#felt my heart thumping during this part legitimately

[artificialqueens]

What’s going on with you two? (Vahli) Chapter 1 - Delia555

So, I wrote this because I rewatched Dragula s2 for the billionth time, and my brain refused to let me ignore how Victoria and Dahli had such a cute connection on the show, so this this was something totally different for me to write. Please tell me if you like it, and I’ll gladly continue with this story. ღ ღ

Trigger warnings include: Mentions of death, very mild mention of a suicidal mentality ((not really worth saying, but I’d rather ensure you’re all aware! ღ ))  

A/N: This is set during Dragula and to clear up any confusion you could have later, on a whim I decided that the exterminations were legitimate and the contestants sign up for the show, taking the risk of possibly dying. It’s dark! But the next drag Supermonster surely has to be able to risk it all for the crown?

****I’m fairly certain I’ll be only providing Dragula content, and am always up for any requests****

——

The floor show had ended a few hours ago, and it was announced that 6 of the contestants were officially up for extermination. They’d have to face off in a paintball battle, where two girls at a time would have a one vs one fight to the death. The girl with the most hits, or ones in the more critical of places, would therefore lose and risk extermination. 

This week, Victoria and her Fortune-telling character has scored her, her very first win so far. She was ecstatic, and calmed at the knowledge of Dahli and Abhora being safe from extermination alongside herself. The three girls got a perfect view of all the action to come, a decent distance away but close enough to feel entirely engaged. 

For the final face off, Biqtch Puddin and Monikkie Shame has been paired up against each other; a splendid yet typical gag thanks to their recent arguments. Biqtch had waited for Monikkie to run out of shots before she even fired her first, and managed to shoot her in the mouth while the splats on herself remained exclusively on her back and in no particularly critical spots. 

Abhora began to laugh maniacally at the drama unfolding before her very eyes. Victoria and Dahli could barely contain themselves at the sight of everyone, it was hilarious. Abhora seemed to be losing her shit, and Monikkie seemed to just be…losing. Victoria grabbed onto Dahli’s arm for support during her own uncontrollable fit of laughter, and she felt Dahli half-heartedly ease her back with her hand through giggles; resulting in an overwhelming chill rushing all the way down her back at a rapid rate. 

The sensation distracted her from whatever had been so funny to her before, and she simply brought her head up to look into Dahli’s eyes that were now disguised by white contacts. Dahli paused the movements with her hand on Victoria’s back, to see the girl beneath her stiffen at the loss of contact, and doubt flooding her mind. 

All Dahli responded with was another one of her smirks of pride, and she took Victoria’s hand, guiding Victoria’s body back up from its awkward position where she’d been half-bent over. Victoria felt her heart thumping aggressively against her chest, and she struggled to maintain self-control despite the cameras surrounding them and knowing better. 

——

When the cameras cut and filming had been declared wrapped up, Victoria and Dahli hadn’t exchanged many words, neither of them quite certain whether to mention earlier. 

Today had genuinely been great, Victoria had achieved her first win, laughed more than she had in months, and seen a different side to Dahli than previously. Victoria found Dahli easiest to relate to out of all the other contestants, she always maintained her chill and today proved she could somehow manage to keep Victoria on her toes - regardless of how much of a control freak Victoria was. 

Victoria couldn’t tell you what she was doing when she accepted Dahli’s invitation to crash in her hotel room that night. It was no big fuss, and it didn’t need to become one. Victoria had a budding friendship with Dahli and she assured herself she had no justifiable reason to turn down the casual offer. 

The time had just passed 10 pm, and it’d been dark out for hours at this point. Sometimes Victoria got lost in the night’s sky, it sounded cliche and poetic but it proved true from since she was only a young girl. Street lamps and occasional store-lights were the only thing illuminating the space surrounding the two as they stepped out from the Uber. Dahli tipped the driver and walked round the car over to Victoria, acknowledging how at ease she seemed in comparison to earlier. Dimmed orange lights bounced off her soft bare skin, and her grey curls were now distressed as they hang loosely after being securely hidden for the majority of the day. She took in the beautiful sight of Victoria, leaning back against the street lamp and pressing another cigarette to her lips, wasting no time in lighting it. 

“That didn’t take as long as earlier.” Victoria pointed out, giving a pressing look and taking a few steps closer to Dahli. 

“What are you trying to say?” She hummed, tilting her head back and exhaling the smoke from her cigarette into the chilled air, watching briefly as it slowly rose above her head, diffusing into the nights sky. 

“I’m trying to sayyy…” Victoria drawled, her eyes following the smoke momentarily, before returning back to Dahli and tilting her head in favour to one side. “Maybe you just wanted your mouth close to mine.” Her voice was now merely a whisper. 

Dahli’s face broke into one of uncertainty, and for the shortest moment her guard threatened to drop. 

“Shut up, you’re so full of shit.” Dahli teased, prodding at Victoria’s stomach playfully with her fingers. 

Time appeared to have frozen, and earlier seemed to repeat itself when Dahli had suddenly stopped her movements again, Victoria’s mind involuntarily wandering to places like before. One thing was different though, and that was that Victoria didn’t have a single camera to worry about. She’d made it known that she had a boyfriend before, and Dahli had made a harmless joke about how she could be added, however it didn’t come across so harmless when she looked into Dahli’s contact-less eyes. 

They were lit up, sparkling almost, and Victoria swore to herself this shit only happened in movies. This was dumb, and would undoubtedly provide Vic with a tonne of problems to deal with later on. 

Victoria pushed Dahli’s hand off her stomach, and moved in even closer to Dahli, pressing her head into her torso at the harsh reality of all the feelings she was experiencing. It took a while for a response from Dahli, and Victoria questioned if she’d been too inappropriate, ready to step back and somehow magically erase her actions. 

That was until, she felt two slender arms wrapping round her back and holding a firm grip against the exposed skin at the cutout of her dress. She audibly sighed of relief, and cuddled in closer to Dahli’s chest, taking in some of her smoke as she breathed, relaxed for what felt like the first time today. 

They stayed there in silence for a few minutes, Dahli eventually loosening her grip to put her cigarette out, deciding to grab onto Victoria’s hand and lead her into the hotel lobby to finally escape the cold. 

The place was nothing of luxury, it was simplistic and minimal; the walls were burgundy and there were a couple benches dotted around the room for visitors to sit nearby rows of fake plants or small coffee tables. If you looked close enough, you could pick out how the seats were worn and old, and the wooden coffee tables had splinters in their edges. 

Victoria trailed behind Dahli as they headed for the elevator. There was a blatant lack of space even from the outside, and it caused the rest of the lobby to appear truly stunning in comparison. Regardless, today had been beyond tiring and there was no possible way that either girl would make the conscious decision to climb the stairs over this option. Dahli pushed the button for the elevator, and thankfully there was nobody else occupying it nor wishing to. She gladly pulled Victoria in after her, and pressed the button for her floor. The walls felt even more confined from the inside, and Dahli stared down at her feet for a brief moment. 

Victoria was done with this shit, though. If she was really honest with herself, she’d known she was a goner since Dahli had came over to admire her preparation for the floor show earlier. 

Her grip on Dahli’s hand consciously tightened, and without taking any further time to plan out her actions, she backed Dahli into the hard elevator walls, their fingers now interlocking with one another while she slammed their hands against the space beside Dahli’s head. Their lips smacked against each other’s in a lustful and heated kiss, Dahli closing her eyes in response to the desperately awaited taste of Victoria’s soft lips. She bit down on Victoria’s bottom lip, sucking at it unforgivingly before grazing her tongue over the same spot. 

“Mhmmn.” Victoria groaned at the sensation, clearly accepting of Dahli’s intentions. Dahli was about to slip her tongue between Victoria’s parted lips, but found herself being cut off by the sound of the elevator doors opening a few floors too soon. 

The both of them instinctively broke apart, fearful of whoever may see them together - and thank God they did. Before they even had the opportunity to step out of the elevator and run for their lives, they were met with a smug James Majesty. 

“Hey ghouls.” She grinned with a cheeky wink, flipping her teal hair behind her shoulder and stepping into the elevator to join the stunned girls. 

James blatantly looked Dahli up and down, caring not enough to try and disguise her look of disgust. “Where’s the shirt from, my grandma’s closet?” She audibly laughed to herself, barely even getting the sentence out before doing so. 

Dahli rolled her eyes in response to the usual snarky comment, bringing her finger up to her own neck and pretending to slice her throat. 

Victoria felt the danger in this whole scenario build up in her mind, the close call putting things truly into perspective and allowing her to realise how she really felt alright in still going through with them - in spite of all the reasons not to. 

Everything got too overwhelming, and she pushed another button for the elevator, hurrying out and abandoning James and Dahli. 

For a split second, Dahli considered chasing after her, but it didn’t feel right in front of James…maybe part of Victoria wished she would’ve. 

#dragula fanfiction #dahli delia #victoria elizabeth black #james majesty #abhora #vahli #dahli x victoria #lesbian au #delia555 #wgowyt #tw death #dragula #rpdr fanfiction

[jeks-tgs]

Don't Lose Your Head AU - Part 11

"Henry, you can't hide in there all week!"

"I'm afraid your theory doesn't hold true, sir!!"

Robert huffed, then smirked. He sighed dramatically, turning as if to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "Alright, guess all these sweets will just have to be given to Frankenstein and her monster, then." Within seconds he heard the door open and felt a shy tug on his sleeve. Robert turned around looking smug, and Henry scowled at him, before grumbling, "You have until I finish that platter you're holding to convince me." Robert grinned, stepping into the room and setting the tray down. Henry took a tentative seat on the bed, reaching for the tray, only to make a noise of protest as Robert pulled it out of reach.

"I know how quickly you can wolf down biscuits, Henry Jekyll, and I have something I need to say before you kick me out," The surgeon lectured him, holding it out of reach as Henry's thin arms stretched out for it. He'd never admit it, but having Henry press his chest to his side trying to grab the desserts made his heart thump and flutter like a moth trapped behind glass, even though the door was wide open for it to fly through. "What I want to say first and foremost is; I'm sorry." Henry paused in his attempts to snatch at the plate of biscuits, red eyes flicking to Lanyon's before looking away again. "Will you promise to let me apologize properly, even if you finish eating before I'm done?"

"...fine," Robert handed Henry the tray with a relieved smile, watching him bite into a biscuit with a frown on his face. Robert cleared his throat, then began with a repeat, "I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have said what I did," He continued. He looked genuinely ashamed, and Henry paused in his nervous snacking to pay better attention. "I was just repeating what I'd been taught. It likely isn't true; I mean, what are the odds an entire species - race, sorry, you're not an animal - could be evil? The stories were likely warped, and now that I think about it, I can't remember ever having seen any legitimate cases of beheading during that time frame." Henry made a brief noise of irritation as Robert snatched a hiscuit for himself, but it felt more like their usual playful teasing than legitimate annoyance. "So, I'm sorry for speaking so boldly on a subject I vaguely remember from my school days. If you say you would never behead someone, I believe you. I mean, you walk into your own door, what? Three times a day?"

"Oh, not you too," Henry grumbled as Edward snickered in his chest, flames warming with amusement. Robert looked over, confused, and asked, "What?" Henry blushed, waving it off with a quick, "Nothing, nothing, just flustered by that little comment." He elbowed Robert lightly, earning a laugh, and he started to smile. He was relieved to know things wouldn't change. Sure, Robert might have some new jokes up his sleeves, but they would still be friends. He ate another biscuit, then noticed Robert looking at him. He cracked a smile, playfully starting to ask, "What? You're looking at me like I've lost my–"

"Can I hold it? You're head, I mean?"

Henry felt his face heat up, and he managed a nervous, "U-Um, sure.. sure, yeah, let me just.." He undid the bandages around his neck and took his head off. Robert hesitated, unnerved, then carefully placed his hands on Henry's cheeks, his fingers helping support the back of his head. He was gentle in his movements as he tilted and turned Henry's head this way and that, and the Scot found himself blushing a bit harder. It was quiet in the room aside from the occassional breathless comment of wonder from the surgeon, and suddenly, as Robert moved his head to examine his neck, it felt much too intimate to ignore. Robert leveled him again, now just holding him at eye level. There was something searching in those warm brown eyes, and Henry found himself fidgeting as he sat next to his friend. Robert stroked his thumbs over the Dullahan's cheeks, noticing how warm and pink they were, and bit his lip.

"Robert..." Henry breathed softly as he felt himself pulled a bit closer, Robert leaning in. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard it was probably rattling Edward, and a bit of green flame left his throat to dance antsily on his neck stump. Robert tilted his head, eyes flicking from Henry's ruby gaze to his lips. Henry's hands twisted in his lap, playing with his fingers nervously. Was Robert doing what he thought he was doing? Was he really going to-?

Henry's mind went blank, eye's wide, as a pair of soft lips pressed against his own. Edward's sharp inhale rung in his head, and when Robert pulled back (too fast, that kiss was too brief, no, he wanted another, wanted him to come back), he was met with a bright red face and a starry-eyed stare. Blushing, the older doctor looked away, beginning to mumble apologies, only to whip his head back around to stare at Henry in surprise as he softly implored, "K.. Kiss me again?"

"...y.. yes.. yes, I'll- r-right, yes, of course," He stammered, pulling Henry close once more, kissing him again. This time he lingered, and both men let their eyes flutter shut, Henry hesitantly wrapping his arms around his friend. Robert's heart was soaring. The moth in his chest had finally noticed the open door, or maybe it had stumbled upon it by accident, or perhaps, and this idea was his favourite, perhaps the owner of the house was a kind-hearted Scot who noticed the struggling little thing, had coaxed it onto his finger, walked it to the door, and gently blown on its wings to convince it to take flight. Whatever the case, he was free, and he was kissing Henry fucking Jekyll, and honestly if he died right now or sometime soon, he would die a happy man, because kissing Henry was the best feeling in the world.

"I love you," He whispered when they pulled apart for air, and he loved the way Henry lit up at that. "I have for some time now. Henry, can.. can I court you? Properly? I-It would have to be discreet, yes, but.. I don't want this to be some little fling or affair. I want it to mean something."

"Robert Lanyon," Henry murmured. "If you proposed to me right now I'd say yes. I've wanted to be with you since college." Robert laughed a bit, an ecstatic sound, like a stranded man stumbling upon a cruise ship, and he kissed him again, then again, and then he was laying down, smothering Henry in a flurry of kisses, both men laughing and giggling between each one. His body had it's arms wrapped around the both of them, and Edward's fire crackled warmly, feeling content as he watched his other smile and laugh and kiss his long time crush. He supposed he should be jealous, but then again, he was always going to be closer to Henry than anyone else, so why should he be? No, this was a good thing, and besides, the older headless fae looked positively adorable when he was being kissed breathless like that.

#tgs #tgs au #don't lose your head au #dullahan!jekyll #decapitated head #decapitation #decapitation tw #jekyon #mentioned jekyde #hope you guys enjoy this sweet little chapter #because it all goes downhill from here

[theguardianangel-fanfiction]

⭐️

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines.  

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

Thank you so much for submitting this! There’s one section of chapter 26 (We Hope For Better Things) that had me stumped for literal months, and I wanted to kind of discuss my thoughts and concerns behind it, its canon counterpart, and the ways that I intended it to be interpreted; however, any way that you interpret it is fine.

Fun fact: Chapter 26 takes place during episode 2, A House Divided, which actually came out on my 13th birthday (March 4th, 2014).

This will contain spoilers for Once Bitten, Twice Dead chapter 26, We Hope For Better Things. 

First off, let me talk about my grief with season 2’s treatment of Christa. Now, I don’t absolutely hate that she was, presumably, killed off; I dislike the way that they, in fast succession, killed her and Omid off, never mentioning the baby except for a very brief hint in episode 4 (Clementine closes her eyes and says, “Not again…” when AJ doesn’t immediately move after he’s born). Because of the fact that Clementine is literally around Rebecca for almost the entirety of season 2, I found her lack of reaction to Rebecca’s pregnancy a bit strange.

Like I said, my dislike of the handling of Christa’s pregnancy and Clementine’s thoughts about it have a lot to do with the following paragraphs. I’m all for Clem being able to actually stop and deal with her thoughts and somewhat deal with her emotions (I mean, shit, read my other series posted on AO3 and you’ll see what I mean).

In chapter 26, we get a discussion between Rebecca and Clementine about the baby, Alvin, and the circumstances surrounding this, something that leaves Clem feeling ill, anxious, and somewhat guilty about what she knows that Alvin doesn’t. But the discussion also leaves Clem thinking of Christa, and of her thoughts about Christa’s pregnancy. She is also very prone to comparing Christa and Rebecca, as seen below:

Clementine grasped her left wrist, leaning against the railing as she spoke, watching Rebecca’s mannerisms. She looked nauseous, though Clementine found it hard to tell, as she hadn’t exactly known Rebecca very long; Christa used to get sick, something Clementine could easily remember, when she smelled Omid cooking meat of any kind over the fire. At least until she started showing. In the later stages of her pregnancy, Christa didn’t have any sickness or dizziness. But maybe Rebecca was different.

This only adds to the way that Clem adjusts to and interprets Rebecca’s pregnancy, something that I intend to tackle in another chapter (somewhat in chapter 29, and likely a lot further than that).

Crossing her arms, Clementine spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, but then sighed as she thought of herself. She was still alive. But she thought of Duck – the only other child that she spent longer than a few hours with after the beginning of the outbreak – and she thought of his end, and how Kenny couldn’t protect him.

How Kenny couldn’t protect Katjaa, either.

She thought of Christa and Omid. She thought of their child.

This brings up the subject of Christa and Omid’s child, and why Clem is so uneasy about Rebecca’s pregnancy is also brought up. This leads into Rebecca asking Clementine if she wants to listen to the baby kicking. Now, in the game, I said yes, and the scene was absolutely adorable. I love the relationship between Rebecca and Clementine. But with Clem’s past with Christa, I found it to be a little bit unrealistic. Clem obviously has feelings about the baby, and because it was never explored, we as players don’t know whether or not the subject was traumatic to her.

Now, I have almost the exact same age difference with my younger sister that Clementine and AJ have. I’m 18, and my sister just turned 7, if that gives you an idea. Therefore, I remember what my mother’s pregnancy was like, and I remember the kicking and listening to her kicking – it’s a very surreal thing, and for someone like Clem, who for all we know could have witnessed the baby’s death, it can be downright triggering.

That brings me to Clem’s actual apprehension.

“She’s kicking.” Rebecca suddenly spoke, removing both hands from her stomach. She used one to push herself forward, and the other to reach out to Clementine. “Wanna listen?”

Clementine froze in her spot, still staring Rebecca in the face. Rebecca’s expression didn’t change, and she instead reached for Clementine’s hand, but Clementine’s mind was elsewhere.

Can you feel her kicking, Christa?

I don’t think she has feet yet, Clem.

Blinking, Clementine retracted her hand from Rebecca’s grasp and slowly shook her head.

“Can I… just… feel?”

Rebecca’s lowered smile was subtle, but she nodded anyway as Clementine reached out again, her fingertips barely close enough to feel the fabric of Rebecca’s shirt. Carefully, she placed her palm flat against the area that Rebecca guided her to; immediately, Clementine felt her heart racing.

The smallest thump against Clementine’s hand made her slowly pull it away again.

I believe there was a developer or writer for season 2 that claimed that Christa miscarried, but after the amount of misinformation and, might I say it, somewhat lazy writing that came from season 2 (don’t get me wrong, I love season 2), I don’t like this reason.

Why? Well, in All That Remains, Christa appears to be about 7-9 months pregnant. My own mother was about that size when she was 8 months along with my sister, though my mom is 5’2 and Christa looks to be closer to 5’10-6’0. But I digress. Anyway, since Christa was probably about 8ish months along, a miscarriage would probably have killed her. The baby would be nearly fully formed by then. But in OBTD, my idea was a little bit more realistic – not every baby survives birth, and some die before labor.

Clem’s canon reaction, as she looks at a barely conscious newborn AJ, kind of gave me an idea. Stillbirth is a much more likely reason for Christa to lose that baby, as sad as it is. Either that, or SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).

Therefore:

Clementine crossed her arms, but only to hide the sudden lack of feeling in her fingers as they trembled. Slowly, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Just as soon as she spoke them, Clementine regretted it.

And just as soon as Clementine spoke and regretted speaking, Rebecca’s eyes became wide, her eyebrows scrunched. Clementine crossed her arms tighter, her shoulders arched as she did so, and mentally scolded herself. She shouldn’t have said that. She should not have said that.

Just because what happened with… Clementine’s thoughts were cut off when Rebecca spoke in a hushed voice.

And a little bit later, we have:

“I’m… I’m not trying to be weird.” Clementine turned back to Rebecca, “I just… I don’t know.” Once again, she crossed her arms and peered over the railing. Both Sarah and Sarita had abandoned the Christmas tree. “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Christa.”

“Your friend.” Rebecca placed her hand on her bump and looked into the same direction that she had before, as if expecting Alvin to walk back into the room at any moment. “Why?”

“She was pregnant for a while.” Clementine paused, biting the inside of her mouth and her tongue. She avoided Rebecca’s face. “And I don’t like thinking about it.”

Even later than this, we get a bit more confirmation and insight into Christa’s baby:

Clementine’s gaze focused on Rebecca’s bump just as much as she focused on the words that Rebecca spoke earlier – It’s not his. As in, it wasn’t Alvin’s. Rebecca wasn’t carrying a baby that was her husband’s. If Clementine’s very limited education on the art of where babies came from was any less, then she wouldn’t have even believed Rebecca. Yet, here Rebecca was, pretending that nothing was wrong. Flirting back to her husband.

Her stomach hurt, and Clementine locked her hand onto her opposite arm as she weeded through the other possibilities. Clementine knew that Christa’s baby girl (as much as it pained her to think of that cold, dead face) was Omid’s. She had looked just like Omid, after all, with very little of Christa.

There was, I think, a 5 month difference in this update from the one before this one. Now, I suck at updating as it is, but I will fully admit that this scene stumped me for quite a while. I had a conversation with my dad, and I recall saying to him, “I need a realistic reaction to seeing a pregnant woman in the apocalypse. [Clem] is supposed to have PTSD and her last interaction with a pregnant woman resulted in the death of the baby. You got any advice?”

My dad actually did help a little bit with a reaction; he suggested avoidance, and I was like, “Holy shit, that’s true.” And that’s how I wrote Clem. I have written Clem with implied PTSD and mild anxiety before, but I felt that this was a different situation, because this is meant to be a form of establishing her character in OBTD. She’s similar to one of the ways that I played her in season 2, which is someone who only really talked a lot to certain people (like Walter or Sarah) and was silent in certain situations (like at the dinner at the lodge or after Sarita’s bitten death in episode 4 when Kenny goes off on her).

I’m doing my best to be the best writer that I can, especially while writing from the POV of an 11 year old who has experienced violence, kidnapping, emotional manipulation, and has now seen both childbirth and infant death. Part of the reason that some of more recent chapters have taken so long is this reason, and the surrounding circumstances.

Because of how long OBTD is meant to go for (trust me, we are barely even started), I have to establish both Clem’s actual, legitimate fears and her more childish fears and quirks. I’m trying to do this without her being that mature for her age; yes, she is mature for her age in OBTD and canon, but she is not an adult and I absolutely cannot stand when people write her as so.

It’s different when we’re talking about season 4, where she’s literally been raising a child on her own for quite a while, but in season 2? No, she’s still going to have some childish thoughts, fears, and quirks.Her connecting Rebecca and Christa is, in my opinion, something that realistically would happen if the events of TWDG were real and she were an actual person going through this. The establishment of her issues in not connecting a trauma and a similar act are something that I think was somewhat touched upon in season 2, but I wanted to look a more realistic angle.

In summary, I’m looking to get further into her psyche and how a child in her situation would actually react, but in a more consistent way. Stories need consequence, and I think the small changes in the way that characters feel about each other should actually impact their actions. She feels uneasy Rebecca’s pregnancy, and later what she believes is an affair, and she feels guilty from keeping this from Alvin. Hopefully, I can do this justice as time goes on.

Thank you for your ask, and thank you to anyone who made it to the end. 😊

#obtd fanfiction #twdg fanfiction #obtd meta #meta #twdg clemetine #twdg christa #tw: infant death #obtd announcements #asks #carmypen

[drkoestersmithrpg]

THIS IS SAD FRIDAY play despacito

Did he hide like a coward in his lab, waiting breathlessly for FRIDAY to confirm that Peter had left? Oh yes he did.

Did he pack a bag and leave that night for LA on some feigned business trip?  Oh yes, he most certainly did.

Did he stop inviting Peter over to work in the lab on projects real and imagined, and did he make damn sure that there were always people in Stark Tower when Peter did show up? Oh most certain this was the case. Tony could be one damn popular guy when wanted to be.  And that’s why weeks passed before he had to deal with an armful of Peter again.

He acted casual during those times in-between, but inwardly he was frantic.  This is ok, this is ok, he kept telling himself.  “Yes I just broke up with Spider-Man, and yes, it hurts.  But loosing the kid after only one slow-dance, that’s a pain I can bear, right?”

He kept repeating the mantra to himself as a week passed, and then another.  But then he got lonely for the Kid and might have accidentally allowed him in the tower when he was alone.  

“We’re not going to do this, Kid,” Tony said, when that alone time turned into a tender embrace.

 “We’re not going to do this, Kid,” he said even as he wrapped his arms around Peter and held him close.  He had only let his guard down just for a second and the Kid swooped in, superhero that he was.

“Why not?”  Peter asked, logically, and Tony opened his mouth to tell the whole Graduating From Columbia daydream but it was too big to come out.  

He tried to talk about what Peter deserved, but he got cut off.

“You let me decide what I deserve.”

So he tried to tell the truth – or at least part of the truth.  He did love Peter’s crush on him, loved it?  For a while he was living for it.  But suggesting that this was a legitimate reason to say no now just earned him a sweet kiss on his face, and then on the corner of his mouth.

The self-control that it took to not move the quarter inch and taste that boy for himself was agonizing.

Then the boy left, and Tony hung his head in shame.

He had told the boy ‘No.’

But the boy probably had trouble believing him when he had said “No” while holding a handful of Peter’s ass.

He forced himself to act calm, even as the kid walked away, even as his heart was hammering frantically in his chest.   This is ok, this is ok, he could hear the mantra forming in his head even now..  “Yes I just broke up with Spider-Man, and yes, it hurts.  But loosing the kid after only one slow-dance, and one handful of ass, that’s a pain I can bear, right?”

There was a second mantra, one that formed in his head as his private plane carried him away from New York City.

“You have the obvious advantage.  Peter has the hard job, constantly waiting for you to be alone, constantly waiting to swoop in when you are unguarded.  He’s the one who has to keep generating arguments why you should be together..  All you have to do is keep saying no.”  

But he didn’t say ‘no’ the next time Peter made a move on him, he said something much worse.  A team of Avengers had returned from South America and were debriefing in Stark Tower and Peter made an unexpected appearance. Tony was beyond grateful he was there – these group meetings ground on and made Tony angsty, but Peter made it easy to relax.  They even had time to catch up, standing side by side and talking for quite a while while other Avengers fought for Tony’s attention.  

But then the others began departing in various directions and Tony found himself absurdly fleeing from Peter, backing up as if the boy were going to mug him, grimacing, hating himself for grimacing.

“I’m not doing this!” Tony had whispered to him, fully aware that he had been doing it.  Had stood shoulder to shoulder with Peter for the entire meeting.  Had defended Peter to the group, had glowed when Peter defended him. “What are you two, Batman and Robin now?” Barton had joked, and he and Peter had simultaneously shrugged.  Peter had nudged him when Fury said something particularly appalling, Tony had nudged him back when Nat countered.  They shared knowing looks.  They shared inside jokes.  More than one.  He had been ‘doing this.’  He had been ‘doing this’ shamelessly.

He wanted to explain, he did, but the penthouse was full of people.  Wanted to explain how he was sure he could bear the pain of breaking up with Peter after only one slow dance, after only one handful of ass. But breaking up with Peter after getting naked?  Breaking up with Peter after Peter had met his idol and found him wanting?  He tried to explain that there were pains he couldn’t bear.

That’s not what came out of his mouth, but it was close.

“How to be brave How can I love when I'm afraid to fall But watching you stand alone All of my doubt, suddenly goes away somehow”   some random Millennial with a honey voice sang endlessly.

“Peter hacked into FRIDAY as….as a practical joke.  Only he forgot to hack out,” Tony muttered to the remaining Avengers.  He didn’t try to wrestle with FRIDAY in front of them.  He knew Peter’s hacking skills.  He had honed a few of them himself.

“So, did you two break up?” Nat asked, after the others had gone.  He had poured himself a drink and was enjoying it by the heliopad.  It was the only place to get away from the condemning music.

“We were never dating.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“So you’re admitting you’re not very good at your job?   Odd business strategy, Romanoff.”

“Look, I know Anand marrying the Gay Jesus of India really rattled your cage…”

“…the Limp-dicked Gay Jesus of India…” Tony muttered.

“But I could have told you about Anand.  I would have told you about Anand, if you had asked me.  But you didn’t ask me…”

“I’m sorry, since when do I take dating advice from a master assassin?”

“I read people Tony. You used to read people too, but you missed that one.  You fell for an object in motion – I’m sorry it came to a surprise to you that he kept moving…”

“..you saw it coming.”

Nat shrugged.

“And Peter is an object in motion too, constantly motion,” Tony muttered, mostly to himself.  

“Predictable motion, and its right beside you.  You two can’t see yourself from the outside, Tony, I can.  Feel free to tell me it’s none of my business,”

“It’s none of your business.”

“…  but Peter works for you.  You’re good together.”

“I’m sorry, were you….were you trained in this too?  In addition to interrogation, did SHIELD use you as Yenta the Matchmaker?  How is this your job?”

“SHIELD used me to know you, and I do.  And for the record, you’ve been miserable for a while now.  And it’s not good for the Avengers.  The Avengers is my job.”

She left him, mercifully, alone after that.  Alone in his empty home.  Alone within walls echoing I will not let anything, take away/What's standing in front of me/Every breath, every hour has come to this.

“Fuck your bravery, lady, whoever you are,” he grumbled.  It took him half an hour to convince FRIDAY to give up the serenade. It shouldn’t have taken that long, but it was hard to concentrate, in between the constant shots of scotch and that soothing voice insisting “darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years.”

 * * * *

 The mission with Wanda to her old stomping grounds in Serbia offered up an easy distraction.  Demanding that Peter not be on the departing team was even easier – it was a dangerous mission.  Whether Peter was “Good for him” or not, Tony didn’t want Peter in danger.

Armored in his suit he met Peter on a random rooftop to give him the news.  

Tony winced when he thought of that day.  He wasn’t proud of that day.  He had determined to be outright cruel to Peter that day (as if he could ever be cruel to Peter.)  Still he tried to use the worst words he knew that day – the kinds of words he had hated so much when he was Peter’s age.  Words like ‘childish’ and ‘adult thing to do.’  He was glad he had kept his helmet on.  He couldn’t bear to look at the Kid directly.

Was he hyperventilating when he got back to the Tower?  Oh yes he was.  Did the angry voices shouting She Fucking Hates Me Lalalala at him as he tried to make his way to the lab fit his mood?  Oh yes they did.  They fit his mood very well.  In fact by the end of the night found himself singing along.

He didn’t even fight with FRIDAY about the song right away.  Right away he fell in a slump against the wall, tears in his eyes.  For an hour he remained there.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonely.

But he still had FRIDAY, and FRIDAY wanted to be good for him.  For the next hour they talked, they bantered, they bartered, they bargained. He crooned to her gently and the challenge eased some of his pain, until he finally had some access to Peter’s hack.  Peter had effectively shut him out of volume control and the off button, but he hadn’t thought to shut out Tony from the playlist.  Rather than try anything more complicated (which would have required Tony get up off the floor) Tony simply added to the playlist.  Soon FRIDAY was playing “Ride On” at acceptable volume levels for the man slumped on the floor.

Did he jerk off to the song? Oh yes he did.  He did, and he wasn’t ashamed.  He did and he dreamed of how Peter felt in his arms as they danced; so strong, so solid, so willing.  He came whispering Peter’s name.

After he came he thumped his head on the back of the wall over and over again.  

He tried remembering the mantras he had found before, but they had all dried up, and now the only one he could remember was “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.”

He had the advantage.

Peter was smart, but Tony was more experienced.  Peter wanted to get laid, but Peter was also surrounded by dozens of college boys who were not only cute but somewhat intelligent as well.  

Besides, when he started to faulter, he remembered - if they did have sex?  Peter would expect him to take off his shirt, and that simply couldn’t happen.

“FRIDAY?  Add one more to the playlist.”

And that’s how Tony Stark got up from the floor that next morning, packing his bags to Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.”

 * * *

 Tony knew he would have to get more creative after the mission in Serbia was over.  The only reason something hadn’t happened that last day in the Tower was because other people were there.  Peter was a lot stronger than Tony – oh god was Tony well aware of that fact – and as he had found out the first time Peter kissed his face, he had no control when Peter was in his arms.  It was because he was so damn touchstarved, Tony argued to himself.

It was because he was so damn lonely.

It was because it was Peter.

 * * * *

 As he arrived in New York from the Serbia debacle he didn’t even wait for the plane to land – he suited up and took to the skies.  There was no need, really, the reports coming in from Spider-Man’s call was that the situation was 80% contained, but Tony decided to make an appearance.

Because Peter was there.

Besides, he and Peter hadn’t flown side-by-side above the streets of New York in months, and he needed that.  He needed that like a drowning man needs air.

He wasn’t in a hurry, he was glowing with pride as he heard Peter try to talk the woman down, all while keeping an eye on KAREN’s readouts, when, suddenly, KAREN wasn’t there.  

“Rhodey,  do you have a visual on Spider-Man? Do you have a visual on Spider-Man?”  

“It’s bad, it’s very bad. He took a helicopter blade to the torso, Tony.  Can he survive that?”

A cold, robotic feeling came over Tony as he ordered the appropriate medical response, as he ordered the Sentinels to find Peter in the harbor.  

It was a good thing Rhodey was there to save the pilots – Tony had completely forgotten about them.

The same cold feeling didn’t diminish when he was holding a dripping, freezing Peter in his arms, nor when they zoomed together, Peter on his back, over the streets of New York.

It might have lightened up, just a bit, when Tony finally deposited Peter at the top of his own building.

“Prove to me I don’t have to take you to Dr. Cho right now,” Tony groused, which is why Peter did a back flip and a handstand, and then a spectacular (and obscene) display of the splits.

True, he was only using one arm and the leg on one side was a little too slow to respond, but mostly Tony had to shake the image away from his head and acknowledge that Peter was safe to go home and sleep at May’s that night.

He disengaged his mask to look at Peter.

He wanted to say something to Peter about the Graduating From Columbia daydream, and his solid (And logical belief that Peter would need to leave him once he got his diploma, for the same reason geese needed to fly south for the winter.)

He wanted to say something about long-range plans and the practical reasons a person with a broken heart shouldn’t invest in more heartbreak.

But he also wanted to say something about the fact that, despite all of Peter’s protestations, he had not been swimming and was ‘almost to the surface’ of the New York Bay.  The Sentinels had picked him up 20 feet below the surface, and he hadn’t been swimming at all.  

He wanted to say something about 3-year-plans, and long-range plans, and the moment when he realized he might have lost Peter altogether without a chance to tell him anything at all.

But Tony said none of those things.

All he said was “When you’re ready, come to the Tower.  You can play any music you want.”

He wished he hadn’t disengaged the helmet when he had.

He was having trouble looking at Peter even now.

Back in his Tower, he realized, much to his chagrin, that his live was moving into yet another Shakespearian Tragedy.

 This one would be

Antonio And Peter-ette

It was the kind of Shakespearian tragedy you went to on Valentines day.  Yes, the girls in the audience were sighing now, but Tony was in the know, holding the script, and he knew it would all end in tears.

But hell, it might be sweet and romantic in the middle.  There might be kissing and slow dancing and sweet lovemaking in the middle acts, before the tears began.  And why not?

“Yes I will break up with Spider-Man, and yes, it will hurt!” Tony wanted to call out to the sighing girls in his imaginary audience.

“But loosing the Kid after only one slow-dance, and one handful of ass and one sweet night of lovemaking, that’s a pain I can bear, right?”

“Right?”

“Right?”

#Sincerity and Secrets #Enthusiasm #Desires

[humansareweirdsedition]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Side Stories

Up until second part of this story is what happened to me today at school. I’m not even kidding. This literally happened. Just imagine me as our story’s main character and this is essentially what happened.

By the way, I go to an American university, but this side story takes place in Jordan because that’s where Fatima’s family currently lives.

Aisha sat in class as Dr. Whitethorn lectured about grant funding and how to differentiate legitimate from predatory scientific conferences. Aisha glanced up to her left, taking a quick look at the clock. Only two o’clock. Hope we get out of class early, she thought before glancing back at the lecture slides.

Again, Aisha’s mind wandered away; she was not interested in today’s lecture. Instead of listening, she people-watched from her seat near the door that gave her a clear view of the well-lit hallway and dimly-lit space between her class and the one a yard across from her. However, she tried to focus on the lecture, on knowing the red flags of predatory scams included no official conference website, no conference committee, etc, etc... And her mind wandered again to the door, but only to catch a glimpse of a blond young man dressed in black lurking outside of the other classroom. What’s that guy doing? Is that a gun? Aisha tired to catch a glimpse of the telltale bright orange gun tip of BB guns on the young man’s gun; she desperately prayed within the next five seconds to spot the bright orange tip that she was not seeing—

Suddenly the man rushed into the classroom across from hers and shouted “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” followed by a loud THUMP. Panicked, Aisha and her class rushed to the blackboard, hiding from the sight of the gunman. In that split second, Aisha thought whether she should grab her jacket; should she grab all her belongings; should be barricade the door with the chairs? She was fucking terrified, just like the rest of her class.

Huddled in the corner with her classmates, Aisha pulled out her Comm Dev and half-whispered to Dr. Whitethorn: “Should I call the police?!”

Dr. Whitethorn nodded. “Yes, I don’t have my phone on me.” Just as she spoke, another THUMP sounded and Aisha, with trembling fingers, tried to recall how to type in 211 into her Comm Dev.

The next three seconds were agonizing as her Comm Dev rang once and a calm woman’s voice sounded on the other side of the communication. “211, what’s your emergency?”

Aisha, her voice trembling as much as the rest of her body, stammered. “A-A man with-with a-a g-gun just walked into the classroom across from us... H-He yelled—” I don’t remember what he yelled, something like ‘get down’ or ‘get down on the ground’, but maybe I imagined that? Oh no. Everyone’s hushing me, telling me to whisper. I need to learn to whisper. “—and then a-a sound—”

The 211-operator asked, “Ma’am, where are you located?”

“T-The fourth f-floor of the main building, of the U-University of Jo-Jordan.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know where that is. What is the address?”

Shit, what is the address? “I don’t know the address. It’s just the main building. T-The fourth floor.”

“What street is it on? Al Jama’a?”

“I don’t know. Oh—” Jennifer, who Aisha was huddled against, had pulled up the address of the school. “Queen Rania St 275, Amman.”

“Can you say the address again, ma’am? 27—”

“275, Queen Rania—Wait.”

“WE’RE OKAY!” Just as Aisha tried to finish the address again, Jonathan walked into the room and announced they were safe from the gunman because the young man wasn’t a real gunman.

“It’s not real,” she said as a relief washed over her.

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” the 211-operator asked.

“It wasn’t real,” she replied, still trembling, but with a lighter heart.

“Are you sure?”

Aisha paused and captured bits and pieces of what Jonathan was saying to them. “Y-Yes, it was a-a drill for the other class. Oh Allah. That wasn’t funny. We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Okay ma’am.” And that ended the communication.

Aisha and her class spent the next ten to fifteen minutes getting their nerves back and laughing at themselves over the whole incident.

“So, what was that about?” “I didn’t even see the gun. I just heard him yelling.” “Apparently, it was an A.L.I.C.E. training for the Introducing University Life course.” “God, that was terrifying.” “The guy from the other class is going to come over later to talk to us about what happened.”

Dr. Whitethorn said to Aisha “I didn’t even know what was happening. I was just watching the expressions on your face change.”

Aisha nervously laughed, most of her trembling having subsided by then. “Yeah, I was looking for the yellow-orange thing that goes on BB guns.”

“It was a BB gun?!”

“No, I was looking for the orange, bright tip thing that goes on top. I was hoping it was a toy.”

Samira, from the seat beside Aisha, laughed. “I didn’t even know he had a gun until you said so.”

Aisha shook her head and giggled. “That was the only reason I was making those faces.”

Sarah and Janet, on the other side of the room, added to the conversation. Sarah said, “We were going to barricade the door with the table.”

Janet nodded, “Yeah, we were going to do it in another minute.”

Aisha felt relief that she wasn’t the only one thinking about barricading the door, but they had a better idea on how to do it.

Jennifer then jumped into the conversation, saying, “I was debating whether or not to bring my things with me—”

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” Dr. Whitethorn interjected.

“—Yeah, like, I didn’t want him to know people were in here.”

Then Rachel added, “I literally texted my mom ‘I love you’ during the whole thing. She texted back me back, ‘You know this is your mom, right?’ Like, I know you are.” They all burst into laughter and talked and talked, letting out nerves, shared thoughts, and relief.

After another few minutes, Dr. Whitethorn tried to steer them back to the lecture slides, but Aisha’s mind definitely did not want to focus anymore. Aisha was focused on people-watching again; she watched as the other class let out and impatiently waited for whoever was supposed to talk to them about the fake gunman.

Eventually, a large, imposing man, a least foot taller than the student who played the gunman. The man knocked on the door, giving Dr. Whitethorn a scare, before she invited him into the room to introduce himself to their class. “Hello everyone,” he began as he put his bag down on the nearby recycling bin, “I am Sergeant Richard Qasim and I am impressed by all of you. Never in my career have I seen anyone, any class, act like you all did. No one, especially not from one of my classes, has reacted so strongly and correctly at the prospect of a potential shooter.” Sgt. Qasim continued to praise them and explain how what happened earlier was part of an advanced A.L.I.C.E. training for the other class. He explained how A.L.I.C.E. stood for alert, lockdown, inform, counter, and evacuate; he told them about the university’s first responders app; and then he gave them future advice on barricading the door using the table and Comm Dev connection cables. After a few laughs and complaints, including showing them how the gun was a bold navy blue toy gun and a black handgun, he parted ways with them after he praised them more for their quick actions.

“Well,” Dr. Whitethorn began, “I don’t suppose anyone feels like finishing class. Everyone’s nerves are still running high.” Aisha and her classmates voiced their agreements. “Alright class, I’ll see you next time.” And, with that, class was dismissed.

“A FAKE GUNMAN?! WHAT?!” Aisha’s mother, Fatima, practically screamed during their FaceSpeak session on Aisha’s Comm Dev.

Aisha laughed, trying to reassure her mother, “Mama, I’m okay. We’re all okay—”

“—Silence, you are not okay, you empty head! They should have warned your class! You’re still trembling even now. No, I can see you are still afraid, habibti. I’m going to file a complaint to the university—”

“And what, Mama? You’re, like, thirty-seven billion light years away. I’m fine. I’ll be fine, Mama. Besides, I only go to the university for my advanced courses two days out of the week. Sorry Mama, I have to go. I need to wake up early for school tomorrow. See you. Love you. Bye.

Fatima groaned at the blank Comm screen after her daughter cut their FaceSpeak session early. Reclining in her office chair, Fatima wondered where Aisha got her free-natured spirit from. Well, she is just beginning her teenage years, Fatima thought, the child’s bound to brush things like this off. Kids always feel like they’re invincible. Sighing, Fatima stood and stretched her body, trying to rid herself of her worries, though she knew that would be impossible. Aisha was her only child, born from her child-marriage, and the light of her life. No one could compare to her little Aisha, her beautiful child. Then again, I don’t let that many people into my heart in the first place.

“Fatima,” Lt. Gen. Vallion poke their head into her office. “I have a problem.” Vallion’s ears were drooped and she could hear their tail swishing the air behind them.

Smiling, Fatima asked, “And what is the problem?” as she grabbed her hoodie and walked over to them.

Vallion remained hesitant until she was by their side. “...I accidentally threw Noor’s favorite sweater into the incinerator. I didn’t mean it! The sweater was already in the disposables bin, but you know how she can sometimes just leave things lying around...”

Unable to stifle her laughter, Fatima assured Vallion she would help them out. “First, you need to search for an equally high-quality sweater to replace the one you destroyed. The higher the quality, the more likely she’ll forgive you. Second, you need to apologize and explain the situation.”

“But she’s as scary as you when you’re pissed at me,” Vallion whined, anguishing over their dilemma.

She rolled her eyes. “And you are the superior officer, so I don’t know why you’re being such as pussyfoot. C’mon, Mx. Lt. Gen. Vallion.” Squarely smacking them in the back, Fatima couldn’t help thinking how different her life now was.  I don’t let that many people into my heart, but the ones I do let in are always the best.

#Humans Are Weird #Humans Are Weird: Women's Edition #HAWWE #HAW:WE #Side Story #original characters #Original story #Mostly true story #gun violence #ALICE #A.L.I.C.E. #gun violence tw #school safety psa #psa

[snowwolf1118]

Humans Are Weird: Women’s Edition Side Stories

Up until second part of this story is what happened to me today at school. I’m not even kidding. This literally happened. Just imagine me as our story’s main character and this is essentially what happened.

By the way, I go to an American university, but this side story takes place in Jordan because that’s where Fatima’s family currently lives.

Aisha sat in class as Dr. Whitethorn lectured about grant funding and how to differentiate legitimate from predatory scientific conferences. Aisha glanced up to her left, taking a quick look at the clock. Only two o’clock. Hope we get out of class early, she thought before glancing back at the lecture slides.

Again, Aisha’s mind wandered away; she was not interested in today’s lecture. Instead of listening, she people-watched from her seat near the door that gave her a clear view of the well-lit hallway and dimly-lit space between her class and the one a yard across from her. However, she tried to focus on the lecture, on knowing the red flags of predatory scams included no official conference website, no conference committee, etc, etc... And her mind wandered again to the door, but only to catch a glimpse of a blond young man dressed in black lurking outside of the other classroom. What’s that guy doing? Is that a gun? Aisha tired to catch a glimpse of the telltale bright orange gun tip of BB guns on the young man’s gun; she desperately prayed within the next five seconds to spot the bright orange tip that she was not seeing—

Suddenly the man rushed into the classroom across from hers and shouted “GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” followed by a loud THUMP. Panicked, Aisha and her class rushed to the blackboard, hiding from the sight of the gunman. In that split second, Aisha thought whether she should grab her jacket; should she grab all her belongings; should be barricade the door with the chairs? She was fucking terrified, just like the rest of her class.

Huddled in the corner with her classmates, Aisha pulled out her Comm Dev and half-whispered to Dr. Whitethorn: “Should I call the police?!”

Dr. Whitethorn nodded. “Yes, I don’t have my phone on me.” Just as she spoke, another THUMP sounded and Aisha, with trembling fingers, tried to recall how to type in 211 into her Comm Dev.

The next three seconds were agonizing as her Comm Dev rang once and a calm woman’s voice sounded on the other side of the communication. “211, what’s your emergency?”

Aisha, her voice trembling as much as the rest of her body, stammered. “A-A man with-with a-a g-gun just walked into the classroom across from us... H-He yelled—” I don’t remember what he yelled, something like ‘get down’ or ‘get down on the ground’, but maybe I imagined that? Oh no. Everyone’s hushing me, telling me to whisper. I need to learn to whisper. “—and then a-a sound—”

The 211-operator asked, “Ma’am, where are you located?”

“T-The fourth f-floor of the main building, of the U-University of Jo-Jordan.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know where that is. What is the address?”

Shit, what is the address? “I don’t know the address. It’s just the main building. T-The fourth floor.”

“What street is it on? Al Jama’a?”

“I don’t know. Oh—” Jennifer, who Aisha was huddled against, had pulled up the address of the school. “Queen Rania St 275, Amman.”

“Can you say the address again, ma’am? 27—”

“275, Queen Rania—Wait.”

“WE’RE OKAY!” Just as Aisha tried to finish the address again, Jonathan walked into the room and announced they were safe from the gunman because the young man wasn’t a real gunman.

“It’s not real,” she said as a relief washed over her.

“Ma’am, what’s going on?” the 211-operator asked.

“It wasn’t real,” she replied, still trembling, but with a lighter heart.

“Are you sure?”

Aisha paused and captured bits and pieces of what Jonathan was saying to them. “Y-Yes, it was a-a drill for the other class. Oh Allah. That wasn’t funny. We’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Okay ma’am.” And that ended the communication.

Aisha and her class spent the next ten to fifteen minutes getting their nerves back and laughing at themselves over the whole incident.

“So, what was that about?” “I didn’t even see the gun. I just heard him yelling.” “Apparently, it was an A.L.I.C.E. training for the Introducing University Life course.” “God, that was terrifying.” “The guy from the other class is going to come over later to talk to us about what happened.”

Dr. Whitethorn said to Aisha “I didn’t even know what was happening. I was just watching the expressions on your face change.”

Aisha nervously laughed, most of her trembling having subsided by then. “Yeah, I was looking for the yellow-orange thing that goes on BB guns.”

“It was a BB gun?!”

“No, I was looking for the orange, bright tip thing that goes on top. I was hoping it was a toy.”

Samira, from the seat beside Aisha, laughed. “I didn’t even know he had a gun until you said so.”

Aisha shook her head and giggled. “That was the only reason I was making those faces.”

Sarah and Janet, on the other side of the room, added to the conversation. Sarah said, “We were going to barricade the door with the table.”

Janet nodded, “Yeah, we were going to do it in another minute.”

Aisha felt relief that she wasn’t the only one thinking about barricading the door, but they had a better idea on how to do it.

Jennifer then jumped into the conversation, saying, “I was debating whether or not to bring my things with me—”

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” Dr. Whitethorn interjected.

“—Yeah, like, I didn’t want him to know people were in here.”

Then Rachel added, “I literally texted my mom ‘I love you’ during the whole thing. She texted back me back, ‘You know this is your mom, right?’ Like, I know you are.” They all burst into laughter and talked and talked, letting out nerves, shared thoughts, and relief.

After another few minutes, Dr. Whitethorn tried to steer them back to the lecture slides, but Aisha’s mind definitely did not want to focus anymore. Aisha was focused on people-watching again; she watched as the other class let out and impatiently waited for whoever was supposed to talk to them about the fake gunman.

Eventually, a large, imposing man, a least foot taller than the student who played the gunman. The man knocked on the door, giving Dr. Whitethorn a scare, before she invited him into the room to introduce himself to their class. “Hello everyone,” he began as he put his bag down on the nearby recycling bin, “I am Sergeant Richard Qasim and I am impressed by all of you. Never in my career have I seen anyone, any class, act like you all did. No one, especially not from one of my classes, has reacted so strongly and correctly at the prospect of a potential shooter.” Sgt. Qasim continued to praise them and explain how what happened earlier was part of an advanced A.L.I.C.E. training for the other class. He explained how A.L.I.C.E. stood for alert, lockdown, inform, counter, and evacuate; he told them about the university’s first responders app; and then he gave them future advice on barricading the door using the table and Comm Dev connection cables. After a few laughs and complaints, including showing them how the gun was a bold navy blue toy gun and a black handgun, he parted ways with them after he praised them more for their quick actions.

“Well,” Dr. Whitethorn began, “I don’t suppose anyone feels like finishing class. Everyone’s nerves are still running high.” Aisha and her classmates voiced their agreements. “Alright class, I’ll see you next time.” And, with that, class was dismissed.

“A FAKE GUNMAN?! WHAT?!” Aisha’s mother, Fatima, practically screamed during their FaceSpeak session on Aisha’s Comm Dev.

Aisha laughed, trying to reassure her mother, “Mama, I’m okay. We’re all okay—”

“—Silence, you are not okay, you empty head! They should have warned your class! You’re still trembling even now. No, I can see you are still afraid, habibti. I’m going to file a complaint to the university—”

“And what, Mama? You’re, like, thirty-seven billion light years away. I’m fine. I’ll be fine, Mama. Besides, I only go to the university for my advanced courses two days out of the week. Sorry Mama, I have to go. I need to wake up early for school tomorrow. See you. Love you. Bye.

Fatima groaned at the blank Comm screen after her daughter cut their FaceSpeak session early. Reclining in her office chair, Fatima wondered where Aisha got her free-natured spirit from. Well, she is just beginning her teenage years, Fatima thought, the child’s bound to brush things like this off. Kids always feel like they’re invincible. Sighing, Fatima stood and stretched her body, trying to rid herself of her worries, though she knew that would be impossible. Aisha was her only child, born from her child-marriage, and the light of her life. No one could compare to her little Aisha, her beautiful child. Then again, I don’t let that many people into my heart in the first place.

“Fatima,” Lt. Gen. Vallion poke their head into her office. “I have a problem.” Vallion’s ears were drooped and she could hear their tail swishing the air behind them.

Smiling, Fatima asked, “And what is the problem?” as she grabbed her hoodie and walked over to them.

Vallion remained hesitant until she was by their side. “...I accidentally threw Noor’s favorite sweater into the incinerator. I didn’t mean it! The sweater was already in the disposables bin, but you know how she can sometimes just leave things lying around...”

Unable to stifle her laughter, Fatima assured Vallion she would help them out. “First, you need to search for an equally high-quality sweater to replace the one you destroyed. The higher the quality, the more likely she’ll forgive you. Second, you need to apologize and explain the situation.”

“But she’s as scary as you when you’re pissed at me,” Vallion whined, anguishing over their dilemma.

She rolled her eyes. “And you are the superior officer, so I don’t know why you’re being such as pussyfoot. C’mon, Mx. Lt. Gen. Vallion.” Squarely smacking them in the back, Fatima couldn’t help thinking how different her life now was.  I don’t let that many people into my heart, but the ones I do let in are always the best.

#Humans Are Weird #Humans Are Weird: Women's Edition #HAWWE #HAW:WE #Side Story #Original characters #Original story #Mostly true story #gun violence #gun violence tw #ALICE #A.L.I.C.E. #school safety psa #psa

[seashelbytravel]

Khao Sok National Park & Father’s Day

Date of post: June 19, 2019

Location of post: Chiang Mai, Thailand

Date of venture: June 14-16, 2019

Location of venture: Khao Sok National Park, Surat Thani, Thailand

From Krabi, we took a bus to the village right outside of the enterance the Khao Sok National Park.

One of the oldest remaining parts of the natural rainforest, dating back hundreds of millions of years. Preserved by a terrible small pox outbreak that killed 80% of the village population in the 1940’s, and then protected by a rouge group of communists during the 70’s who practiced geurilla warfare tactics warding off colonialism.

We didn’t know where we were going to stay so we hopped in that back bed of a locals truck and headed into town center.

We were dropped at the Green Mountain guest house, where we ate the best food we’ve experienced in Thailand yet. We’ve hit close to 8 towns before arriving here.

John asked to meet the chef and, our waitress got a look on her face, I think she assumed we were going to complain. We told her that her cooking was the best we’ve had yet. We told her about all of the towns we’d dined in before hers. She was so happy, but more surprised that we wanted so badly to tell her how wonderful her crafted cooking was. And it was artiful.

I love Tom Yum Goong. It’s my favorite dish I’ve had here, but I’m making it a point to eat something different as much as I can. And that’s been a pretty easy feat. So. Much. Delicious. Food. And I LOVE the Thai spice. It’s not debilitating and all encompassing like in Texas. Although, don’t get me wrong, I love our TexMex. Thai spice has so many other flavors that compliment the fire you’re eating.

We ended up staying at the guesthouse where the restraraunt resided. Our room was very nice and tucked away. When we first arrived, I walked up to the super sweet pupper of the guesthouse. I said “Hi baby” and without looking, his tail started thumping.

His name was “Coffee” and he looked like a little adorable hybrid dog bear. So sweet. When we left, John threw him some chicken. He slept outside of our room the two nights we stayed.

We scheduled our “jungle trek”. Two days, one night on Cheow Lan Lake. Sleeping on floating bungalo’s in the middle of the lake.

The next morning the van picked us up, and we immediately met a couple from Colorado. They were my age, and traveling for two weeks. Julie and Joe. Easy to remember all the “J’s”. I thought we were going to be alone, and honestly I was glad to meet other people our age.

We picked up two 18-something British couples who were only a few days into their trip, and obviously processing that they weren’t in Kansas anymore.

We picked up one more French couple, and they became our travel buddies after we emerged from the jungle. Emma and Jordan. Not “Jor-Dan”. Say it with the French accent and the name sounds so much more beautiful beacause, duh. French vs. English in terms of diction, French will always be the more beautiful of the languages, in my opioln.

Okay. We took an hour long, long boat ride to our bungalows. John and I sat in the front. About halfway through the boat ride, we noticed a heavy mist setting in, blurring our sight. Not mist. Rain. You like pina coladas? I do. And getting caught in the rain? I definitely do. We were soaked in 30 seconds. I loved it.

We got to our bungalow and had lunch prepared by the family who lived and hosted these tours with our companions. Then, jungle hike time.

Okay. I wore leggings, a white t, and my trail shoes. We pulled up the the trail on longboat and the first thing we see is a sign that read “DANGER Trail Closed”.

Okiiiiiiii... trusting. Trust is paramount here.

We started anyway. So beautiful. The air smelled healthy. Like it was hosting millions of happy flora. And it was. We hiked for 30 min before our guide stopped us for a “leech check”. Now, I imagine leeches as the big fat black buggies we see in the movies. Nope. The suckers (haha) looks like desperate little earth worms, sprouting out of the ground, clinging to the first bit of your they could. I didn’t have any! Yay! Neither did John. We kept going.

We got to a part in our hike where I guided turned to us and said “Okay, very steep. We climb like monkeys”. Cool. We both (Johnny and I) have our own natural rock climbing experiences (it’s been a while for me, but it really is like riding a bike and my confidence came back quickly) but I was worried about our fellow hikers. Especially the young British ones. Said a quick lil prayer that no one would be harmed. Glad I did because we were literally climbing what John and I think to be a 5.4 on the climbing scale. A legitimate climb. But no one was hurt, not even a scrape (I think). John and I headed the group right behind our guide. Mind you, this man was climbing in FLIP FLOPS. His confidence gave my own a boost. John watched where the guide placed his feet, and I John, and so on. We would call down the line when something was extra slippery or more tough than normal. We were all responsible for each other’s. That’s a uniting feeling.

We finally reached the top. It’s the 6th picture in this post. John was on a perch and looked down to a 200 ft drop. Straight down. He is terrified of free heights and there he was. I was very proud of him. But, his face changed when he realized where he was sitting. We look to our right, and the biggest rainbow took form. Y’all. If you don’t believe in God, spend some time in nature. I’m a very faithful person. I love God more than anything. God has shown itself to me in the most divine ways. This rainbow being one instance, amoung a plethora of divinity. It wasn’t there when we reached the top. But felt like a “You made it!” gift.

Ok, LEECH CHECK. Guess what. I had those sons of beaches all under the tounge of my shoe. Just, enjoying my blood. I was so skeeved out. I don’t have many specific fears. Grasshoppers and crickets gross me out, but I’m no baby when it comes to bugs. These really freaked me out. We all had them. They are sneaky. And pulling them off actually hurts, and you bleed a lot more than if you let them do their business and fall off. Our guides called them “vampires”.

From the mountain, we went to a smaller waterfall (not pictured) and our guide went first to make sure it was safe. He gave the thumbs up and all the guys got up to explore. I thought “uh, I didn’t come to Thailand to sit in a boat” so Julie (our American friend) and I both followed. I stood under that waterfall and it washed away all of the sweat from the jungle. Julie and I both. The guys returned to the boat and Julie and I finally headed back. You ever hear of quick sand? Ha. I was wading in the water back to the boat when all of a sudden, my left leg sank down so fast, all the way up to my hip. But, my right was on firm ground. For real, thank God because I feel like that could’ve been a very bad situation. I’m so proud of my body and its ability. Thankful for it. Grateful to it.

We went back and swam in the lake. We drank rum with our new friends and ate dinner that was caught in the lake. We stayed up late playing “Rummi”. Mom and I used to play it all the time, and it felt like another sign that we were right where we were supposed to be.

Back to the mainland. Our new friends Emma and Jordan, from France, hadn’t decided on a place to stay, so we suggested ours. They booked a room, and it was right next to ours. Yay! We decided to hike more of the park together. I love Emma and Jordan.

You know, with all the bad politics happening everywhere, we are all the same. Emma and I spoke openly about the political turmoil in France and America. We are the same. Emma and me, and France and America. Don’t judge. Just read and absorb.

My fearless sweet heart. We found the waterfall! The big one. We all waded and swam past currents. I probably wouldn’t have been so adventurous in getting to them (and I’m not sure Jordan or Emma wolves been, but they were adventurous in those own lovely way) if my monkey man wasn’t jumping into random pools, jumping from rock to rock. I was a good jumper too, and so were Emma and Jordan! I felt confident. Our waterfall is pictured below.

I love Emma and Jordan. And I cherish our time together. Too short. That’s the crux of traveling. You meet wonderful (again, that word doesn’t even come close to fully encompassing how I feel about the people we meet) people who become in stand “best friends”. And then you have to say “goodbye”. That’s the hardest part.

Walking back from the national park, Emma and I walked together and John and Jordan ahead.

After our honest conversation about politics in the place we love and call home, the conversation turned to family. Emma’s parents run a farm in France, and she helps them. She’s also an occupational therapist for the mantally ill. At a psychiatric hospital. Amazing. She’s 24. I told her about how my mom lived across the country, and when I told her it would take me 3 days to drive (if I sped) or $300 round trip to fly, and that I got to see her once a year, if I was lucky, she was shocked.

I told her I had no brothers or sisters, and inevitably the dad question was answered. She lovingly (without my saying) validated how lonley I must feel. That loneliness. Errrgg. I keep packed down. For lots of reasons. I’ve been shamed for it, inadvertently, and truthfully, sometimes people don’t know how to precieve it. And sometimes, I have such a bleeding heart about it that the last thing I want to do is make someone uncomfortable. And I definitely never want to be a “Debby Downer”. But we were speaking truthfully about our home situations. She was empathetic, kind, and so loving. I told her about my own trip and my father’s own travels. She said “it sounds like a sign to me”. And we exchanged French and English meanings for “goosebumps”. I love her for that conversation. And for many other connections we shared.

We walked the rest of the way home together. Then we had dinner and drinks on our shared porch.

She wrote in my journal and I’ll remember her forever. Hopefully, I’ll get out to northern France for a visit one day.

I didn’t mention I pulled 5 more microscopic leeches off of myself over the next 12 hours. 4, I found in the shower AFTER John, Emma, Jordan and I finished our own trek and... the nasty one. It had lodged itself in my leg. And I found it while still on the bungalows. Our guide poured alcohol on it and popped it out like a pimple. Gross. You’re welcome for that visual.

Not poisoness and I’m not dead so, yay.

Father’s Day was the best I’ve had since my dad died. He is my greatest guide, and will continue to be until I meet him again in heaven.

He was the greatest. Ever. I’m so lucky he created 50% of me. And I’m so much more like him than I ever thought I’d be. I posted about the significance of my trip and him on Facebook and Instagram. I never felt like crying. That’s new to me and I’m totally into it. Grieving, in the sorrowful way, is draining and I never let myself experience otherwise. But this felt like a gift.

This was long. Thank you for reading.

[not-close-to-straight]

Loki’s Song (Part 2)

MASTERLIST HERE

*******************************

It was white again.

Tony stared at the Mark, wondering idly what had happened this time, too far gone in his scotch to really care.

Over the years, he really had gone nearly numb to the pain every time the damn thing turned, when the blue leeched out leaving the white, or when the blue came pouring back in with a rush of heat.

It seemed more potent now, harder to ignore, ever since New York. It had gotten worse again, after the Mandarin, and worse again when the Accords had ripped everything he thought he loved out of his hands.

It had even takenRhodey. He’d never really bounced back from the accident with Vision and Falcon and even though he had tried over and over to reach out to Tony, Tony had pushed him away.

It was better like this anyway.

Tony felt like he was toxic, like everything he said was somehow poison. He couldn’t even be in the same room as most of his old team without an argument breaking out, couldn’t talk to the press without ripping into them, and ever since Pepper had—ever since Pepper had---

Tony gripped his glass a little tighter, trying not to think about her.

God, it still hurt to think about her.

She hadn't been able to take it, after Extremis. She had tried but Tony was too checked out to give her the help she needed. She had ran then, and he had let her go, knowing that he couldn't offer her anything anyway. Rumours floated around now, something about a hero named Rescue, saving the world one day at a time, and he knew it was her.

That was good. It was fine. 

Pepper needed...she had needed more than Tony. It was fine. Rhodey needed more than Tony and it was fine.

Everyone needed more than Tony, which meant no one needed Tony and that was just...fine.

Even the company ran itself most days, with Tony just signing when needed, answering a phone call if he absolutely had to.

He didn't even live in New York any more, and he had never bothered to rebuild his California home.

The Avengers were…maybe doing something, he didn't know. He didn't care. He wasn't part of the team anymore, wasn't welcome anymore, and the Soldier had seemed to step right in to fill his slot next to Cap so that-- that was just-- that was just---Tony took a drink and quit thinking about that too.

He lived his life far away from that world. He wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing held his interest. Nothing piqued his curiosity. In fact other than the occasional burn of his Mark, Tony didn't even feel a whole lot of anything these days, just walked around in something like a numb daze and went to bed alone at night.

He sat on his deck, in the big house overlooking the giant lake just barely on this side of the United States border, and drank his scotch.

Played the piano every night.

Tinkered in his robot free garage.

And wondered how the hell he was in his mid forties and already done with living.

******************* ******************* It was a… thunderclap, maybe, that made Tony drop his glass, shattering the crystal, and spilling the dark liquor all over the floor.

Not a thunderclap. Maybe something heavy landing? It was sort of like the noise when Thor had landed unceremoniously in the Avengers tower, all loud noise and burn marks on Tony's overly expensive floors.

Annoying.

But did he care enough to go look?

Sighing, scratching at his arm unconsciously, Tony moved upstairs to the main living room, dragging his feet up the stairs, grasping at the railing to keep his balance, wondering for the thousandth time why he couldn't have settled on an actual cabin instead of a mansion that pretended to be a cabin. Really, the house was about two floors and five thousand square feet too big for just him, but Tony Stark had never owned anything modest and he supposed he wasn't about to start now.

Reaching for a beer from the fridge, unwilling to face mystery noises without a drink in his hand, Tony opened the door to his living room and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

“Oh this is…” the deep voice from the unexpected visitor sounded confused. “This is not what I expected.”

“Loki.” Tony laughed in disbelief, but it wasn't really a laugh, even if the disbelief was one hundred percent real, because when was the last time he laughed? “What in the actual fuck are you doing here?”

“That…” the tall man turned in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings with a wary look, “is an excellent question.”

Tony watched him for a minute, but the Demi-god didn't say anything else, still staring with wide eyes around the room.

“Well, do you want a beer?” He asked tiredly and Loki quirked a half smile. “I'm sure it's a long journey from… wherever you came from. And I'm still a decent host if I'm not much else. So. A beer?”

“That would be acceptable. Yes.” Loki stared up at the wooden beams of the vaulted ceiling. “Yes, I think a drink would perhaps...help.”

Tony rolled his eyes at the formal, condescending tone, but still turned back for another bottle, shuffling into the kitchen, well aware of green eyes following his movements.

“Tell me, Stark.” Loki began and Tony hid a shiver behind a cough, legitimately surprised that he felt anything at all, and hating that it had happened when that deep voice rolled over him.

“What could I possibly tell you, Odinson? Or is it Laufeyson? I was never all the way sure about that whole parental thing.” Tony tried for sarcasm, for snark, but the words fell flat, lacking their former bite. “Or since we are apparently friendly enough for you to drop into my house uninvited, should I just call you Loki?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his words full of the spite Tony had tried and failed to convey. “Tell me, Anthony, does your arm still bother you? Or have you given up trying to rip my name from your skin?”

Tony did laugh then, dropping his head against the fridge door with a thump, the sound of his laugh so broken that Loki put his hand over his heart, rubbing the Mark there uncomfortably.

“Of course it's your Mark.” Tony laughed again and this time Loki backed away a step, flinching away from the sound. “Of course it is.”

“I--” Loki hesitated now, suddenly unsure of himself. “I do not understand why you find that amusing.”

“It's not amusing at all.” Tony slammed the fridge door and tossed a bottle at Loki. “It's not amusing at all.”

*****************

“When did it first appear?” Loki asked, rolling the now empty bottle between his hands. “My Mark. When did you receive it?”

“I was born with it.” Tony answered in an even tone.

Loki raised an eyebrow in question. “Really? Born with it? That's quite um…”

“Yeah I know. I got to hear all about what a freak I was my entire life.” Tony wasn't looking, so he didn't see the flash of anger cross the other man's face.

“It wasn't all bad, not at first.” Tony continued. “Kids don't understand these things, so I wore tank tops and t shirts not realizing what it meant, you know, that not only did I have a Mark, but it was in a language that didn't exist. Didn't realize how much of a freak that made me until later.”

“My language has existed for millennia.” Loki countered. “Just because mortals do not understand it, does not make it null.

Tony only shrugged. “While that may be true, it didn't stop my father from staring at me like I was a…”

“Do not say ‘freak’ again.” Loki warned, anger sparking in his eyes, but Tony ignored him.

“Like I was a freak. But that's not anything compared to how he looked at me when he discovered my soulmate was a man. That was a whole other level of…” Tony's voice trailed off and he took a drink to steady himself. “That was a whole other conversation, whole other example of Howards A+ parenting. Ma never seemed to care, but Dad? Yeah. He cared.”

“Anthony…” Loki started carefully. “You know as well as I that we cannot choose the gender of our soulmates.”

Tony shrugged, a bare twitch of annoyance. “Anyway. The first thing that really highlighted my… situation...was when I was four.”

“What happened at that particular age?” Loki leaned forward, listening intently to everything Tony was saying, trying to gauge the emotion playing on Tony's face.

Only there wasn't any emotion. Tony was as blank as a slate, his voice never losing that even, dead pitch. He hardly even moved, looking frozen in his chair as he spoke and it made Loki… hurt.

“When I was four,” Tony said slowly, “you died for the first time. Or at least the first time during my lifetime. And I spent a whole week in bed, crying until I was vomiting, not even able to comprehend why I thought my heart was being ripped out of my chest. Four year olds understand soulmates you know? But they don't really understand death.”

Loki swallowed hard, thinking back several earth decades to a battle where a spear had gone through his heart. He had lain on the battlefield for days, his body healing so slowly that sometimes he didn't think it would work at all, and he would die on a muddy field on a no-name planet. He had healed eventually, though it had taken several days. It hadn't occurred to him once that his soulmate might have thought he died.

“And you… felt that?” Loki whispered. “You felt when I--”

“When my soulmate died? Yeah it was great, thanks.”

“I wasn't truly dead.” he offered. “I have a remarkable healing ability, being a god and all that. It just takes longer sometimes than others. If that's--if that's any consolation.”

“It isn’t.” Tony finished his beer and tossed the bottle, letting it bounce off the trash can with a loud clatter. “It absolutely isn't.”

Loki waved his hand and the bottle lifted from the floor, settling into the can quietly but Tony ignored the magic show.

“Right around my fifth birthday,” he continued, “you did it again. And again, like second grade-ish. And every time,” Tony tapped his chest, where his arc reactor had sat for so many years. “Every single time it put me on the floor. In bed for days. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't eat. My mom sat in with me and told me--”

He stopped talking abruptly, and stood up, looking for another drink.

“What did she tell you?” Loki asked, more than curious over why the mention of Tony's mother had brought about the first bit of emotion he had seen all evening.

Tony shrugged it off. “It doesn't matter now. It was horrible advice and didn't help. I didn't understand it then, and I don't care to understand it now.”

“I see.” Loki waited a beat before asking-- “When did I die next?”

“When I was twelve.” Tony said and that was all he said about that particular incident, dropping back onto the couch and staring out the window.

Loki thought for a long moment, then pulled on the sleeves of his leather jacket, standing up to place it over the straight backed chair. Dressed now in a sleeveless tunic over his pants, he crossed the few steps to kneel in front of Tony, waiting patiently until the brunette finally turned to look at him.

“Twelve.” Loki repeated, and traced several small scars on his bicep, that looked like a--

“I'll be damned.” Tony commented. “Pumice stone.”

Loki moved his fingers up to another, broader scar, with one end flat, the other curved in a wicked arc.

“Seventeen.” Tony said shortly. “Knife. Tried to burn it off my arm. So you did feel it.”

“Yes, that one was quite painful.” Loki raised his eyebrow. “Painful enough that I thought perhaps my soulmate had perished.”

Tony looked away, but not before Loki caught the small smile of satisfaction at the corner of his lips.

***************************

“Are you still here?” Tony's tired voice greeted Loki early the next morning. “God, you’re still here.”

Loki turned from the window with a raised eyebrow and hesitant smile. “Good Morrow, Anthony.”

“It's just Tony, there, Reindeer Games.”

Loki ignored the jibe, watching the other man carefully. “You don't sleep very much.” He stated more than asked. “In fact, I would think you didn't sleep at all last night.”

Tony’s expression didn't even flicker. “It's weird, you know, to comment on people's sleeping habits.”

“Forgive me.” Loki held up his hands peacefully. “It is difficult to ignore your struggles with our--”

“With our nothing.” Tony finished, cutting Loki off before he could mention the soul-bond, before he could intimate that they were linked in anyway. “I’ll walk you out, if my politeness needs to extend that far, otherwise the front door is that way.” He pointed over his shoulder, and started rummaging in the fridge for breakfast food, setting eggs and various vegetables on the counter.

Loki's lips twitched in a short smile. “You haven't even asked why I am here, Anthony.”

“Because I don't care.” Tony switched his stove on, and Loki moved closer, circling around him as he approached. “And it's just Tony. Not Anthony.”

“You honestly don't care.” Loki noted, genuinely astonished. “I tried to destroy your little world, brought an army of aliens to annihilate your little planet and now show up unannounced in your little house, and you have no questions. You just… offer me a beverage and go to bed. Even after discovering it is in fact my name etched into your skin and that it is my fault that you suffered as a child. You honestly don't care.”

“My house isn't little.” Tony huffed in annoyance, feeling another twinge of surprise that he had a reaction at all. “Never mind. No, I don't care if you think my house is little. Do I need to feed you before you leave or not?”

“I don't make it a habit to eat.”

“Really?” Tony kept crackin eggs into a pan. “Because Thor eats as if the world is ending at sundown every night.”

“Yes, well Thor Odinson makes it his life's mission to enjoy everything he does, whether it's eating, drinking, fighting, or whoring.” Loki sneered, perhaps still the littlest bit bitter over...everything.

But Tony didn't seem to notice and only nodded. “I could see that.”

Loki watched silently for several minutes, watched Tony methodically stir eggs and chop vegetables and cook them in a skillet, all without offering conversation, hardly even blinking, his expression perfectly blank.

It was like the man felt nothing, and it troubled Loki, bothered him enough that his hand went to the Mark over his heart again, rubbing at it absentmindedly.

Tony hissed and nearly dropped his plate, reaching up to scratch at his left bicep.

Oh that's… interesting. Loki thought.

“Something bothering you?” He asked as casually as he could, trying not to sound too terribly condescending, but tempted to be irritating just to garner a reaction from this man that was supposed to be his soulmate.

Tony walked right past him as if he wasn't there, settling at the table with his plate in front of him and taking a bite before bothering to answer. “Must be the ink of my Mark turning blue again, since you obviously aren't dead.”

“It changes color.” Loki said slowly, tapping his chin. “Every time? With every death and… resurrection?”

“Yep.”

“And it hurts? Every time?” Loki hands trembled at the wash of sympathy he suddenly felt for the man.

“Every time.” Tony started eating again, and Loki just watched, lost in his own thoughts until Tony grunted and jerked his head towards the counter.

Turning to look, Loki saw a plate, with half an egg and vegetable omelet still steaming on it. “Oh. You… cooked for me.”

“I cooked for me. I just made too much. So don't let it go to waste.”

Loki couldn't stop the smile spreading across his lips, and he took the plate gingerly, sitting across from Tony at the small table.

“Thank you, Anthony.”

“Seriously. It's just Tony.”

************************

“How long have you lived here?” Loki joined Tony on the large wrap around deck later, looking out across the water.

“Couple of years.” Tony answered automatically, but Loki knew he wasn't really engaged in the conversation.

“And you are happy like this? No technology, no fancy parties and expensive suits. No… people.” He pressed. “I am surprised. I would think someone like you--”

“It works just fine.” Tony interrupted. “Just fine.”

“I heard about the attempt to corral your team.” Loki waved his hand, summoning a chair from across the deck to his side and sitting gracefully. “The Accords, was it?”

“Yep.”

“It cost you several of your friends. Almost your life, is that correct?”

“Yep.”

Loki fell silent again, discouraged by Tony's short answers.

The billionaire just sat, feet crossed at the ankle, one hand wrapped around a bottle of water, the other idly flipping a screwdriver through his fingers.

“You know, I never actually… died.” Loki tried again. “It is notoriously difficult to kill a god, and I seem harder to end than others. Each time…” he tapped his own arm to indicate where Tony's Mark sat. “Each time I received an injury that certainly would have ended a mortal, but I simply healed, whether it took a day or a week.”

Tony nodded to indicate he'd heard, but didn't comment on it at all and they sat in quiet for over an hour.

“Why are you here, Loki?” Tony finally asked, not even turning to look, still speaking to the water.

“I thought you didn't care.” Loki said with a smirk, and then a frown when Tony didn't take the bait. “I found myself in a bad situation, found myself badly wounded so instead of trying to run, I transported myself home.”

“So how did you end up here? Not even Nick Fury with his creepy all seeing eye knows where this place is.”

“I told you. I transported myself home.” Loki repeated.

“Is this like a riddle?” A flicker of annoyance in Tony's voice. “Because I have to say, my level of patience for other worldly bull shit has plummeted drastically since the last time we met.”

“What I am saying, is that when I gathered my Seidr, my magic, and called for home, instead of landing me in Asgard, though I am hardly welcome there, or even Jotunheim… it brought me to you.”

Tony's hand tightened so quickly around his water bottle that the entire thing crumpled, but his face remained unchanged. “Your magic thinks that I am...that I am home?”

“We are soul mates, Anthony.” Loki pointed out. “Is it so much a stretch that my magic recognizes that? That my magic would bring me to you instead of sending me somewhere to be alone?”

“So you have a Mark as well?” Tony motioned to him vaguely. “Your universe thinks that we are soulmates too?”

“We share the same universe, Anthony.”

“Right. So you have a soulmate. And it's...me.”

“Yes.” Loki said quietly, tilting his head back to try and catch the weak rays of sun, waiting for Tony to speak again.

“How long have you had it?” Tony's voice hitched just the tiniest bit, and Loki smiled at the hint of emotion, but didn't turn to look, affording Tony the privacy to feel whatever this was in peace.

“Anthony, I have had your Mark on my skin for over a thousand years.”

————————————

#ncts fics #frostiron #soulmate au #tony stark #loki laufeyson