“I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Then don’t.”

With a gentle tap on her cheek, the queen shook her daughter’s head before kissing her forehead.

“I should have walked away when I saw her in that bar,” Lexa confessed, finally pulling away from her mother’s affection. “Would have been so much simpler.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh really?”

“I don’t know if I’d ever get the chance to see you so happy. I’m relieved, and happy to see it for myself.”

Lexa blushed at the words her mother said so easily and she wrapped her arms tighter around herself as the queen sat at the mirror, waiting for her make up team to arrive. She bashfully looked up and met her mother’s eyes before looking away again quickly.

“I’m taking Clarke to the cabin for the weekend. Might as well as share some perks before she goes off the deep end with you.”

“Fine, but be back Sunday evening for that dinner with the ambassadors,” she muttered, earning a groan. “Bring Clarke.”

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