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vinnival · 3 years

Note

May I ask for a madcom Hank x reader 👉👈, where the reader is immortal but the only problem is they can still be killed but always come back a few months later after their body regenerates.

They get shot or smth while hank and the others dont know their immortal and they die in hanks arms but they come back at the perfect moment a few months later while hank and tricky are in the middle of a fight and they save his ass (Gotta love badass readers) and Hanks like "wait a sec-" and it's just slight angsty and cute

And deimos and Sanford are there too :)

hank quotes the kazoo kid "Wait A Minute. W h o a r e y o u ?" before doubling over and (almost) crying

Obviously gore warning/violence warning... sadness warning

In Which Reader

Turns Tricky Into Swiss

Cheese

Damn, this was very much not the way you wanted to look when you finally got to see your beloved again. Covered in dirt and sweat...

Just a couple months ago, you were on an area scouting mission, to just gauge the potential danger your group may face.

"This has GOT to be one of the most boring types of missions we have, I can barely breathe, walking this much," Deimos complained, lighting up his fifth cigarette in two hours.

Sanford turned to glare at him, but you decided to speak first. "YOU'RE the one chugging down fifty cigarettes a day. Maybe worry about your lungs before you worry about some boring walking mission, Deimos."

In response, the man scowled at you playfully, then spit out his cig, snuffing it by smothering it with his foot.

You turned your attention back to Hank, whom was scouting the area with binoculars.

He peeked over his shoulder to see you watching him, and he tilted his head, raising a hand to wave it. You waved back and chuckled.

He pointed out some potential buildings to raid, and you marked down the locations on the map you had.

When you finished, you stared at your boyfriend a bit longer. He was just so... cool, and collected. He never seems to break from anything.

You reached down to hold his hand-

But was interrupted by a very loud BANG and a sudden white-hot pain ripping through your chest.

You yelped in pain, and everyone snapped to attention. Hank dove for you, picking you up and running behind a rock while more sniper rounds fired.

You gasped for air as you clutched the gaping hole right over your heart.

It shot through your fucking heart.

You were coughing up blood, and even through his gear, Hank looked horrified.

You were dying in his arms, and there was nothing he could do about it.

You were struggling, your brain screaming at you to make the pain stop, and you were getting EXTREMELY dizzy and tired.

Hank was choking up.

"Stay awake, please, stay aw-"

He was interrupted by a very weak hand pressing against his mask, where his cheek is.

He watched your face as you stared at him. He shouldn't have looked... but, some divine force forced him to watch the life drain from your eyes.

Your hand went limp along with your body. You died in his arms.

And for the next few months, that's all everyone knew you as- dead.

But, here you were, standing in front of your gravestone. Covered in dirt and sweat, yet your heart was beating, and you were ANGRY.

You recognized the area as just nearby the base, where Hank took you on your first date together. You would have fawned over that detail if it wasn't for the fact that you were furious at whoever shot you.

You may have been in hyperstasis for half a year, but god DAMN were you ready to murder a bitch.

You banged on the base door, and had half a mind to consider the fact that you suddenly were ALIVE after confirmed DEAD for six whole months, and that everyone would be very much shocked and scared of you.

But you didn't care.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to be in. You assumed everyone was out on a mission, so you retrieved The Secret Key For Deimos Because He Will Definitely Lose His Own Key, and entered.

Jebus.... the place has seen some shit since you've last been.

You felt horrible, the more you looked, the more depressing it got. Dusty countertops, half-working lights, everyone seemed to take a pitfall after you died.

You wanted to clean, but you also wanted to see them again ASAP.

Finally locating the thing you came inside for, you took the planning agenda out, and combed through it.

July 13th, 2030

Six months since their death

Raid A.A.H.W Facility in Las Vegas

Ignoring the rest of the info written down, your eye twitched at the first thing written under the date. Six months...

The agenda was put back. You hurried over to your room. As you expected, they didn't touch it at all. The only thing you noticed was the fact that everything was perfectly clean.

You grabbed some of your weapons, sighing at the comfort of how they felt in your hands once again.

But, no time to dawdle. They were at the Las Vegas A.A.H.W.. Which is where that Clown mostly resided.

You hurried back out, and thanked Sanford for owning an extra car for emergencies like this.

The building was about half an hour away, and you hoped with everything you had Hank and the others were there.

You were lucky enough to be given another chance at life... you wouldn't be brought back only for them to be taken... right?

Eyes trained on the road ahead of you, you pressed the petal to the metal until you were driving way over the old Nevada speed limit laws.

After driving in the car, anxious and worried for around half an hour, you finally spotted the building in the distance. To your hopeful dismay, you saw flashes of gunfire.

After focusing, you noticed the flash of grey against a bright red and sickly green mass.

Then, you spotted the man you've been searching for. He was engaged in a tough battle against Tricky, and he seemed to be losing. A fire began to burn in your heart, growing into a blazing flame of hatred. You pushed the car to go even faster, aiming straight for the clown.

He heard the roar of the engine- and the roar of you, yourself- before he saw you. Hank was already out of the way, his mind not realizing you were in the car.

Tricky tried to dodge out of the way, but the car was too quick. With you yelling various curses, you rammed him straight-on.

His face crashed through the windshield, and you straight up screamed in his face while you whipped out your pistol and lodged multiple bullets in his body. You could hear him stuttering out your name in confusion. Your screams were louder than his.

Without thinking, you quickly reached over his scrambling body, opening the passenger door and doing a sharp U-turn- thus forcefully throwing the clown out of the car.

You stopped the car and threw open the door, jumping out and firing more bullets into Tricky's twitching body. You were now dead silent. Everything was dead silent.

When you finished, you looked up, every enemy on the premise was dead, and you seemed to finish the final one- for now.

All that was left was you, and the other 3 men you cared so deeply about.

Sanford and Deimos were propped against the wall, sporting multiple cuts and bruises. They weren't mortally injured, though.

So, you moved your eyes to Hank. He was frozen in place.

You and him stared at each other. It truly felt like one of THOSE movie scenes.

You watched him as he hesitantly moved his hands to beneath his goggles, most likely wiping his eyes to make sure you were real.

When he looked again, he theatrically fell to his knees. Sanford and Deimos broke the silence, snapping out of their trance. They yelled your name in surprise.

That pushed you out of your own trance, and you broke into a sprint, straight towards the love of your life., who had his arms open and waiting for you, six months in the making.

Writing fight scenes/violent scenes fill me with the good shivers BDNSBS I hope you enjoyed this op !!

#madness combat #madcom #madness combat x reader #hank j. wimbleton #hank x reader #madness combat deimos #madness combat sanford #madness combat tricky #madness tricky #sorry tricky i love you #this was all for plot okay im sorry #reader goes apeshit #pogU #deimos was like DID YOU DIE #reader: sadly yes #BUT I LIVED #reader emerges from the grave kill bill style #i mean... beatrix and reader have the sane intentions: bust out of the grave and kill

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garbagevanfleet · 3 years

Text

Brightest Blue (series)

PART SEVEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: men being shitty and creepy!! possible trigger for sexual assult Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: things are taking an odd turn, right? (sorry this is posted so late)

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack

MASTERPOST

You woke up to the shrill chiming of an alarm cutting through your head like a circle saw. The unexpected noise made you sit up instantly, putting your gaze directly on a desk, the top of it overflowing with sheet music.

Josh started to stir next to you, his hand reaching out from under the blanket to grab his phone from where it sat in between you.

The sore spot on your ribs made you wince, and your eyes drifted down to find your own phone, pressed into the mattress from you sleeping on it.

When the screen flicked on, you let out a sharp gasp.

“Josh, we have like fifteen minutes to leave!” you yelped, hopping instantly out of bed and finding your knees a little wobbly.

He sat up then, rubbing across his face.

You gazed back at him, frowning at the odd setup; he was laying on top of the comforter but under a different blanket.

“Shit, I had yesterday’s alarm still set for my late class,” he murmured, inching himself toward the end of the bed.

“Oh my god,” you whined, racing to the bathroom. You brushed your teeth way too quickly, knowing in your heart that you did a poor job.

When you returned to Josh’s room for your phone, he was pulling a clean shirt over his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sounding somewhere between asleep and awake.

“It’s okay, I should have set my own alarm,” you admitted, snatching your cell from the bed and scooting past him again. “It’s really okay. Are you going to be ready to leave in like ten?”

He nodded as he ran his fingers through his curls. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m praying.”

On the walk to school, you remembered.

“Fuck, my presentation is today. And I got high and didn’t practice.”

He chuckled under his breath, clasping his hand around your shoulder. “You’re going to be fine- just breathe and stay calm. If you mess up, take a pause and keep going.”

You nodded furiously. “Okay. Okay. Can you text that to me? What if I forget?”

He laughed in earnest then. “Yes, I’ll text you.”

You exhaled a lengthy breath, nodding as you tried to calm your nerves.

In front of the entrance to the B hall, he spun you around to face him, holding the biceps of each of your arms. He mimicked taking a deep breath, prompting you to do the same without another thought.

“Relax,” he instructed coolly. “And I’ll see you at lunch.”

+++

You had your hands clasped tightly in your lap, nervous enough that your palms were sweating. Getting up and speaking to a room of people was high on your list of things that felt like torture, especially since you hadn’t had time to shower or do anything with your mess of hair besides pinning it up into a bun as best you could.

You thanked a divine power that the outfit you had thrown on in a haste ended up looking surprisingly presentable.

As it neared your turn, you got your papers in order and straightened up your posture. When your name was called, you promptly stood, descending the steps and ending up down at the podium.

You had just opened your mouth to start when your phone chimed in your pocket. Your eyes popped open wide, hoping you’d hallucinated the sound instead of forgetting to silence your ringer.

The professor was giving you an unamused look as you gave a weak laugh.

“One sec, sorry,” you muttered, fishing out your phone. You flicked the little button down on the side, but as the screen lit up, you got to read what the message said.

Josh just now Just pretend everyone’s me or pretend they’re naked. Probably not both though.

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh as you tucked it back away. The nerves that had you so on edge started to dampen, just a bit.

+++

That afternoon, you walked home alone. Josh had texted you that he’d be staying until 5 or 6 to make sure the production was going along smoothly, but when he returned to the apartment, it was with a bottle of wine.

You were doing some of the dishes from the previous day and had to wipe your soapy hands on a dishtowel before he crossed the room and pulled you into a side hug.

The two of you had talked about how well the presentation went when you met at lunch, but you hadn’t imagined he’d make such a big deal about it.

“I had Jake pick me up and take me to the liquor store, and I got this so we could celebrate,” he informed, his voice kind of soft - either sheepish or tired, you couldn’t quite tell.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, but couldn’t suppress the huge grin splitting your lips.

He nodded, offering a soft smile. “I know.” He set the bottle down on the table pointedly. “I wanted to.”

You fished the make-shift corkscrew from the utensil drawer, brandishing it like a knife to earn a melodic laugh from Josh.

He popped the door of the fridge open to peer inside. “We might be able to make something special for dinner. Or, at least more special than mac and cheese or sandwiches.”

When the idea popped into your head, you crossed the room and grabbed your purse.

“I still have about,” you paused to count the bills in your wallet. “$34 from shopping. I was saving it for something nice, so why don’t we order something in?”

He grinned at you, leaning back against the wall next to the fridge and letting his head rest against it. “What kind of take-out are you thinking? You should get to pick.”

“Oh, please,” you huffed, playfully rolling your eyes as you started unwrapping the foil around the rim of the wine bottle. “One, I could have never done so well if it weren’t for you. And two, you’re from here, so you’d know what’s worth ordering.”

His pink lips tilted up into a smirk. “I’m not from here though.”

“Close enough.” You took a moment to think before continuing on. The tip of the corkscrew was broken, leaving a blunt edge and he watched you struggle to pierce the cork with it. “Is there any kind of Indian? Or Thai maybe?”

He nodded. “There’s an Indian restaurant downtown. It’s pretty yummy if I remember right.”

“That kinda sounds perfect, right?”

He held his hand out, flicking his eyes down at the corkscrew and then back up at you until you reluctantly handed it over. He picked up the bottle and popped it open with ease, his smirk only growing.

“Yeah, perfect.”

+++

Thursday evening, Trevor showed up around five, just as you were finished making your bedroom look like a cute study nook. You weren’t entirely sure how much studying either of you planned on doing, but since he only brought one notebook and nothing else, you weren’t very hopeful about getting any work done.

“I wasn’t expecting you to have a roommate,” he said in a playful tone.

“I do. When I moved here, I knew I couldn’t afford to live alone, so I rolled the dice. He’s a great friend, as it turns out. Do you want something to drink?” you asked as he stepped through your doorway and set his stuff down on your bed.

“That’d be cool.”

“We have juice and milk and water and iced tea.”

He shrugged with a smile. “Anything but milk, please.”

You nodded. “I’ll bring you some juice.”

Josh, who was seated in the sitting chair in the living room, working on his own homework, looked up at you through his eyelashes with a mischievous-looking smile.

You shot him a scowl. “Don’t be weird,” you whispered, and then in a normal tone, finished with, “Would you like some juice too?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. “That’s okay, I can get my own. You just worry about him.”

Trevor happily took his glass as you handed it to him, giving you a “thank you”.

“Of course,” you replied as you sat next to him on the bed and pulled your stack of textbooks onto your lap. “Where should we start?”

“You actually want to study?” he mused, sounding disbelieving.

You bit your lip. “Probably for a little while at least, right?”

He shrugged back at you, but you tried to brush off the odd attitude. Maybe you’d given him the wrong impression as to exactly what this would be, but you could fix it.

“So, we’re supposed to read chapters ten through sixteen and then do all the questions,” you informed, flipping the book open. “You want me to read it out loud?”

You thought maybe offering to do most of the work would brighten his mood, but every time you looked over at him while you were reading, he was scrolling through his phone. He had a bored expression painted across his features, and it took him nearly a full minute to realize you’d stopped reading.

When he finally looked up at you, he gave a smile that you knew he thought was the most charming thing you’d ever seen.

You could hear a knock on the front door and Josh shuffling around in the living room.

“Have you been listening to any of this? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” You tried to keep your tone from sounding annoyed, but you knew you couldn’t hide it as well as you wished.

“I’d rather be doing anything else if I’m being honest.” There was not a single shred of an apology in his voice, and when you spoke again, you knew it would be even less put together.

“Why did you want to come over for a study session if you didn’t want to study?” It was less of a question and more of a scathing review of his character, or at least what you’d seen of it so far.

He frowned at you, looking a shade on the accusatory side for your liking. “I feel like you should have known what that actually meant.”

You could hear a conversation going on in the kitchen, and you silently wished you were out there instead. The longer you heard them talk, the more convinced you became that it was Jake, and you wondered if Josh invited him over on purpose, or if he just showed up.

“You said you thought I was good in class and that part of why you asked me out was so I could help you with classwork.”

He rolled his blue eyes. “Yeah, if I hadn’t, I can’t imagine you would have invited me over.”

You had your mouth open to snap a response, but somehow, his words hurt you. Not much, but just enough for your chest to feel tight, and not just from anger.

“Did you think you could manipulate me into having sex with you?” you asked quietly, your brows threaded close together in a frown.

He gave a long, bored-sounding sigh. “Don’t act like I’m a bad guy, here. Everyone does it. Give some fake compliments and then make your move, you know?”

For emphasis, he placed his hand on your thigh, a little too high up. It made your teeth clench, jaw tightened by rage.

“Don’t touch me. You should go,” you stated.

He huffed a sarcastic laugh as he inched his hand a bit further up your leg. He moved toward you until his face was nearing your neck. “Come on, what’s the big deal?”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached a hand out and slapped him across his face, your palm making contact with the hollow of his cheek. You hadn’t been expecting the crack of noise when you made contact; it ripped through the room, and out into the living area if you had to guess.

It took him a beat to realize what happened, but as soon as he did, he stood from your bed. You picked up his notebook and handed it to him, and he ripped it from your grasp, a dirty look on his features.

“You’re a cockteasing bitch,” he snapped, nursing the red spot on his cheek.

He was already halfway through the living room when you moved to stand in the doorway of your room.

“Fuck off,” you called through clenched teeth as he opened the front door and let himself out. When he was gone you realized that Josh and Jake were both looking at you with similar degrees of concern from where they were sat on the couch.

“What happened?” Josh asked, frowning up at you.

Embarrassed, you flicked your eyes over to Jake who had one eyebrow quirked up at you.

“Oh, you know. Just boys lying to me so they can fuck,” you snapped as you retreated to your room and closed the door. You instantly felt bad for being short with them, especially since Josh is just about the last person you could ever imagine being mean to, but you’d apologize later.

Right then, you were going to curl up in bed.

After a couple of hours, Jake left and you wondered how long it would take before Josh came in to bug you, but he didn’t. You listened for his footsteps coming toward your door, but you could hear him in the living room, turning the page of a book every now and again.

Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself - you threw the blankets off and stood. The stiffness in your muscles was a poor consolation prize for the day.

He looked up at you, shutting his book instantly, his homework caught between the pages.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly. He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry your...thing went so poorly.”

You were too annoyed to care anymore, so you laid your head on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. It surprised you when you felt a tear drip down your cheek and you could feel your face start to warm in response.

He heard you sniffle and his form stiffened immediately. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you tight to him.

“Did he hurt you?” It sounded like Josh’s throat was tight, making his words hoarse.

“No, he just,” You weren’t sure how to finish that. He hadn’t really hurt you, per se. “He just tried to touch me. And then he didn’t stop when I told him to.”

“What?” His tone was charmingly offended on your behalf.

“It’s okay,” you assured, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “I’m more angry than anything. I just kind of can’t believe I fell for that, you know? The whole ‘let’s study’ thing.”

“Stop that - it’s not your fault.” You could feel the hesitation as he laid his hand against your ear, but you leaned into it, grateful for the comfort.

It was quiet for a long moment while you calmed yourself down. His presence was more of a reassurance than anything else you could have imagined at the moment.

“You’re my best friend,” you breathed, turning to nuzzle your nose against the fabric of his sleeve. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

Through a smile, you heard him say, “Me too.”

#brightest blue fic #josh gvf fic #josh kiszka #josh kiszka fic #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #.0

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iconicharry · 4 years

Note

can you do a small blurb or imagine where the reader is all bubbly and talkative and Harry finds her annoying. reader always wanted to befriend Harry but Harry one day snaps at her and she stops her usual jokes and playful behavior around him. Harry starts missing her and it's all fluff. pweaseee

i want to be friends with h :’)

“...and I just thought this will look the best on me because I read this thing where you should try on gold or silver jewellery in order to tell if cold or warm tones look better,” she takes a sip of her champagne. “Honestly, I can’t really see this on myself, so I just thought you could do nothing wrong with beige, right?” She chuckles and watches her nephew, freshly turned four, run around the backyard with a horde of other little humans, screeching and giggling.

It’s the first time she saw him again after a long time. Leo, the birthday boy, told her during all the birthday preparations that he wanted Harry to be there. She knows because he explicitly said he “wants uncle H to do that funny hand game they always play” and she can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt her heart a bit. Harry and her got along great, she’d say, her older brother Ezra introduced them two at a get together in his apartment as he graduated college. YN liked having him in their friend group. With his charm and humour he managed to have her wanted to befriend him immediately.

That was until he stopped seeing his friends and only spent time with his new girlfriend. Ezra told her they met at some gala and it immediately sparked between them. His words, not hers. And YN would lie if she’d say she wasn’t one tiny bit jealous, because of course she was. He’s a good friend but to expierence him dropping his friends just like that when he meets someone is worse than just letting it die down.

So here she is, bubbly with excitement as she finally catches up with him, but worry in her as Ezra told her in passing that they recently broke it off. Harry was single. And thats stings. They break up and he suddenly has time for them again? Suddenly, he isn’t too good for them anymore?

“YN, I need to interrupt right here. Hold your thought. I need a wee, alright?” His voice breaks her story from the time she made a leash for her dog herself.

Her brows shoot up, slowly nodding. “Uh...yes. Yes, of course.”

Harry sends a pressed smile before he hurries through the crowd to the bathroom. Locking the door, he leans his hands on the sink, watching himself in the mirror.

It’s hell.

He thought it would be a nice distraction to see all his friends and Leo again. Keep his minds off the obvious things. But they bombarded him with happiness and questions and stories and Harry feels like he is going to explode.

Of course he knows what a shitty friend he was. For fucks sake, he just cut them off as he fell stupidly in love. Yes, it’s fucking wrong of him to appear out of nowhere and get in contact again, after not even explaining what happened. Yes, they are the fucking best for forgiving him and acting normal. But yes, it’s too much to have them all babbling in his ear like nothing happened, too. Having YN talk his ear off. He likes her. Harry finds her cute as fuck. With her pretty little smile that seems to always adorn her face and the sparkly eyes that look at you as if you’d hung the moon. But she even talks not little.

A series of knocks snap him out of his thoughts. “Harry? I know you needed a wee, but Leo is asking for you,” she chuckles, “I’d say you shouldn’t keep the birthday boy waiting.”

A scowl sets itself deep in his features as he freshens up with splashing water in his face and a heavy sigh.

“Remember Leo’s last birthday? He had so much fun with the frosting of the cake you brought.” A silence followed. “You know... he really missed you. I mean— we all did, but I think he kinda suffered—”

The door swings open, sudden and fast, and Harry stands under the frame of the door. His brows are set deep and his nostrils fluttering almost dangerous. “Let’s not talk about it.” Harry tries to contain himself and keep calm.

Confusion washes over her face before she snaps out of it, shaking her head at herself. “Sorry, I was just saying that it was a hard time for us as—”

“I said to let it go, didn’t I?” His body squeezes around hers, stepping out of the bathroom and walking to the kitchen with a quick step.

YN struggles to follow, but does nonetheless. “Sorry. Again.” She watches as he pours himself another drink, downing it in one swing as he glances at her over the rim of the cup as she smiles at him.

By now he just wants to get out of there as soon as possible.

“I read something recently. It was funny because it said—”

“My god, YN!” He loosens it. “Do you ever stop talking? Don’t you have something better to do or be? Make sure the kids are save?”

“I-I don’t know... What do you—”

He rolls his eyes. “Just go to someone else and bore them with the things you read. Pleae spare me.”

By any means, she is not a crybaby, but hearing the person you admire, even look up to, tell you you are just an annoyance with everything you do is bad. Her heart practically breaks open as his restless eyes stare her down. She feels small. Tiny even. And therefore she can’t help the tears that gather along the lower lashes. She tries to blink them away and quickly swallows the clump in her throat that starts to hurt. She rasps an “okay” at him and disappears out of there. Away from the kitchen. Away from him.

Leaving Harry alone.

He curses himself. A hand comes up to tug at his hair in frustration. Now he’s the arsehole. Great.

But someone notices it. Whatever it is. Perhaps it’s how YN sat in the corner of the room while everyone snuggled together on the huge couch to watch Leo’s favourite movie. Perhaps how Harry glanced her direction every few seconds. Or perhaps how she didn’t talk to anyone anymore that evening. But perhaps how everyone felt the tension like thick cheese one pizza. At least that’s what Harry thought as he scooped the big piece of pizza into him. He sadly made it a habit to eat in frustration.

So now she has a pouty, little four year old sitting in her lap. “But I jus’ don’t understand!” His tiny hands grasp her cheeks. “Did I do something?”

“No, love, you didn’t do anything. I just feel like this sometimes.” Her hands run through his silky hair. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“It’s Uncle H, isn’t it?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sure, because he didn’t play that hand game with me and you didn’t tell me one of your granny jokes!”

“Hey! They are not ‘granny jokes’!” YN playfully pinches his cheeks.

“So it is Uncle H? What did he do? Did he pull your hair? Because mummy always says I should apologize if I did.”

A sudden burst of love runs through her for this sweet boy. But it drops as she sees Harry entering the room behind the boy and watches their interaction. “No, he didn’t pull my hair. Everything’s fine.”

“Did he steal your pencil?! Oh no!” He gasps.

Harry steps beside them, ruffling his hand through his hair, making it a mess. “I did steal her pencil. You think I should apologize, mate?”

Leo squirms in her lap and holds his arms up at Harry. So he lens downs and easily sets him on the side of his hip. “Of course! If not, I have to get mummy to scold you!”

Harry breathes a chuckle, eyes staying on YN as she avoids meeting his eyes. “Uhmm...”

He notices the hesitation. “Dearest YN,” Leo cups his hands around his mouth and whispers in his ear.

Her head shoots up to them. Harry still stares down at her as the corner of his lips kink up. “Dearest YN.”

“I’m sorry for stealing your pencil.” He repeats Leo’s words, eyes crinkling with the smile he wears. “I’m well aware that you probably like the pencil with how sad you looked today.” He pauses as the boy whispers another sentence. “I now know I shouldn’t do it again and I promise t leave you be if you want me to.” But his smile falters when he sees YN’s eyes dropping to the floor again and then back up. This time with a forgiving smile. “But I hope we can still be friends.”

With a friendly smile she stands up and brushes a strand of hair out of her nephew’s eyes. “Leo, baby, would you leave us alone for a sec?”

He frantically nods and scrambles down Harry’s arms, who tries to not let him fall down.

It’s silent when they’re alone. Unspoken things between them creating an uncomfortable silence that isn’t welcomed. So they begin to speak.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m glad you came to me—”

His hands that just were gesturing between them dropped dead to his sides and YN’s teeth catch her bottom lip, staring at his shoes.

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. “Can I start?” His eyes search hers, trying to find her acceptance and understanding, and in fact receiving a spark of a smile. “Listen, okay? I’m so- so sorry. I don’t even know what happened there. I...,” he trails of, one hand scratching under his chin where a stubble starts to form. “I was stressed these last few days— weeks— and, fuck, I still am, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean that. I love when you talk about random stuff that you read somewhere, because it’s interesting, it’s funny. It’s just your thing, right? And I love that we can talk about absolutely everything. That person in the bathroom, ...that wasn’t me. That was the grumpy, arrogant side of me that left his best friends because of some person, then got his heart broken and couldn’t even swallow his own fucking pride to apologize to them and waited too long and just acted like nothing happened. YN, obviously you don’t have to forgive me, because I understand I’m an arsehole—”

“Okay, it’s enough.”

Harry freezes, brows drawing a deep line. “W-what?”

YN takes a step towards him and envelopes his huge hands in her small ones. He notices they’re warm and soft as her thumb brushes along his knuckles, calming him down. “It’s enough, H. I get it, okay? I’m not stupid. I know what it’s like and I know you. It’s sweet of you to apologize but you had me since Leo helped you,” a grin breaks out on her face. “I can imagine how tough that time was and still is for you, but I’m your friend and friends are there for you no matter what, no? I wouldn’t say it didn’t hurt a tiny bit, because I know I talk a lot. I’m not mad with you. I just want my friend back.”

She whispers the last part and Harry can’t help the layer of tears that gloss over his eyes and the curl in his lips that creates a deep dimple in his cheek— upwards because of happiness and downwards because of all the emotions— so it’s a weird laugh that escapes his throat at the same time a sob rolls through his body. He sets his stare on the floor and tries to will the tears away with a shake of his head, curls flopping, but YN slings her arms tight around his torso and her face squishes against his collarbone, leaving a quick kiss at his throat. Like a warm blanket he gets swallowed whole. “It’s okay to feel weak sometimes. ’M here for you, H.”

And with that in mind, he wraps his long arms around her shoulders, squeezing her some more, and lets himself cry it all out.

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles request #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurbs #harry styles reader insert #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #best friend harry #myblurbs

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365days365movies · 3 years

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March 7, 2021: Onward (2020) (Part One)

Finding Nemo.

That’s my favorite Pixar film. Real talk, no arguments, and today’s movie? NOT dethroning it. This movie is so hard-wired into my brain, that the second I typed the words of the title, the theme song ran through my head, where it lives rent-free. It will be a cold day when I don’t find an excuse to shout “NEMOOOO!!!! I HAVE TO FIND MY SON!!” at any opportune moment. I will never stop swimming. Whenever I catch a Chinchou or Lanturn in a Pokémon game, I name it “Goodfeeling’sgone”.

SHARK BAIT OOH HA HA

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE DEPTHS OF MY LOVE FOR THIS MOVIE.

...Ahem. So, yeah, I love FInding Nemo. For the record, the sequel ain’t bad. And also for the record, there’s only one Pixar movie that I consider to be bad, and it’s the one you’d think. You know, the one about ageism. The one where somebody dies by torture? The bad spy movie?

...the second one about cars?

Which means, YES. I DON’T THINK The Good Dinosaur IS THAT BAD! Not exactly good, but its gorgeous, and just kinda boring, not outright terrible. That Styracosaurus, though...that dude is great.

Anyway, off of Pixar for a sec, huh? What about fantasy? I’m a big tabletop RPG nerd, and I’m currently the GM for a Pathfinder campaign, a Pokémon RPG, and a Mutants and Masterminds game, while also playing in a Pathfinder game as well. Yeah, I’m a busy dewd. But what I’m saying is, this movie should be preaching to the choir for me. I’m a Pixar lover who plays RPGs. I’m ready for this. I’m ready for CGI Bright. Which is another way of saying, I’m ready for a version of Bright that doesn’t suck.

So, why haven’t I seen it until now? I mean...COVID-19. This film got FUCKED. But, no matter! It’s on Disney Plus, I’ve got Disney Plus, so let’s get this baby STARTED! Let’s get updated on some Pixar! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

OK, immediately digging the soundtrack over the Disney logo as we jump in here! Very ethereal, very fantasy, very LotR, I LIKE it, I LIKE it! And then...long ago, the world was full of wonder!

We get a view of the world of olde, with magic and many mystical, mythical creatures living together and adventuring. However, as magic wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to use, it eventually gave way to technology, fading away in a world now very similar to ours.

Basically, it’s about the same as our world, except for a few different races, and the fact that dragons are basically dogs, and unicorns are basically raccoons, which is fuckin’ fantastic.

We enter the home of teenage elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) and introverted now-16-year-old who lives with his mother, Laurel (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) and his older brother Barley (Chris Pratt). Barley’s a tabletop RPG nerd who’s also a fan of the magical past. Said obsessions cause a strain on his relationship with Ian, and with that of his mother’s boyfriend, centaur policeman Colt Bronco (Mel Rodriguez).

After a discussion about Barley’s recent attempt to protect an old magical monument from destruction, he accidentally damages the sweatshirt that Ian is wearing, which was owned by their late father, Wilder. Ian rushes out, flustered, despite Barley’s attempts to bond with him. Well, looks like we have a sense of the plot for this one.

On his way to school, Barley stops to get some food when he meets Gaxton (Wilmer Valderrama), an old college friend of his father’s. From Gaxton, he learns things about his father that he never knew, like that he was bold and standout. From there, Barely pledges to try and be more self-confident, like his father.

Whiiiiiiich, doesn’t exactly work once he gets to school. He fails to stand-up to a jerky guy at school, he fails in his driving class, and he fails to ask other high school kids to his birthday party. But to be fair, Barley helps a bit with that last one when he shows up with Guinevere, his busted-ass van with a unicorn painted on the side. Which is supposed to be uncool...but I kinda dig it, not gonna lie.

After that, Ian completely flubs the invitation bit, confusing the people he was talking to, and disappointing himself in the process. He gets a ride home with Barley, and goes home to talk to a tape recording of his dad. Which is...beautifully sad, and somehow very easy to identify with. So, yeah, it’s gonna be that kind of Pixar movie.

Ian talks to his mom about his father at his age, asking if he was ever unsure. She says yes, but couples this with a surprise: a gift from his late father, who died of a terminal illness shortly after Ian’s birth. The gift is for both Ian and Barley, and was meant to be opened when they were both over 16.

She gets it from the attic, and they unwrap it, where it’s revealed to be a wizard’s staff. Which is weird, because Wilder was an accountant. In a pocket of the wrapping cloth, there’s a letter written by Wilder with the narration from the beginning of the film (that “Long ago” bit).

Also included is a spell, written by Wilder so that he could see who his sons grew up to be. This “Visitation Spell” would appear to be a way to bring Wilder back for 24 hours. Barley, being the magic-lover that he is, tries multiple times to cast the spell with the staff, but fails to do so, much to his and Ian’s great disappointment.

However, when Ian tries to read the spell out of curiosity later, the staff begins to react, and the spell begins to work. Barley comes in as this is happening, and the spell works...halfway. It starts to fail, and Barley offers to help, but Ian pulls the staff away, and the spell stops as the Phoenix crystal inside it shatters.

Looks like another bust, but it’s not a complete failure. And if you’ve seen literally any trailer for this movie, you know what happens.

Although it’s just his legs and feet, it’s still Wilden Lightfoot (Kyle Bornheimer...technically). The boys decide to try and complete the spell, but need another Phoenix Gem to do so. According to Barley’s “historically accurate” TTRPG, Quests of Lore, they will be able to find one by accepting a quest from the place where all quests start: the Manticore’s Tavern. And so, the quest begins!

The brothers and their half-dad board Guinevere and drive to the Manticore’s Tavern. On the way, Barley convinces Ian to practice some spells from the games rulebook, but they don’t work because Ian’s not invoking his passion (or his “heart’s fire”, as Barley calls it). Meanwhile, Laurel figures out where they’re headed, but doesn’t know exactly why...yet.

After the journey, they make it to the Manticore’s Tavern, which is now essentially a themed Chuck E. Cheese’s restaurant, owned and managed by Corey (Octavia Spencer), a very overworked manticore. Which is pretty great, not gonna lie.

They try to get the actual map to the Phoenix’s Gem from her in order to conjure their Dad, but she no longer sends adventurers on dangerous quests, mostly because she doesn’t want to get sued by any injured adventurers. When Ian argues with her about this, she IMMEDIATELY DIVES INTO AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS/MID LIFE CRISIS!

It’s, uh...it’s kind of amazing. Having completely lost it at this point, she basically tears down the entire building with her bare hands and fire-breath. Unfortunately, the map to the Phoenix Gem is burnt in the process of Corey’s literal meltdown. However, as Wilden’s about to be crushed by a couple of falling beams, Ian taps into his heart’s fire.

Nice. They get out of there, and head out for the Gem, using a child’s placemat replica of the real map to make their way to a place called Raven’s Point. However, rather than just follow the goddamn map, Barley decides to go on much more dangerous road known as the “Path of Peril”, once again following the “call of adventure” and his gut.

Which...yeah, Barley’s not really considering the reality of this whole situation, which fits his personality. He’s a dreamer, despite the rational and reasonable solution in front of him. And, in case you weren’t sure, I’m pretty sure that isn’t a good thing.

Ian points out the correct point that what actually matters is that they send enough time with their father, and they do indeed take the straightforward path. Good! Barley listened to Ian’s suggestion after all. However, they hit another snag when the car breaks down, completely out of gas. Problem.

Meanwhile, Laurel makes her way to the Manticore’s place, only to find it on fire! She meets Corey, who tells her that she’s met her boys, and told them about everything...except the curse. Also, there’s a curse. Laurel, who is the best movie Mom ever, tricks a policeman interviewing Corey to diverting his attention away from her, and smuggles her into her car to help find (and maybe rescue) her sons.

Stuck off the freeway without gas, a desperate Ian asks Barley if there are any spells that can get them more gas. They concoct a plan involving a shrinking and growing spell, but that immediately goes wrong as Barley tries to instruct Ian, only frustrating him further, and causing him to fumble the spell and hit Barley with it, making him tiny.

They decide to head to a gas station, where a group of pixie bikers has just arrived. This backfires when Barley, lacking basically any common sense, ends up insulting the biker leader, Dewdrop (Grey Griffin) and her ancestors. Nice one, Barley. As they escape from the pissed off pixies, the tiny Barley is unable to drive, forcing the driver’s anxiety-riddled Ian to drive, overcoming his fears from earlier by force, being chased by the pixies all the way. It’s a pretty good sequence, to be honest.

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Well, they escape the Pixies...but not the cops. And I think that’ll be a good place to pick up in the next part! See you there!

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pj-nothingmorethanwhirlwind · 3 years

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3. OF RUBBING, SHOUTING AND LEAVING

Julia POV

When we arrived in Seattle, it was already past midnight. The sky was clouded and the city lights created an odd kind of halo above it. There was a cool, gentle breeze and a fine rain was pouring down, catching glimpses of street lanterns. The city seemed calm, sleepy but not asleep, a weird mixture of idleness and silent, well-hidden persistence.

"You OK, kiddo?" Jack asked, sounding almost sorry to leave me behind. To tell the truth, I myself was unsure whether I wanted to stay in this city, where every thought of too loud or too quick motion seemed to just vanish under the deep, heavy calmness. Did I want to stay there, be a roommate of some person I've never met, probably someone square and boring as the whole city, with a shirt collar peeking from under an old, grey, knitted sweater? Was this my idea of a great adventure in America, getting to know the beautiful mountains and beaches and fields? It was not, but I was there anyway. Maybe a greater force, a destiny or fate had pushed me there. You always find what you're looking for in the most unexpected places, my mother used to say. Well, maybe this was my unexpected place, even though I didn't really know what I was looking for-Thus a privilege of youth, I thought, amused. What would anyone here in Seattle think of me if I said that out loud? My English unfortunately consisted of many unuseful phrases I had stolen from Shakespeare or Byron.

Jack was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. I hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be OK, I guess."

"Good. I'm gonna call my friend, the one who's looking for a roommate."

"Wait, isn't it, like, 1 in the morning?"

"Oh don't worry, they're only getting started by now." Jack shot me a mischievous grin and wandered to the nearby pay phone. First, there was no answer. Then Jack decided to dial another number. After a while, I decided to follow, curious.

"What do you mean, you don't know where he is? - OK, yeah, whatever. - So you good with that? - Great. - Yeah, see you around. - Oh, she's sweet, don't worry. - Bye, Xana."

Jack turned to me and I blushed a little, suddenly embarrassed I had eavesdropped on the conversation, even when it was about me.

"That was Xana, she lives there too. So, my friend without a roommate, his name's Chris. Nice guy, he's in a band. He's roommate with this couple, Andy and Xana, Andy's also in a band. Uh, Chris is away right now, god knows where, but I'm gonna take you to Andy and he's gonna take you there, to the apartment."

"Can't you take me there?"

"I could, but there's no one in there. I don't wanna leave you at their front door, waiting for god knows how long till they return."

"What about this Xana girl?"

"She's not there, she's at Demri's."

"Who's Demri?"

"This girl, the last time I checked she was dating Layne."

"Who's Layne?"

"Uh, man, that's getting way too complicated," Jack laughed. "He's also in a band. Come, you'll soon wrap your head around it, I promise."

I followed to the car, then stopped.

"Is there, like, someone who's not in a band?"

Jack laughed again, than Dave's head popped out from the car.

"I'm not, I got kicked out a while ago."

We got in the car and Jack drove us through the empty streets. There were a few buses we missed, most of them empty. I felt a sudden pang of nostalgia, I was gonna miss these guys, even though I met them just a few days ago.

"That's our part of the town," Jack exclaimed. There was little difference at first glance, but soon I realized what he meant. The buildings had a few graffiti on it, there were flyers and posters on the walls and street lanterns.

Jack pulled up in front of an old building, its facade peeling down, a heavy door doodled with random names and symbols. He left the engine running, got out, then opened my door and lead me to the trunk. We dug out my backpack and a little rugged handbag I always carried around and headed to the door.

"Make sure to come say goodbye before you leave with these cool dudes waiting inside!" Dave shouted from the car and I had to laugh.

Soon, the door buzzed and we entered. The building smelled like a latex paint, spilled beer, and paper, and I kind of liked it. There weren't many places that gave straight away a creative vibe, and this place certainly did. We heard a faint strumming and humming and Jack lead the way down the stairs, just where the sounds were coming from.

He tapped the door and opened, there was a dimly lit room behind, with a once red carpet on the floor, papers and instruments everywhere. In the back, there was a drum set, the walls were decorated with Post-Its, on the ground or laid agains the walls there were all sorts of guitars- I saw a cherry burst Les Paul (literally the only brand I could recognize), some acoustic ones, some electric. In the middle there was a mic stand and in front of it, an old couch and two men.

The first one sat on the ground, turned to the couch, cross-legged, strumming through guitar strings. He was lean, had long, dark hair and wore a baggy shirt with bright green shorts underneath. I wasn't sure I could trust a guy with such questionable fashion choices. The other one was more muscular, wearing an off-shoulder tank top, with a bandana wrapped around his head and messy, brownish hair. The both of them stopped playing when they noticed us and exchanged quick looks. No one said anything for a while.

"Uh, this is Julia," Jack said then. Well, that was weird. Suddenly, everything got into motion.

"Fuck, man, I didn't recognize you for a sec there! Thought you were some weirdo who got lost. We haven't seen you in a long while, dude!" The one with the bandana got up from the couch and laughed shortly, big grin plastered on his face. He hugged Jack, then turned to his friend. This one was spinning around his axis, trying to free himself from a cable plucked in his guitar.

"Uh, yeah, be with you in a minute, just trying-" He stopped abruptly when the bandana-man simply unplucked the cable and smiled.

"Oh, thanks." He also hugged Jack with one arm, saying: "Long time no see, man."

Jack smiled, shook his head and motioned to me. "Wish I could stay longer, but we haven't eaten yet and I'm just stopping here. Delivering this one to mister Chris Cornell himself, but the man is hard to pin down."

"Sure," both of them nodded, seeming unsure what it has to do with them. Then both of them turned their faces to me.

"Uh, I'm Jeff," the one with the bandana introduced himself.

"Julia," I smiled, and shook his hand.

"You shake hands," he laughed and pulled me into a quick, hesitant hug. We both smiled, more warmly this time.

"Yeah, I'm Stone," interrupted the other one with a smirk. "No hugs from me, sorry."

I nodded.

"Is Andy around?" Jack asked.

"No, man, he left just ten minutes ago. Went to some bar or whatever."

"I don't suppose you know where?"

Again, both of them nodded at the same time.

"OK, good, then we will go grab something to eat and we'll stop by later?" Jack asked.

"Alright, man, let's get this straight, I know what you want. We can take her to Cornell's, but I don't know if there's gonna be someone in there," Jeff sighed.

"Andy's gonna be there of course."

"Uh, I don't think so, dude. Andy's...." He seemed to be looking for the right words, then simply decided to let go. "Things are difficult with him lately."

"Huh?"

"Man, it's hard to talk to you 'bout it, I mean, after Slovak. But Andy's got issues and, uh, it's not just fun and games as it used to."

I noticed a slight change in Jack's expression, a flash of pain and.. regret? guilt? Sooner than I could figure it out, it was gone.

"Sure, then..."

Jeff turner to me, fidgeted a little, then slowly said: "I can take you to my place, if it's OK with you. And tomorrow I'll drive you to Cornell's."

"Thanks," I nodded.

"We'll be back in half an hour? Hour?" Jack asked.

"Hour would be better," Stone said. He seemed like a quiet one, but maybe he was.. irritated with me? Angry he had to take care of some girl Jack brought along? You're overthinking this again, you're overanalyzing, girl, a radar went off in my head. I sighed. Stone waved awkwardly and turned back to his guitar.

I left my stuff at the door and followed Jack back to his car, seeing Dave waving from behind the window.

"Hey, I'm not leaving yet," I laughed as soon as I opened the door.

"No?" he asked, a little confused.

"Andy's not here," Jack explained, sounding tired. "We'll go grab some terrible fast food and come back in an hour or so."

We ended up in Dick's Drive-In. The place was almost empty, there was a teenage couple in one of the booths and one old man across the diner. The place was small, with tired service and a little bit too cold food. In a while, we were all sitting squashed in the only booth that seemed to be able to pass the hygiene control, the guys eating burgers and fries. I had to settle for fries in a tiny paper box which Dave gladly decorated with "FRIES- Saving herbivores since 1920 AD" title.

"You know, technically I'm not a herbivore. I eat eggs and cheese and stuff, I just don't eat meat."

"Yeah I know.. Well I didn't know until you told me, but it makes sense I guess." We all laughed and Dave continued. "Now I get why I didn't get to a college."

"You didn't get through admission exams?"

"They do that?"

I studied his face for a while, trying to decide whether he was joking or not. "You didn't go through admissions, and still expected to get to the college?" I asked slowly.

"Nah man, I never really tried to get in there, I dropped out of high school. I was just trying to pretend I'm not a fucking tramp." Dave laughed. We all laughed too, but in my mind, I thought In every joke there's a little bit of truth. I'd bet somewhere deep down, it was really bugging him. I reached to his hand and gently squeezed it, trying my best to seem reassuringly.

"You know, one tramp is worth at least ten neat handed square copies of J. Evans Pritchard, PhD., OK?" I smiled.

"You know the movie? Damn, girl..." he smiled too, more sincerely this time. "I'm really starting to envy these guys who're gonna get you now."

I made a small "aww" and squeezed his hand again, mindlessly playing with a wooden ring he was wearing on his littlefinger.

"You'll come see me again some time, won't you?" I asked silently. I liked the rest of the group, I really did, but I didn't really consider them friends. But with Dave, we just.. clicked. Jack Irons was sweet, he helped me a lot, and the rest of them were fine too, but Dave was just something extra.

"Of course. Now stop this thing you are doing, it's growing increasingly uncomfortable."

I stopped and looked in his face, confused. He just shook hid head and laughed, catching me in a little embrace.

"Dude, that's like some shit from a movie right there!" one of the guys exclaimed loudly and we both turned to him. His face was hidden behind a big black camera with the rest of the group tucked behind him, watching the screen, Jack Irons looking at us like a pround director. Apparently, they had filmed something of the last moments while we were too caught in our bubble. And they found it terribly amusing.

"Dave, if I were you I wouldn't leave her behind buddy," Jack smiled and wandered away, seeming a little bit off.

We smiled at each other. Our hour had almost passed and I soon had to tell goodbye to the guys and go meet two strange men who didn't seem very keen on babysitting me for the remainder of the night.

"You think I should bring them something to eat? And some coffee?" I asked.

Dave smiled and nodded, getting up to keep me company while I order the food.

I ordered burgers with fries for both Stone and Jeff, hoping they won't have any moral objections. Then I decided on one simple black coffee and one latte, and a coffee with milk for myself. Dave helped me carry the food to the car while I carried the cup holder.

"They are really lucky to get you," he noted while I was getting in the car. "I'll come see you as soon as I can."

I hugged him and we drove the entire way back in silence. When we parked at the same spot we did an hour ago, I felt hot tears in my eyes. I quickly blinked to get rid of them.

Dave hugged me tighter, making sure I didn't drop the tray with coffees with one hand.

"I hate saying goodbyes," I said, my voice suddenly weak and raspy.

"Yeah, me too. Never was good at it." He seemed sad too, or maybe just my imagination was kicking in. "I'll come see you, OK? I mean it. Be sure to stay safe and sound until then."

That was when I lost my fight agains tears.

"What kind of fucking weird name is Stone, huh?" I sobbed and we both laughed, trying to make it through the goodbye without too much damage on our reputation.

"I'm gonna walk you down there," Dave offered and I nodded. The rest of the group quickly hugged me and promised to see me again someday. Jack Irons kissed me on both cheeks and embraced me tightly. Then, he whispered: " Irons is my real name, by the way. I know you've been wondering about that all along."

We laughed, then the door buzzed and Dave escorted me to the basement.

With his hand on the handle, he hesitated. I turned my face to his, ready to ask what's wrong, when I heard what stopped him: there were hudhed voices coming from the inside, sounding as if the people speaking were rather raising them than lowering. I figured they had to shout-whisper because they were too afraid someone might hear.

I looked to Dave with a question in the eyes, wordlessly asking if we should eavesdrop. He understood what I had in mind an shrugged uncertainly, then moved closer to the door. I followed, placing the tray with drinks and bag with food on the floor.

"What the hell do you think about yourself Stone, huh?" I recognized Jeff's voice. He sounded as if he had had this conversation a couple of times before. "That's not just 'bout yourself. Not about me either. Get over it man."

"The fuck? Every time you tell me this, you do exactly what I told you not to do, and then you come to me a week later crying over how everything got fucked!"

"Sure, Stone, whatever. I'm sick of this. You know what- I wouldn't even care anymore, 'cause I should have already gotten used to it, but now it's simply not only about me and you. She needs a place to stay and I want her around. I don't need your sail of approval."

There's was a pause and I considered opening the door, then Jeff started talking again. His voice seemed more calm and tired this time, but he was talking with a slight urgency.

"Everytime there's this, everytime you and I disagree because you think you're so smart and so clever and so fucking better than everytime around you - no, let me just finish- everytime I say 'okay, whatever, let's figure this out, let's find some middle way' and everytime-everytime we do it your way because you're psyching over what could go wrong if we don't listen to you, and because you simply cannot take being not listened to. But now you don't even know that girl and you say she's no good straight away, and you say you think 'bout Andy and Chris and the band, but all you're really saying is that you're an asshole who decided he doesn't like her and that's why you're not even giving her a chance."

I slowly got the drinks and opened the door. Jeff was standing with his back turned to Stone, visibly irritated. Stone seemed upset. His eyes immediately darted to me and his lips curled in a displeased grimace.

Jeff turned to me as well, his expression guilty.

"Hey- uh, I'm.. I'm sorry."

I just shook my head and offered a weak smile. "That's okay."

Stone grabbed his guitar and a big with some things and left before I - we - could say anything, offering only a simple "See you later, I guess."

Jeff mumbled "Bye, Stone" and immediately hugged me as if he had known me for several years, almost flipping over the tray with drinks and spilling them all over ourselves.

"Jeez, I'm sorry," he said with a sort of embarrassed, apologetic smile. "I'm sometimes thinking about getting my master's in clumsiness."

"Oh, you should see me."

"Nonsense," Dave interrupted. " You guys are gonna love her. I mean, Stone's going to like you too when he spends some time with you," he added, turning to me.

"You wanna sit?" Jeff offered, motioning with one hand to the old couch. We got seated and he started talking, seeming guilty and irritated at the same time.

"I'm sorry for before, I really am. Stone's a good guy, but we have some problems between the two of us, and it's hard to figure it out. I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't actually about you.. it was a bit more personal."

"You don't have to explain. It's okay," I smiled, absolutely honest this time.

Jeff fidgeted a little with his fingers, something I had already noticed before. It seemed as if he had played some tiny imaginary guitar and I wondered if he was really unconsciously rehearsing some chords for bass which he obviously played.

"I, uh, I brought something to eat, and some coffee." I said.

"What, really?" Jeff almost yelled as if I had told him I brought Christmas presents. "You've already reached the number 1 in my most favorite person of the day list."

Dave took out the content of the paper bag and nudged me, urging me to shift a little closer to him to make some room, and placed two burgers with fries between us on the couch.

Jeff immediately grabbed one, then I handed him the latte I got for him.

"A latte?" he asked as soon as it opened it, not displeased.

"You seemed like a latte-y sort of guy," I explain simply.

"Oh, totally. Hey, was this second burger for Stone, or..? Can I eat it then as well?" He asked with a slight smile, his mouth full.

We all chuckled. While Jeff was eating, there was not much conversation. Dave hugged me with one arm and placed his chin on my shoulder, rubbing the back of my hand with his finger. I watched Jeff eat and wondered about what I had gotten myself into, recklessly agreeing to be a roommate of someone I had never met, with one of his friends obviously already hating me.

"Are you guys, like, together?" Jeff asked in between bites, interrupting my flow of thoughts.

Me and Dave both shook our heads at the same time, bumping them together painfully. Jeff burst out laughing, and we both soon joined in.

"Are you hurt?" Dave asked still laughing, rubbing his head where mine hit him. I shook my head again, more carefully this time. "Careful with that," he noted.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, turning to him, his hand still gently rested on mine. "There, let me."

I took his hand away from his head, than placed a kiss in there and smiled. Dave looked me in the face, then kissed me on the cheek, grabbed my shoulders and turned my body back to Jeff. He watched us with an amused smile, chewing his food.

" I thought you guys said you aren't a couple."

"We aren't." Dave said and placed his head again on my shoulder, one of his hands dropping down on my hip. I didn't mind, it wasn't uncomfortable, but there was nothing sexual or flirtatious in it either, which was absolutely okay with me.

Jeff finished eating and started collecting his gear, various cables and plugs and whatnot.

Dave leaned in a little bit closer, my face still not turned to his. "You know, when I told you to stop in the Dick's.. Fuck that sounds ridiculous," he chuckled. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, it wasn't really uncomfortable, it was just.. well, your hand rubbing my thigh was.. uh.. you know what I mean don't you?"

"What?"

"It was uh.. I mean it was nice, but it kind of.. distracting..?"

I finally understood and nodded. "God I'm sorry, that feels embarrassing."

"No it's OK, just.. You know. Bad timing and all," he winked at me, then silently laughed at himself and got up, making me stand up with him since I was partly sitting on him.

I wasn't really sure what to think, but then I simply shrugged in my mind, knowing it won't soon matter anyway. He was leaving, I was staying, and that meant I didn't have to start analyzing any feelings I might or might not have.

Soon after we left, Jeff carrying his bass and all his gear (well, maybe all of it, I had no idea) and my handbag, Dave carrying the black coffee which was originally meant for Stone, making disgusted faces each time he took a sip. I carried just my backpack and one cold coffee.

Jack and the guys were all arranged around the car, some of them sitting on the hood or standing around, Jakc sitting in the driver's seat with his door open. I immediately recognized Stone standing next to him, laughing and fidgeting awkwardly. Both Jeff and Dave seemed to be quite surprised to find him there too, but Jeff simply went over to him, patted his shoulder and handed him some of the leftover fries.

"Hey, Dave, buddy, I was just about to show Stone the cute video of you two lovebirds we filmed today!" one of the guys, the one with the camera, said. It didn't seem like anyone except me and Dave noticed, but then Jeff turned to him and asked: "What video?"

I quickly hushed him with and soon all the guys got in the car, realizing they had already wasted more than enough time in Seattle, certainly more than planned.

"Wait, can I get a copy of that tape? The video thing?" Jeff yelled after them when the car started to back from the parking lot.

"Sure, but can I get your address first?" Dave yelled back from the car.

Jeff started jogging along the road next to the car, dictating his address before the car drove off.

Then it was just the three of us, Stone sipping his coffee I got him, Jeff smiling wildly with his hair in his face despite the bandana. He has quite a handsome face, I thought, watching him adjust his off-shoulder top, and a nice smile too.

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kertneyk · 3 years

Text

Cute Delivery Boys

When you finally make it home, you are exhausted. Another long day, the paperwork for the academy took ages. Then you had to talk to everyone who had the monster route ahead of you and get the lowdown and map it out. Then the chief had you running all sorts of other in-office errands. Just because he knew you hated it. But the worst part of it was, you didn’t get to eat properly. You looked at the clock. 7:00. It wasn’t too late to make something, but you didn’t have any meat thawed out. And with as hungry as you were, you needed to induldge your carnivorous side tonight. Which would mean a trip to the store.

Or you could order in. You went to your wallet and took out the coupons Muffet gave you. One was buy one get one coupons for a burger and fry combo, the other was a free meal, delivery fee included; just pay tip. You look in your wallet folds, you had enough a good sized tip. And Chief Johnson did give you the weekend to integrate yourself in the monster community. What better way than by spending money? You try to talk yourself into the extravagence, you were supposed to be on a ramen diet afterall. But it isn’t nearly as difficult as you pretended it was. You are already pulling out your phone and dialing the phone number.

You really were not great with money.

You go down to the hallway closet and start pulling out some boxes while the phone rings. A very bored sounding man answers.

“This is Grillbys. Wha’ya want?” Ok....

“Um, you do delivery right?”

“Ya.”

“Ok, uh.” You think about what you actually want for a moment. “Triple cheese burger, extra onions, no mustard and a large order of chili fries. And load those babies up with cheese.”

“Tha it?”

“Yeah, I got a coupon for a free meal. You want me to read the code off the back, or just give it to the driver?”

“Read the code.” You read off your numbers.

“Ok, that’s it.”

“Sure. The address?” You rattle off your address for the guy.

“Oh! I’ll need to buzz the delivery guy in, but intercom is busted, so you’ll need to give them my number.”

“You gonna to be one of those pain’n tha ass people ar’ncha?” You laugh at his boldness. You really weren’t trying to make his night difficult.

“Not trying to I swear! But since you are gonna call me out like that, I better live up to it. Make sure to send your cutest delivery boy. Only cute guys get my number.”

“Sure thing sweetheart.” He chuckles and you hear the line click. You shake your head. Yeah, monsters were going to give you a hard time starting Monday. Until then, might as well enjoy it. You wonder mildly if they were really going to send a cute monster to you. And if so, would you find them cute? Do monsters have a standard of beauty comparable to humans? Guess you’ll find out. You go grab a shower and change into some comfier clothes. Going for a pair of shorts and tank top. You then gather up your boxes and take them to the living room.

your cell phone starts ringing. You smirk when you see the unknown number. Must be your cute delivery boy!

“Yello, this is y/n.”

“Yah, got’a delivery from Grillbys fer ya.” You are surprised by how deep the voice is on the line. You said cute delivery boy, not ‘biker gang, don’t bring him home to meet your mama’ delivery boy. Oh well, you buzz him in.

“K, I buzzed you. See you in a sec.” Click. When you hear him finally knock on your door, you grab your wallet. You only had a twenty in there, but that was fine. It was a little excessive for a delivery tip on a burger and some fries, but since monsters couldn’t drive yet he probably had to take the bus. That would have sucked.

What greeted you when you opened your door was defintely not what you were expecting.

The monster in front of you was short. Like shorter than you short. He stood at about 4’6”. He was a skeleton, like GTP; but that was where the similarities stopped. Besides being short, the guy had a row of sharp, shark-like teeth with a golden fang on one side. His dark eye sockets glowed with the light of two pin pricks of red that made up his pupils. His head was round where GTP’s what more square and sharp. And the guy liked his red. His coat, a fur-lined hooded thing was black and red, he wore a red turtle-neck and his shorts were black with a single red stripe down the side.

The thing you noticed most about the delivery boy, however, had little to do with his appearance. His magic was blinding in its power. Out of all the monsters you’d met so far, this guy was easily the strongest!

Your shock must have shown on your face because he coughed to get your attention.

“see sometin ya like sweetheart?” His flirt was half-hearted and obviously not meant. In fact, he seemed almost disgusted with himself for even attempting it.

Ok, he was pretty cute.

“Heh, well yeah. I said ‘cute delivery boy.’ Glad to see Grillby is a man of his word.” You wink at him and watch his face erupt in a crimson blush. Blushing bones are totally a thing you guess. Two out of two skeletons can do it.

“W-wha! Wha ta fuck is wrong witcha? Don’t fuckin say shit like that.” He growls at you and shoves a bag between you two. “Here, take yer fuckin food so I can go.”

“But what if I don’t want you to go? Not every day a handsome stranger knocks on my door.” You say as you dodge the bag.

“Not my problem yer an ugly human. Can’t even attract yer own kind.” He tries again, and again you manage to not take it.

“Dude, that’s so harsh!” You clutch at your heart, “You gotta be nicer to ladies. We are delicate.”

“Yer a pain in the ass is whatcha are. Take yer damn food.” He growls at you, getting extremely frustrated.

“Not until you go back to calling me sweetheart. You’re really hurting my ego.”

“I don’t give a shit, sweetheart.” The word dripping in sarcasm. Obviously, he finds you less than sweet. He finally manages to shove the bag into your hand.

“Alright, alright. You win.” You chuckle a bit and he relaxes, seeing an end to his ordeal. “Here, hold this so I can get your tip.” You wave your wallet and hand the bag back to him. It takes him a second before he realizes what just happened.

“Fuck!” You cackle, picking on poor delivery boys should be beneath you. But no one ever said you were a mature adult.

“Oh come on, don’t be sore. That was good. And I really did need an extra hand to take out the cash.” You laugh some and take the bag, handing over the twenty after. You notice in his other hand he has another bag. Must be his next stop. His face is still red as he shoves the bill in his coat pocket and stomps off. You lean out your door and wave goodbye to his back.

“Farewell oh adorable stranger. May our paths cross again!” He flips you off then vanishes down the stairs. He was cute. But really rude. And definitely a more accurate representation of the troubles you will be having interacting with monsters in the future. Of course, he might have been more receptive to your charms if you hadn’t looked at him like that. He was probably sick of people looking at him like a sideshow attraction. You decide that if you ever see him again, you would definitely be nicer. And look at him less.

Sans POV

Oh Sans was going to let Grillby have it next time he went in! Who sends Sans the Skeleton to play delivery boy with a fuckin pervert human? Cute! She said he was cute! Lying shit bag human! Skeletons weren’t fuckin cute.

And so fucking bold too! Most people avert their eyes when they are caught staring at him. Oh no! Not this bitch. When he called you out, he just made it worse! He fumes as he thinks about it.

He takes the turn around your apartment building and then shortcuts back home. He kicks his shoes off in the entryway and slams the bag on the table.

He should have known Grillby was up to no good when he brought Sans a bag of free food. He had been nursing a bottle of mustard, unable to afford his usual tonight. Boss had cracked down on what money Sans was allowed to carry, and Grillz had closed out his tab when they all came up to the surface. So when Grillz said all Sans had to do was deliver a burger to a dumb human, and he would even get to keep the tip, Sans said sure. It was just one human. Well, never again. He was never do any more shitty fucking deliveries for shitty fucking humans. He is interupted from his thoughts by his phone. That was odd, Boss was havin another cooking competition at Undyne’s. Hopefully they weren’t asking him to come and judge. He shudders as he checks the message.

Unknown: Hey, this is the girl you just delivered to. I was rude, sorry.

BZZT

Unknown: Question though? Did I insult your boss when I ordered my burger no mustard? Cause.... it looks like I did.

BZZT

Unknown: Seriously, it looks like I have a hit out on me from a mustard loving monster mafia.

The next text is a picture of his regular. A burger and fries, everything absolutely covered in mustard. Shit! He grabs the bag on the table and rips it open. The fries in this bag coated in chili and cheese. He gave her the wrong bag! Tch, not his problem. He could always scrap off the chili and he has mustard here he could put on his own burger.

BZZT

Unknown: It’s everywhere! Oh god, the poor burger, it’s bleeding mustard.

BZZT

Unknown: This is downright disrespectful.

Another picture of the burger, but with a little handwritten RIP sign held above it. He can’t help but snicker a little.

Sans: wrong bag. deal with it

BZZT

Unknown: Oh good, you can get texts. I was worried for a second that I was texting the void.

BZZT

Unknown: I did see you had another bag in your hand. Could I meet you somewhere to swap? I was really excited about the chili on my fries.

Sans: no learn 2 like mustard

BZZT

Unknown: Dude, that is cold.

BZZT

Unknown: Cold like the corpse of this mustard burger. Is it even a burger? All I see is mustard.

BZZT

Unknown: Please save me from condiment hell!

Sans: why should i

BZZT

Unknown: Besides the fact that you would be helping a beautiful stranger?

BZZT

Unknown: Kidding! Don’t answer that. My ego probably couldn’t take whatever terrible response you were writing.

BZZT

Unknown: I am officially out of cash now, but I would owe you one. I really don’t want to have to call back to the restaruant.

Sans palms his face, sighing loudly. It wouldn’t take much to go back and exchange the bags. And Grillby would probably charge him for the burger if he had to make another. He reads the last message again, smirking as he does. You said you would ‘owe him one’ it would be nice to have a human owe him something for a change. Make you do something embarrassing. Or maybe just make you go to Grillbys yourself. See how you like it when everyone stares at you.

Sans: fine. U owe me. ur place couple min

BZZT

Unknown: YAS! I shall await your return!

#Non-cannon fanfic #underfell #underfell sans #takeout mixup #failed flirts #blushy bones #just having fun #bonus content #look i'm using tumblr for my intended purpose

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kuronekonerochan · 4 years

Text

The laziest compilation of thoughts about the mess that was Alice (spoilers)

I finish a lot of shitty dramas. Like a lot. I could review them, but I won’t bc there’s too many and I’m too lazy (when you ff some dramas from 45min to 5 per episode it doesn’t really count as watching too many dramas bc it’s really a commercial break, lol). Some I watch for the so bad it’s good content, or love hate watching or just to have something to watch while I eat, even if they’re boring af. It’s also a tiny bit of ocd bc I need to see how they end (even the ones I drop I check out the finale). I only drop the ones that as Marie Kondo says *Do Not Spark Joy, more specifically...annoy me and make me cranky.

I sometimes bitch about it on DMs with ranty spoilers without structure and that reference other unrelated dramas or shows, because ADHD and my mind refuses to stay on topic, which would make it probably unintelligible except if you are in the niche who happens to have watched the other unrelated dramas, so it’s probably useless as a review.

That said, here are some random disconnected thoughts about Alice.

MAJOR SPOILER ALERTS BEWARE

(this is like partly copypaste of DM rants bc I am that lazy biatch. Also, fair warning I will seem super harsh or this drama because that’s the thing about a bitching dm versus a proper review... I am not bringing up all the points and talking about the good and what I liked as well as the bad, it’s just the bad...and although the drama is imo a mess, it does have some good in it. So if it were a review I’d always argue pros and cons...ranty thoughs who cares about pros? boring..I will not be bothered with devil’s advocate).

This was fascinating to watch, interesting but not good... but like a trainwreck.

I continued watching this mess despite the headache inducing convoluted plot (I watched a lot of timetravel stuff and I love it...encompassing all the theories about it, from butterfly effect, to effectively changing the future (with characters forgetting it or keeping it in memory because “eye of the storm” theory, the “efforts are futile and you can try to change it but the future is set in stone”, to “small changes can be made but big events are fixed points in time”, to “every change creates a new time line” and multiverse, etc... and trust me, all of them can be done well when well written or turn out a confusing illogical mess and that has nothing to do with the theory chosen, but with presenting how time travel works for that story and what the basic rules are and sticking to them...or when something happens that contradicts them, come up with an explanation as to why that happens.

I don’t mean the drama should be an exposition borefest with too much pseudosciency jargon...but this drama gives you too little in the way of rules and the viewers sort of figure out how timetravel works (which is not bad per se, huge fan of show don’t tell...but there’s a limit to how much they cannot tell or the characters chose not to ask just for the sake of plot and not without any logic to it). Anyways, the little “rules” that we gather along the way...the writing doesn’t stick to them and keeps contradicting itself without addressing or explaining it and hoping we’re so confused we don’t notice. Some dramas you just say “eh, forget it, it doesn’t make sense, let’s turn off our brains and enjoy it”, but here if I wanted to try and follow what was going on at all it required “brain on” mode for their convoluted plot twists...which also made me aware of so may plotholes the time road should have looked like Swiss Cheese. I could go into them...but I cannot be bothered and the list would be extensive and still incomplete, so I will just put 3 here bc I can’t help it:

1) Hot Daddy with emotional turmoil the entire drama of “Oh no, I abandoned her in 92 and regretted it, it happened 1 year ago for me, and now I find out she died in 2010. How was she, did she suffer? What did she know? Oh god, if only I were a time traveler eventually going rogue who could show up and talk to her any time in the timeline between 92 and 2010...Alas, I have to live in misery with the consequences of my actions...there is just ABSOLUTELY no way of solving this. I guess I’ll just keep making unauthorized time travel journeys from 2050′s time agency back to the year of 2020 and only 2020 to constantly be blindsided by murder attempts on everyone everywhere without having a clue to what’s going on when I could simply go back to before 2010 and talk to the one person who is proven to know what is going on.” Here is where there could be a bullshit reason as to why he could go only go to 2020 and not before, but the drama didn’t even bother.

2) They say Tae Yi’s mom was originally a time traveler who settled with her physicist dad in the past, eventually making way for her to discover time travel herself. The mom is missing and this is never addressed again.

3) The book...who wrote it? Because I have guesses but they never outright answer it... and if the biatch author knew that stuff why the alice in wonderland stupid analogies?

Coward, or petty, or both.... or maybe just a chaos gremlin godlike entity who wanted to watch them all squirm, like the author from Extraordinary You...and that I could get behind, but sadly they don’t go that metaphysical/theological with the plot...which is honestly the main problem with this drama. It seems ambitious in concept but it’s never explored decently in any way, not in the pseudoscience, not in the philosophical sense of the meaning of time/space/existence, not even in its relationships, with the constant back and forth and weirdness of it.

Besides the timetravel migraine, we had the weirdest directing, that made the relationship between the leads feel a bit too incesty...which was the main reason I kept watching this drama...morbid curiosity of how they wrapped up this mess of a plot AND especially the relationship payoff...would it keep being weird with trope romance drama scenes like the female lead and second female lead facing off and being jealous, or that weird hair washing that felt more sensual than maternal? I knew it wouldn’t happen but my inner chaos gremlin wanted kdramaland to grow some balls and go full “predestination: oedipus edition” with this mess. Alas they sort of did, mostly didn’t. Even that angle was a whole inconsistent mess: there were times where it felt too romantic, then for a short minute I misguidedly shipped the journalist friend, then it seemed the dude was ace, then they calmed their tits with the whole weird romantic vibes and it got platonic cute, then with the memory merge thing finally motherly vibes, then I shipped the journalist again for 1 sec only...and then the ending:

Alice ended with the lead solving every problem by shooting himself (technically) in the head...and that's the second meta perfectly fitting ending for a drama with a good cast and terrible writing that drove itself into a corner this year, after the sleepless princess ended with the leads jumping off a cliff. I don't think it's a self aware choice of the writers, or an admission that they themselves know it was bad, but the irony is delicious.

Spoiler for the ending: he undoes timey wimey stuff from when his mom first got killed in high school and closed the time travel door. So he became an architect and new Tae Yi just woke up in her bed remembering everything, but in reality she had just come back from a conference abroad and had never met him. So mom TaeYi didn't die then, but never got back on screen after the time undo so who the f knows what happened to her.

Also, if new Tae Yi remembers, does that mean hot daddy from the future does as well, but he is just stuck in the future without a time door to ever see them again? The drama doesn’t care answering that and forgets his character is even a thing...I will miss you, my fave who looked emotionally and literally constipated 24/7 (it doesn’t care answering much at all tbf... a little known fact about the time travel paradoxes according to the physics of this world is that besides doppelganger chickenpox it induces severe lazy writing).

Anyways new Tae Yi went looking for architect (? okay...I guess) ML after she woke up, at first he didn't remember her, but it ends with him meeting her, apparently remembering her and they stare at each other... you know, like any bad traditional romantic kdrama finale....so there is still THAT vibe.

Honestly, the usual romantic ballad score for scenes between the leads WAS NOT the most intelligent choice for this drama in specific but boy did they stick with it (not to mention the ending song... that goes, in english “we be like Bonnie and Clyde we ride or die...which...k, sure)...so technically the ending was exactly the cliche post amnesia running back to each other and staring for the final scene while romantic music blasts trope. Take it as you will.

#alice #sbs alice #kdrama #mine #kdrama edit #kdrama rant #kdrama rambles #sleepless princess #cdrama #just the reference tho #alice kdrama #alice sbs

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whumphoarder · 4 years

Text

Long Distance Dadding

Summary: Peter gets sick while babysitting Morgan at the lake house and Tony is a Worried Dad™ about it.

Word count: 5,172

Genre: Sickfic, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff & angst

A/N: Mega thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss or beta reading and ideas <3

(This story is set about a year and a half after the snap's reversal. Peter is 18 and in college and Morgan is 6)

Link to read on Ao3

The trouble with saving the world from the largest global disaster to date, Tony finds, is that no one ever shuts up about it.

“Okay, not to sound like an ass or anything...” Tony begins, already eliciting an eye-roll from his wife, “but I’ve already been given a Nobel Peace Prize, the Congressional Medal of Honor, three Victoria Crosses—British, Australian, and Canadian—a Russian Gold Star, a Chinese Hero's Medal, the Gold Cross of Zimbabwe, and about twelve other various countries’ awards. Why do I need to go to Morocco of all places now?”

“Because they built you a monument, Tony,” Pepper explains for the third time, her tone a bit exasperated. “There’s a two-hundred foot tall statue of you in their capital city, waiting to be ceremoniously revealed.”

Raising his hands to chest height, Tony wiggles his fingers—both the flesh and prosthetic ones—in a jazz hand gesture. “Oooh...a statue,” he mocks. “I’m titillated.”

Pepper snorts. “You’d better have mustered up some titillation by the time you shake hands with the Moroccan Prime Minister this weekend.”

“This weekend?” Tony balks. “We can’t go this weekend. Morgan’s got her… uh…”—he flaps his hand, trying to recall just what tedious elementary school obligation the first-grader has coming up next—“her snowman... ball… thingy.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean the ‘Seasonal Snowflake Sing-along’?”

His face lights up and he snaps his fingers in recognition. “That’s the one!”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she laughs sardonically. “Earlier today, Morgan’s teacher called to let me know that our daughter has flat-out refused to participate this year. Something about itchy costumes, boring songs, and ‘child talent exploitation’—did you teach her that term by the way? Because I certainly didn’t and Ms. Sanchez was pretty ruffled about it.”

Tony has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep the grin from spreading across his lips. He shrugs innocently. “You know, it’s important to start building a child’s vocabulary as early as possible. All the experts agree.”

Pepper heaves out a deep sigh, but Tony can see the smile in her eyes. She leans in and pecks his cheek with a kiss. “Go pack for Morocco, Tony. Peter already agreed to babysit. And besides”—she whispers the next part in his ear, her fingers trailing over the collar of his shirt—“I don’t know about you, but I think we could do with a weekend to ourselves…”

“Well…” Tony clears his throat, feeling himself melting under her touch. “You always did know how to make a compelling argument, Ms. Potts.”

“So, Morocco, huh?” Peter says with a grin as he loads his duffle bag into the backseat of the car. Tony’s parked in the loading zone just outside of Peter’s residence hall at MIT that Thursday evening. “What’s going on over there?”

“Just another stupid award ceremony,” Tony grumbles. He moves back around to the driver’s side. “Gonna cut a big red ribbon, shake metal hands with some dignitaries, attend a couple of fancy banquets, yada yada…”

Breathing out a short laugh, Peter plops down into the passenger seat. He looks a bit haggard, though Tony can’t blame him; the first semester of college is always rough. Hopefully the long-weekend away will help.

Throughout the four-hour drive to the lake house, they chat about Peter’s classes (“You know, they told us in high school that college was going to be so much stricter, Mr. Stark, but there was literally a kid in my English class who started making grilled cheese sandwiches on a hotplate and selling them during the lecture and the professor bought one”), the new people he’s been meeting (“Pretty sure my roommate is in a cult, actually...”), and extracurricular activities (“Did you know if you take fencing, archery, pistol shooting, and sailing, you can become a certified pirate?”). Eventually, they run out of things to catch up on and Peter starts looking drowsy, so Tony turns on the radio for some background music and they continue on like that for a while.

Three hours in, Tony’s forced to stop for gas. Peter is sleeping soundly, curled up in his hoodie for the whole time it takes to fill the car. For a moment, Tony’s tempted to just let him be, but given that this will likely be their last opportunity for a break until they’re home he ultimately decides against it.

“Hey Pete?” Tony says, shaking the kid’s shoulder a bit to rouse him. “Did you wanna stretch your legs or anything?”

Peter blinks awake and shifts to sit up straighter with a small groan. “How far are we?” he mutters.

“Another hour at least, but I thought we might get some late dinner too,” Tony replies. “There’s an Arby’s right across the street.”

Peter’s face screws up into a grimace. “Ugh, Arby’s is the worst. It’s like, a wad of salty meat on a bun.”

“But with sauce,” Tony points out. Seeing Peter’s expression doesn’t change, he amends, “Alright no Arby’s. McDonald’s? They’ve got a new McFlurry flavor for the holidays I think.”

Peter gives a tired shrug, then curls back up against the window. “You can just get something for yourself. I’m not very hungry.”

Tony eyes him suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done to Peter?”

“Hilarious, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans. Then, after a moment, he admits, “My stomach’s kinda hurting.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Yeah?”

Rubbing at his gut one-handedly, Peter nods. “Yeah, since lunch. Probably shouldn’t have tried convenience store sushi...”

Tony snorts a bit. “Well, they do say a key part of college is experimentation and learning from your mistakes.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Awesome. Maybe I’ll join Martin’s cult next.”

They make it the rest of the way to the lake house without incident. Morgan’s already asleep, so Peter hangs out in the kitchen chatting with Tony and Pepper for a bit before turning in to the guest bedroom for the night.

Peter seems fine the next morning, if a little groggy. Their flight to Morocco leaves at 6:30, but both kids are up at stupid o’clock in the morning to send them off.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna go to your concert thing tonight?” Tony tries one last time as he encircles Morgan in both his flesh and prosthetic arms for a goodbye hug.

She shakes her head firmly. “Every time we practice Jingle Bells, Keegan makes farting noises with his mouth and the vein in Ms. Sanchez’s neck gets really big and red,” she says. “Peter’s more fun.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony agrees. He pecks her on the cheek before turning to Peter, who’s blinking tiredly and sipping at a mug of coffee as he leans against the kitchen island. “Now, are you sure you’re up for a whole weekend of this?” He gestures to the energetic six-year-old in front of him.

“I think we’ll manage,” Peter says with a small smile. “If she gets too crazy, I’ll just web her to the wall.”

“Hey!” Morgan complains, and Peter sticks his tongue out at her in return.

Tony chuckles. “Sure, do what you gotta do,” he allows. “Just don’t get it in her hair—hate to have to cut it off. The Valentine’s Day sing-along is up next.”

“Uuuuggghh,” Morgan groans dramatically.

Despite all of Tony’s protests, he has to admit that Morocco is pretty gorgeous. There are definitely worse places to be honored with a gigantic statue.

“I’m just saying, I think the chin was too big,” Tony complains as they make their way back to their hotel room following the ceremony that evening.

Huffing out a little laugh, Pepper shakes her head. “I’m sure they did their best, Tony.”

“But of all the things to get wrong, why’d it have to be the chin?” he goes on, though there’s no real heat there. “I mean, c’mon, this whole thing is about the defeat of Mr. Purple Ballsack Face—they could have a bit more sensitivity…”

While Pepper heads off to the shower, Tony glances at his watch. It’s just after one a.m. Moroccan time, meaning Peter and Morgan are probably finishing up dinner back at home. He figures that’s as good a time as any to check in, so he calls Peter’s phone.

Four rings later, a small voice that definitely doesn’t belong to the teenager answers the call. “Hello?”

Tony frowns. “Morgan?”

“Oh! Hi Daddy,” Morgan greets, her tone going much brighter. “How’s your trip going? Do you like maracas?”

Tony chuckles a bit. “Sweetheart, I keep telling you, Mommy and I are in Morocco. A maraca is a musical instrument that you shake to make noise.”

“Can you buy me one?”

“One of what?”

She giggles. “A maraca!”

“No, honey, listen to me.” Tony runs a hand over his face. Maybe Pepper was right about the whole needing a vacation thing after all. “Maracas are not Moroccan. They don’t make them here. It’s a totally different thing.”

“Oh.” There’s a beat. “Can you buy me one anyway?”

“I don’t know—we’ll see,” Tony says, shaking his head slowly. “Hey, can I talk to Peter for a sec?”

“Uh…” Morgan hesitates. “Peter can’t come to the phone right now.”

Tony frowns. “Why’s that?”

“He’s throwing up,” she says simply.

“Morgan!” he hears Peter groan irritably in the background.

“What?” she demands, speaking away from the phone now. “You told me to talk to him for you, so I am.”

“But you weren’t supposed to tell—” Peter’s voice is cut off by the sound of retching, followed by the faint sound of liquid splashing.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is Peter throwing up?”

“He’s sick,” Morgan reports. “We were playing before, but then he said he didn’t feel good and his stomach hurt so we were just watching Wreck-It Ralph for a while. Then I said I wanted taquitos for dinner and he threw up on my Elsa blanket. It was really gross. But he said he was sorry, so I told him it was okay.” She pauses her rambling for a second. “We can wash it, right Daddy? Like that time I spilled all the yogurt on it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the blanket will be fine,” Tony says absently. He’s already scrolling through his calendar app to figure out just how many Moroccan obligations they have left to attend. “Can you give the phone to Peter now, please?” he requests. “And then go to the kitchen and see if you can find him a can of Sprite, okay? Maybe some crackers too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Morgan agrees.

He hears shuffling over the line, which he assumes is the phone being passed between them, immediately followed by the sound of Morgan’s footsteps hurrying out of the room. A second later, Peter’s voice croaks, “Sorry, ’m fine, Mr. Stark. And Morgan was watching another movie. Got everything…“—he swallows hard—“handled.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Very convincing. I’m sure Elsa agrees.”

“Elsa had it coming, honestly,” Peter grouses. “Those songs always get stuck... stuck in my—” He burps sickly, and then Tony hears the phone clatter onto the tile followed by more muffled retching and splashing noises.

Tony sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. So much for vacation. He fires off a quick text to Happy: Hey, you busy tonight?

As Peter continues to retch, three dots appear on the screen indicating Happy is typing. Are you in a foreign prison again?

For the last time, Slovakia was not my fault, Tony retorts.

A second later Happy texts: Keep telling yourself that.

Tony hears the toilet flush and the sound of the phone being picked up again. Peter’s voice, shakier now, comes back over the line, “Uh… you still there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it,” Tony says briskly. “Bathrooms have the best acoustics, you know.”

“That’s really gross...” Peter mutters.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to talk about gross right now, puke-boy,” Tony retorts as he fires off another text to Happy: Got a situation. How soon can you get to the lake house?

Happy’s reply comes a few seconds later: I’m watching Iron Chef America and doing laundry, Tony. It’s my day off.

Tony counters with, The kids are home alone and Peter just decided to reenact The Exorcist

The three dots appear, then disappear. Then they appear again a moment later, followed by a message: I can be there in 2 hours

You’re the best, boo <3, Tony shoots back. To Peter he informs, “Happy’s on his way.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Peter protests. “It’s just food poisoning or something…”

Tony scoffs. “Well, either way, someone who isn’t busy puking should probably be keeping an eye on the little troublemaker.” He pauses for a beat. “And Morgan too.”

Peter just groans.

In the background, Tony hears the telltale pattering of small feet on the tile. “I couldn’t reach the crackers, so I got you Doritos!” she announces.

Peter’s voice is hesitant. “Oh. Uh… thanks.”

There’s the sound of a crinkling bag moving closer to the phone. “They’re Cool Ranch flavor!”

Immediately, Peter starts gagging again.

Tony heaves out a sigh. It’s gonna be a long night.

After filling his wife in on the developments back on the home front (and being assured by Happy that he was keeping tabs on the situation as he made his way to the lake house), both Tony and Pepper decide they should try to get some shut-eye before their packed day tomorrow.

Pepper falls asleep straight away, clearly exhausted from their full day of travel and social obligations, but Tony finds himself tossing and turning on the overly-soft hotel mattress. It’s not until Happy texts that he’s safely arrived at the lake house to assume his uncle duties that Tony finally manages to drift off.

It doesn’t last long.

It’s barely 4:30 in the morning when Tony’s roused from his sleep by his phone vibrating under the pillow. He pulls the device out to see a message from Happy:

Kid’s had his appendix out already, right?

Being mindful of his sleeping wife beside him, Tony holds the phone just inside the duvet to shield the glowing screen from waking her. Yeah, before the snap, when he was 16, he replies, his mind going back to Halloween night seven years ago. A frantic and babbling Ned somehow managed to hack into Karen’s communication systems to inform Tony that Peter was more or less dying on the bathroom floor. An emergency surgery later, Peter’s been one appendix lighter ever since.

Why? Tony adds. Is it that bad?

Nah, just checking, Happy says. He says he’s alright but he’s running a fever and his stomach’s hurting a lot

Tony frowns. How high’s the fever?

Not very high. 100.9. It’s probably just a bug then

Yeah, probably, Tony agrees, despite the nagging worry in his gut. How’s Morgan taking it?

Just put her to bed, Happy reports. She kept trying to bring Peter juice pops until he finally ate one. Puked it up again ten minutes later. Don’t think nursing is her calling in life

Tony huffs out a short laugh as he types: Nope

Happy follows up with: Alright, I think I’ll try to get Sir Barfs-a-lot to bed now

Godspeed, Hap, Tony replies.

Then he slides the phone back under his pillow, pulls the covers up around his chin, and doesn’t sleep a wink.

“Look, I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but we can’t just bail on six dignitaries, Tony,” Pepper says in exasperation. She’s standing in front of the bathroom vanity, door ajar as she finishes straightening her hair. “We have two meetings this morning and a luncheon scheduled with the royal family at two.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know…” he sighs. “I’m probably overreacting, it’s just…” he trails off.

It’s eight o’clock now, meaning the time is currently two a.m. back in New York. According to Happy’s last text, Peter managed to make it to bed around midnight and though he was still in a fair amount of pain, he hadn’t vomited for a few hours. Objectively, Happy did seem to have everything pretty well handled, but Tony still can’t shake the feeling that this might be something more than a virus.

Returning the sigh, Pepper unplugs the flat iron and sets it on the counter before walking over. “It’s just that your kid is sick, so you’re gonna be a worried dad about it anyway,” she concludes for him. “Am I right?”

“Guilty.” Tony gives her a sheepish smile. “Guess I’m getting soft in my old age...”

Pepper wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, and plants a gentle kiss to his lips. “Yeah, you are,” she agrees. “But don’t change. It’s a good look on you.”

They kiss for another few seconds before Pepper pulls back. “Well, the good news is, I’ve gotten quite good over the years at attending social obligations in your stead.” She gives his shoulders a squeeze. “You go do what you gotta do.”

With Pepper’s blessing, Tony leaves the jet and most of his luggage at the hotel with her, opting to just fly home in the Iron Man suit instead. It’s partly to ensure Pepper has a ride home in place, and partly so that he can shave an hour or two off the flight time. Even then, it’ll be a good five hours before he’s back, which gives him more than enough time to stress.

Sometime around the half-way point, Tony is soaring over the Atlantic when FRIDAY interrupts his thoughts. “Boss, you have an incoming call from Happy Hogan.”

“Put him through,” Tony says immediately.

A second later, Happy’s gruff voice comes over the speakers. “Got any extra sheets somewhere?” he says by way of greeting.

Tony grimaces. “So it’s one of those nights, huh?”

“Oh yeah, we’re having a blast,” Happy grumbles tiredly. His voice has a slight echo to it, indicating he’s in the bathroom. “Kid’s also wearing a pair of your pajamas now—hope you’re not too attached because the way this night’s been going, I foresee more casualties.”

Worriedly, Tony diverts more power to his thrusters. “The linen closet is in the hall by the master bedroom—should be some extra sheets in there,” he informs. “How’s his fever?”

“Holding steady around 101. He looks pretty miserable though.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Hang on.”

There’s some movement and a few muffled words from Happy’s end before Peter’s voice rasps out a very pathetic sounding, “Yeah?”

Tony winces in sympathy. “Yikes, kid...” he says as lightly as he can manage.

“I threw up in bed,” Peter admits, his voice thick. “’m really sorry. I was tryin’ to get up, but moving made my stomach hurt more and then I just…” He trials off, sniffling slightly. “And now Happy says you’re flying home early and, and... I’m just really, really sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony interrupts over the kid’s emotional rambling. “It happens, no big deal, okay? And honestly, Pepper’s much better at the whole decorum thing than I am, so the Moroccan royal family is better off with her anyway.”

A small, dismayed noise issues from Peter’s throat. “The royal family?” he whines. “Mr. Stark…”

“It’s just fancy tea with old people,” Tony assures. “Boring as hell, I promise. You’re doing me a favor.”

“God. I’ve gotta be the worst babysitter ever,” Peter moans sadly. “Zero stars on Yelp. You should give Happy my fifteen bucks an hour...”

Tony huffs out a single laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him a nice fruit basket when this is over. Chocolate covered strawberries and all that.”

Over the line, Tony can hear heavy footsteps on the tile. “Sheets are changed,” Happy says, his voice muffled.

“Thanks,” Peter croaks back. Into the phone, he says, “Um, I’m gonna go back to bed now.”

Tony hums in affirmation. “That’s good. Try and sleep, alright?”

“‘Kay,” Peter says. Then, in a very small voice, he adds, “Uh...I’m really glad you’re coming home, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s heart aches. “Yeah. I am too, kid,” he says softly.

By the time Tony’s boots touch down in the yard, the sun has just come up over the lake house, clearing the early morning fog. He retracts his armor and heads into the house, legs wobbly from the lengthy flight.

He finds Morgan and Happy sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The six-year-old immediately jumps up to greet him.

“Daddy!” she exclaims, racing over. Tony stoops down and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

“Hey pumpkin,” he greets, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You’re up early.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t wanna sleep anymore. I wanted to see if Peter was better.”

“Is he?” Tony asks.

Morgan shrugs again. “I dunno, he was sleeping and Uncle Happy said I couldn’t wake him up ‘cus he’s sick. So we were gonna make pancakes, but Uncle Happy couldn’t find the pancake flipper,” she says with a pout. “So he was gonna use a fork. But then he dropped the eggs on the floor and they got broken and he said a bad word and now we’re eating cereal instead.”

His eyes flick up to Happy, who’s finishing off a bowl of raisin bran and looking at least as exhausted as Tony feels.

Since Peter is still sleeping, Happy and Morgan head out to feed Gerald and run some errands while Tony heads to his own room for a quick shower and change of clothes. Once he’s done, he pours himself a cup of coffee and heads to the guest room where he finds Peter curled up in bed, a lined trash can beside him.

“Aw, kid…” Tony breathes out as he approaches the bed. Even in his sleep, Peter’s brow is beaded with sweat and his face is pinched in pain.

He straightens out the kid’s covers and watches him for a few moments, taking in the rise and fall of his chest and his fever-flushed cheeks before sinking down into an armchair beside the bed.

Only a few minutes into his silent vigil, the combination of jet lag and sleepless nights catches up with him and Tony finds himself nodding off.

It’s the sound of whimpering that pulls Tony from his sleep thirty minutes later. His eyelids flutter open to see Peter curled up on the bed, arms circled around his stomach and eyes red and wet with tears.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Tony says in alarm. He quickly moves over to sit on the edge of Peter’s mattress, a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but the movement of the bed only makes Peter moan. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Stomach r-really hurts,” Peter manages to choke out. “‘S like, stabbing me.”

A fresh wave of worry washes over Tony. “Where does it hurt?” he asks. Cautiously, Peter hovers a hand over his lower right side, causing Tony’s eyes to widen. “Kid...” he begins.

“But-But it can’t be that!” Peter protests. “I already had it out. It’s gone, it’s—” He cuts himself off with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Does it feel like it though?” Tony presses. “Like your appendix did?”

Without opening his eyes, Peter nods hesitantly. “Yeah, exactly like that. But it can’t be,” he insists, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. “It’s gone.”

“True, but you’ve got plenty of other organs in there that could be going haywire,” Tony points out. He makes a beckoning gesture at Peter’s stomach. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Peter lifts the hem of his shirt up to expose his abdomen. His lower belly appears slightly swollen and the skin is flushed a light pink. As carefully as he can manage, Tony presses his fingertips to a spot about four inches down diagonally to the right of the kid’s navel.

Peter instantly gasps. He clamps a hand around Tony’s wrist, startling him. “Stop, stop, please,” he begs.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says, quickly releasing the pressure. But rather than relieving the pain, Peter cries out and curls even more into himself.

“That’s it—we’re going to the hospital,” Tony decides, already pulling out his phone to fire off a text to Happy. “Appendix or not, this is obviously something.”

Tellingly, Peter doesn’t argue. He just squeezes his eyes shut and gives a teary nod.

It takes a few minutes just to get the kid to uncurl enough to sit up, and then once he is up, he’s so nauseous that it’s another several minutes of hanging over the trash can and swallowing convulsively before he manages to get to his feet. The walk to the car is slow and shaky, with Tony bearing most of his weight. Thankfully, they’re less than half an hour from the lake house to the nearest SHIELD base, and they are equipped with a full Medical facility—something that definitely factored into Tony’s decision to purchase this particular property.

(Retired or not, he’s still a goddamn worrywart.)

Peter is lying curled up in the backseat, and Tony keeps stealing glances at him through the rearview mirror. The kid whimpers quietly with each bump in the road and every turn elicits a low moan.

“Almost there, kiddo,” Tony promises him. “Just fifteen more minutes.”

But only three minutes later, he hears Peter inhale a sharp breath, then suddenly go quiet.

“Pete? Still with me?” Tony asks worriedly, glancing up at the mirror. He’s half-expecting to see that the kid’s passed out, but instead finds Peter looking infinitely less tense than he did a moment ago.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out. “It just hurt really bad for a second, but then it stopped hurting? Not all the way, but it’s a lot better now. Like, a lot better.”

Tony’s heart drops as one thought screams in his mind: something fucking ruptured.

“That’s, uh… that’s good Peter,” he says shakily as he presses the gas pedal to the floor. “Just hang in there, okay?”

A gurney is waiting for Peter outside when they pull into the SHIELD base and he is immediately rushed to an examination room. But when the test results are inconclusive and his fever spikes to nearly 104, the doctors decide that exploratory surgery is their best bet to figure out what’s going on.

Tony spends most of the next three hours in the waiting room on his phone. First, he manages to get a hold of May in the middle of her shift. He gives her the lowdown while simultaneously sending a wildly expensive Uber to pick her up and drive her to the base.

Next, he calls Happy, who is currently at an indoor butterfly farm with his awe-struck niece. “Fucking knew something was wrong,” Happy sighs in response when Tony tells him.

Morgan talks to him for a few minutes, expressing both her heartfelt concern for Peter and the overwhelming joy she experienced when a very pretty purple butterfly landed on her arm a few minutes ago.

Tony can’t help but love her for it. Morgan might come across calloused or unfazed at times, but between the blip’s reversal, the defeat of Thanos, and seeing her dad’s long and arduous recovery process following the loss of his arm, she’s lived through more trauma in her six years than most people do in several decades. He’s glad that she’s usually able to find happiness regardless.

It’s around that time that Tony’s adrenaline fades enough for him to realize just how much his wrist is aching from where Peter grabbed it and rolls up his sleeve to reveal purple bruises. He’s pretty sure nothing is broken, but quietly gets an ice pack from the nurse anyway to press to the injury, sick at the thought of how much Peter had to be hurting to do that.

Tony calls Pepper—who has just finished up her royal luncheon—and finally lets himself fluster out properly.

She manages to talk him down from the panic attack that’s threatening to overtake him just in time for the doors leading back into the OR to swing open and Bruce to emerge.

“I’ll call you back, Pep,” Tony ends the call abruptly. Then hurries over to his friend, stomach in knots. “How’d it go? Is he alright?” he asks anxiously.

Holding up a hand, Bruce clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “Okay, first of all, I’d just like to say that the surgeons are just finishing up and Peter is, for the most part, fine.”

Tony instantly breathes out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god…”

“But, uh, for the second thing...” Bruce goes on, gesturing to one of the waiting room chairs. “You might want to sit down.”

“It grew back?!” Peter balks at them.

It’s been about five hours since his surgery now and the kid is finally lucid enough to take part in the absurd medical conversation surrounding his unprecedented case. Bruce, Tony, and May attempted to explain the situation earlier, but Peter hadn’t been able to keep up and ended up nodding off straight into his jello cup, so they’re on round two now.

“Well… sort of,” Bruce explains, adjusting his glasses. “When you got un-blipped, your cells were reconstructed, same as everyone else who came back. But since your mutated DNA regenerates your cells at an expedited rate, they somehow took that process a step further and managed to restore your body to, uh…” He flaps a hand, searching for the correct term.

“...to factory settings,” Tony finishes for him. He huffs humorously. “Congrats, kid. You’ve gotta be the only person in history to have their appendix burst twice.”

Peter groans. “Awesome. Parker Luck strikes again...”

May tuts and hits his shoulder playfully.

“You’ll be on heavy antibiotics for a while,” Bruce continues. “Luckily, the rupture occurred very close to the time of your surgery, so peritonitis didn’t have time to set in yet. The surgeons flushed out your abdominal cavity as best they could and hopefully the combination of the medication and your enhanced healing will be enough to prevent another infection.”

“So don’t jinx it,” May concludes firmly. She ruffles her nephew’s curls.

Morgan and Happy appear in the doorway a few moments later. Tony gets up, ready to remind the little girl that she needs to be gentle with Peter since he’s still recovering, but it seems as though Happy’s already given her that talk because rather than bounding over, she tiptoes into the room, arms held behind her back.

“Hi Peter,” Morgan greets. “Does your tummy feel better now?”

“Yeah, a lot,” Peter assures her with a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Good.” From behind her back, she produces a colorful wooden instrument and shakes it. “Uncle Happy and I bought you a Morocco!”

Running a hand over his face, Tony lets out a long sigh.

God, he loves these kids.

Link to all my fics!

If you're interested in reading the full story of the first time Peter's appendix ruptured, check out my previous work: Ned the Dumbwaiter

Or, for more sick Peter at the lake house with Tony and Morgan, try: Dad Level: 3000

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

#sick peter parker #irondad fic #morgan stark #Peter Parker & tony stark #lake house #serious illness #surgery #appendicitis #babysitting #peter parker needs a hug #tony stark has a heart #my fic #irondad & spiderson #vomiting #hurt/comfort #peter parker whump #whump

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socialmediasocrates · 4 years

Text

hi i’m back, i’m bored, and i’m still hungry so let’s make some savory oatmeal

Some things of note: -toasting the oats is always a good idea if you have the pan and the patience, because it’ll give real nice roasty toasty flavors to your oatmeal yum -as with any recipe, salt and pepper this to your personal tastes -a lot of recipes will recommend dredging chicken in flour before searing it but i have had absolutely shit results with that so i don’t do it -any time i’m recommending frying something, i’m using olive oil! that is my preferred frying fat, except in some cases where i will use bacon fat or lard (i fry my chicken wings in lard don’t @ me i’m not taking criticism) you can use any that you prefer! it’s your life! -you can make this recipe with grits too if that’s what you’ve got on hand or if you’re one of those people that won’t even consider savory oatmeal

recipe under the cut, along with other suggestions

So for this you will need: -oatmeal; the cheap unflavored kind; i use quaker oats -chicken breast, with skin is ideal but you can use skinless too you’ll just skip one part -chicken stock; again, it can be as cheap as you want you don’t need to use homemade -garlic -egg -olive oil -scallions -chili flakes if you’ve got them -some ground ginger, if you want, but only a very little; i use the smallest pinch -hot sauce if you want it -a pot -a pan

You will need to be able to: -slice chicken -stand for about an hour. things come together pretty quick, but you do have to slice chicken and chop scallions and garlic.

For the chicken:

-if you’re not using a skinless chicken breast, carefully remove the skins and set them aside we’ll be doing stuff with them in a sec -turn the heat on to medium-high, put about a tablespoon of olive oil in there, and swish that bitch around to coat the bottom of the pan; if you end up over-pouring the olive oil just soak the extra up with a paper towel -season your chicken with salt and pepper pretty liberally -you can add other seasonings if you want here; i usually go pretty simple -plop that chicken down in the pan and LEAVE IT ALONE; YOU ONLY WANT TO FLIP THE CHICKEN TWICE SO THAT IT FORMS A CRUST -at this stage a lot of recipes online will recommend that you should have dredged the chicken in all-purpose flour to encourage crust formation, and you totally can if that works for you! never fucking works for me! so i don’t! -you wanna cook your chicken for about 5-7 minutes per side or until the internal temp reads 165F/74C on a meat thermometer if you’ve got one; they’re really useful and i totally recommend them but i get it if it’s not in the budget. you can also make a small incision in the thickest part of the chicken to check internal doneness, or kind of gently push down on it with a fork to see what color the juices are. you want them to be clear -once the chicken is cooked, set it aside and let it rest so the juices do that thing where they redistribute and your meat doesn’t get dry as fuck and gross

For the chicken skins (optional but tasty):

-so you have those chicken skins maybe -if you do, cut them bitches into strips; you want them to be about two finger-widths wide -use a butter knife to scrape off excess fat and gross shit and give them a bit of a rinse -pat them dry with a paper towel, give them a sprinkling of salt, pepper, and chili flakes if you like them a little spicy -put more olive oil in your pan, and a pat of butter, and set the heat once again to medium-high but a little more to the medium side -fry them in batches until they’re all nice and crispy and set them aside on a piece of paper towel to drain -this step is completely optional BUT THEY DO TASTE GOOD

For the oatmeal:

-drip some olive oil on a paper towel and wipe the bottom of your pot with it before getting the heat going; once the pot is warmed up, drop in your garlic and let that cook til it’s soft before mashing it up with a fork; add the chili flakes and ginger if you want them at this stage -once you’ve done that drop in your oats, a little at a time, and stir them around to get them toasted -once the oats are toasted, check the recommended amount of water on the package and pour in that much chicken stock. add your cracked black pepper at this point. let this come to a boil and then let it cook til thickened, stirring occasionally, about 3-4mins depending on your preferred consistency NOTE: canned/boxed chicken stock is salty as FUCK! wait until the oatmeal is done cooking and taste test before you add any more salt!

What you need the egg for: -crack the egg into a hot pan and give it a sprinkling of salt and pepper and maybe a little garlic powder or smth if you want idk your life -cook that until the white is set and the yolk is at your preferred level of done-ness

Now assemble: -add oatmeal to bowl -put your beautiful fried egg right into the middle -your chicken should have rested while the oatmeal was cooking (did you forget this was an oatmeal recipe); slice it into strips and fan them out pretty like on one side of the egg -top with your fried chicken skins if you made those -clean your scallions and chop them into little scallion donuts and sprinkle those over top of your oatmeal -drizzle the whole deal with hot sauce if you live like that (do this step before adding the scallions if you’re concerned with the food being pretty) -take a picture and post it on Instagram or smth -???? -oatmeal

Some general notes: -oatmeal is great because it’s got a lot of carbs and fiber and it’s cheap, but it doesn’t have a lot else which is why we added things to it. the more complex proteins and fats you can introduce, the better, because your body needs that fuel yo -i added a small amount of ginger and some chili flakes because i’ve found that those two things by themselves will make a lot of boxed or canned chicken stocks taste better to me, but the seasonings are totally up to you this is a pretty blank slate of a recipe honestly -there’s a whole wide world of things you can do with oatmeal if you think of it as the base of a meal rather than the meal itself and most of them are pretty cheap. add some bananas and nutella! some apples and a nice drizzle of honey! candied bacon and sharp cheddar! i don’t like mushrooms, but a sautee of mushrooms and cheese with some caramelized onions on top of a nice garlicky oatmeal would probably be good if you do like them! the possibilities are endless! -if you have a hard time acquiring chicken breast, what you can also do is a quick sautee of some canned, shredded chicken, onion, and garlic, and top your oatmeal with that along with the fried egg and scallions; it’ll still be pretty good! -cooking is about creativity! BE CREATIVE!! HAVE FUN!!

#oatmeal #cheap cooking #cheap recipes #recipe #food #arye talks #arye's adventures in cooking

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queenofbaws · 4 years

Text

Who ya gonna call? - 17

Chapter: 17/17 Chapter title: Epilogue – Call anyone else. For the love of God, call ANYONE else! Fic rating: T - Language, general spookiness Summary: Sam and the rest of the CREEPs sign off...for now. Author’s note: And so the story comes to an end...or does it? ;P Previous ---

“It’s going, right?”

“Do you see the waveforms on the screen?”

“Wavefo—”

“The…the spikey lines, Ash. The ones right in front of your face.”

“Oh! Those! Yeah, I—”

“That means it’s going. Jesus Christ. This isn’t rocket science.”

“Well excuse me! I’m still just not used to—”

“You know guys, as much as I love the playful banter thing, the longer we sit here gabbing, the more Chris has to edit out later, sooo…”

“Hey! Yeah! Finally, someone appreciates my time and—”

“Okay, SHUT UP!” Surprising a grand total of no one, Josh smacked a hand against the table, the sudden noise succeeding in getting them to go quiet…as well as creating a massive spike in the recording. (Sam could see Chris grimace just looking at it.) Leaning in a bit closer to the mic, Josh shot them all a warning glare before going into the familiar opening spiel. “Well hello friends and fans! It’s that time again—time to…”

“Grab your bay-ghouls and scream-cheese,” Chris interrupted, grinning like a fool at the chorus of groans he got from the rest of them. “Who the hell needs brunch when you’ve got us here to serve up your breakfast-time dose of spooky shit?”

“We’re cutting all of that out, y’know,” Ashley said, trying to sigh but mostly just giggling.

He held up a finger to shush her, raising his eyebrows as he spoke into his mic. “This is the Creepy Crepes Podcast, and no, we’re not cutting any of that out.”

Sam shook her head. “And so the true horror begins.”

“Yeah, the horror of Chris thinking he’s funny.”

“Now that,” he interrupted again, “That is definitely getting cut out.”

Josh clucked his tongue like a beleaguered babysitter dealing with toddlers. “Well, while the peanut gallery flaps their yaps, I’d like to take a sec to say we’re all honored and humbled to present you with our fifth—yeah, you heard that right, fifth—episode. Sammy, tell ‘em how honored and humbled we are.”

“Super honored,” she said, pulling her microphone just a bit closer as she settled more comfortably into her chair. “Super humbled.”

“A woman of many words…” Chris snickered. “But for real, I’m proud of us! Really! You ever think we’d make it a whole five eps?”

“No,” Sam and Ashley said at once, meeting each other’s eyes over the table and laughing.

“Wow. Nice.”

“I was totally sure you guys would get bored after like…two, and we’d have to suffer through another cooking blog debacle.”

“It wasn’t a debacle, Ash.”

“You started multiple grease fires, Chris.”

“Yeah well…clearly you and I have different definitions of ‘debacle.’”

“Clearly.”

That time, it was Sam who took it upon herself to get them back on track. Well…relatively speaking, at least. “Okay, okay, your obvious culinary shortcomings aside—”

“I have no shortcomings,” Josh deadpanned.

“Madam, you’ve gone too far this time!”

“All of that aside!” she repeated, raising her voice so she could be heard over them, her words full of laughter. “I seem to remember you guys saying you had a, uh, super special story you wanted to cover for this…let’s say ‘momentous’ occasion.”

Across the way, she saw Chris frown, turning to glance between Josh and Ash. “Story?” he asked, “No one mentioned any story to me…”

“Why would we?” Ashley joked, squinching up her nose before playfully sticking her tongue out in his direction. “Josh made us promise we wouldn’t say—”

“Oh God, here it comes…”

“—because you’re gonna be the one doing most of the narration.”

“Wh—I don’ even get to do a character voice?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fuck you, man! My voices are—”

“Awful, Cochise. They’re…” Josh shook his head, “They’re just awful.”

“Better than yours,” he grumbled under his breath.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. For the sake of our continued friendship.”

Yeah. They were about as on-track as they would ever be. Sam pulled her legs up onto her seat, neatly tucking them under herself so she could sit criss-cross. “See, when I hear that this is a strictly Washington-Brown endeavor, that’s when I get nervous.”

“As you should.”

“That’s fair!”

She couldn’t help grinning at their stupid, smiling faces. There’d been a moment there after they’d gotten back from the lodge where a part of her had feared her time with the CREEPs was nearing its end.

Not because of anything she’d done, of course, but uh…well…Ash had come away from Blackwood needing two stitches on her face, splints for three fingers, and a considerable stretch of doctor-ordered bed rest. Josh had come away with a black eye, a couple bruised ribs, and a hairline fracture in his coccyx (a diagnosis Chris had belly-laughed over for like four days straight). As it turned out, getting possessed…and being thrown around by someone who was possessed…wasn’t exactly the safest of pastimes.

Or covered by most insurance plans.

She’d seen it so clearly in her head: She’d gone through all those emotions, all those bizarre ups and downs and trials and tribulations for nothing. She’d stepped wildly out of her comfort zone (with a hell of a nudge from Beth and/or Hannah, to be fair), she’d found a group of people who she liked and who liked her, she’d gotten attached to them, and just like that…Blackwood Pines was going to take them away just like it had done before. Josh and Ash would never speak to each other again, she knew it! How could they? After everything that had happened that night, after their injuries? There was no way. There was just no way. The group was going to crash and burn and she’d be alone again.

Only…as it turned out, that’s not what happened. Like. At all. If anything, the night’s festivities had seemed to solidify Josh and Ashley’s friendship, and honestly? Sam wasn’t about to ask.

God, horror nerds were so fucking weird.

So they’d walked away from the mountain in one piece (more or less) and the biggest challenge they’d been forced to contend with had been convincing Josh’s parents that ‘No, really, the lodge was like that when we got there.’

Well, okay, that and Chris’s disappointment over their shared bet.

Apparently they’d never come up with a contingency plan for what would happen if the whole group discovered undeniable proof of the supernatural at the same time, so after a grueling debate—a debate Sam had been made moderator of, much to her chagrin—it was decided everything cancelled out. The three of them had to pay their own student loans, same as before.

Chris had pouted for days.

“So spill it, what’s the story?”

Josh cleared his throat in an attempt to sound haughty. “I’m so glad you’ve asked, Samantha. Today, for your listening pleasure, we have one of my personal all-time fave creepypastas.”

“…uh…” Sam glanced around the table and saw absolutely no help being offered to her. “I-I’m sorry, did you just say creepypas—”

“Ooh! Ooh! Is it Jeff the Killer?!”

“No Cochise, you fucking degenerate, it’s not Jeff the Killer.”

A small gasp full of childlike glee. “Slenderman?!”

Ashley reached over to the setup on the table, clicking a switch in one deft movement. “All right. Chris’s mic has been officially muted, so—hey!” She tried to push him away from her own mic to no avail.

“Hang on! Will someone explain to me what a friggin’ creepypasta is?!” She knew the instant it was out of her mouth that she’d committed some sort of sin, the other three collapsing into the same groans Chris’s jokes usually got.

Josh clutched a hand over his heart, face screwed up in agony. “Sammy, please!”

“You’re killing him! Quick Sam, take it back, take it baaack!”

Finally managing to shove Chris away from her microphone (using both hands, no less), Ashley rolled her eyes. “Basically they’re short horror stories that get circulated around the internet. Sort of like…well, if you want to get into the history of them—”

“We don’t,” Josh said, mouth a little too close to his mic.

“—you can look at like, those old chain emails that would go around sometimes, and—”

“No one wants the history, Ash.”

“—they sort of evolved out of that tradition of—”

Click!

“Aaand you can all thank me later, but now we have both Chris and Ash muted!” Josh took a moment to pretend to bow to their audience before turning to Sam. “Internet horror stories. Done.” He glanced to Chris and Ash as they turned their mics back on. “Done! Wasn’t that easy? See how simple shit can be?”

“Internet horror stories, huh?” Sam raised her eyebrows and caught Ashley’s attention. “You’re a writer, Ash—you ever written a…” She didn’t get to finish.

Ashley snorted so hard that Sam’s sinuses hurt. “Oh. Oh God no,” she laughed. “I have standards, thanks.”

“Uh…”

“Josh is more the creepypasta guy. I’d never write a creepypasta. But I’ve definitely tried my hand at a nosleep or two…”

“Oh come on.”

Sam slumped her shoulders. “For the love of…okay, obviously I’m missing something. Or like…a lot of things, much more likely, so…what’s a nosleep, exactly?”

Josh groaned, “It’s the same. Fucking. Thing!”

“No it’s not!” Ashley argued, leaning forward in her seat. “The quality varies so much between them—”

“Every single fucking nosleep is the same, so don’t you come at me with that bullshit about quality—”

“Creepypastas are all like ‘One day I turned on an old copy of Cooking Mama I found at a garage sale and all her recipes used human body parts as ingredients! And also her eyes were hyper-realistic and bleeding!’”

“Yeah, and every nosleep starts out ‘Sorry guys, I’m not a writer, but I’ll try my best,’ and then they make me read six thousand words of mostly adverbs and the word ‘crimson’ with my own two goddamn hyper-realistic, bleeding eyes, so I rest my fucking case.”

As they went back and forth through what sounded like a very, very old argument, Sam watched Chris gesture to both of them, twirling his finger near his ear. That was great for a podcast. Really helpful for the audience.

“What about you?” Sam asked him. “You got a horse in this particular race?”

“What, me?” Chris shook his head, “Oh no. Oh nononono. Just between us?” He acted as though he was going to tell her secret despite them all being recorded. Holding a hand up to his mouth, he stage-whispered, “I’m more of a, uh…SCP guy, myself.”

That, apparently, was the magic word needed to unite Josh and Ashley. “Shut up!”

For being a quote-unquote short horror story, it took them a fair amount of time to read through. More than anything else, Sam thought it was a miracle they’d gotten that far at all, what with Chris’s meandering narration and Ash doing everything in her power to make Josh break whatever godawful voice he’d decided to slip into each time a new character was introduced. Had she been enjoying the story? Eh, not really, but she had been enjoying listening to them be idiots, so when it happened, she was laughing. At first.

They were almost done when it happened, too. That was the thing—they were so close to being done when her phone started to ring.

Chris was the first to look up, scoffing in the terrible approximation of Edgar’s accent he’d insisted on using while reading. One would think that, given how often he used it, that stuffy, posh affectation might’ve improved. It had not. Honestly, it might’ve gotten worse. “Whose bloody phone is that? Hu-hu-hubuh, I say, this is rather—”

But Sam only vaguely heard him. She turned her head to the side table where, lo and behold, the screen of her phone had lit up. It rang and rang, the playful marimba of her ringtone abhorrently shrill.

“—you uh…okay there Sam? We can cut this out, I was just joking about being—”

She pulled her headphones off and set them on the table, getting up to grab her phone. “I…ha. I could’ve sworn I put this on vibrate…” The instant she saw the caller ID, she felt the color run out of her face.

“…Sam?”

Without saying a word, she laid her phone flat on the table where they could see it. It kept ringing.

And ringing.

And the name on the ID read ‘Unknown.’

“O-oh,” Josh stammered, an uncharacteristic tremor in his voice. “Well that’s…mmm.”

Subtly as he could, Chris scooted a few inches away from Ashley…who promptly smacked his arm for not being subtle enough. They stared and stared, and the phone just. Kept. Ringing.

“You could just—”

“What, ignore it? Yeah, how’d that work out last time, genius?”

Before she could think herself out of it (before the others could talk her out of it), Sam hit the accept and speakerphone buttons in rapid succession.

The four of them acted as one, recoiling from the phone as though it were a poisonous insect, listening to the dead air buzz on the other end.

Sam swallowed hard, her fingers white-knuckled as she gripped onto the edge of the table with one hand and Josh’s wrist with the other. “…hello?” she said, speaking in a low, apprehensive whisper.

Silence.

Then, “Hello. This is an automated call reminding you that the warranty on your—”

“Oh my God.”

Like ragdolls, they sagged with obvious relief, collapsing into the manic laughter of the terrified. Headphones came off, the recording was paused, and for a long moment they just exhaled.

After their, um…odd night in the Pines, they’d bailed at first light. No sanatorium, no return trip to apologize to crazy old Jack Fiddler for doubting him, no nothing. They’d run as fast and as far as they could, and even once they’d returned safe and sound at CREEP HQ, they hadn’t done more talking about the situation than had been entirely necessary.

Obviously they weren’t as over it as they were pretending they were.

Oho, they were…going to have to talk about that eventually. Later. When not taping a shitty horror podcast, maybe.

“Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but uh, I think I’m ready for a break.” Sam flashed a tense smile at them before standing, tossing her phone back onto the side table after hanging up on the robotic voice. “Like, a serious break.”

“Hear hear,” Josh agreed. He slouched deeper into the couch cushions, raking his fingers through his hair. “Jesus Christ,” she heard him say as she headed for the kitchen, “Almost popped a gasket, there…”

Sam sighed and felt the last of her adrenaline fizzle out with the breath. She swung into the kitchen and found herself smiling. There, on the dented door of the fridge, someone had rearranged the bright alphabet magnets to read ‘HI SAM,’ the rest of the letters surrounding the message in a lumpy-bumping shape she thought was probably supposed to be the CREEPs’ ghost logo. Or an amoeba. One or the other. “Cute,” she muttered, letting herself hope it was a sign the guys had finally—finally!—had the decency to start stocking snacks she could eat.

“Anyone want a drink?” she called over her shoulder towards the other room. “You’ve got, like, every kind of soda under the sun, uh…Red Bull, Monster, some…oh, red Gatorade, um, water, duh…” She waited to see whether anyone would answer, and when no one did, she continued under her breath, “Barbecue sauce, mayo, pickles, a little ketchup…”

From the next room, she heard not an answer, but some sort of commotion (the kind that involved voices being raised), so she grabbed the first soda she saw and shut the fridge again.

“So is that a no on the barbecue sauce?” she asked, walking into the main room and leaning against the wall as she took a drink.

Again, no answer to her question, but Ash whipped around in her seat the moment Sam reappeared. “Can you talk some sense into him, please?!”

Her eyes followed where Ash was pointing. Josh grinned his usual wide, toothy grin. “Him?” Sam asked, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I could try, but…”

“We agreed the next segment would be called ‘The Garbage Tapes.’” Per the usual, Ashley kept talking. “The part where we rag on crappy horror movies.”

Sam took a sip of her soda and waited for what she was sure would turn out to be an especially stupid ‘but.’

“We didn’t agree on ‘The Garbage Tapes,’” Josh drawled, “I told you from the fucking get-go that I wanted it to be ‘The Carnage Tapes.’”

She grimaced. “Oh, eugh. I’m with Ash on this.”

“Thank you!”

Josh looked up at her as though she’d stabbed him directly between the ribs. “Oh come the fuck on…carnage makes more sense than garbage!”

“How?! The whole point is we’re trash-talking them!”

“No, the whole point is we’re tearing them apart!”

Oh, there was no describing the dread that filled her when she saw Chris raise his hand like a good little schoolboy. “I would like to propose a compromise.” He waited until they turned to him. “How about the best of both worlds? We call it…‘The Garnage Tapes!’” He spread his arms out wide, wiggling his fingers the whole time.

There was a beat, two, three, where she saw Ash and Josh exchange inscrutable glances. Then Josh shrugged.

“I don’t hate it…” Ashley admitted.

Chris did a celebratory shoulder-dance, complete with more unnecessary finger wiggling.

“What’s the first flick we’re putting on the chopping block?” Sam asked, stretching her calves out as she leaned on the wall. “Anything I’ve seen?”

“Guess that depends, Sammy…you seen Blood Monastery?”

Blood Mona…wait. “You’re gonna insult your dad’s movies?! Like, on a podcast anyone could listen to?”

“Um…duh? They’re awful.”

Sam looked towards Ashley, but she only shrugged. “I mean…they are,” she nodded, “They’re like, really, really bad.”

She shook her head, laughing harder than she should’ve. “You guys are heartless.”

“That’s us! No hearts, no souls, super cute butts, though…”

“Uh huh.” Sam tapped a fingernail on the can’s pop tab, marking out the rhythm to a crappy song the radio had been playing lately. “Cute butts miiight be a stretch…but whoever’s butt left that message on the fridge is at least, I dunno, cute-adjacent.”

“Um, was that supposed to be an actual sentence?”

“Wait. What message?” Josh immediately glared Ash’s way. “You messing with the fridge magnets, Hemingway?”

“Please.”

Rolling her eyes, she set her can down for the sole purpose of being able to judgmentally fold her arms across her chest. “Har-de-har. I thought we agreed we were done with the paranormal pranks and stuff, guys.”

“Sam, I don’t know what to tell you. The fridge has said ‘DO THE BARTMAN’ for the whole two fuckin’ years we’ve lived here—oh, except that time last April where Cochise replaced the B with an F—”

Chris leaned closer to Ash, pretending to whisper, “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself…”

“—so unless the super cute message you’re talking about is telling us to do the hottest dance craze of the early 90’s, then I’ve got no Earthly idea what you mean.”

Yeah.

Right.

Okay.

She definitely believed him.

Sam heaved a dramatic sigh before turning on her heel, waving him to join her. “You’re gonna tell me,” she began, giving him a jokingly stern glare as he met her in the kitchen’s doorway, “That none of you wrote ‘HI SAM’ there on the…” She’d held her arm out towards the fridge to gesture at its door, but…

But…

There was no message written on the fridge. There was no ‘HI SAM,’ there was no ‘DO THE BARTMAN,’ there wasn’t even Chris’s oh-so-genius remix of ‘DO THE FARTMAN,’ no. There was nothing written there. Because there were no alphabet magnets on the fridge.

She and Josh turned to look at one another just as the power to the whole apartment flickered, buzzed, shut off completely, hurtling them into perfect darkness. From the next room over, they heard Chris and Ash shout in surprise, followed by a dull thump of someone falling onto the floor.

“Oh come on…”

“Lotta shit plugged in tonight,” Josh said, though he didn’t sound like he believed what he was saying. “Probably just blew a fuse or some shit. It’s fine, it’ll—”

The lights flickered on. And there, on the fridge, were the magnets, now arranged in the shape of a simple smiley face.

For a beat, they didn’t say anything. Not a single word. The two of them just stared at the cartoonish grin cobbled together by so many rainbow-colored letters, trying to absorb precisely what it was that they were seeing.

Josh didn’t turn to her, but he did lift his hand, aiming a tired finger-gun in her direction. “I won’t tell Tweedledee and Tweedledum out there if you don’t.”

Sam slowly turned to look at him, her eyebrows high with disbelief.

This was what she got for meeting people on the internet.

#until dawn #josh washington #sam giddings #ashley brown #chris hartley #ghost hunting au #queenie writes supermassive #my fanfiction

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love-carries-on · 4 years

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Love Carries On: Chapter VI

The living room was entirely empty, which was to be expected. His boyfriends always liked to go really big on celebrations, birthdays, holidays, any chance they got to be extra they’d take. Logan had presumably been kicked out of the house until the party and the rest of them were probably in the kitchen preparing something akin to a feast.

Virgil smiled to himself as he walked into the kitchen to find Roman and Patton in matching flowered aprons. Patton was furiously stirring some type of batter, while Roman was building layers of something in a pan. Diego was nowhere to be found. He walked up to Roman and tapped him sharply on the shoulder, he received on finger held up to him, give me a sec.

After a few minutes of working and arranging, Roman turned around. What’s up Virge? He leaned forward, raising his eyebrow in a questioning way.

Where’s D? Virgil responded in likewise, his own question granting an eyebrow raise.

We sent him to the store so that he could get decorations and candles. He shrugged at the end of the statement, his eyebrows relaxing as he switched out of the question asking zone.

By himself? It was less a question and more an anxious and panicked statement.

No! Logan went with, as did Stella. Roman was surprisingly nonchalant, and his eyes were already wandering back to the pan full of food. He just wanted to cook with Patton and not be bothered by all these questions about where and who.

Virgil rolled his eyes before walking away. He couldn’t do anything right now, Logan and Diego were already gone, and he wasn’t a very good cook, or at least not Roman and Patton’s level. A brief thought of him helping Logan and D set up decorations shot through his mind and he nodded to himself in agreement. Seeing as there wasn’t much else to do, he settled himself on the couch and put on a documentary.

As much as he poked fun at Logan for liking documentaries, he liked them a lot as well, it didn’t require him to use his imagination and to understand what type of tone the narrator, or in the case of a lot of movies, character, might be using because they were just relaying factual information. It was comforting to read the subtitles and feel like he understood exactly what was going on.

Today’s documentary was on World War One, it seemed to be centered around one specific battle, but Virgil was just sort of watching the pictures on screen and halfway reading the words. It was comforting, to hang out and not have to do anything just yet. The black and white photography was just boring enough for his brain to focus on other things. He found himself pondering who’s car the boys had taken, what Roman was making, what Patton was making, how Stella was doing. His mind just drifted around, and it was comforting to drift, nothing to focus on, just allowing his mind to think and know things.

He spent what felt like hours doing that, but it was barely half an hour before the door opened and Logan and Diego came in. He didn’t hear the door of course, but he did feel the tap on the shoulder from Logan and he turned around to see them both standing there, bags in their hands.

“Want to help decorate?” Diego spoke slowly, allowing Virgil to read his lips.

Yes. He signed it, a quick knocking movement, before getting up off of the couch to help them put things away.

They set the bags on the table, and inside Virgil found an assortment of party goods, hats, banners and streamers, candles, a few bags for gift wrapping (which Virgil needed because he’d been hiding Logan’s present for months and now he needed a bag to put it in). He was impressed that they had managed to remember all of this, of course since Logan went along, it shouldn’t have surprised him at all.

He shot Diego a quick few signs, asking him if there was a plan. And when Diego explained to him that there wasn’t a plan, he was almost delighted. Virgil had been told almost all of his life that he had an eye for design, and even if that was something of a hidden talent, he thoroughly enjoyed designing things. He grabbed the streamers, (blue and silver) and started to layout in his head where he wanted everything to go. He dug around in the bag until he found a roll of tape. He grabbed a chair from the table and climbed up on it.

Then he paused, suddenly remembering the banner that said ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. He snapped to get Diego’s attention, pointing at the banner on the table, and wordlessly, he handed it to him. Virgil took a step back and looked at the arch, careful not to fall off of the chair, trying to figure out where the banner would have to go to be centered. He nodded his head unconsciously before turning back and snapping again. Diego looked up, and he signed for him to get Logan’s attention.

Logan was the tallest of his boyfriends, and he needed him to hold the banner while he ripped the tape to hold it in place. After Diego explained to him what Virgil needed, Logan came over to stand by him. Virgil guided his hand to where he needed it to be, before letting go so that he could tear the tape. He tore several smaller pieces, so that he could stabilize it, before pulling a long piece to put over the rest. Then, he pulled on the shoulder of Logan’s button up, trying to get him to move around to the other side. After a few seconds of being yanked on, he understood what he wanted, and after accidentally running into the chair that Virgil was standing on, he eventually made his way over to the other side. Once again, Virgil guided his hand into position before taping the other side of the banner in place.

As soon as he was done, he patted Logan on the head in thanks, and grabbed the roll of streamers off of the table. The blue roll was the one he had originally had in his hand, and now that the banner was up, he could see it that much clearer. He ripped off a piece of tape, and stuck just a little bit of it to the wall where he wanted the streamer to be. Then, he placed the streamer, before smoothing the tape over it.

Virgil turned around where he was, reaching out to grab the scissors off of the table as well. He cut the streamer and then stuck them into his pocket so that he’d have them on hand. He stuck the other end of the streamer centered in the middle of the banner. Then, he put the blue streamers in his other pocket to replicate the design with the silver streamers.

It didn’t take long for him to have every archway leading into the dining room decorated with streamers. Some of them were branched across the archway, while others hung down in colorful representations of celebration. He got down off of the chair, and turned it back to face the table, as he finished the archway leading into the kitchen. Then, he pushed it back, before turning away so that he could set all of the things out of his pocket on the buffet table in the corner.

He smiled, satisfied with himself, before going back over to the table and putting on one of the party hats. There were several of them, in a variety of colors, and he was glad to see a dark blue one, which was close enough to his favorite color, purple. He settled it on his head, wincing slightly when the elastic band snapped his chin. He took the empty bags off of the table, and put them in the bag bag.

Diego snuck up behind him, and grabbed (not surprisingly) the yellow party hat. Then, he tapped Virgil on the shoulder.

It looks so cool in here! He smiled brightly, his eyes wide and almost amazed looking.

Thank you. He smiled just as brightly, before sitting down at the table to rest. Are Roman and Patton almost done? It was more of a curious question than a pointed one, and he tried hard to convey that by keeping his expression more surprised like rather than questioning.

Patton is waiting for the cake to cool so that he can put the icing on it.

Nice, what flavor? He knew that Logan didn’t like overly sweet flavors.

Marbled perhaps? I didn’t get a good look at it. He shrugged at the end of the statement, sitting down next to Virgil.

Eventually they were joined by Logan, who after having a conversation that Virgil couldn’t quite keep up with, was handed the silver party hat. He settled it on his own head, before leaning back in his chair and presumably turning his attention to Stella on the floor.

Meanwhile, Patton was adding the finishing touches to Logan’s cake. He had made a lemon cake, allowing for the frosting to be more icing like than anything, and it was decorated with candied lemon slices and pretty yellow flowers. He had written ‘Happy Birthday Logan’ in flowing Silver writing to finish it off. It was one of the only times his handwriting would ever look good.

Roman on the other hand, was just putting the finishing touches on his vegetarian lasagna. He sprinkled the cheese on top of it, before popping it back in the oven. He was very proud of this recipe, a mixture of mushrooms and black beans to create something akin to a meat texture (despite his other boyfriends’ embrace of the vegetarian life, he still indulged in meat every so often). As the cheese was melting, he stirred a little bit of ranch into the mashed potatoes, adding a little more creaminess to the dish. He also reached out to stir the pot of corn so that it wouldn’t burn.

Soon, the cheese had melted, and with a little bit of help from Diego, they carried all of the food out to the table. The festivities were in full swing, they all talked and laughed over dinner; they told stories about Logan, poking fun at him, reminding them all of his greatest days. It was exactly what a great birthday should be.

While they were chatting, Roman had dished up dinner, and now that it was on everyone’s plate, they all quieted down so they could eat. Patton took a bite of the lasagna and immediately his stomach turned, it was slimy, some of the filling was, the texture of what he could only guess was beans and maybe even mushrooms. His heart lurched, he had to forcibly grab the edge of the table to actually swallow down the bite had taken. He caught Virgil’s eye with a pleading look.

Virgil watched as Patton set his fork down and looked down at the ground, he had grabbed the table very tightly, before shooting him a pleading look. Virgil knocked on the table to get Roman’s attention. Ask Pat what’s wrong. His look was just as pleading.

“Pat, are you okay?” He turned to him, to see him hunched slightly over his plate, his knuckles white as he gripped the table.

“I’m fine.” He choked on his words, his gag reflex involuntarily reacting to what he had eaten. His mind was racing with the feeling the texture left behind, his mind blooming with all of the things the texture reminded him of, mud and snails and raw meat.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if something is wrong Patton.” Roman kept his voice as quiet as he could, maybe all the noise had upset him, or something had been said that startled him.

He started to cry as his mind almost hyper fixated on the taste in his mouth and the texture it represented and all the things that texture represented, his mind ran circles around it as tears streamed down his face. Not quiet, unfocused crying, but audible sobs and whimpers.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine.” He murmured over and over again, pushing the plate away from him in an actual show of what was wrong.

Roman felt a flame of something like anger, and he didn’t know why, but he was mad at Patton. He had worked so hard, had done everything he was supposed to, didn’t use meat because Virgil was vegetarian, didn’t make anything overly sweet because Logan didn’t like sweet, didn’t make any of the dishes that Diego had specified so he wouldn’t cause a switch in him, he had done everything and now this.

“Well if you don’t like it Patton you can just not eat it.” Something that could be said with a warm and caring tone, something that should be said with a warm and caring tone, was full of malice and bitterness. “I worked hard to make something good and if you don’t like it I’m sorry.” He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in anger as he sat back down. Stupid Patton, why can’t you just like it, there’s nothing wrong with my cooking, you’re overreacting. It wasn’t that bad I tried it too, no one else seems bothered by it.

It reminded Patton of when his mother would get mad at him and send him to his room. And in his mind's eye, it was one and the same, Roman was his mother, hissing cruelly at him in french and sending him to his room for causing a problem at the dinner table. Despite the fact that Roman hadn't said it, he could still hear 'go away, go to your room.' in his voice. He got up, and fled from the table, moving as quick as he could without running, tears still streaming from his eyes

#love carries on #tsvirgil #tsroman #tspatton #tslogan #ts sanders sides #tsdeceit #dlamp #disabilityau #DID #HOH #ADHD #autism #blind #deaf #multi-chapter #poly

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whumptasticwednesday · 5 years

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Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men)

Author’s Note: Hey, ya’ll. I’ve been burning the midnight oil to get this fic out on time, AKA 2 consecutive nights of staying up till’ 3 am. I’ve had the idea for a Peter-centric Dadneto whump fic for a decent amount of time, and after receiving a lovely anonymous prompt, I decided to incorporate both my idea and theirs. Here we’ve got Peter after the events of Apocalypse, debilitated, and accidentally giving himself a nasty case of salmonella, before Erik comes to help. I’m pretty proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, sorry, so please let me know if there’s any glaring issues. For my next fic, I’m shifting away from X-Men for a hot sec so I can write a nice Detroit: Become Human whump fic with our favorite android son, Connor. I’ve been super excited about my plot concept, so I’m ecstatic to start writing it. Anyways, I hope you like this one, I worked very hard on it, and I hope you’re all excited for the DBH fic coming soon!

-Ash

Word Count: 6299

Warning: Emeto and decently graphic descriptions of physical illness

Setting: Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dark Phoenix

If there's anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

It had been only a few days since the X-Mansion had been rebuilt and things all fell back into this synonymous routine as if the entire building hadn't exploded a short while ago. In Peter's opinion, it was all kind of creepy how easy it seemed for these kids to all just go back to learning when their home and school just got eviscerated in a hellfire, but he didn't think much of it.

All he could think about in this moment, was how immensely bored he was. Peter always had something going on with him; he was either thinking about his impending dad-related issues, plotting a prank, or deciding to go off and steal an entire Walmart's worth of Twinkies in the blink of an eye, there was always something.

Yet now, the rest of the X-Men were off with Charles helping cover up heat from the international press by cleaning up all the damage and destruction in Cairo and showing what Charles had dubbed: "diplomacy", which was too huge of a word for Peter to ever use in an everyday sentence; too many letters, and Peter was left back at the mansion since he really couldn't use his powers effectively at the moment, so it would be pretty useless for him to be tagging along.

Peter normally wouldn't have given a damn, maybe even excited at the prospect of being able to rig his friends' rooms with elaborate traps with Jello and staplers or something of the sorts while they weren't around, yet now, when faced with inescapable boredom that followed him wherever his broken leg did (everywhere), he was dying to have anything to do. As the team was suiting up to get on the jet to go back to Cairo, Peter had pathetically hobbled down to the X-Men bunker on his crutches, begging to be taken with. But they'd simply gassed up the plane and flew off, leaving Peter alone, and oh so very bored.

Which brings us to Peter now, attempting to create an omelette with 6 different cheeses, 8 different and poorly-diced peppers, a heaping assortment of minced tomatoes, and a sprinkling of those off-brand fruit snacks that are always better than the on-brand ones for some reason. It wouldn't be a Peter breakfast without some form of sweet, and in his eyes, it stuck to the healthy-ish theme. It had fruit in the name for a reason, didn't it?

The kid always had a massive appetite, and everyone that knew Peter knew this as well. You'd be hard pressed to find him without some snack or form of sustenance in his hand, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. It was all a byproduct of his enhanced metabolism. All that energy to run had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Little did he know, this super stomach of his would come to kick him in the ass in a few short hours. But for now, the silver-haired man child of a mutant was limping around the mansion's kitchen making a very... exotic breakfast for dinner meal.

Peter plopped the strange looking (decently gooey) excuse for an omelette into a large plate with some Twinkies and orange juice on the side. As he devoured his dinner, Peter thought anxiously about Erik. It had taken him 10 years to connect the dots, work up the courage, and even think of confronting the man to tell him of his true parentage, yet wimped out at the last minute, leaving the ambiguous: "I'm here for my family too." Peter groaned audibly to himself as his mind once again replayed the events he'd already replayed a million times before. It was embarrassing as all hell. Luckily, nobody that did know told Erik anything, which Peter was very grateful for.

Imagine learning about a woman you left 2 and a half decades ago actually birthing a son you had no idea existed and just now learned of... but not from him, despite several encounters beforehand where he had ample opportunities to do so. It'd make Peter feel like even more of a loser than a 27 year old who still lived in his mother's basement. But, to be fair, Peter was no longer a grown man living with his mom, he was a grown man living in a school where he was many years past the oldest enrolled student, while not teaching a single class; it was a step up from the basement, trust me.

Once finished with his omelette, Peter quickly washed his dishes and made his trek up the small flight of stairs to reach his room on the second floor. Over the past few days, Peter had learned just how high a set of stairs could be, especially when you end up falling down them on several attempts to slide down the handrail (and failing miserably while being laughed at by dozens of impressionable pre-teen children.) What a loser.

After reaching his room, particularly winded from this dinner excursion, Peter was grateful to see that he hadn't unplugged his television from the wall after his embarrassing fall in an attempt to get to the bathroom by himself, without his crutches, or the lights on. A simple recipe for disaster in nearly all circumstances, yet for some reason, the universe held pity for Peter and his debilitated state, and decided to not make his day any worse than it already was.

Peter ultimately decided to entertain himself with a good night-long play session of Pac-Man on his Atari 2600, also still miraculously undamaged from last night's fall. He booted up the inferior version of the game (seriously though, he'd have to get Kurt to help him teleport his arcade cabinet from his basement to the school, playing this one was getting a bit tiring on the eyes.) It sufficed, he thought as the TV harshly flashed on.

Now normally, Peter would have been up all night with his video games and rock music blaring in the background, yet tonight, something (besides his immobile leg) felt really off. Each distinct 'WOMP' from the console as the yellow circle man consumed the dashes and dots felt like a sledgehammer into Peter's eardrums, leaving a resonating ache at the base of his skull. He didn't think much of it and brushed it off, simply turning down his music a notch and backing away from the TV a few inches.

The next confusing sign that something wasn't quite right was the disconcerting shivers wracking his body. A chilly breeze seemed to sweep the room as if the AC was on full blast with the windows open on a November midnight, yet it was July and all the windows were closed and when he went to check if his AC unit was acting up, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That's whack, Peter thought to himself as he plopped onto his bed, Atari abandoned on the rugged floor.

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the unmoving chandelier hanging lamely from the ceiling, but it felt as if seconds later, the room was not only freezing, but spinning, and suffocating. Everything felt way too close. Peter could feel every fiber of his shirt rubbing against his jacket, the itchy inside of his cast pressing up against the entirety of his right leg, and the presence of his goggles resting on his neck, now seeming like a noose closing in on his throat. He hastily tore off the eyewear and tossed them on his nightstand before deciding to shed his jacket and weakly throwing it across the room. Another move he regretted.

Without the jacket to keep his arms warm, the newfound seemingly frosty atmosphere felt like a icy flurry against his skin. In spite of his mind's confused wishes, Peter ripped the heavy blanket off the end of the bed and closed it around himself like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly the next time it saw the daylight. Peter sure as hell didn't feel like a caterpillar, but if the feeling of metamorphosis was a growing sense of intense nausea and cramping in the stomach, then hell yeah, he was crushing this butterfly business.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?! He thought to himself as he rolled onto his side. Peter rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear the dizziness, yet only further irritating them. God damnit, he sighed internally as his face scrunched up in discomfort, releasing one of his hand's hold on the blanket to cradle his aching stomach.

"Is this karma for all that shit I stole when I was younger? That's just mean, man," Peter rasped to nobody in particular. He thought about it more though and responded to his own question, "Then again, I think that's pretty fair. Haha...Shit, man. Never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I need help."

The sledgehammer-like headache was pounding with every bass drum beat lightly emanating from the sound system Peter hadn't turned off, another move he regretted. He couldn't decide if the pros outweighed the cons: hobbling through the dark to possibly remedy a source of his suffering, but relinquishing his hold on the only thing keeping him from feeling like freezing. Peter played it safe, much to his cranium's dismay.

Peter stared off towards the wall at nothing in particular as he tried oh so hard to draw his mind's focus from how terrible he felt to literally anything else. It wasn't working out so well. And so, Peter laid there, blanket tossed over himself, single leg drawn up to his chest, shivering like a leaf in a rainstorm, as nauseous as a toddler who just rode their first roller coaster, feeling like he was about to cry, and alone. What a miserable way to spend the night.

------

If there's anything Erik Lehnsherr knew in this moment, it was that he was beyond irritated that Charles wasn't at the mansion to run his own school. Despite leaving the school once he'd helped rebuild it to try and seek solitude to wrap his mind around his place in the world and everything that'd happened to him, Erik was back at the mansion once again. He was ready to lay down the foundations for his new mutant hideaway, Genosha, and needed Charles's connections to the government to help smooth over his charges and get clearance to have his isolated society where he might truly find happiness and solace. The universe had spoken, and he obviously wasn't cut out to be a nuclear family kind of guy.

Unbeknownst to him, Erik had once again meandered into a setting with his unrealized son. Also unbeknownst to him, that son was currently cooped up alone in his room, feeling like death.

Erik uncomfortably paced around the mansion, checking Charles's office, the X-Men bunker, and all the other places he might have been, yet the telepath was nowhere to be found. Erik sighed, he knew coming this late was a bargain, one, it turns out, he'd come to lose. The school itself was eerily quiet. It was if the entire mansion was empty or something. Peaceful, yet unsettling for a man who knew nothing but chaos.

Erik was about to borrow a book someone had abandoned in the foyer when he heard the muffled melodies of American rock music echoing from the upstairs floor. It must be that problematic Peter child, Erik thought to himself. From what he told himself was a civil duty to the rest of the sleeping kids in the school (but was actually his own way to cope with his curiosity) Erik decided to check up on the snarky young man to ask if he'd turn down the tunes.

As he approached the door, Erik was bracing himself for something extremely untamed. Perhaps a messy, greasy slophole of a living area, or maybe a drunk and uncontrollably obnoxious man dancing to his music in the nude. You never really knew with Peter, and Erik had come to expect the strangest out of the boy from the few genuine interactions they've had.

Erik gently tapped his knuckles against the door, waiting patiently for a 'come in', or something along the lines of those words, yet it never came. Raising a questioning yet not too surprised eyebrow, Erik knocked again, using slightly harder bangs, not wishing to make a ruckus and wake anyone else in the hallway up. Again, nothing. Although it could have simply boiled down to Peter not hearing him from his loud and abhorrent music, Erik was growing slightly irritated with the lack of a response. So with his last reserves of patience, he knocked one final time, once again listening for a signal or cue to enter. He was met with nothing yet again.

Wondering for the worst and fully expecting to meet a blackout drunk Peter when he opened the door, Erik tentatively jiggled the doorknob, which just so happened to be unlocked, and stepped inside. Thankfully, he was not met with a naked dancing or woefully drunk mutant speedster, but most would probably argue that what he was met with was quite worse. And that being a rancid stench of sick and sour nastiness lingering in the air, a poorly plopped pile of blankets draped over the culprit of the odor, and the culprit himself lying pale and flushed on the floor beside his bed, covered in his own vomit.

Erik's nose crinkled up from being met by the strongly nauseating smell of the room, reaching for the light switch on the wall to aid the sad little table lamp and glow of the TV in illuminating the room. Now he truly saw the pity-worthy situation for what it was. Peter laid in a heap on the ground next to his bed; he'd clearly trying to make it to the en suite bathroom just a few feet away. However, with his dizzy mind and immobile leg, he didn't make it very far and ended up expelling his dinner in a much less... dignified location (if you could consider a toilet bowl a very dignified location), that undignified location being all over his lap and onto his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Not knowing how to really handle the situation, Erik called out a soft, "Peter?" hoping to elicit a response. Yet, just like at the door, he was met with nothing. As he approached the boy, thoughts of anxiety and panic circled through his mind. What would he say to him when he woke up? Would he be uncomfortable with Erik of all people coming to help? Would he be confused? Would he not care? He felt undeniably and inexplicably awkward. Erik shook the thoughts from his conscious as he knelt down to try and meet Peter's face.

"Peter?" he asked again. Erik tentatively reached over to tap the boy's face, which was contorted in a pinched expression of discomfort, marred further by the vomit drying in a trail down his chin.

Once Erik's hand made contact with Peter's cheek, he wanted to retract it. From the split second interaction, Erik had felt the clammy, sweaty, and scorching hot skin and was growing concerned. The slight physical prodding finally made Peter respond.

"Mom?" he asked groggily, voice cracking, "I'll put my dishes in the sink in a minute... I'm tired..."

Erik let out a harsh sigh, bending his neck in an attempt to make eye contact with the boy.

"Peter, I'm not you-" Erik was cut off.

"Yeah yeah... I'm not your maid. I know, Ma. Just... give me five."

"Peter." Erik stated bluntly yet with a hint of unease, unsure if Peter was delirious or just messing with him, "look at me, please."

Peter cracked open his eyes and blearily met Erik's stoic and collected face. He blinked a few times, slowly and deliberately, calculating who was kneeling in front of him, before letting out a weak and wheezy chuckle, "hey there, refrigerator ornament. Wassup?"

Erik rolled his eyes, responding with, "I came to ask you to turn down your atrocious music so you won't wake any of the other children who are trying to sleep. When I came in here, you were passed out on the floor. Would you like to explain to me what happened?"

"Nah... it isn't all too interesting"

"Peter, can you please act like an adult for 2 minutes? Please?"

"Oh man, the Nazi-hunting, president-killing, horseman of the Apocalypse is bustin' out the PLEASES. Look out, world, Lord of the Vacation Souvenirs has a new tactic... MANNERS!"

Peter burst out laughing at his own adolescent joke, ending in a wheezy struggle to catch his own breath. Erik couldn't tell if he was just screwing with him or genuinely needed help. This behavior seemed pretty normal for the immature mutant.

"Look, Peter, I really just need to know if you're okay. Can you answer that simple question, please?"

"Man, your tactics are workin' like a charm. I guess I'll tel-" Peter was cut off by a repulsing gag, hunching over and expelling his stomach's contents... again, this time, however, onto Erik's shirt, quickly travelling in a sad trail down onto his freshly-ironed pants. Peter's bloodshot eyes went side with embarrassment as he quickly transitioned his gaze to the floor.

Erik's face was caught frozen still as his mind caught up with what had just happened. As repulsed as he was, it wasn't like he hadn't seen worse. But that still didn't make the fact that he was just puked on any less disgusting. After audibly exhaling through his nose, Erik once again focused on the miserable man child in front of him, who was now anxiously tapping his fingernails on the hard plaster of his cast, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

God damnit, Peter, He thought to himself as he continued tapping, it's bad enough leaving him with a painfully ambiguous response during a battle to save all of humanity, ultimately ruining a perfectly good chance to fess up, but now look what you've done. You fucking threw up on him. Peter felt himself growing smaller as his subconscious shamed him for his uncontrollable bout of illness. It was stupid and ultimately all in his head, but it didn't make him feel any less shit about his situation.

After taking the few quiet seconds, Erik stood up, and whether it was out of pity or some subconscious moral quest, grabbed Peter by the armpits and dragged him to the bathroom.

"W-what the?" Peter asked, confused by the harsh white light of the bathroom and the sudden shift in scenery.

"Well I'm not going to let you sit in your own disgusting clothes. I have standards, you know. Can you undress yourself? I'll get us both some clean clothes."

Peter grunted in response. It meant: yeah, I think I can take off my own clothes, bro... once the room stops spinning. Erik, however, had already up and left, stripping off his own soiled shirt and rifling through Peter's dresser drawers, and taking the opportunity to flick off the television and silence the music that had been awkwardly filling the room's background space up until now.

Peter didn't have much variety in his clothing, dark jeans and band logo t-shirts were most of his dresser's arsenal. Not wishing to be clad in a Metallica shirt for the rest of the night, he dug a bit further into the seemingly endless assortment of shirts till he found a plain white short sleeve, sighing in relief. He grabbed a random shirt from the top of the assortment which just so happened to have the Journey logo on it, and set off to find new pants for the boy.

Back in the bathroom, Peter was still laying slumped against the bathtub, shivering. Everything around him had seemingly slowed to a halt, not unlike when he was running past the speed of sound, but this time deceleration just felt... wrong.

The crashing rhythm of the rock music had come to a halt, yet it didn't cease the incessant throbbing ache in his head, as if the bass riffs and the harsh taps of the snare were on a permanent loop with earbuds permanently glued to his ears. He was trying his best to prevent himself from groaning or whining as to not sound like even more of a child in front of Erik, but honestly, he didn't want his nonexistent father right now, he wanted his mom.

Peter was snapped from his self loathing by Erik's footfalls growing progressively louder as he approached him. Erik had thrown on a pair of track pants and a random white shirt. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and another shirt for Peter so he could be free of his sweat-slick and vomit-covered clothes.

"Hey, you don't get to keep those. I like those pants," Peter stated sarcastically, still trying to put up a front, although he was unsure why. He'd needed help, it was painfully obvious, so why was he still pushing his father away? Resentment? Anger? Pride? No... fear.

"Arms up," Erik instructed, preparing to take Peter's shirt off for him.

"Yo, you know I'm not a toddler, right? I can take off my own god damn shirt."

"You sure don't act like you're a day older than one, and I don't wanna risk you accidentally suffocating getting stuck in your own clothing so... arms up."

Peter sighed and did as he was told. Erik swiftly peeled the top off the boy and felt around his back, finding it clammy and warm. As if he'd just went from the tropics to Antarctica, the shirt leaving his skin exposed his skin to a whole new level of cold. The sensation ripped through his spine as his teeth started chattering. Hoping Erik had a brain underneath that skull, Peter was (im)patiently waiting for the man to save him from the frosty winds of his newly installed Arctic bathroom and slip the new shirt over him already. However, much to Peter's dismay, Erik turned on the tub's faucet, soaking a hand towel in cold water before leaning over and placing it on Peter's exposed back.

The second the frigid cloth made contact with his skin, Peter recoiled, back arching backwards, arms frantically bending to try and remove it. Erik sighed, slightly out of pity, and continued holding it down.

"Is this some cruel punishment? What did I do?" Peter pleaded, hoping to distract himself from crying by use of humor.

"You're scorching and sticky and it's just disgusting. I'm cooling you down, so relax," Erik explained. "It'll be a few more seconds, I just needed to get all the sweat off of you."

And as quickly as it had begun, the endeavor was over and Erik was threading Peter's strikingly pale and flimsy arms through the shirt holes. Peter audibly sighed, feeling like he'd just spent an hour in an industrial freezer and was now back into a normal temperature.

Erik's eyes drifted to Peter's legs, immediately noticing a flaw in his plan. How was he going to change Peter's pants with that full leg cast?

"Peter, how do you typically change your pants considering your current... situation?" Erik asked.

"It's pretty simple. I don't," Peter replied bluntly.

"W-what?"

"Well, after I got my leg set a few days ago, I changed into jeans, not wanting to be in flight suit pants for the next week of my life, and I haven't swapped since. It's like, physically impossible."

"So... you've been wearing the same (disgustingly dirty) pants all week?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hank says I should be grateful that it'll heal in a couple days, most people you'd find passed out on their floor covered in vomit with a full leg cast would have been wearing their nasty pants for weeks."

Erik sighed, tossing Peter's soiled shirt and the sweatpants back into the bedroom before meeting his gaze.

"Alright, Peter, I'm going to set you up in bed now."

"Sounds grea-" Peter was once again, clamping his hand over his mouth, pathetically dragging himself over to the toilet to prevent throwing up all over himself again.

Erik saw his distress and lifted the toilet lid and seat, prompting Peter to start heaving into the sad and dreary porcelain bowl. Each dry or productive heave sent another pulsing wave of pain and violent nausea from his stomach to seemingly every conceivable inch of his body in a viscous cycle of suffering. Erik could do nothing but watch as the silver-haired boy wretched in agony, each heave causing his breath to hitch, caught in his throat, as another bout of sick rushed up past his lips, crashing into the toilet bowl.

Erik wanted to reach over and rub Peter's back or offer a semblance of physical comfort for the anguish he must have been feeling. He'd often do this for his daughter, Nina, whenever she had a stomach bug. Erik reached out his hand, only to quickly retract it, shaking haunting thoughts from his mind. This boy was not his child, and in no way would he ever come close to being Nina. What was he thinking?

Guilt quickly overtook the memories as Peter finished his session of sickness. He sagged limply against the side of the toilet, face still partially hidden by the rim of the bowl. When he looked up at Erik, he looked awful. Beyond awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, clearly there as Peter attempted to stop the obvious tears from spilling over, met cool yet collected ones, the former's being full of pain, not just from this embarrassment or the physical turmoil he'd just endured, but something else. Erik knew those eyes. He knew them because for so long, they were the ones he'd stared at in the mirror, day after day, for years, until he'd found Charles, only to come face to face again with those demonized eyes in the form of an immature mutant puking his guts out on his bathroom floor. They were the eyes of a young man who was lost, feeling alone, hiding a part of themselves they wanted to let go, to set free, so they could truly be happy, yet he couldn't possibly decipher what could be internally destroying the boy.

"I-I'm sorry you had to watch that..." Peter said softly as his head lolled over.

"It's fine," Erik replied with a tone to match that of Peter's.

"I'm pretty sure... that I'm done. For now?" It came out as more of a question, but at this point, Peter wasn't trusting any signal his body was sending him. Every impulse had been smudged and cloudy in his mind, and paired with the seemingly endless headache and the relentless chills racking his body from the fever, Peter was sure that if his mind were a computer hard drive, it would have self destructed out of a deadly virus slowly hacking into the hardware.

But alas, Peter was no computer, and so he was stuck with this mystery illness, cooped up in his room, unable to run, with Erik mother-hecking Lehnsherr. His fever-addled mind was barely functioning at this point, so he didn't register anything but dizzying blurred images swirling around his head and slightly-grumbled voice swimming in his ears as Erik scooped the kid up like a newlywed bride and carried him off to bed.

Peter had never been more grateful to grace the comfort of his duvet, ready to sleep. He halfheartedly grabbed at it in an attempt to cover himself and finally warm up. Erik sighed with pity, grabbing it for him and draping it over his shoulders before moving over to stand by the nightstand and awkwardly watching Peter try and get comfortable.

Despite the obvious fact that his body wanted him to sleep, Peter's mind was racing everywhere except the realm of unconsciousness. Every thought was emphasized ten-fold as it bounced around his head until the only things remaining were his want, heck, his need, to tell Erik the truth, and the hesitant and unsure anxiety lingering in the background of his subconscious that was stopping him from doing just that.

Fevers, though, as Peter was quickly learning, tended to do weird shit to what your brain was really trying to accomplish, often scrambling any message you tried to expel to the point where it may or may not have even been your true intentions. And hell, it was an even bigger gamble if you'd remember any of the dumb shit you'd done or said. It was as if the heat had boiled all the potentially embarrassing memories away, which was at least kinda nice.

With everything happening, Peter thought it best for Erik to just pack up and scoot from the premises, as not to accidentally say or do something stupid that might come back to bite him in the ass later, but Peter wasn't about to pull an asshole move on the man who'd just helped him despite not being obligated to at all.

So, instead of verbally asking, Peter did the next most "mature" thing he could have in his debilitated and helpless situation. He pretended to be asleep in a pathetic hope that Erik would leave on his own. He didn't. Peter ended up looking like he was trying way too hard to be asleep than any real asleep person, and after a few minutes, Erik caught on.

"Peter, I know you're not actually sleeping," Erik said, not putting on any sort of specific emotion.

Peter cracked one red and tired eye open, meeting Erik's gaze yet again. Peter sighed and turned over onto his side, back to the other man, bleary eyes trying to focus on anything that wasn't Erik. Sleep, a seemingly effortless task for most, eluded Peter as he let out an a low whine. This was miserable.

"Hey, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I umm... never mind..."

"What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing... I just feel stupid since I can't even do the easiest thing on the planet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The question struck Peter like a cold dagger to the heart, it sounded so much like something his mom would say, who was practically the only person he wanted in that moment. Peter didn't like to be weak or expose any of his fears. He preferred to be distant and reserved, to hide all that insecurity with stupid dry humor and sarcasm. His mom and his sisters were really the only ones who he'd truly been open with, and when faced with these new circumstances, finally able to reconnect with the father he never had, he was frozen in place, and after pushing people away and closing himself off for so long, not knowing what to do to reach out and truly face what he needed to.

Completely internally and externally overwhelmed, Peter let his dam of pride burst, letting his emotional flood pour out of his eyes in the form of earnest, choked sobs. He bit his lip and weakly rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress.

Erik was taken aback, taking a step towards him, before backpedaling as fast as the initial paternal instinct had seized him. He didn't know what to do. Erik was conflicted, scared of overstepping boundaries, but wholeheartedly wanting to comfort the clearly suffering boy lying in bed in front of him.

And in a flash of instinct, an unspoken, deep-rooted, yet unknown draw towards the silver-haired boy, Erik sat down on the mattress, back meeting Peter's, and leaning over his shoulder to rub his back

Erik's hand was shaky, unsure if it should truly be there. He felt the heat radiating off Peter's skin through his t-shirt. Erik glanced down further to Peter's face, and despite the hands trying (and failing) to cover his eyes, saw it covered in a new sheen of sweat quickly mixing with his tears, pale and pasty with angry crimson patches sitting pretty as pictures on his cheeks and forehead. Everything in that moment accentuated both how awfully awkward Erik and truly terrible Peter felt.

Erik didn't even know if Peter was lucid anymore. He was breaking down into tears, shivering and being comforted by someone who was practically a stranger. Eventually, the sobs dwindled into whimpers and Erik's nerves were starting to taper off himself. The room fell into a weirdly calm silence as the two decided to not say anything. Until Peter's shaky voice cut through the room.

"Y-you know... when I was a dumb little kid, I thought I-I could outrun germs. Look at me now. I can't even cook a f-freakin' omelette without making myself sick... I never needed to cook for myself, it was always my mom, or Hostess cakes."

"..." Erik wanted to say something, anything, but he was unsure what, or if Peter would understand.

"I can't do anything right... life tosses me chances and I just fuck em' all up."

Erik soon realized Peter was no longer talking about his omelette, but something deeper.

"I just wish... you could've d-done this for me when I was still that dumb little kid. I wish for so much to be different. I'd always wanted a d-dad, and when I finally figured out who he was, I learn he'd gone off to kill the president! I-I don't know..."

"W-what?"

"I m-might not be able to outrun germs, but my entire l-life, I've outrun everything. The law, my responsibilities, adulthood... But now, the one time when I finally can't run from anything, out of all of my problems, I gotta face you of all things. N-not the way I thought this would happen..." Peter's words died out as he fell silent.

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard Peter properly. Until something in his mind clicked. Everything he's done up until now: "my mom once knew a guy who could do that..." and "I'm here for my family too..." Oh my god, he thought, I'm... I-I'm Peter's... father? Who else had he been with before his wife... Magda. Oh god.

Erik pulled his hand away from Peter's back. This caused Peter to moan and flip onto his back, staring directly at Erik, eyes cutting straight to his heart like knives.

"W-why'd you stop? It was nice..." Peter admitted shyly.

"I-I need a second, Peter. I'm sorry," Erik sighed as he pushed himself off the mattress.

Peter said nothing as his eyes drifted back to his bedspread. Disappointment lurking behind his bloodshot irises.

Erik walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stared up at himself in the mirror, hands gripped tightly around the basin. This couldn't be happening. Not after Nina, not again. Erik was just... terrified. Terrified of the idea of getting close again. Anyone who's ever been a part of Erik's family... had died. His parents, his wife, his daughter; he didn't want Peter to join the list of people the universe was just deemed to kill. He knew that Peter was far from dying, it was a simple fact that the kid couldn't cook and he'd fed himself something underdone. Yet, it was all happening, it was all too fast, and everything felt so damn scary.

He knew, deep down, that this was the truth. It only made sense that the Magda didn't wanna tell her son that his dad was an internationally targeted terrorist that's murdered dozens of people, and this kid had no reasons to lie about it. God... Erik didn't know how to feel, what he should do, but he did know that had a need to comfort Peter, who'd just confessed a secret he'd been hiding for who knows how long, and was now laying alone, probably feeling abandoned again, after pouring his heart out knowing full well it might be shot down.

Whether it was all intentional was yet to be seen. Again, fevers did weird shit.

Erik let out a low sigh and opened the door, finding Peter curled up on himself as best he could, softly whining, mumbling incoherently to himself. Erik stepped over and sat down on the bed again, the entire mattress dipping from his weight.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am very happy you told me..." Erik was searching for the right words, "the truth."

" 'r welc'm" Peter mumbled as his puffy eyelids slid over his tired brown eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do for you right now?"

"J'st... stay please. I-It's embarassin', I know, but I just... my mom used to do it..."

"Alright, Peter. I'm not gonna leave, so just try to sleep, okay?"

Peter didn't need to be told twice as his mind and body worked in harmony, finally allowing Peter to be lulled off to the realm of unconsciousness. And although he knew it wasn't necessary, Erik wished to add to the intimacy of this quiet moment, a type of moment so rare and inconstant in both of their lives, so he pushed himself up against the headboard, laying out flat on the bed, and carded his fingers into Peter's silky silver locks. And out of habit, maybe a sort of tendency he'd developed from doing it with Nina, or an obligation to share what he felt Peter deserved, he began to hum his family lullaby, ever so slowly and softly, drowning out any other thing the world wanted to toss at them. Because in that moment... Erik and Peter had found something they'd both been missing for so long, peacefulness and contentment. And for that short night, it was all they needed.

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pidgeon-brained · 4 years

Text

Love Carries On: Chapter VI

TW: anxiety attack, sensory overload, angst

Virgil woke up, and immediately jumped up; today was the day, Logan’ birthday. five months of hard work, five months of life changing progress and now today was the day that Logan should get to relax. Virgil sat up out of bed and scrambled around until he found his hoodie, a gift from Roman. He pulled it on, his perpetually cold body reassured in the added protection of the jacket. He pushed his hair out of his face before heading out into the living room. The living room was entirely empty, which was to be expected. His boyfriends always liked to go really big on celebrations, birthdays, holidays, any chance they got to be extra they’d take. Logan had presumably been kicked out of the house until the party and the rest of them were probably in the kitchen preparing something akin to a feast.