#like the monster scribble i posted the other day! it made me so happy! i love monsters and Beasts! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sweaterweatherever · 1 year

Text

Sweet and Sour (Tyler Galpin x Reader )

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x AFAB reader

Warnings: Smut. AGED UP CHARACTERS. Thigh riding, choking, hair pulling and slapping. Unprotected vaginal sex. No daddy kink here because I’m unable to write it. I tried. I hope you like it anyways. Yeti reader. Post Hyde Tyler.

A/N: Poor Tyler, was he a catholic? He definitely gave me the Christian guilt. Yes. I hate Inglourious Basterds with all my heart, but I will respect the awful spelling the guy chose.

Requested: Yes. I dedicate this fic to the person who requested it, but also to the anon who called me a monster fucker. I can get much worse, babe. Don’t tempt me.

The first time you walked into the Weathervane, Tyler was struck. The heat of the day made it so the café was having a slow day, even slower than usual since the whole town found out he was the Hyde. That had almost gotten him fired, but the mayor had forced his employer to keep him, citing that as a newly revealed outcast, it could be grounds for a discrimination scandal. Tyler didn’t care. The pay was good enough to compensate the lack of tips, and since it was the only café around here, it got plenty of outcast traffic. The owner was happy. His father was happy. The mayor was happy. He was…well, at least not in jail.

You came in wearing a soft, pastel colored dress, with a white sweater hanging from where you had it tied to your purse’s strap.

“Hi.” You say to him, all bright eyes and a smile. Immediately he knows you can’t be a local because if you knew, you wouldn’t be being so nice. “Do you guys serve ice tea?”

“Yes. We have plain, lemon infused and peach infused. Which one would you like?” Tyler takes out a plastic cup, already scribbling on it.

“Lemon.” You started taking out your card to pay, and Tyler used the brief respite to look you up and down once more. You were the prettiest girl he had ever seen, with your white heart shaped sunglasses perched on your hair, adorable sundress and glossy pink lip gloss. Total opposite of one Wednesday Addams. And maybe he was fucked up, he had no clear type or worse, he was looking into opposites of her. But you were pretty and smiling at him like he was a human being. Tyler was a sucker for manners.

“Okay, give me your name.” He asked, eyeing your purse. It was white, with a soft coral lining on the inside. Tyler could see your phone peeking out of it, wrapped in a light pink phone case. It made him smile.

“Y/N” Tyler scribbled it down, and you gave him a bright smile.

“You are new to town?”

“Yeah, my parents and I were checking out the place. They are going to enroll me at Nevermore, so they are meeting the principal. You look my age…” You cocked your head to the side, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes. “You go there?”

“I will be going there next semester, yeah.” Tyler grimaced. He should probably warn you, now, before someone else does. It would not take too long when they saw you, all pretty and innocent and consorting with the likes of him. “Look, if you want to make friends there… Avoid me. Please.”

“Not a Nevermore fan?” You asked, sitting at the counter and watching him pour your drink.

“More like Nevermore is not a fan of me.” He passes you the cup, and you take out a book of your purse and walk silently to a table. If he wanted his space, who were you to deny him? However, his warning intrigues you, and you keep stealing glances at him when you think he isn’t looking. You like the way his face dimples when he smiles and his eyes seem so genuine, you can’t help but find him attractive.

Tyler notices you looking at him, thinking you are being so sly. This attention is nice, and you are adorable, so he decides to enjoy it while it lasts. You don’t see each other again, not until the semester starts, and he is dropped off by his father in a school full of people who hate his guts. Which, honestly? Not that impressive for a school of outcasts. It seems you lose it once and go on a murdering spree, and suddenly, everyone is terrified. Come on! Their teacher was the one that triggered him in the first place!

By then, you had already heard all about how he killed a bunch of normies and almost maimed to death another kid, plus the charges of attempted murder against half the school. How he got away with everything, claiming it was all Thornhill, and drugs, and a bunch of legalese the public defender spun to get him out of jail, where he belongs. Yet, for some reason, you decide to sit next to him in your first class, looking prim and proper in your new uniform. Tyler doesn’t say anything. He warned you once, he is not about to do it again. He is a selfish creature, he will enjoy it while it lasts. The company is very pleasant, in comparison to his fabulous new roommate, who almost pissed his pants when he saw him.

“So.” You say, eyes crinkling. “What do you like to do for fun, apart from murdering people?” You ask, and he can’t help but snort. Tyler hasn’t laughed, truly laughed, since what? Six months ago? He isn’t really sure, but your attitude is refreshing. Nobody has dared to joke about it, and maybe it is because you weren’t here back then, but it’s nice not to be looked at like he is a monster. Even if some days he is not sure that he regrets it.

“I read, although not as much as you do.” Tyler answers, possibly betraying too much of his feelings by admitting he has been watching you. “I like to jog. And before, I used to play football…” His voice drops a little then, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Wanna see something cool?” You ask him, and blow him a kiss. He is confused at first, but his eyes open wide when your breath turns into ice crystals, freezing in the air. “You weren’t the only presumed extinct, you know. Don’t feel so special.”

Knowing what you are makes everything about you have sense for Tyler. You are something special, something precious. A miracle kid, who with no doubt was sheltered and treasured. You are innocent and naive, and the idea of being the one to corrupt that innocence, claim the beautiful prize for himself, attracts the Hyde. Monsters like shiny things too. The urge to own, the urge to make his, is almost unbearable. And the more human side of him wonders what it would be like to get to hold your hand and maybe kiss you, showing you the same tenderness you had shown him.

He panics. Really. The idea of corrupting your innocence both excites him and fills him with dread. And so, Tyler buries his feelings deep and pretends everything is fine. He’ll just… be your friend. There is no harm in that, after all.

Turns out he was mistaken. So mistaken it is funny, actually. You start spending so much time together, everyone refers to you two like Y/N-and-Tyler, in the same breath. His reputation improves because how bad can Tyler really be if he hangs with you all the time, poster child for the discriminated outcasts? Besides, you are so sweet, so nice, but you wouldn’t stand for anything morally wrong. Your free periods are spent on the quad, legs lazily tangling together as you go over some homework or some book you are reading, explained with animated gestures. The weekends are spent at the Weathervane, sitting in a booth and doing the same thing, when you can’t get away with sneaking into each other’s room.

Tyler likes you. Like, as in, more than friends. There is something about you that reminds him of his life before, when he was one of Jericho’s golden boys, but without all the violence from back then. With you, he gets to be charming, cheesy, pulling blushes out of you left and right with clever words and soft touches. But as much as he tries to pretend the violence isn’t there, the Hyde still lurks beneath his act. He can’t help but wonder how dark the blush would be if he just grabbed you and kissed you, dragging his teeth along your neck, biting at your nape. How it would feel to have your hands on his cock, how flustered you would get if he taught you exactly how to please him. These ideas, they make him feel guilty every time you smile at him, yet Tyler can’t help but think about it. No amount of cold showers help.

The advantages of putting the fear of god on his roommate is that more often than not, he gets the room to himself. That means, you two can hang out there without being disturbed. Tyler is great at being a host, setting up everything perfectly. He tries not to think about how all this planning and organizing is something he used to do for the girls he dated, not for his friends. All the mental torture it’s worth it, when he sees how you kick off your shoes and climb on his bed, nestling yourself there and looking at the fairy lights that slightly illuminate the room.

“This is cozy.” You say, covering yourself with one of the throw blankets he has strategically placed there. “What are we watching? It was your pick this week.”

“The Ring.” Tyler smiles a little when you shudder.

“You know I don’t like horror!” You complain, lips dropping into a pretty pout. It’s convincing, but Tyler likes horror not because he is into the movies, it’s more because he likes the way you cling to him. Sue him. If that’s all he can get, he will have it. Tyler has never been into the business of lying to himself.

“And you know I don’t like Tarantino, and yet you forced me last week to watch Inglourious Basterds.”

“Oh come on, did you see Mélanie Laurent act? She is gorgeous and a badass. You can’t tell me you didn’t end up with a crush on her.”

“She has other movies.” Tyler states, getting into bed next to you after pressing play on his laptop.

“Yeah, nice try. Name one, that’s not Now You See Me.”

“Oxygène.” He answers with a winning smile. Tyler had done his homework. He liked the way your smile brightened when you realized he actually listened to you, and cared about your interests. “Critically acclaimed, or so I have been told.”

“Fancy, even in the original French!” You pulled him closer, and he went without protesting. You tugged at his arm until he wrapped it around you, and sighed happily when you were finally able to use him as a pillow.

As the movie went by, Tyler started carding his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your head when you flinched at some scenes. Forty-five minutes in or so, you decided you weren’t able to take it anymore, and so, turned down to lay on your stomach, pressing your face against his chest.

“Hey, it’s not so bad.” He grabbed a little of your hair, gently making you tilt your head upwards and trying not to think how it would feel to really tug at your hair and force you to expose your throat.

Your breath caught.

“Don’t freak out.” You said, closing your eyes to avoid seeing his reaction. “But I might want to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Tyler let go of your hair like it burned him. The idea of kissing you was a delicious one, but it scared him too. He didn’t want to ruin your innocence. As for you, you knew Tyler wanted to kiss you too, you could tell by the way he kept sneaking glances at your lips. That had been the reason you had spoken out. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?” You open your eyes then, staring at him like a petulant child. You would respect his decision if he said he wasn’t into you, but you don’t believe that’s the reason behind it.

“Because you have your whole life in front of you. I would drag you down.” Tyler states, clenching his jaw. It pains him to say it, he wants you so badly, but he wants you to have a shot at happiness too.

“Are you like forty or something? Last time I checked, you had your whole life too.” You roll your eyes a little.

“I would taint you. You are pure, and good and I… I am a monster. I don’t think you get it.” Tyler says, eyes glinting oddly. The idea of innocence… Is he into it? Oh, that was interesting. You make a mental note to test it out after, choosing to let out a snort.

“I’m not as pure as you would think. I’m not innocent, either.” You state, looking him right in the eyes.

“You don’t get it. I have killed people, Y/N.” Tyler strokes your hair once more, trying to soothe the sting of rejection. This conversation is getting to him. Tyler’s eyes are downcast, much the same way they are every time he asks if you are sure you want to keep being friends, if you aren’t disgusted. “Dead. In gorish, gruesome ways.”

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh because this is too a recurring argument.

“Do you?” Tyler’s voice trembles.

“Ty, I know you.”

“You like this sanitized version of me, this boy who brings you flowers and makes you laugh, all gentle hands, but that’s not…” His tone gets angrier, this time. You aren’t too sure what you should say to soothe his fears. Sure, he went a little crazy back then, even arguing he liked murdering people. You know he is scared that might be the truth about him, but for someone who believes himself to be such a dangerous, uncontrolled murdered, there has been a pointed absence of murders.

“Not you?” You decide not to voice your thoughts, too afraid it would end up turning this conversation into a full-blown fight. Tyler frowns.

“It is not me. You might like this version, but as much as I am this, the Hyde is who I am too. And, the things it wants to do to you…” He hides his face between his hands, and your hands go immediately to pull at it.

“Kill me? Permanently maim me?” You ask, pulling at his wrists and looking earnestly into his eyes. You aren’t scared. Even that might be fixable, given enough time.

“No. Own you. “ That is muttered under his breath, as if he is afraid he is going to scare you away. Instead, you smile.

“Oh, Tyler, you should be more worried about the things I want you to do to me.” And with that, you lifted yourself just enough so you could kiss him. Tyler was a good kisser, unsurprisingly. He kissed hungrily, needy, with many more teeth and tongue than any other first kiss you had ever had. It was almost as if he wanted to devour you. It should scare you, you knew it, but it only made him more attractive. Tyler encouraged you to lay on top of him, sliding a knee between yours, so you didn’t have to support your weight and strain to kiss him.

“We need to talk about this.” He said, pulling away. You chased his mouth, pressing another kiss there. Tyler pulled away again, with a fond smile dancing on his lips. “Hey.”

“Mmmmm.” You answered, more focused on the way his mouth moved, flashing pearly whites, instead of the words he was saying. You kissed the corner of his smile, feeling him tense.

“We need, like, safe words and stuff.” Tyler tried to interject, and you kissed him again, this time on the lips. When you pulled apart again, he seemed dazed. “Safe words.” He repeated, less sure of himself.

"Mmmmm. Mine's whale. Now, you either choke me or slap me, but you have to do something.” And maybe you were being too cheeky, but you needed him to fuck you like yesterday. In a surprising move from someone who seemed to be so hesitant to join the program, Tyler flipped you on the bed, ending up with you laying beneath him, thigh firmly pressed against your core.

“The things I want to do to you…” Tyler pulled at your hair, forcing you to expose your neck. The roots of your hair tingle, white-hot pain at your scalp. You don’t complain, curious about his next move. He goes straight for the kill, dragging pointy canines down your pulse point. The idea of those teeth, better suited to puncture skin, rip it apart, sliding down your vulnerable throat gets you horrifyingly wet.

“Do them, then. Or are you all talk?” You smirk, slowly, dangerously. You want to rile him up. Tyler is sweet, but you bet if he lets go, it would be the best sex of your life.

“You are such a brat.” His hand goes to your neck, pressing on your windpipe just enough to take your breath, but not enough you are in any actual danger. You don’t fight him. Tyler finds it cute, the way your pulse flutters under his fingers like a scared bunny, eyes open like you have just seen a miracle. “Why do you like danger so much?”

You just look at him. You aren’t sure what to tell him.

“Answer me, bunny. Or we stop.” Tyler’s hand leaves your throat and goes to grab your jaw harshly. Your lips end puckering up, at the way he is holding you, pressing your cheeks together. He is genuinely curious about it. You seem normal. You have never gone on a murder spree like him, you don’t have a monster sharing your body. But whatever the reason is, you aren’t divulging it now.

“I don’t know.” You say, grabbing at his wrist and placing his hand again on your throat. Tyler decides to drop the theme. He is much more interested in the way your whole body trembles at the feel of his hand on your throat.

“Come on, bunny. Rub yourself on my thigh.” He orders. You stare. Then, testing the waters, always testing, he slaps your cheek lightly. It’s what you asked for, but you didn’t think he would actually go through it. You give a delighted smile, and Tyler can’t help but smile back. You must look like fools. Two lovesick, crazy, fools. “Come on, do as I say.” And because you are practically dripping already, with one of his hands holding your throat, you do as he says, slowly rolling your hips against him. “Good girl.”

Tyler’s grip gets stronger, making your pulse jump. You make a pitiful sound, and that prompts him to push your hair away from your face.

“Come on, Tyler, clothes off.” You plead. You were aroused already, and the harsh denim of his jeans rubbing against yours is making you closer to orgasm than you would like. Tyler eyes you curiously, but he pulls back and struggles to take off your pants and panties in one go. You help him, lifting your hips. The cold air hits your pussy, and you feel a little ashamed at how wet you are from some kisses and rubbing. You look at Tyler, who has already gone back to his previous position. Does he want you to…?

Apparently, your thought process is too slow because he slaps you again. This time, it stings and you whimper.

“Come on. You got what you wanted. Do as I said.” Tyler calmly says. “Don’t tell me you are so dumb from riding my thigh fully clothed.”

You desperately want to please him, but the idea of rubbing your naked pussy against denims makes you hesitate. When you finally do as he wants, you can help but mewl, overwhelmed with the feeling. The material is rough against your clit, scratching at it in a way that’s almost painful. It’s like an itch you are desperate to scratch. Yet, you try to be careful, mindful that you are so wet you are practically dripping over Tyler’s leg.

“You know I can smell other people's emotions, right?” He asks, hand leaving your throat, just so he can come closer. Tyler makes a show of sniffing at your neck, mouth pursing in distaste. You surely shouldn't find it as hot as you do. “Doubt doesn’t smell as nicely as arousal, bunny.”

“But… your pants…”

“Make a mess, darling. Come on.” At that, you let out a tiny moan, and decide to do as Tyler says, pressing your pussy fully against his thigh. “Look at you, all pretty, getting my pants all dirty.”

Tyler doesn’t say it, but this is like a wet dream come to life for him. You are the perfect mix of innocence and sensuality, daring but shy, bold but still wanting him to show you the ropes. Maybe that’s why he gives in so easily, pulling himself out of his pants and rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Do you want me to fuck you, bunny?” He wants to hear you say it, but he also wants your explicit consent. It’s such a Tyler gesture, it almost makes you laugh.

“Fuck me, Tyler. Please.” You look at him shyly, playing it up. You can tell he likes it because he slowly presses inside, and you give a slight moan at the stretch. The roll of your hips is calculatedly unsure. Tyler doesn’t move, looking at you with a tiny smirk. “Ty, please. Ah…. I… Tyler.” You beg, and this time it’s not for show.

Tyler doesn’t pull out, choosing instead to grind his hips against yours, until you give a punched out moan and your body tenses at one particular roll. He has been cataloging your reactions, you realize. Tyler pulls out, just to thrust back in and hit that same spot time and time again, with scary accuracy.

He enjoys the way you gasp and arch under him, pressing deeper, harder. When you start to grab desperately at his shoulders, clawing at them, legs tensing around his waist, he brings down his hand on your throat, once again. He squeezes, hard enough to startle you and bring tears to your eyes. “Come on, bunny.” He encourages you. “Make a mess.” And so, you do. The face you make when you come has to be one of his favorite sights in the whole world. It’s enough to make him come too, thrusting into you and making you sob harder from over stimulation. You push at him weakly, and he takes another look at your face.

Mascara is running down your cheeks, lip gloss messy around your mouth. You don’t look innocent anymore, you look debauched. The Hyde grumbles happily, and Tyler knows. He is never, ever letting you go.

#wednesday netflix #my writing #wednesday 2022 #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin imagine #tyler galpin smut #tyler galpin #tyler galpin fluff

1K notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 24 days

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

6K notes · View notes

miralyk · 2 months

Note

love the drawings you've been making for desmond and alex, what's ghosts in the machine? first i see them crawling out of your screen and now everyone's angels devils or monsters, i don't know if i'm missing something!

ah man, think it's time to try to summarize everything and apologize LMAO;; ty for asking though, i should've made things less confusing! this will be a Pretty lengthy post for irl context/backstory and "actual au" info so be ready if you want to read everything!

(for starters, the title's just a pun on the philosophical phrase "ghost in the machine" interpreted Literally and taking inspiration from clay in ac revelations, since he Was a ghost in a machine and jokingly called "my guardian angel" by des, haha)

the short version: basically, "ghosts in the machine" is what i've called the au(?) where i just doodle silly "artist talking to her art muse(s)" stuff like these kinds of comics instead w me,, the ""art muse"" is whatever i'm hyperfixated on (currently desmond, the assassin brotherhood as a whole, and alex/prototype lmao):

the Full LONG version: when replaying prototype and ac awhile back, i also posted fanart on LOFTER (china’s local version of tumblr) and made a mainlander mutual/friend who drew fanart too, like her oc w the assassins in an animal shapeshifter 刺客信条乙女向 (assassin’s creed otome) au! as i’m vietnamese-american and she’s chinese, we use translators and send pictures/doodles to talk about the games and our days, and when i was replaying prototype, she started ac2 too and sent me this as commentary:

from there, whenever we’d text or send pics/art, it became a running joke of sorts to also include our ""game companions"" like that fanfiction thing of “author’s note where the author and fictional characters comment on the situation and/or talk to each other”, and my doodles also became us or our computers being accompanied by them LMAO;; that’s pretty much the origin and setting of the particular doodles; just the daily shenanigans and art struggles of an artist (me and her) talking to their art muses (characters from special interests) haunting them and their computers

as for the "supernatural" aspects, at some point desmond and alex got drawn an as angel and devil because i’ve had ridiculous “protected by a guardian angel” luck lately like surviving a car crash unharmed, they’re my favorites and associated with me, the motifs match the duo, etc, it's not really that deep and/or for a "Lore Reason";;

likewise, the brotherhood got drawn as ghosts to emphasize the “we/our computers are haunted by them” joke more, along with how my friend and i are both asian and used to like ghosts and ancestral worship casually being a part of our lives already LMAO (ig in the context of the au then, they’re basically desmond’s ancestral spirits disney-mulan-style that freeload off of his vietnamese protectee (me) for both spiritual veneration or "worship" like staying relevant in this modern age via fanart)

for example, i'm also considering drawing like altair, ezio, connor, and edward as the vietnamese four holy beasts just to play around, things like that! there's no special lore reason aside from just personal thoughts and "oh that'd be fun to draw", they just thematically fit well being four prominent “legends” and being desmond's ancestors, etc,, haha

at the end of the day, "ghosts in the machine" are just silly shenanigans of me drawing what's on my mind, from who/what i'm hyperfixated on (aka impromptu art muses for me), any thoughts/frustrations i have w daily life or drawing stuff,, and "hm this sounds cool, i could draw this design or Cool Thing" stuff. it's not really an au persay (plus i still really cringe and feel self-consciously wary about the embarrassing self-insert aspect of all this, help lmao), it’s just,, just silly personal scribblings that are kind of sharing an inside joke to everyone now, but i'm happy to know people still humor these silly drawings and are curious if there's more to it, thank you!

#ghosts in the machine au #tldr all of this is silly doodling w a mainlander friend but now all of china... AND GLOBAL...... tumblrs know i'm cringe (pain)#i'm honestly surprised that people both on tumblr/global and LOFTER/china like these a lot and want more but yeah dghfdkj #protocreed #assassin's creed #desmond miles #alex j mercer #don't know what else to tag esp if people want to blacklist this... i don't want to clog 'canon' tags like character tags lmao #ask

21 notes · View notes

desertleviathan · 2 years

Text

Is it time for a bunch of gigantic TTRPG lore posts?

It sure as hell is.

I'm going to be dropping a lot of the info for my current D&D 5E campaign setting here over the next few days. The campaign is 27 sessions in, and I've been playing around with some ideas that go off in pretty interesting directions relative to the Forgotten Realms default. Some of those ideas I'd like to take a second pass at in another game now that I've field tested them, and some of those ideas I'm very happy with how they turned out in one pass and consider finished.

So we were playing the Dragon Heist story, right? I wasn't the DM then, I was just one of the players. My character was a Warforged Paladin. But there are no native Warforged on Toril, and I didn't want a bunch of inter-dimensional narrative baggage explaining how he got jettisoned from Eberron or anything like that. So I said he was from Netheril, a prototype for a new type of golem that was brought on shortly before the empire self-destructed, who then spent the next 1800 years buried under the wreckage until he was excavated in the modern campaign setting.

That's exactly what Netheril is for anyway. Any time Ed Greenwood would get asked about the origin of some spell or magic item or other setting detail, if he didn't have a specific story in mind for it, he'd be like "Oh yeah that's from Netheril. They made all kinds of crap!"

The problem was, in the editions where Netheril was meticulously detailed, I was mostly playing in Sigil and Ravenloft and whatnot. And in the editions where I was in the Forgotten Realms setting, Netheril has mostly been a footnote. So I made a bunch of crap up in my backstory... and when I got hold of the Netheril 2E box set on DriveThruRPG, it turns out almost all of the crap I made up was WILDLY INACCURATE.

My DM was not the sort of person to give a shit, and neither were any of the other players. But it bothered me. So I started inventing reasons why my Warforged's hometown diverged from the rest of the empire. And when the DM decided to take a break at the end of our last major arc, I proposed telling a flashback story set in that city, a part of the Netherese Empire, but also a weird isolated enclave that's pretty distinct from the rest of the empire.

That's our current game, that I'm DMing - Arcanamachy, the Fall of Illiaster. I'm the kind of DM who either scribbles half a page of vague and frankly useless notes and then improvises everything else on the spot... OR massively over-prepares with literally a hundred or more pages of homebrew shit sprawled across a huge google doc file. It's strictly one or the other for me, no in between. But the latter type of games tend to be a lot smoother to run after that initial flurry of creation obviously, so I'm kind of glad that the start of this campaign coincided with me not having a job, so I had the time fixate on my enormous setting bible.

Anyway, I'm going to be posting a bunch of crap here about that. About the Buer Valley and the very strange meteor that fell there, about how a group of planar refugees petitioned the government of Netheril for citizenship and were granted a charter to establish their own enclave, so long as they passed all their magical research to the rest of the empire. About how they divided the monarchs of the Faerie Court in the valley against each other and made them all vassals. About how they built the twin cities of Baetylus on the surface and Illiaster, and designed their whole society around competing for the extremely limited but much more prestigious laboratories and living quarters on the latter. About how they designed their economy to fuel research above all else, with Lab Experiment becoming the #1 source of employment, and threw open the gates to refugees from across the realms.

Some of this will just be lore dumps, and short stories, and setting descriptions, but I've also got a fair amount of mechanics written. Custom spells, character options, monster designs, etc., and I'd be happy to get some feedback on all of it while I'm working on revising it with the lessons learned from the campaign so far!

#Dungeons and Dragons #DND5E #Netheril #Homebrew #Illiaster #Baetylus #Buer Valley #Wall of Text

1 note · View note

innocentimouto · 2 years

Text

Personal stuff

People make Zuko into poor innocent angsty soft always good was taught better by his mother everyone should love him how dare anyone not baby boi

And I say let them.

Hear me out.

I like to look at a blog as a semi-public journal, made for oneself and other likeminded people. And once you do that, it’s not exactly reasonable to try to go into their journal and scribble on pages about why they’re stupid or ruining the fandom.

And even when I find it annoying that they woobify Zuko, because my whole point of liking him was that he was abused and acted out in anger and that’s a rare depiction of abuse in children’s media because it’s messy and not easy to deal with in real life like he was cruel to Iroh and felt entitled to things because he was royalty he stole from Song and we never see him feel guilt over that and he was angry let him be unreasonably angry exactly what are you saying about people with anger issues

Even if I dislike when people take all that away and use the defense that ‘you think being soft isn’t masculine’ when that isn’t the point, even then, if you look at their posts just talking about Zuko (and not demonizing other characters, which some don’t), they’re so happy.

Is it weird to feel happy for them? Like I got into the fandom late. I always saw numerous Zuko fics but each time I lost interest because he wasn’t Zuko. He never did anything messy that made me interested in his character in the first place. So I just got out of the fandom, but so many people are fed up with others always talking about him and making uwu fics.

But it’s genuinely amazing that so many people, from across the world, can get together and gush about something they love. If it’s in their own space, then don’t attack them.

It may be irritating to me that they’re changing a character. At the end of the day though, what exactly are we supposed to do? Attacking them accomplishes nothing, if you somehow forget they’re actual people and we should never do that in the first place. There’s much more merit to people making their own posts against those misconceptions because more people will see it and not worry too much about getting caught in drama.

(And you won’t ruin other people’s fun, which I think we should consider more even with people we disagree with.)

Also, on a more extreme side that’s not really specific to anyone, it may help to remember that if someone goes as far as to call a 12 year old a rapist or sympathize with Zuko or Azula but call Jet an irredeemable monster, or some other extreme take, then it is very unlikely anything we say to them will change their mind. Better not waste energy and your happiness on those people and focus on producing content to counter that.

Since it’s entirely fictional, I think people should be able to change a character if they want to. (Personally I just wish they acknowledged that and didn’t attack others for sticking to canon. Or reducing characters because they erase the flaws but keep the reactions of the rest of the cast, which can only result in demonizing them.)

I understand the urge to see your favorite character in everything, to never shut up about them, to consider writing them in numerous different situations. And I find it very freeing to watch people get happy talking about Azula, Zuko, etc because it’s their blog, their hobby, their words.

This is coming across as strangely at peace with it all when in reality I get so fed up with all the Tim Drake fics that put down Dick or Damian or any other character. Or just how he straight up steals their character traits, their backstories, etc, in the comics.

My solution to that isn’t ideal as I’ve essentially stopped reading most fics in the DC fandom.

But I still hate the idea of commenting on those fics to point out why I hate them, or going to Tim Drake blogs to tell them how much I hate his character. Because why?? Those are people. I may disagree with them strongly, but ultimately I wouldn’t want them jumping onto my work and putting down my favorite characters.

It’s a work in progress, but I think I’ve managed to get to the point where I feel happy for anyone who gushes about a character, fanon or otherwise, so long as they don’t reduce other characters as a result.

#Atla #anti fanon zuko #Zuko #Should I tag this zuko critical? it's basically canon though #anti Tim Drake #DC fandom #sort of unrelated

42 notes · View notes

sleepdeprivedsloth · 3 years

Text

In the Dead of Night

[MHA - Midoriya, Bakugou]

summary: Not wanting to return to a nightmare, Bakugou spends the night alone in the common area. That is, until Midoriya finds him and tries to get his old friend to open up with an effective technique from their childhood. (platonic BakuDeku tickle fic)

potential warnings: swearing, tickling

words: 1.5 k

a/n: ahhh my first fic!! …kinda hoping no one sees this but yeah imma post it anyways haha. hopefully whoever ends up reading this will enjoy it! happy national tickle day guys :D

Bakugou stared blankly out of one of the windows in the common area, gazing into the empty void that was the night sky. He rarely ever was awake during the dead of night, but yet here he was. Sleeplessly seated on the couch, long past the time his classmates all retired to their dorms.

He would much rather be asleep, heaven knew he needed the rest, but he was not going to risk returning to his nightmare. The experience felt more like he actually relived the sludge monster incident rather than only a dream. He could never willingly go back to that.

His mind being in its own world, Bakugou didn’t quite catch the faint sound of footsteps that grew closer. He vaguely recognized the familiar noises of the refrigerator door opening and closing before he was brought back from his daze by a hand offering him a bottle of water in front of his eyes.

Bakugou looked up and spotted no other than Izuku freaking Midoriya. He felt his facial features try to form a glare out of a force of habit, but his body was too exhausted to actually comply. Reluctantly, he grabbed the water bottle and took a sip as the green-haired boy wordlessly sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Midoriya, whose brain was still in the waking-up process, had just been awakened a few moments ago with his throat strongly craving for some cold water. Maybe it was due to the fact that his mind was still a bit clouded with sleep, or that the two boys had been sitting in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time, but Midoriya actually broke the silence and spoke up.

“What are you doing up at such a late hour?” he asked, turning slightly in his seat so that he could study Bakugou’s reactions. Midoriya didn’t know what he expected as a response, probably a snarky reply or just outright rage, but what he received definitely shocked him.

Bakugou completely ignored him and avoided any chance of eye contact by staring straight ahead. It was as if he didn’t know that his classmate was sitting not even three feet away from him. Midoriya immediately became more attentive and alert, his Kacchan Radar going off like crazy. Bakugou never missed an opportunity to pick a fight with or insult anyone, especially Midoriya.

To his credit, Midoriya took a moment to consider his options. He could go interrogation mode on Bakugou, but he doubted that the blonde would actually open up to him like that. Maybe he could just sit there in silence until Bakugou willingly chose to talk to him, but that could honestly take days. Of course, he could go back to his dorm and leave Bakugou alone, which was probably the option that his classmate would have wanted him to choose, but when was Midoriya even known for actually pleasing Bakugou?

Suddenly Midoriya remembered a technique that had never failed him back when he and Bakugou were younger. A method that they had both been sworn to secrecy about, and hadn’t been used in years.

“Why are you down here so late, Kacchan?” Midoriya asked again, grinning slightly, this time punctuating the other’s name with a poke to his side.

Bakugou let out a quiet yelp, obviously not expecting a small tingling sensation to suddenly shoot through his entire body. He internally cursed himself for showing a reaction and flinching away from the touch.

Still awaiting a response, Midoriya dared to poke again, but before his finger could come in contact with the boy’s body, Bakugou abruptly brought himself to his feet and made a move to leave the common area.

Midoriya quickly and quietly followed suit, walking up behind his unsuspecting classmate. He tasered his index and middle fingers into both of Bakugou’s sides, latching onto them and relentlessly digging in. “C’mon Kacchan, talk to me!”

Bakugou had to squeeze his eyes shut and cover his mouth with one hand to prevent himself from making any noises that could potentially wake up his classmates. He desperately tried to fight off Midoriya’s fingers with his other hand (emphasis on “tried”), but he was too tired physically and mentally to actually get away.

With the advantage of the surprise attack on his side, Midoriya was able to keep the minimally thrashing Bakugou in his grasp. Being the teasing shit that he is, Midoriya taunted, “I bet you wanna laugh, huh Kacchan? Go on, you’ll feel better if you just let it out.”

“N-no I w-won’t!” Bakugou argued from behind his hand, struggling to keep the laughter building up inside of his throat under control. “If we w-weren’t in the dorms right now I would not he-hesitate to blast your ass into nehext week.”

Midoriya gave a playful, over-dramatic gasp. “Did the Kacchan just giggle?” He moved his hands up to Bakugou’s ribs and started scribbling his fingers against them, causing the boy’s weak wall of defense to come crumbling down. As Bakugou’s little laughs started leaking out, Midoriya continued wiggling along the sensitive bones and drilling into the grooves between them. “I am now officially addicted, I must hear mor-”

“Hehehaha Deheheku quirk! Quhuhuhuirk!”

Midoriya immediately recognized the meaning of the word and stopped his tickling, letting his own arms drop to his sides. He watched as Bakugou bent over, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, trying to regain his self-control.

Meanwhile, Midoriya’s head began to flood with memories from his childhood, when the two boys had tickle fights almost on a daily basis. To prevent one of them from pushing the other past their limits, they had decided to use “quirk” as some sort of safeword. Midoriya was a bit surprised that he had immediately understood Bakugou’s intended context of the word, considering that it hadn’t been used for what felt like forever.

A soft, sentimental smile crossed Midoriya's face as he caught a glimpse of Bakugou's face for the first time since tickling him. The blonde’s lips were brought upwards in a reluctant smile and a light blush, most likely from embarrassment, dusted his cheeks. If only Midoriya had a camera to capture the rare moment.

“Did it really tickle so much that you had to call “quirk?”” Midoriya questioned, genuinely curious if he had gone too far.

Being somewhat in control of his own body again, Bakugou stood to his full height and faced his former best friend. If Midoriya noticed that his arms were still wrapped around and protecting his ribs, he didn’t say anything. “Of course it wasn’t that bad, dumbass. I-” Bakugou paused for a moment before looking away from Midoriya and continuing in a whispered voice. “I just didn’t want to risk making too much noise and waking anyone up and…”

He didn’t have to finish his thought for Midoriya to catch on to what he meant. He easily realized that Bakugou didn’t want any of their classmates to find out that he’s ticklish, which was understandable.

Midoriya nodded, showing Bakugou that he didn’t need to further explain. They stood in silence for a moment before the greenette chose to speak up again. “So why are you down here so late at night instead of sleeping in your dorm?”

Bakugou’s body visibly stiffened as he quickly cast his gaze towards the floor. If he hadn’t been exhausted beyond belief and still recovering from those nimble fingers that definitely did not tickle him, he probably would have told Midoriya to screw off and mind his own business. But instead, he answered, “If you really must know, shitty Deku, I had a dream about the damn sludge villain. I didn’t wanna deal with that shit again, so I just came down here to wait out until morning.”

Midoriya knew from experience that Bakugou didn’t want comforting words or pity. That would only make him feel even more vulnerable than he already was, and that wasn’t Midoriya’s intention. So instead, he simply replied in an indifferent tone, “Oh, alright then. Mind if I wait out here too then?”

Not waiting for an answer, Midoriya walked back to the couch and sat back down, spreading out comfortably but still leaving more than enough room for Bakugou. The last thing he wanted was for his former childhood best friend to have to recover from a nightmare alone. But he would never say it out loud, for Bakugou’s sake.

Two minutes passed before Bakugou inevitably decided to walk over and take the seat next to the other boy. Midoriya looked over and caught his classmate’s eye, nodding slightly to him with a small smile before turning back to gaze outside of the window.

Having gone from childhood best friends, to bully and victim, to rivals, to… wherever their relationship stood now, the two boys shared a strong bond that neither of them knew how to describe. But just being in each others’ presence in the dead of night, enjoying the silence between them, was comforting.

However, the pair would definitely not be feeling so relaxed if they hadn’t failed to notice a certain pink-haired alien queen that managed to capture a short, incriminating video before excitedly running off back to her dorm only a few mere moments ago.

a/n: thanks for reading, and i hope you guys liked it! i’m still working on that fandom list but yeah MHA will definitely be on there lol. i’ll try to update again soon but until then have a great life y’all!!

#bnha #bnha tickle #mha #mha tickle #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #kacchan #izuku midoriya #midoriya #deku #ler!midoriya #lee!bakugou #ticklish!bakugou #bakudeku #platonic #tickling #tickle fic

181 notes · View notes

loxare · 3 years

Text

More fics I should not be writing because I should be asleep! This one is post canon, sort of setting up a Yunmeng reconciliation? Descriptions of injuries. Lan Wangji gets yelled at. Other stuff happens.

Jiang Cheng stood outside the door of the sect healer, waiting, simmering with fury.

He had lost his sister to her own choices, and to the sword of a cultivator who had been trying to kill his brother.

He had lost his brother scant minutes later to his own choices, to a fall that any cultivator would have survived, to a fall that had killed his non-cultivator brother.

And now, now Jiang Cheng might lose his brother again. Just when he'd gotten him back. And he would have, if the group of disciples he'd sent to deal with a pack of fierce corpses hadn't finished early. If they hadn't found Wei Wuxian lying on the side of the road, bleeding.

The assistant who had come out a shichen ago for bandages and had subsequently been bullied until he answered his sect leader's questions had said that they were still working. That they were hopeful. But that if Wei Wuxian had gotten here any later, there would have been nothing they could have done.

And so Jiang Cheng seethed. He had seen the wounds, before he'd been locked out of the room. No bite marks, so not a fierce corpse, yao, or animal. Heavy bruising, which could be indicative of bandits, if Jiang Cheng didn't keep his roads clear and ensure his people all had enough to eat. And if it hadn't been for all the sword wounds.

Even with the small core Wei Wuxian had now, no non-cultivator would have been able to touch him with a blade. Jiang Cheng had seen him fight a war, surrounded on all sides by cultivators and holding them off - winning - with just his flute. Not even playing it, just using it to block strikes and hit pressure points.

Which meant that whoever had gone after him had been a cultivator. And a good one.

It made sense. Even now, when the blame for Jin Zixuan lay solely on Jin Guangyao's shoulders, people still hated the Yiling Patriarch. Even now, he had enemies. It was to be expected. Jiang Cheng knew that Wei Wuxian would have people who hated him or his methods until the day he died. Again.

So what had he been doing on a Yunmeng road all alone?

It hadn't been that long ago that Jiang Cheng had watched his brother walk away with Hanguang-Jun. With the way Hanguang-Jun looked at Wei Wuxian, there was no way he cared so little that he would abandon him to bleed on the side of the road. Which meant he hadn't been there when Wei Wuxian had been attacked.

Hanguang-Jun had left Wei Wuxian alone.

Alone, when anyone with a grain of sense knew that Wei Wuxian had enemies.

The door opened. Liu-daifu stepped out, wiping water off of her hands with a cloth. "He'll be fine," were the first words out if her mouth, because she knew her sect leader well. "I'm keeping him sedated until he heals up a bit, otherwise he'll undo all my hard work by trying to move, but we can wake him up in a day or two."

Jiang Cheng let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Good." He worked his jaw. He didn't want to know this. As a sect leader, he should know it, so he could plan Wei Wuxian's recovery training. Maybe find out who did this. And... hm. "What was the extent of the damage?"

Liu-daifu took a breath. "Most you know. Broken leg, punctured lung," from where someone had run him through, "several broken fingers," because someone had stomped on his hand, "various smaller cuts. Two floating ribs, which is why I don't want him moving, not until they set a bit more. I'd recommend at least two weeks on bed rest, followed by very light exercise for two months. If he's lucky and follows the stretches we give him, he'll retain full motion in his hand."

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to yell, not now, no matter how furious he was. Liu-daifu would understand, but she wouldn't be happy. "Thank you. Excuse me."

Yan Xing was waiting for him in his office. "Zongzhu. I sent disciples in plain robes to various tea houses and inns around Yunmeng to listen for gossip. If whoever did this is nearby, we'll find out."

"Good." He sat at his desk and scribbled a quick note, waving the paper once he was done to dry the ink faster. "Get someone fast to give this to Nie Huaisang. If we can't find the bastard, he can." He rolled his shoulders. "I'm going to Gusu. I should be back before Wei Wuxian wakes. If not, you know what to do."

Dipping into a quick bow, Yan Xing left.

Jiang Cheng stopped only long enough to change into less bloodstained robes before he left. He didn't bother with formal robes because this wasn't a formal visit and also they would have gotten messed up in the flight over anyways.

He flew through the night, too agitated to land and rest. By the time he landed in Caiyi, it was close to dawn. He sent a message to Cloud Recesses, then stopped at an inn to rest for a few hours. It wouldn't do to be incoherent from exhaustion.

Exactly at midday, Hanguang-Jun stepped into the inn and the innkeeper led him to the private dining room Jiang Cheng was waiting in. The look the Chief Cultivator gave him could have curdled milk. Jiang Cheng was mildly surprised that his returning glare didn't set Hanguang-Jun on fire.

They exchanged pleasantries, which barely qualified for the name, and then Jiang Cheng threw a silencing talisman at the door. It was the strongest one he had. Wei Wuxian's design, of course. Then he took a deep breath. "What. The fuck. Is your problem?"

Hanguang-Jun raised an eyebrow.

Jiang Cheng grit his teeth, but fair enough. Hanguang-Jun had many problems. He would have to clarify. "I was under the impression, when you left Guanyin Temple staring at Wei Wuxian like he'd shot the suns from the sky, that you cared about his wellbeing."

Hanguang-Jun raised his eyebrow further. "I do."

"Then why," Jiang Cheng said tightly, every word forcing itself through the tight ball of rage in his chest, "did my disciples find him alone on a roadside in Yunmeng?"

"He can defend himself," was Hanguang-Jun's lukewarm excuse.

"Oh, so that makes it alright to abandon him then?" Jiang Cheng leaned in closer. "Whether he can or not is irrelevant. He was half dead, Hanguang-Jun."

Before he could even finish his sentence, Hanguang-Jun was standing, heading for the door. Zidian snapped in front of his face, forcing him to take a step back or lose his nose.

"Sit the fuck down, Hanguang-Jun," Jiang Cheng roared. "You are not allowed to leave until you account for your actions! You do not get to pretend concern when you left him to fend for himself!" Jiang Cheng stepped in close, crowding Hanguang-Jun closer to the wall, further from the door, Zidian sparking in his hand. "He was found with multiple sword cuts. This was no accident or monster attack. One of Wei Wuxian's enemies tried to kill him. And clearly, he wasn't able to defend himself."

"Enemies?" The word came out slightly higher pitched and breathless.

How had a man this stupid become Chief Cultivator? "Yes, Hanguang-Jun," Jiang Cheng said with exaggerated patience. "Enemies. Enemies who didn't disappear when his innocence was proven. Enemies who still hate him, and what he does, and what he did. So why the fuck was Wei Wuxian lying on the road dying without someone with him?"

Jiang Cheng had never been able to decipher Hanguang-Jun's facial expressions. But the guilt and discomfort would have been easy for anyone to see. "He said he wanted to travel."

"Great. Why didn't you go with him? Or send some of those beribboned goslings that are so besotted with him along?" If Wei Wuxian still wanted to travel when he was better, Jiang Cheng might do that with his own disciples. It would be good field experience for them.

Hanguang-Jun looked pained. "He said he wanted to travel alone."

Jiang Cheng froze. "Alone." He took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Twenty. "Alone? Wei Wuxian called you his zhiji, didn't he? And you think he wanted to travel alone?" It was so absurd as to almost be funny. "Wei Wuxian can't stand being alone. Oh, he enjoys sitting on rooftops with only the stars and a jar of wine for company, but he is incapable of going for more than a few days without someone paying attention to him, and you think he wanted to travel alone?"

More likely, that dumbass had thought he'd be in the way. Or he'd ruin Hanguang-Jun's pristine reputation with his proximity. Or, and this is the one Jiang Cheng was betting on, Hanguang-Jun didn't actually say, out loud, with words, that he wanted Wei Wuxian to stay, and so Wei Wuxian hadn't thought he was welcome.

He couldn't deal with this idiocy. He snorted at Hanguang-Jun's pained expression. "Whatever. I just wanted you to know how badly you'd screwed up. And now, you're going to pay the price. You can't have him back. Wei Wuxian is a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. If you had taken better care of him, I would have been willing to let the two of you get married with minimal fuss." A modest bride price for one, and many lotus flowers at the actual ceremony. If his idiot of a brother had eloped, which was much more likely, he would have just let it go entirely. His brother's happiness was still important to him, even after everything, and not worth destroying just so Jiang Cheng could try and wedge himself into where he wasn't wanted.

Hanguang-Jun's ears took on a distinct shade of red at the word "marry". A spark of hope lit in his eyes.

He would take great pleasure in extinguishing that hope. Jiang Cheng took a step forward, Zidian crackling on his arm. "But now, if you want to take him away, you have to prove to all of Yunmeng Jiang that you can take care of him. If you try and marry him without my blessing, it will be war."

Then, leaving Hanguang-Jun still as a statue behind him, he tore his talisman off the door and left.

The flight home was quiet. Liu-daifu fused over him when he landed early the next morning, berating him for not sleeping, not eating, generally not taking care of himself. With Yan Xing taking care of all his duties for the day, Jiang Cheng allowed himself to be bullied into eating a decent meal and then bullied into bed. He awoke with a pounding headache that the food and tea waiting for him alleviated, and was feeling mostly alive when the healers woke Wei Wuxian.

His face was thinner than he remembered, something Jiang Cheng knew Liu-daifu intended to fix, but it still scrunched up the way it always did before he woke up. Wei Wuxian blinked his eyes a few times before they focused on Jiang Cheng's scowl. "Jiang Cheng? Oh, I mean, Jiang-zong-"

"Are you an idiot?" Jiang Cheng interrupted. "Dont answer that, I know you are. But have you become an even bigger idiot since you died? Did you leave half of what little intelligence you had in the grave? What the fuck were you doing dying in a ditch alone?"

Another slow blink. With every word out of Jiang Cheng's mouth, Wei Wuxian relaxed further and further into his mattress. "I was going to... Xiangyang. They've got water ghouls."

Jiang Cheng made a note of that. Both that there was a problem in his territory that he needed to send some people to fix and that the information had gotten to his brother who had been travelling before it had gotten to him. And then he made a note of Wei Wuxian's slurred voice and difficulty focusing on his face and said, "Get some rest dumbass. You're staying until you're healed, so I'll have plenty of time to yell at you after you've slept off your anaesthetics."

Wei Wuxian nodded exaggeratedly. "Mmkay Jiang Cheng. G'night. Love you."

That last bit was mumbled into his blanket, but Jiang Cheng still heard it. He froze. A blossom of warmth spread through his chest, one that had been so familiar to him years and years ago, one he thought he'd strangled into cold silence. He smiled and patted Wei Wuxian gently on his head. After everything, his brother still loved him. "Yeah. Love you too. Rest up. You've got lots of scolding scheduled for tomorrow."

Wei Wuxian said nothing. He was already asleep. Jiang Cheng went to get some more rest himself. Liu-daifu had been glaring at him even as she'd pulled the needles out of Wei Wuxian's neck.

Tomorrow, he'd shout his brother into oblivion. Maybe the day after too, depending on how he was feeling. After that, who knew. Maybe they'd be awkward and angry at each other for the entire two months that Wei Wuxian was recovering. Maybe this would all end in tears and fucking Hanguang-Jun would get Wei Wuxian back without a fight after all. Or maybe. Maybe they'd take their sister's advice and talk to each other.

And then wwx wakes up and gets yelled at a lot and does a bit of yelling himself and feelings are exchanged at volume but they are in fact exchanged. And then lwj, taking the easy road, does not take wwx away and marries into the Jiang sect, which pisses jc off even more.

#Untamed #Jiang Cheng #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #I may be a bit too mean to lwj in this #eh #Loxie's fics

18 notes · View notes

thespritepepsi · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1, divorce

Harvey thought he knew what heartbreak was, but he was wrong.

Harvey had given every ounce of himself to the farmer, he dropped all his walls down and had been vulnerable, and it had paid off, the famer had asked for his hand in marriage; they were blissfully happy together, but everytime he had asked about children, all she said was "not now, the farm takes up too much time and energy." Harvey understood, but he still asked twice more before letting the matter drop completely, he knew when the time was right, she would ask herself to start their family.

But the time never seemed to come; they were well off, all the community upgrades she had worked for had been completed, she even helped Robin build a house for Pam and Penny, but she never brought up the subject of having a child. Still Harvey was determined to be content in his new life with his wife.

Seasons passed much like they had when he was single, although he made sure to tell the farmer how much happier he was at her farm than his old apartment, she always smiled and kissed him when he did this, and their intimate life was as good as the very first time every time, he had no reason to be unhappy, and he assumed his wife was as happy as he was.

Until one night early into summer.

Harvey was awoken by a soft knock on the farmhouse door, he was startled, all manners of medical emergencies flashing through his mind as he hurriedly put on his robe and glasses and quietly, as not to disturb his sleeping wife, ran to the door.

"Hello?"

"Good morning Doctor Harvey."

It was Mayor Lewis, oh Yoba, what was wrong? Who was hurt? Who could possibly be out this late getting hurt?

"What's the matter, mayor? Is it a medical emergency? Harvey stepped out onto the porch and softly closed the door, "tell me it's not one of the children?"

"Oh no, no emergency Doctor, everyone is healthy as can be" Lewis slipped his thumbs into his suspenders and pulled a bit, " I was just out picking up the shipping items, and well... there's something here for you."

"For me? What could it be?"

Mayor Lewis pulled out a thick creamy envelope with the name 'Dr. Harvey Moore' stamped on it and held it out in front of himself a bit, the moonlight catching on the just-dried ink.

Harvey took the envelope, "what is this?" He inquired, holding the parcel like it was a rehabilitated bird about to fly out his palms; Mayor Lewis shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at him, "well, um, Doctor, I think it's best if you take that on inside and give it a read, that's all I can say."

Harvey looked puzzlingly at the mayor, he knew what was inside the envelope, but wouldn't tell him directly what it was, could he have used too many medical supplies, and the clinic was going into debt?

"Thank you Mayor, I'll read this right away, have a good day." He murmured, turning to go back inside, as he shut the door, he thought he heard the mayor sigh.

Harvey sat down at the kitchen table, the light from the stove bathing the room in a soft orange glow; he carefully opened the envelope with the letter opener and pulled out the thick papers.

There, in big official letters were the words "DECREE OF DIVORCE" Harvey gasped out loud, further down was the Mayors signature, and even further down was the Farmers; Harvey's heart skipped a beat, maybe even two as he traced the familiar handwriting, that was hers all right, it matched the writing on the little notes she would slip in his doctors jacket, or in his lunch; tears slipped down his face as the read the official words, the famer had applied for divorce yesterday, based on the date following her name.

Harvey didn't know what to do now, this was a total shock, he crept back into their room and pulled his duffel bag out of the closet; as quietly as he could, he stuffed all his clothes inside and zipped it shut, he looked at his small room connecting to the bedroom, all his model airplanes and his shortwave radio were set up there, he didn't know how he could get his things without waking up the farmer, and by Yoba, he couldn't bear the thought of her waking up right now. Harvey hastily scribbled a note asking her to box his things up and send them to the clinic, before hastily leaving the farmhouse and letting his tears spill in earnest.

The next two days passed and the divorce was finalized, he stayed exclusively at the clinic, going through the motions of physicals and paperwork; living off coffee, too few hours of sleep, barely eating and crying.

Then one day, as he was at the front desk, Maru had gone to lunch a few minutes before, when the bell above the door tinkled, he looked up and his heart sank, it was the farmer; arms loaded down with boxes and looking like she would rather battle a monster infested mine floor than be there.

The farmer carefully sat the boxes down on the counter, and came around through the doors to stand near him; Harvey moved slightly away and crossed his arms. "I brought your planes and your radio set up," the farmer said quietly, looking at him to meet his eyes "Harvey, I--" Harvey shook his head and held up a hand.

"I, I can't even look at you, please, spare me anymore pain."

The farmer nodded swallowed thickly, "Goodbye Harvey." She said before rushing out the door.

†****************†

The fall dragged on, Harvey kept to himself, settling back into his post-married life routine, although he would occasionally go to the saloon and have a beer, something he knew he shouldn't do, being the only physician in town, but the nights when he lie in bed, and the thoughts of his failed marriage threatened to keep him awake, he went to the saloon for a nightcap.

One rainy night though, he was laying in his bed, when the after hours clinic buzzed, he rushed downstairs to find the farmer holding up a barely conscious Shane, both of them were soaked through. "He needs help," she implored, "he's had so much to drink, I found him by the cliffs, I'm afraid for him."

Harvey rushed to Shane's other side and put his shoulder under his other arm, together they half walked, half dragged Shane into a clinic cot, fully in emergency mode, Harvey barked at the farmer, "You need to wait in the lobby." Before turning and bringing his full attention back to the semi conscious man in front of him.

Later, Harvey went out to the waiting room, to find his ex wife sitting in the chair closest to the door, legs bouncing nervously and her eyes downcast; "I pumped his stomach and gave him fluids, he's in rough shape, but he's going to make it," the farmer sighed and sagged into the chair, looking like a wet, disheveled harvest day balloon, "thank Yoba." She breathed, then she stood to face him, Harvey continued, "I'm more worried about his mental health right now though, it's good that you brought him in when you did, or we would have a far more serious problem on our hands. I'm going to refer him to a therapist friend of mine in the city."

The farmer nodded, " I'm sure that's what he needs, thank you Harvey."

" Can I see him?"

Harvey looked a little dubious, " alright, but just for five minutes, he's going to need to rest, it's late, and he needs to stay overnight to replenish the fluids he's lost"

The farmer walked back to the sectioned off part of the clinic and kneeled down next to the cot, Harvey couldn't help but overhear their quiet conversation.

"Hey there Chicken Boy"

"Hey Farm Girl"

How you feeling?

I've had better days

Harvey says he can get you help, if your willing to take it, that is

I may just take him up on that

You're an asshole

And you still keep me around

I plan too, for a long time

Harvey cleared his throat and stepped around the divider

"It's time to give him some rest now"

The farmer nodded and turned back to Shane, smoothing his hair and dropping a kiss on his forehead before rising to leave; the small tender moment was not lost on Harvey and his heart wrenched, remembering a time when she touched him so sweetly.

†*****************†

Summer gave way to fall, and Harvey was living his life pretty much how he had before his marriage to the farmer, still popping into the saloon every now and then, 'everything was fine' he'd tell himself , and even he started to believe that. Until one night in the saloon.

He had been there nursing a drink when the farmer came in, as he turned around to see who was arriving, the farmer was scanning the faces in the crowd, her face lit up in a grin to see Shane at his usual spot and drinking a sparkling water; she took a step inside before her gaze landed on him, and she blanched, her lovely smile gone, she even took a step back, half turning to leave before steeling her resolve.

Hey Gus, can I have a beer here please?

As he slid the frosty mug to her, she turned and offered it to Harvey.

"I don't want your gift" he said.

"You're going to need it" was all she said before going to Shane, who wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss on the mouth, the farmer giggled and kissed him back; Harvey's hand drifted toward the beer.

"Can I have everyone's attention please?" The farmer shouted over the talking voices and the playing jukebox, when all eyes were on her she looked at Shane and got down on one knee, producing a mermaids pendant from her pocket, Shane turned blushed a deep red, his surprise almost audible, before he said "I accept!"

The whole saloon burst into cheers and everyone converged on the couple, voices overlapping with cheers and congratulations, Harvey downed the beer in a few gulps, turns out she was right, he did need it.

#Harvey stardew valley #Shane stardew valley #Stardew Valley

43 notes · View notes

scarlettrabbit · 3 years

Text

Lost and Found

Authors note: This is kinda long, but bare with me for a moment!! Firstly, hooray!! I’m so glad I got this posted on Comfy Tuesday, though I’m not too sure it actually falls under that comfy category, this is pretty much just a wholesome fic. I guess this is technically my first fanfic I’m ever writing ever too. I wanted to do a simple short writing which was Sasha regressing at work, that kinda turned into an introduction to the whole universe I’m working on, so don’t expect much regression in this first installment. I’d like to thank @sleepy-watcher for inspiring me to do this! Their works are so great and if you haven’t checked out their fics you should. Also, I see your guy’s requests for drawings and they are not going unnoticed, this has just taken me a few days to write and readjust. One last thing, I am very much open for critiques and advice as well, especially since this is my first time doing this. My dms are always open. I’m also thinking about posting this to Ao3, but other than that, enjoy!

⭐️ ⭐️

“Annnd done...” Sasha gently closed her laptop as she finally wrapped up the rest of her work for the night. She glanced over to the nearest clock which was just about five minutes over 11 PM. No doubt, she was pretty tired. Staying after hours to get some of the needed research done for statements did a number on her sometimes. That made it even more likely to regress in this state.

But...this probably wasn’t a good time to do so. Tim and Martin were busy with their own work still, as for Jon, he got to go home early. He needed the rest anyways, as he had been taking more late night shifts than them. She should probably just tell them she’s done for the night and head home to her flat. Besides, it would be terrible if Martin found out anything about her regression.

But...something within Sasha told her to stay, probably because she needed to find her stuffed cat doll which she named Fiona. She only brought the poor thing to work to help her get through the morning, but ended up losing her in the midst of trying not to embarrass herself in front of Jon and Martin.

So now, she sat idly on her chair and looked down at her desk. Thinking about her favorite stuffie made her thumb make her way to her mouth. For now she was just biting down on her nail while thinking of something to do. Mainly to get her attention off of the eerie silence and slightly dark area. She didn’t want to think about all the scary monsters in her imagination that got intensified by many statements in the archives.

There were a few blank papers left on her desk along with a couple of pens and pencils she used on the daily. Drawing something would probably put her at ease. Sasha grabbed a sheet of the paper and set it down in front of her.

Now what would Tim like? Well, he loves anything she draws, but she wanted to do something different from her usual drawings of cats and bugs. Flowers seemed good, so she gently scribbled them down, they aren’t perfect, but they make her happy. Thus she continued, whilst she moved on from biting her nail to sucking on her thumb.

That went on for a few more minutes until she heard footsteps approaching her work area. She probably should have been more careful, but luckily, it was just Tim who came to tell he got his work for the night as well. Fortunately, he was aware of how late nights usually made her regress more, and he was perfectly okay with that. Still, he approached with a more warm aura.

Finally satisfied with the many different flowers she drew, Sasha looked up from her work and let her innocent eyes gaze at Tim. A little hesitant to speak at first, but Tim’s calming stance put her at ease. “Papa...” she grabbed her paper and held it out to him. “F’owers....”

“Those are some pretty flowers muffin...” Tim replied as he got down to Sashas level to ruffle her hair. She couldn’t help but smile from that. “Guess you’re all wrapped up for the night then?” She nodded with some childish exaggeration “Uh huh! Go with papa?”

“Yep! Let me just go tell Martin that we’re taking our leave, are you big enough to go grab your stuff while I do that?” Referring to the emergency duffel bag he had whenever Sasha regressed at work. They had stuff at Tim’s flat of course, it was just good to take it to refill.

Sasha nodded again, knowing exactly where she kept it too. She felt bigger than usual in her headspace so she wanted to show Tim that she could do something by herself, just for that night of course. She also felt determined to find Fiona on her own too. “Alright pumpkin, meet me by the front door then okay? I’ll only talk to Martin for a second.” “Kay!” She said before running off to the break room to retrieve her bag.

The break room was really convenient sometimes, especially since it was a good place to get her belongings when-

“Oh, hey Sasha! You’re all done for the night?”

Crap...Martin was there. He was putting his empty mug in the sink. Sasha went still, thinking now about how Tim was probably now looking around the institute for Martin. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond properly, she couldn’t put herself back in her big space. Every second of silence that passed would make it worse though, so she ended up nodding timidly.

“Thats good! Heading off with Tim then?” Another silent nod, she slowly made her way towards her bag.

Huh...how odd.

Martin seemed to be a bit concerned by those responses. He quickly took note of the behavior and began to question that. Even when she was tired she never seemed to get like that. “Hey, are you feeling alright?” Now Sasha had to verbally respond somehow, she thought about it for a moment. “Jus’...jus’ tired...” Guess she would just have to have Tim find Fiona for her. Now Martin had a hunch. And he could only confirm his theory by asking her one more thing as she began to walk out with the duffel bag.

“Before you go...” he started, letting her turn around again as he pulled out a very familiar stuffed cat. At least, familiar to Sasha. It was Fiona, sitting in Martins hands with her black and white fur and blue eyes. Her eyes widened with a mixture of relief and fear.

“Is uh...this yours? I found on the couch right there.” he pointed to the couch in the break room , letting Sasha reminisce on how she had took a long rest there earlier with the cat. Remembering the slight panic she felt realizing she had forgotten to get her once Jon came into the break room. “U-um...yea....” she reached out to grab her, and Martin placed Fiona in her hands.

Of course, she only got deeper into headspace after being reunited with her beloved cat. She gave Fiona a big loving hug, and Martin could help but gush at the sight. “T’ank you....” Her thoughts of him finding what she did to be weird were only filled with bliss now. “You’re welcome dear, so I suppose you are a regressor....” Sasha hummed in response, so he considered that a yes. “Ah, and I guess Tim knows too huh, that’s....actually relieving...” he was going to explain to her, but Tim had finally found them at last. When he came into the break room he began to panic internally seeing the two of them. “Oh Martin hey buddy! Me and Sash are going to head out for the night so-“

“Tim, Tim It’s fine. Don’t freak out.” Tim silenced himself, seeing Martin was in fact fine with what Sasha was doing. “You see uh, Jon regresses too and...I take care of him sometimes.”

“Wait really?” Jon did seem a bit on edge at work some days. “Yep, nice to see we aren’t the only ones...” it was a really convenient coincidence for all of them now as they didn’t have to hide it anymore.

“Oh wow! That’s really great, I just didn’t think Jon would be-“

“Papaaaa....” Sasha looked over to Tim with her sleepy eyes, and he quickly ushered her over to take her bag for her. She let out a soft yawn, and her thumb immediately went back into her mouth as Fiona was held in her other hand. “Someone’s sleepy..” he mumbled under his breath as he glanced over to Martin. “Say, since we’re all in clear, maybe we could all get together and do something. Only if Jon is okay with it of course. I think Sasha would be happy to have a playmate..”

“P’aymate...” Sasha echoed tiredly, leaning onto Tim for support.

“Totally, I think once he hears about this he’ll be more than excited...” And Martin couldn’t wait to tell him the news tomorrow. “You two should probably get going now though. Sasha looks like she’s about to pass out”

“Ah right...say bye to Martin now Sash.”

“Bye bye...” she gave him a little wave goodbye and carefully followed behind Tim as they finally headed out for the night.

#fandom agere #tma age regression #tma agere #sasha #tim #Martin #agere sasha #agere #age regression #fandom age regression #comfy tuesday

10 notes · View notes

liamloveslarry · 3 years

Text

Baker! Harry & Primary School Teacher! Louis

so, a couple of weeks ago i made a little post about how i’d love for people to send me prompts/writing ideas and the lovely @louistsbravery sent me one based off her moodboard she so kindly made, here!

my brain kind of ran away with me and so i hope you like this, i tried to stick to the theme as best i could, enjoy! :)

Harry eyes the man from behind the counter.

He watches him as his eyes scan the board above from where he’s standing, sleepy blue orbs blinking tiredly behind the square glasses perched upon his nose.

His heart thumps something fierce when he notices the tufts of brown hair sticking out slightly from behind his ear, a noticeable trait he assumes from lack of sleep and too many early mornings.

It’s 6 o’clock in the morning and the sun is barely edging over cobbled streets and tall buildings, its shimmering waves casting a pale glow over puddles on the pavement and bouncing off lampposts.

‘Babs Bakery’ is nestled between a small row of shops along the Northern Quarter. Its quaint, rustic exterior leads itself into a small tea room and peaceful eating area. Potted plants line the windowsill outside while the smell of fresh baked scones and coffee beans pulse and weave through the air, an atmosphere Harry’s prone to taking naps in.

He’s been here for about a year now, taking over from his Nana when she’d gotten too old to carry on the business, but he hadn’t changed a thing. It might be slightly old fashioned but it reminds him of his grandparents and how he used to sit at the table in the corner by the window with his colouring book and jumbo crayons, while being served hot vimto and iced fingers.

A small cough nudges Harry from his stupor and he blinks, realising he’s been staring. The man is smiling slightly, the last traces of sleep pull at his lips as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth while he lets out a yawn.

“Morning.” He says, his Northern twang is raspy and gentle, a higher pitched lilt whispering through words.

Harry wipes his clammy hands on his apron and steps forward, fingertips drumming along the counters edge. He can see the man’s wearing a light blue button up underneath a soft, grey jumper. Pale pink tie burrowed in between. A shoulder bag is situated over his left arm and there are textbooks, papers and pens bursting through the zip.

“Hey. G’morning.” He replies, fingers aching to touch him. “Find anything you like?”

The man squints one more time at the blackboard, eyes moving over loopy words and today’s specials.

“I think,” he says, dragging out the ‘I’. Harry finds it that endearing he has to grip the countertop and remind himself to keep breathing. “I think I’m gonna go for a latte and a cheese and ham toastie, please. Is that alright?”

Harry nods and reaches for a paper cup. “Is that to go or stay in?” He asks.

“To go, please. Need to make sure I get to work before the little monsters. If I time it right, the caffeine rush lasts all day.” The man responds, smirking a little. “I swear I love my job, but sometimes they can be a handful.”

Harry nods and spins on the spot, turning the face the coffee machine and placing the cup underneath the metal nozzle. There’s a spurt and a groan before hot milk starts to pour into the cup.

“Am I right in assuming you’re talking about children, not animals, right?”

The man laughs and Harry blinks up towards the ceiling, whispering a quiet ‘fuck’ as his knees buckle.

“Yep! Early years. I work at the Primary School just down the road. The only animal I have is Eden here, and she’s still asleep the lucky buggar.”

“Eden?” Harry asks, as he places the cheese and meat on top of the bread baked only this morning, crumbing bits of pepper on top and drizzling balsamic vinegar over the sharp cheddar.

He places it into the small oven and turns the timer on.

“Yeah, heh. Sorry. She’s my pet rabbit and the kids go crazy when I bring her in. I hope you don’t mind me bringing her in here? She’s in her carrier so she can’t escape.” Louis looks sheepish, and he rubs the back of his neck while he flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s; but the look is quickly dissolved when Harry dashes around the counter and asks if he can see her.

Louis nods and steps aside, giving view to the medium sized carrier sat next to his feet.

Harry crouches and sees through the bars, a small golden rabbit, tufts of white fur peeking through the strands. Her nose twitches in sleep and her soft whiskers brush Harry’s fingertips lightly where he’s resting against the metal bars.

“Oh my, she’s so cute.” He whispers, not wanting to wake the sleeping animal.

He peers up at the man from where he’s situated on the floor and realises he’s eye level with the fly of his work pants. He flushes and bends his knees, standing up.

This only makes things worse as he’s now directly facing him, no counter in between their bodies. If Harry were to inch his fingers out, he’d feel just how soft his jumper is. He flexes his knuckles and reminds himself not to think about if his skin is as soft as his voice.

He coughs into his fist and steps back.

“Sorry – uh. I just love animals. And I don’t mind them in the shop,” he nods his head to where a small tank rests next to the till. “I have one of my own to keep me company, too.”

A plump goldfish swims happily from rock to rock, bobbing his tiny mouth as he scoops up the remaining pieces of fish food Harry had sprinkled in earlier.

Louis spins to face the tiny morsel, but only after his eyes drop down to where Harry’s biting his lip, a small bridge of pink scattered over his nose and cheeks.

“Nice.” He says, smiling at Harry once more. “What’s its name?”

Harry walks back around the counter and scoops the cup from underneath the machine and presses the button on the timer, stopping the chirps that are signalling the food is ready.

He places the items down in front of the man and bends to rest his elbows on the counter, reaching one finger out to follow the fish through the glass.

“Phillip.” He huffs, the sound sculpting into an embarrassed laugh.

Louis looks at him with his eyebrows raised, a small grin quirking his lips.

Harry groans quietly and rolls his eyes.

“Please don’t ask – my niece named him and I couldn’t say no.”

Louis laughs and reaches a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet and sliding his card out of the slot.

“Mate, you don’t need to explain anything to me.” He says. “I deal with 15 of them on a daily basis, why d’ya think I bought a bloody bunny?”

He smirks as he places the card into the reader and enters his pin, and Harry stares at the way the sun is peeking its way in through the windows, causing the man’s hair to shine, highlighting his cheekbones and lightly freckled skin.

He stands there for another couple of seconds before the reader beeps and he pulls his card out.

“Cool, well - I think that’s me.” The man says, slipping his wallet back into his pocket and gathering the items in his hands. “I guess I’ll see you around, uh?” he looks a little expectantly at Harry and smiles, a tiny quirk of his top lip.

“Harry.”

“Louis,” he replies. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then, Harry.”

Harry manages a wave before the man is out the door, smiling at him through the window one last time before he disappears down the street.

It isn’t until Harry’s shutting up shop and wiping down the counters that he spots a small folded piece of paper, wedged in underneath the till.

He frowns and drops the cloth, peeling open the sharp edges until scrawled black writing looks back at him, reading:

“Nice Buns!”

Harry stares at the letters and the scribbly, rushed image of two iced buns smiling and feels a flush work its way from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes.

The thing is, is that Harry doesn’t know who could’ve done this.

The bakery’s been busy non-stop all day and plenty of customers have been in and out over the last eight or so hours, and so he’s confused as to who left him the note.

He pockets the piece of paper and picks up his cloth, continuing to clean.

This time with a small smile etched onto his face.

The notes keep appearing after that.

Once a day, in the same spot as before.

Usually, Harry only notices them at the end of his shift, treating them as little surprises after his busy schedule.

Some days there are short sentences, wishing him a good day, and other days there are lyrics from songs that make him smile, every now and then there’s a cheeky one liner that makes him blush.

There’s a small glass jar that sits beside the toaster where he keeps them, day in, day out, the glass gets fuller. Sometimes Harry, after a bad day, will twist the top off and read through them one by one, curling up on the chair by the window and instantly feeling the stress of the day melt from his shoulders, sated happiness washing over him.

He hasn’t yet managed to find the person on the other end of the notes, always too busy to stop and look. And anyway, what would he say if he found out? Yes? Maybe? ‘No Jonathan, if this is you, I’m not into threesomes so stop asking me?’

He kind of likes there being an air of mysteriousness to them.

But he guesses, it wouldn’t be so bad if it turned out to be a certain someone, now would it?

It’s after an unusually busy day that has Harry rushing around on his feet and trying to serve a long line of customers that seems never ending, flour dusted through his hair and balancing both dishing out food and cleaning up after people, that come 5 o’clock, he’s exhausted and practically dead on his feet.

He slumps against the counter and rests his head down between his shoulder blades, having a minute to himself and heaving a big sigh, when he hears the telltale sign of footsteps approaching him, shuffling he thinks, a little slowly.

“Hey.”

He whips his head up and sees Louis.

His hair is a mess and there’s a line of purple felt tip staining his cheek. His tie is skewed and the top button of his shirt is undone, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallows, lightly dusted with midnight scruff.

“Sorry, I know you’re uh-technically closing soon,” he says, “I just wanted to pop in really quick for one of those chocolate chip muffins? My sister’s coming up for a few days and I need something sweet to get me through, long day ‘n all. Which I’m sure you can relate to.”

Harry huffs a laugh and nods his head, turning to face the cabinet full of pastries and frowns when he realises there aren’t any in there. He closes his eyes and sighs.

“Ah, sorry. It looks like we’re out, I have a fresh batch of blueberry in the back if that’s okay?”

Louis nods and smiles and Harry wanders into the back, letting the smell of bread and cookies sprinkle over him as he pulls out one of the trays and picks a particularly plump muffin, bouncy slightly in texture.

He finds Louis in the same spot as he was before, only this time he’s rubbing his eye with his fist, looking even more tired than when he first padded in.

He waves the muffin at Louis who grins in response, arm falling back to his side and walking closer to the counter.

“Let me just wrap this up for you.” Harry says, and places the muffin in a small decorative box, closing the lid and taping it with a sticker.

When Louis’ walking towards the door a couple of minutes later, he looks over his shoulder and says,

“You might wanna check something over there,” nodding his head to a small counter display full of flapjacks, where a piece of paper looks to be slotted in between, sticking up as if waiting to be plucked, “looks like you missed something.”

And then with one last smile that’s bordering on slightly nervous, he’s gone.

Ten seconds later when Harry unpicks the paper, the words ‘you bake me crazy, wanna grab a drink sometime?’ look back at him.

He thinks back to the other day and presses his lips together, suppressing a smile and biting his lip.

He knows just what to say.

And then, three years later when he stares down at the ring and card with two pieces of bread on the front and reads, ‘I loaf you very much, shall we grow mould together?’

And he looks into teary blue eyes.

He knows just what to say then too.

#this was pure fluff #tooth rotting #wow #i hope this was ok!!#i honestly didn't mean to write over 2k words on this #but here we we are #if you like little prompts like this #please let me know and i'll be happy to write them!#send them to me anytime and i'll post when i have the chance #:)#larry fic #hlcreators #i don't know how else to tag this #fic rec

33 notes · View notes

siuilaruinofthegale · 3 years

Note

ello my most sirius friendo (your ask reminded me why i liked the post, which was to be a reminder to send u an ask LMAO)

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

(if you're here from the K/S tag the K/S is at the end of the ask)

- 🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

SNICKIE you're doing this on purpose. I'm running out of WIPs you haven't seen lmao

“HEY! ALL YOU GUYS! WE’RE GONNA ALL BE NINJA, BUT I’M GONNA BE THE BEST NINJA EVER, AN’ I’M GONNA BE HOKAGE! BELIEVE IT!” He cringes into his seat, peering over at the boy. He’s standing in front of all the other kids, hands on his hips. Iruka hadn’t thought a small child could be so loud… which is saying something.

And then Sasuke, little and pointy and dark-haired, shoves his way to the front. “You can’t be the best ninja ever!” he half-shouts back, crossing his arms and frowning. “’tachi-nii is the best ninja ever!”

Naruto blinks, like he hadn’t considered this idea of someone else already being ‘the best’. Then his face sets a little harder. “Then I’m gonna kick his butt once I’m out the ‘cademy, an’ he won’t be the best any more!” he exclaims.

“‘tachi-nii’s busy doin’ important stuff!” Sasuke says with a stomp. “He’s not gonna fight you, he’s a real ninja doin’ real ninja stuff! What’re you even gonna do as Hokage?”

Naruto almost swells up, this time with pride instead of anger. “I’m gonna keep everyone’s precious people safe, no matter what, ‘cause everyone’s precious to someone!”

[this is a snippet from melodies, wherein two (2) babbies meet]

- 🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

This isn't a bad question, per se, but I may not be the best person to ask this of xD Most of the time these days, unless I'm writing something incredibly new (i.e. smut or a new fandom), I'm automatically proud of what I've written. Perhaps I'm growing arrogant in my old age, but I fancy myself fairly decent at this writing stuff, and as such I'm known to bang out a few lines and grin wickedly, no matter how simple the lines are.

If pressed, though, I would say I'm proud of how many people I've made cry. That sounds quite cruel apropos nothing, but... a lot of the comments on red strings and lilac skies are about how the end made them cry, and not just because of the sad bits, but because of the happy bits. One person said I made them cry because I wrote an autistic character with love, that I gave them hope for their son's future because of it, and that's... that comment honestly floored me. It took me days to recover.

And -- here I may verge on arrogance again instead of mere pride, but seeing people react so strongly to a single character, to certain scenes and sentences and concepts, makes me eager to be a published author. One of my end goals for my writing has always been "to help people", and I've always said that if I manage to help only one person, it would be worth it. If something that started out as smut and saltiness about tropes can do so much for people, how much more will my books be able to help them?

p.s. in retrospect I'm really proud I finished rs&ls too, I'm bad about not finishing. endings..... the devil.

- 🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Ah... I don't know if I have anything like that. I have a bad habit of either scribbling out a note and forgetting it entirely, or stewing over something until I sit down and write 90k words of smutty nonsense about it. (literally how rs&ls got started, I kid you not)

Perhaps the closest thing wouldn't be quite a Work-In-Progress, but... a Was-In-Progress? The first thing I ever finished was the first b book in a 'epic' fantasy series about two women who become friends when they're captured by slavers, and then later escape, and Things Happen. It wasn't good. I feel bad for the people I asked to read it. The plot rambled SO BADLY. There was no plot. IT SUFFERED. After letting it sit for a year, I realized how bad it was, and how weird it would be to start the series at that point. So I basically threw a dart at a board and picked a new point in the larger plot to start at.

I got... I don't know, 170k words in before I realized I was rambling again, and lost, because I didn't know how to get where I was going. So I set the series aside to finish it later and started on WTI. It's intended to truly be an epic fantasy, the sort that sits on the shelf beside Lord of The Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire and deserves its place there, but I didn't have the skill to write it then. I'm not sure I do now, however much I've improved.

Because I am a benevolent answer monster, I'll give you a series synopsis, though.

Manaia was a peaceful woman once. That was before the slavers took her, before her beloved moon goddess bought her, before she fled the temple-palace hand-in-hand with one of the heretical fish-women of the islands... before she found her entire village burnt to the ground and her husband's bones in a shallow grave.

There is no peace for her now. She burns, day and night, nothing left of the woman she once was. Manaia will have justice, and then she intends to have vengeance. She intends to scour every slaver from existence... but Areya, her companion who worships a strange god, constantly holds her back.

Manaia might succeed... but will she be ready for the truth behind the slavers she hates so much?

- 💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

uhhhHHH

tbh I forgot everything I've ever written when I read this question

for melodies: Kakashi walks better in heels than Sakura does. Not that Sakura does it badly, he's just very good at it. It goes hand-in-hand with him being a very good drag queen. Nobody ever asks Sakura to be the one in a dress if Kakashi's there.

for red strings and lilac skies: you've heard this one, Snickie, but it's still an amusement. It didn't fit for me to put it into the last chapter of rs&ls, but...

the Naruto world is early 90s-ish in technology. That means that when Sakura and Kakashi are raising their children, Pokemon and NinjaBoys come out. The twins love it, and then they take to calling Shikamaru "Uncle Shikachu".

He hates it.

#siuil stuff #siuil writes #ask games #kakasaku #long post #siu can't shut up as usual

5 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 24 days

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

6K notes · View notes

detectivedreameater · 3 years

Text

Home For The Holidays || Erin and Marley

TIMING: Christmas Day PARTIES: @corpse--diem and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Erin and Marley celebrate Christmas together for the first time, and some things come to light. CONTENT: Alcohol, Kissing/Touching, Domestic Abuse mention

Over the past few weeks, Erin had been checking in on Marley regularly-- and she’d helped her get a scheduling journal set up, which meant Marley’s pile of sticky notes had been reduced to only one corner of the room. Although there were still a few random ones placed around, like over JD’s food bowl, in the bathroom, and in her bedroom, the place was much less of a mess of them now. And it was working fairly well. She hadn’t had another seizure or episode in almost a week, and that had to be improvement, right? It had to be. And that meant that things were going relatively well, she’d even been able to convince work to let her at least start working on cases on paper. Field work would be assessed later, but she didn't let herself think about that just yet, and how her...condition might affect that. She was trying that whole ‘“looking on the bright side” thing. Might as well give it a shot, right? She had nothing left to lose anymore. Well, except Erin.

Today was their scheduled weekly organizing day, where Erin would come over to help Marley plan out her week and set reminders. It was also Christmas. It was...oddly sweet that she wanted to do this for Marley, and Marley was still trying to get used to the idea of letting someone help take care of her. It felt almost sad having to depend so much on one person, but after their fight, the realization that she needed this or she was going to spiral was one she couldn’t ignore any longer. She’d pushed away almost everyone in her life, and things kept reminding her of what the world wanted her to believe she was-- a monster. But she wanted to be better. And ignoring her condition would only end in one way, and even if it still pained Marley to admit it, she didn’t want that. She’d survived Roy’s attack for a reason, and she wasn’t going to throw away this chance again. Even if she still felt like half a person, losing blocks of time and bits of herself. One thing at a time, she reminded herself. One thing at a time. Today, she would concentrate on Erin. From her office, she heard the jingle of the keys and the door open and she leaned back, looking towards the entryway. “In here!” she called out, flipping the case she’d been working on closed. Today, she would try and give herself a break.

This wasn’t the way Erin expected to spend her Christmas. She wasn’t complaining, of course. There’d been far too many points this year that made her doubt getting this far. Being here, being alive only made the desire to squeeze as much goodness as she could out of today. Couldn’t get worse than last year. Alone, fresh from burying her father with a refrigerator full of organs in the basement. Bags hung from each arm as she trudged up to Marley’s front door and let herself in. Didn’t think about how normal that was now that she was here at least a few times a week. It was her new normal as much as Marley’s. She didn’t mind it. Building that trust back up was a slow roll, and Marley was expectantly impatient and angry during these organization sessions. This was hard. For both of them. They were both mending and learning all at once but real progress was being made.

“Hey, Merry Christmas!” Her voice rang out into the apartment as she kicked the door shut behind her. JD scurried somewhere, the little thumps of his feet padding along the floor. Apparently he wasn’t ready to say hello just yet. The feeling was mutual. She dumped the bags gently onto the kitchen counters before moseying over towards the office and greeted her with a bright smile. “After we’re done getting you squared away, I brought along some goodies. Hope you didn’t make any other plans for today because I’m not going anywhere,” she teased gently, pulling off the thick winter peacoat on her back. “How’re you feeling today?”

“Same as everyday, Pinky,” Marley answered back dryly. “Er-- yea. Happy-- Jesus birthday or whatever.” She didn’t really celebrate this holiday, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The first few foster homes she’d been in had tried-- but getting a gift for ten plus children was hard, and Marley wasn’t a fan of hand-me-down barbie dolls. Except to pull their heads off of and color on them with red paint. Sometimes she’d leave them around the house for the other kids to find, and laugh when they screamed. So most homes had stopped gifting her anything, because what else generic did you get a young girl? She looked back over at Erin. “What else would I be doing, anyway? Oh, right-- drinking at bars alone. Yeah, sounds great on a day like this.” Rolled her eyes, but it was playful, as were her words. She peered curiously at the bags on the counter. “What’d you bring?” she asked, already standing to head over to them. “No, we can do that later. Let’s do this first.” Maybe this time Erin would fall for it and she could get away with not having to think about how shitty she felt every day, and how, after she’d started writing everything down, her black outs could no longer be ignored.

“I don’t know but that sounds depressing any day,” Erin remarked, raising a brow in her direction, more concern than judgment in her voice. Just wasn’t a way she enjoyed picturing someone she cared about. “Hey, no peeking!” she hopped after her, covering the tops of them with her hands. “After we do what we need to do, you can see,” she said with the exaggerated conviction of a mother scolding her child for wanting a snack before dinner. It wasn’t like this was her favorite thing to do either but it was a necessity not even Christmas could stop. A reliable routine mattered more than ever. She grabbed her journal from her bag with one hand and Marley’s hand in the other, tugging her to the kitchen table. “C’mon, c’mon, let’s get it over with,” she smirked. Left Marley and the notebook at the table and started plucking down post-it notes, focusing on the ones that had less to do with daily reminders and more on the things that needed immediate attention. “I know it’s tedious and annoying, but it’s important. You know?” She paused briefly, glancing up from the neon papers in her hand. “Do you feel like this is helping? She asked, genuinely curious. It seemed like it was, and getting organized was never a bad thing, but it meant more than that in Marley’s case.

“Well, considering I mostly did that to cruise, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” Marley pointed out. But she hadn’t done that in a long time now. Because she’d had Anita, and even when she’d ruined that, she had Lydia. And then after that...she had Erin. Maybe not in the same ways as Anita and Lydia, but Erin was the last person standing in her life. And her company, though reluctantly accepted at first, was welcomed now. It was...nice. Marley frowned playfully. “But mooooom,” she whined, rolling her eyes. Trudged back to the office and sat back down, opening up the notebook. “Unfortunately,” she grumbled, scribbling in the corner, “it helps a lot. Maybe too much. Not sure I like knowing how much of my day I actually lose.” She flicked one of the sticky notes-- the one with all her timestamps on it-- and glanced over at Erin. “Who knew brain damage was so serious, right?” she joked, even if her face remained stark. She wasn’t sure if they were okay enough to joke about this sort of thing yet-- but Marley didn’t really care. It was her injury, she could joke about it if she wanted to. “But, uh-- seriously. It helps.” She shrugged. “Now hurry up and finish, I wanna drink this really expensive tequila one of my colleagues sent me.”

“Cruise?” Erin started to ask before it dawned on her. “Ah. Right. Gotcha. Knowing who you are as a person, that makes more sense,” she teased. Wasn’t how Erin handled that kind of thing but she was the last one to judge someone else for it. Sometimes it struck her how different they were for how close they’d become over the last six months. There were probably more differences than similarities, if she was being honest. Turns out a deep need for revenge and enduring traumatic, violent attacks could be a pretty decent bonding agent though. Worked well enough for them, anyway. But it was a relief to know that this was helping. That the hours and hours they were putting in here were amounting to something tangible. “Good,” was all she said, not trying to put Marley too much on the spot and scare her away. Stood beside her as she moved back to the table, absently running her finger along her shoulder as she read through the notes. “Hey,” she said, stiffening a bit. “What’s--uh, this one about?” She asked, dropping one in front of her. “Call foster home about birth certificate.” She dropped the note in front of Marley and sat down beside her, shuffling through the others, not thinking too much about her question. “Is that a work thing, or…?” The other implication of her question dawned on her and her eyes jumped up to Marley’s. “Is that a you thing?”

Marley thought very little about Erin’s close proximity to her, or her hand on her shoulder, as she watched her shuffle through the notes Marley had left around for her to organize. It almost felt relaxing, even if in the back of her mind, Marley still felt that strange prickle of anger inside of her chest. When Erin spoke up again, she stopped scribbling in the journal and looked down at the note she had set down in front of her. It was Marley’s turn to stiffen. She’d forgotten about that note-- which was entirely the point of these sessions, but that didn’t matter in the end-- until this moment, and something clicked in her head about how she meant to throw that one away. She picked it up off the desk and crumpled it, dumping it in the trash under the table. “It’s an irrelevant thing now,” she murmured, understanding that her response alone gave Erin the answer even if her words did not. “There’s no point in getting it anymore.”

Erin narrowed her eyes at the abruptness in which Marley crumpled up the note, tossed it aside like the contents meant nothing. If there was anything she’d learned it was that Marley spoke more with her actions than her words, especially when it came to this sort of thing. “Oh-kay,” she answered, seemingly moving on with the organizational process. “Guess that means you’re not going to answer my question?” She asked, jotting down a note for Marley’s calendar for later in the week. Without looking at her, she tilted her head, discarding another note, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe you did.” Marley didn’t talk about her parents often--or ever, really--but it made sense why, if that note held any truth for Marley.

Marley watched Erin closely for a moment, as she jotted something down on the calendar. Realizing too late that it was the note she’d just crumpled. She clenched her jaw a little, but knew that even if Erin acted like she was going to drop it, she never really would. And hadn’t Marley decided to stop being so closed off? At least with Erin. She had to try somewhere, right? Rubbing her eyes again, she let out a heavy, audible sigh. “It’s complicated,” she mumbled and remembered how much Anita hated that word and felt her stomach burn. “I just mean-- yes, it’s about me. I was looking into some stuff before things got...really bad.” Because she felt some strange sort of compulsion for it, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to know. “I was looking into tracking down my birth parents.”

Ah, there it was. The sound of caving. Erin knew she’d earn that eventually but it came quicker than she anticipated. Maybe Marley was finally coming around, opening up to her in ways she was reluctant to before. Maybe, just maybe, their talk from a few weeks prior had paved the way for more progress than she’d realized. “Oh. I didn’t realize,” she started, and felt silly the moment she said it. Of course she didn’t know, both that she was looking and that this was something that Marley needed to do at all. “Why is it irrelevant now? Do you... not want to know anymore?” She asked, fussing with the post it notes. There wasn’t much more to the task at hand, and the rest of the post-it notes were categorized, but she kept her hands busy writing excessive notes and pretending to sort through them again. She had her full attention but staring at Marley while asking her such a personal question didn’t feel like that was the way to go here.

“Well, it’s not like I talk about it much,” Marley admitted quietly. Or at all. She never shared these parts of herself, they were dark and painful and cold, so she hid them away. With sealed records and compartmentalized memories, she kept them behind locked doors in her mind and in real life. But she was growing weary of them, and whatever was melting its way through her barricades was also telling her it was okay to let someone in. And of all the people to let in, Erin was the least dangerous. And probably the most worthy of it. “I wanted to know why they gave me up,” she answered quietly, her voice fragile in a way it never really had been before. Small and tempered, as if she were afraid. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, if it’s not going to change anything.” It doesn’t matter anymore if she couldn’t even stay inside her own brain enough to be herself.

Erin slowed down her movements, watching Marley cautiously as she explained herself. It was brief, to the point, like it typically was with Marley, but she’d learned to read a little between the lines at this point. She didn’t need to be able to read her to recognize how difficult this was for her to admit, though. This would be hard for anyone. She reached over, placing her hand on top of hers gently. “It won’t. You’re still you, no matter what they say, you know. If you were ever to find out why, I mean. You’re pretty badass, you know--that’s not something they can take away from you no matter what.” She offered a small smile, wishing she knew the best way to navigate this. “But… if you wanted to do that, to look them up, you’ve got my support and you know I’d be glad to help. But you also don’t have to. It’s entirely up to you, Marley.”

The hand placed on top of Marley’s almost made her jump-- it was a gentle action that she was woefully unused to. Her eyes went up to meet Erin’s, finding something in them that she hadn’t really known she was searching for-- validation. A gentleness around the subject, as if she knew the fragileness of it. And of course she did. Erin knew Marley better than anyone else, even Anita. She stiffened and swallowed at the thought, looking away. “I feel like I have to know,” she finally admitted quietly, “because right now, I don’t know anything. I don’t know who I am anymore, or who I want to be, and if I could know why they gave me up-- why they let me get passed around foster home after foster home-- maybe I could understand why things turned out the way they did.” She pulled her hand away so she could fold her arms across her chest, a subconscious way to protect herself. “But I guess just like everything else, I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Erin nodded slowly as listened, absorbing as much of this new information about Marley as she could while still trying to be helpful. If not helpful then just a sounding board, someone for Marley to express her thoughts and fears with. “You deserve those answers. You do. If they’re there. They might not, either, you know? It’s not a fun option but it's a real one.” She bit her lip, watching her withdraw. “It’s not something you have to make a decision about right now, either. You have time. God knows you’ve got so much on your plate as it is so… maybe when you’re ready and you’re able, you still have that time.” When Marley pulled away from her, she reached for the past of post-it notes and rewrote it, sticking it back onto the space where they were usually cluttered. “There,” she nodded, glancing back, a small encouraging smile on her lips. “Doesn’t need to be on the calendar just yet. But we won’t forget about it. How’s that?”

Marley's immediate reaction was to protest. No, this was stupid. No, she was stupid for wanting to do that. For wanting to know about them. They had given her up for a reason-- because they didn’t want her. Why would looking for them, why would trying to find them, make that any different? Why did Marley want so much for that to not be the reason? Too many what ifs clouded her thoughts and she watched silently as Erin stuck the note back on the board. She swallowed thickly. “Okay,” was all she said, looking away again and to the calendar they’d filled out. She unfurled her arms slowly, closing it. “Can we go drink now?” she asked, trying to move her voice from the shaky mutter it had been before to her more usual drone.

The hesitation in Marley’s eyes only confirmed how uncertain she felt about the whole thing. Just because someone wanted something didn’t mean they were ready for it, in whatever capacity that entailed. There was still so much healing she had to do still and Erin was thankful she wasn’t immediately jumping into this. It was still there on the table though--or the board, more accurately. It wouldn’t be forgotten. When she was ready, they could go back to it. She let out a soft laugh and nodded. “Yes, please,” she said, giving Marley’s shoulder a quick squeeze as she moved passed her. “How about you get the good stuff and I’ll get your surprise?” She raised her eyebrows cheekily, trying to reinsert some excitement back into the room. Even if she felt a pang of nervousness when she grabbed the bag with her gift inside. It was probably stupid and definitely overly sentimental, and she was already preparing for the relentless teasing she was bound to get. With a heave, she set the bag on the table with a clunk. “I didn’t know how to wrap it so--here you go.”

Marley was extremely thankful for the change of mood as Erin gave her that look. She smirked under the weariness and felt herself re-energizing already, leaping up from the chair and following her out back into the living room. “One bottle of extra fancy tequila, coming up!” she said, grabbing two of her more fancy tumblers, the bottle that that one co-worker had felt obliged to give her, and some salt and limes. Doctor Lin-King had strongly advised against heavy drinking, but it was holiday, and that meant rules didn’t apply, right? She wasn’t sure, she’d never really celebrated before. The clunk on the table startled her ever so and she looked at the bag Erin presented her with, slowly setting the glasses and bottle down. “What is it?” she asked, cautiously skeptic. She raised a brow, as if trying to peer into the bag, but not moving to open it yet. “Wrap it? You mean like--” A gift. Or present, rather. Erin had gotten her a Christmas present. Marley felt her throat suddenly tightening. “Oh,” was all she said, still not moving to open it.

Erin was busy eyeing the tequila bottle, lifting it to inspect how fancy Marley kept insisting it was. “I’ve never heard of it so it must be fancy,” she chuckled, sitting on the top of the table and popped open the top of the bottle. “Oh, that’s fancy. It might be too fancy for either one of us.” She grinned over at her, watching her tentatively poke at the present but not quite opening it. Clearing her throat, she started to pour into the tumblers Marley brought out, watching her out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah. A gift. Because it’s Christmas, dummy,” she teased her before handing her the other glass. Put her hand on top of the bag to stop her from opening it just yet. Held her glass up towards Marley, her smile softening into something more genuine and a little shy. “So, before you open it--Merry Christmas, Marley,” she nodded once, pausing. “There’s no other scrooge out there I’d rather be spending it with.”

Marley kept her eyes on the bag, even as Erin spoke. She only looked up when Erin put her hand on the bag and held the glass out to her. She took it but simply held it in front of her, still confused, visibly, by the action. She met Erin’s eyes, feeling a strange burning in her chest. It rose into her throat and her cheeks then her eyes and suddenly she was blinking and looking away. “Sorry, I don’t--” she wiped her face on her sleeve, shaking her head, “no one’s ever--” she looked at the gift on the table and wondered if context clues were enough, because the words wouldn’t come. She cleared her throat and readjusted herself, shaking off the strange feeling and raising her glass to meet Erin’s. “Merry-- yeah, Merry Christmas, Erin,” she said quietly, feeling an unstoppable smile twitch on to her face. She smothered it quickly by drowning it in tequila, grabbing a lime and biting into it, before holding one out for Erin. “If Im Scrooge, what’s that make you?” she asked once they were done.

It took more than a few moments for Erin to get it but once she did, her narrowed eyes grew wide and she could feel herself soften even further at the sight of Marley’s composure wavering. More than anyone, even the glimpse of Marley’s tears always got her hard and tight in the chest. Maybe she was biased but she felt like she had a pretty good grasp on Marley, on her heart, and it always ached when she got less than she deserved. “You’re okay,” she assured her quietly, trying to stop her voice from cracking, gripping the top of the table tight enough for her knuckles to whiten. More nervous now about the contents of her present than she was before. She tossed the drink back, thankful it went down smooth--it was really good tequila--and started to pour another as she chewed on the lime in her mouth. Laughed softly, shaking her head. “Hell if I know. Maybe the Ghost of Christmas Future. They always had that cool death thing going on. And a cool outfit.” She smiled up at her, nervously glancing at the present, then back to Marley, and then back down to her new cup. “Will you open it already?” She teased, nodding towards the bag.

“Admittedly,” Marley said with a shrug, “I’ve never actually seen that. Or read it?” She wasn’t even sure what type of media it actually was. It was probably all of them, knowing Christmas culture. And saying that she’d never gotten a present wasn’t entirely true-- the group home had Christmas morning parties, in which each kid got to pick one thing from a table of wrapped gifts, but it wasn’t the same. No one had ever taken the time to pick something out for Marley and wrap and it bring it to her. Maybe her adopted parents had at one point, but she couldn’t remember them, and they’d given her back before she’d had a chance to. Shaking away those stupid memories as well, Marley finally moved to open the gift, finding her hands shaky at best. She set the glass down and slid it towards Erin, a quiet gesture for her to refill it, and prodded the bag open. Inside sat a cool, marble box like object. Marley instantly recognized it as an urn. Confused, she pulled it out and set it on the table, looking up at Erin as if the answer were on her face.

But inside it, she found the answer. The lid was solid but not heavy and she set it gently aside, reaching in to pull out the first object-- an actual real life, goddamn photograph of her and Erin. She didn’t remember when it had been taken, exactly, but they were smiling, and the flash of the camera was reflecting off Marley’s glasses just enough to barely cover the smirk on her lips. And Erin was the one holding the camera, of course, flashing a bright smile. Marley set it aside when she noticed there was more in the box, but the picture still stuck in her mind-- she couldn’t really recall a time she’d been happier than that one.

Underneath the photo was an old certificate. It was the winner’s certificate they’d gotten from beating the Escape Room first, gold stamp and fake signature and all. Marley had let Erin keep it as her trophy, seeing as, at the time, Marley hadn’t really cared to keep mementos from or for anything. Now, she wished she had. She set that aside, too, still not having said a word. Because the next thing inside made her laugh out loud. A roll of duct tape next to a DVD of A Nightmare On Elm Street. And next to that, a bottle of Johnny Walker. She couldn’t even reach in and pull it out because she was laughing and crying and she found herself so caught between the two emotions, she didn’t even know what to say.

Erin watched quietly as Marley finally started to open the bag, unable to stop the nervousness biting at her bones. She hid a half smile behind another big sip of the tequila, watching carefully. “It’s--that’s an urn. A real one. I figured even if you didn’t like the rest of the present, I know you’re morbid enough to enjoy a bonafide urn to put on display in your house.” It was one of the many qualities she loved about Marley. She could talk about the weird, creepy things she did on a daily basis and she could keep up better than most people she knew. Her confidence continued to waver in large leaps as she watched Marley unfold the contents within, unsure if it was the tequila anymore that was making her cheeks flush. She was so silent it made her stomach turn and she was chuckling quietly like an idiot, covering her mouth with her hand. She wasn’t rolling her eyes or giving her that Marley certified look, so maybe she hadn’t fucked up entirely?

“I just thought--well, the note says what I thought. But you know, after everything this year and… everything you’re going through right now, I just thought--” she cleared her throat, holding the glass on her lap, running her thumb against the side. “I wanted something to remind you that despite everything, all the shit we went through and all the stuff we’re still trying to sort through--there is good stuff.” She smiled sheepishly, shaking her head. Her heart pounded so loud she swore Marley could hear it above her laughing. “And if you thought all of that was stupid, you’ve still got your precious Johnny in there to make up for all of it.”

Marley didn’t need to read the note to know what Erin meant. She was still smiling, uncontrollably, her breath coming up as little huffs as she tried to stop the laughter in her throat. She wiped at her eyes again and looked at Erin and suddenly, so suddenly, the feeling in her chest made sense. And with the realization, warmth blossomed throughout her entire body and she knew, without a doubt, that this was happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. And the only other time she’d ever felt this way was with Anita, and she didn’t want to think about that right now. She wanted to live in this moment, this moment where she could be happy and pretend like she hadn’t ruined all the good things in her life, and she could pretend she didn’t have a lifelong injury, and she could pretend like tomorrow would be as good as this day. “It’s perfect,” she finally said, moving around the table closer to Erin. “All of it, I can’t even--” she glanced back at it, then to Erin-- “I didn’t get you anything.” And this close to Erin, she could see the flush on her cheeks, and the way her eyes had that little sparkle to them, and the weary lines around her eyes that seemed almost permanent now. And she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, as she reached out and took Erin’s face between her hands and kissed her.

Marley’s smile was more comforting than she’d ever know. It was downright infectious, actually, and Erin’s lips twitched upward in a grin that nearly matched the one beaming at her. She did good. That’s what Marley’s smile told her more than anything. She liked it, sentiment and sappy as it was. The relief that came with that was unparalleled and she had to blink a few times realizing that Marley was talking. Right. Words. “No, don’t worry about it,” she started, theat drumming in her chest quickening in tempo as Marley drew closer. She looked happy. Really, truly happy--happier than she’d seen her in so, so long. It was hard to not let it affect her, to fall headfirst into that feeling. When was the last time she’d felt that herself? To feel something other than the rage or the coldness the dark had brought for as long as she could remember. Marley’s lips against hers were unexpected but they were warm and despite her brain screaming distantly in the background, they were welcome against her own. Maybe something had clicked, maybe some deeply buried flood of emotions were loosening themselves into the night, maybe she didn’t know what the fuck she was doing at all--but she couldn’t stop herself from kissing her back. She just knew right now she felt good, just like how Marley felt good. And safe. She felt herself let go just a little bit more as she wrapped her arms around her waist and deepened the kiss, pulling her in against her.

Marley moved mostly off of instinct, and feeling. Something like this was natural to her. And somehow it felt more natural, knowing it was Erin. She tasted like tequila and a hint of lime and Marley wondered what in the world had made her want to do this. Maybe it was the idea of being so happy she couldn’t think straight, or maybe that was the tequila. Or maybe she just craved the feeling of being touched, of being wanted. Maybe this had been something that had been building between them for longer than either of them really knew. And maybe other people and past feelings didn’t matter right now. It was a holiday, after all, they should get to enjoy themselves, right? Merry goddamn Christmas was right. She let Erin pull her closer, kissing her harder, desperate and hungry, as she was wont to do. She couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d been held like this-- she knew it was with Anita, but the memory was only a flicker. At the thought, she pulled away, using the moment to take a breather, chest already heaving. “I--” she started, but found she didn’t know exactly what to say, “is this…” she swallowed, looked into Erin’s eyes, “okay?” Another smile twitched on her lips. “It was all I could think of in the moment..” she tacked on, grinning.

Erin would be a damn liar if she hadn’t thought about this before. Passively, quickly, and onto the next thought--but she’d thought about it nonetheless. There’d always been something that had drawn her to Marley from the very beginning, she was attractive, and there was no one who knew her quite like Marley did. There were two very good reasons why this hadn’t happened before, and she closed her eyes when Marley pulled away, trying not to think of either one of them. Two things neither of them had anymore and it was hard not to feel them in a big way right now, even if all she wanted to think about was Marley’s lips. “It’s okay,” she nodded, opening her eyes to find Marley’s bright grin. This was fine. That gnawing, low down fear in her stomach was just nerves. This was fine. She wouldn’t be smiling at her like that if this wasn’t okay. She trusted her, trusted that smile, even if she didn’t totally trust herself. “I mean, it’s good. Really good. Not just okay,” she chuckled, her hand still gripping her waist firmly. When she’d caught her breath, she lifted one hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her lips back down to hers, a little more desperate than before. This was good, it was fine--they both wanted this, wanted to forget, to feel something for a little while. Erin was more than happy to indulge for a little while longer.

Good. This was good. Erin said it was good. Marley nodded once before she was folding back into her, ready to let everything else slip away from her, from them. Leave behind all the shit they’d been through and the people they’d hurt or lost or pushed away. Because this was easy, it had always been easy for Marley. To lose herself, to forget, to let go. To focus on just the physical feeling and not the despair or the loneliness or the pain that would otherwise fill that space. It’s what she’d done for years and thought she would do until the day she died. And the idea-- the thought-- that she could have something more, felt as if it were suffocating now. The idea that she could have had more, but let it slip through her fingers. The idea that she was afraid of having more because it meant opening herself in a way she’d never been open before. Because having more meant feeling someone else’s hurt. And she wanted to forget all of that, leave that all behind. Because right here, and right now, she had enough. She had Erin. She had the feeling, the thought, somewhere in the back of her mind, that maybe this had been inevitable. Maybe she’d always wanted to do this. Maybe she just wanted to feel something real again. She moved in closer, still kissing Erin, deeper, harder, wanting to fall into the taste and the feel. Her hands moved lower, pressed against the table behind Erin for a moment, before she found them grabbing at the bottom of Erin’s shirt, fingers ghosting underneath. What she would give to feel this again. What she would give to let herself believe this feeling. If only it were that easy.

Something changed the moment Erin felt Marley’s hands drifting below her shirt. The touch startled her out of whatever haze she’d fallen into, knocking some sense into her. It was that panic, that fear that had been slowly dredging up from the pit of her stomach since Marley had first pulled her in and kissed her. “Marley, wait--stop,” she breathed, rearing back. Her hand covered her lips and she inched away from the table, away from Marley. Her chest heaved for breath and her mind raced as the panic surged in her. What the fuck where they doing? This wasn’t right. It felt good but everything in her mind suddenly woke up and was screaming at her, reminding her that this wasn’t right. “I can’t--we can’t,” she finally looked up, trying to find Marley’s eyes, slowly shaking her head. “You’re my best friend, Marley. And I don’t want to lose--we just--we can’t.”

The action startled Marley enough that she stumbled when Erin pushed her and stared, bewildered. Did she-- not like it? Hadn’t Marley just asked if it was okay? Had she done something wrong? It felt like stones had dumped into her stomach and she felt suddenly sick. “Why does that matter?” she asked, blinking. Her brows knit together as she tried to understand what Erin meant. Why couldn’t they? It was just kissing and maybe sex. It wasn’t like it was anything they hadn’t thought about. It wasn’t like it had to mean anything. Marley’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she turned away, wiping a hand across her face. “It’s not like-- it doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said, still bewildered, still unsure why erin was making that face or why she looked as if Marley had just slapped her. “I don’t-- see why it matters.”

Erin’s eyes burned at Marley’s reaction. She felt as embarrassed as much as she did but it was what she said that hurt in a way she didn’t expect. It doesn’t have to mean anything. “It does. It means something. Maybe not to you--maybe you can just… turn that off, but I can’t. I care about you and I just--I can’t.” Didn’t Marley understand that? This wasn’t a one-off thing for her. She couldn’t do that. Not with Marley. Her fingers combed through her hair and she did her best to take another breath, though the red in her cheeks felt like it was burning right through her. Fuck. Fuck. “Even if it doesn’t matter to you, it matters to me. I should--I should probably just… go,” she mumbled. Shook her head, stepped backwards, and took a deep breath, moving back through her apartment to gather her things.

Marley felt her chest tightening again. Why did people keep saying that to her? About her? That she could just turn it off, as if she had any control over how she felt. She didn’t and she couldn’t. That wasn’t how it worked. Marley was just good at putting her feelings away because they never mattered-- they didn’t matter. But she didn’t know how to say that, how to respond to that. Erin was turning to leave now and Marley wanted to scream. “Don’t!” she said quickly, taking a step forward, but remembered Erin backing away from her and stopped, pulling back. “Don’t leave. I just-- I’m sorry. I take it back,” she said, “all of it. Even-- we can pretend it didn’t happen, just don’t leave.” She didn’t want to be alone. The feeling struck her like a wrecking ball-- she didn’t want to be alone. She missed Anita. She missed being held. She missed being touched. She missed everything. She’d been so alone and then Erin had fought her way back in and now Marley had done something to upset another person. “And I don’t just shut it off,” she found herself adding, stepping towards Erin fully this time, “I don’t know why everyone thinks I can just fucking-- not feel or pretend to not feel-- but it’s not true. I feel a lot, okay? I feel fucking everything. But it doesn’t matter-- my feelings just...don’t matter.” She found herself running her hands through her hair, gesturing stiffly. “They never mattered, so why would they now?”

Erin startled again in the desperation in Marley’s voice, but still she moved, her hands on her jacket. She hated this feeling, this ugly mortification seeping through her. “That’s not what I meant--” she said, shaking her head. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe it is. I just don’t know how you do it. I can’t… do that, go home with someone and move on the next day.” She felt herself rambling, knew it was the nerves building, allowing the words to keep spilling from her. She closed her eyes, wiping her hand over her eyes, trying to calm herself into expressing herself more rationally. A heavy breath left her during a brief silence before she felt collected enough to try again. “I don’t mean that you don’t have feelings. Because they matter. They do. But this, what you and I have, it’s too important to me and way too fragile to do what we just did. I’ve fucked up so much already and I can’t fuck up this. Not with you.”

Erin was still grabbing her stuff, she was still going to leave, and something visceral snapped in Marley. She reached out and put her hands on Erin’s, gripping tightly. “Please don’t--” she started, then stopped again. Realized what she was doing and let go quickly, backing away. Her eyes caught sight of the gift again and it reminded her of the happiness she’d felt literal minutes ago. Her skin was buzzing. “I don’t-- I don’t know what you mean. I don’t understand how that would it fuck it up?” And she didn’t, she really didn’t. Erin was the exception in her life, someone she’d befriended without sleeping with her. And it wasn’t like she couldn’t make friends the other way, she just never did because she didn’t operate that way. Her chest felt like it was burning. “Just tell me what I did wrong,” she said, a strange desperation to her voice, “just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it and make it better.” And maybe she wasn’t talking about them anymore, even, but they were the only words that were coming out.

Erin didn’t expect that reaction, couldn’t do more than freeze in place when Marley grabbed her. As much as her brain was telling her to go, her feet wouldn’t move. Not with how Marley was staring at her, pleading with her to stay. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Marley,” she sighed, suddenly tired and reluctant to talk about this. She hadn’t, technically. Up until a few moments ago, Erin hadn’t given any inclination that she didn’t want it. It was still hard to look at her as she tried to find the words, but she put her jacket down. “It would fuck it up because I care about you. A lot. And if we crossed that line, we can’t go back. I can’t go back. I can’t make that separation. And after everything, with Nic just--up and leaving, I can’t do that. I can’t lose someone else. I can’t.” She paused, working her jaw, trying to find the courage to look at Marley again, the pain clear in her voice. Her hand moved to her hip and she looked down again instead, shaking her head. “I’ve got a pretty good feeling neither of us are ready for something like that.”

It made sense, when Erin said it out loud, but the confused look still stuck on Marley’s face. “Wait, so--” she shook her head again, face drawn together in concern as she tried to put the pieces together and understand what it was Erin meant. What she wanted. “You said it was okay, but now you’re saying you...don’t want it?” She looked across at her, then to her jacket, then towards the door. The bottle of tequila, barely any drank. The stack of movies in the living room Marley had set aside for them to cycle through later and laugh at. The certificate on the table. The photo of them. Erin was her best friend, and her only friend. There was a line with her, and if they crossed it, there was no going back. Was she okay with that? Did she want that? She didn’t know. What she did know was that her heart still ached for someone else. And that was enough for her to concede to. She picked up the photo and the certificate and put them back in the urn. “You can leave if you want,” she said after a quiet moment, “I don’t want to mess this up, either.”

“I made a mistake. It was a mistake.” The words flew out of Erin faster and harsher than she intended, and internally she cringed at the delivery... but it answered Marley’s question didn’t it? Her mind raced and she wasn’t sure if was because she was lonely, or because she did feel things about Marley that couldn’t or shouldn’t be reciprocated, or they were caught up in a mess of complicated feelings on an emotional day. She had wanted it despite everything in her now telling her it was a mistake. “Fuck,” she muttered, covering her face with both of her hands, letting loose a frustrated groan into them. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to console Marley. She didn’t want to, either. Didn’t have the strength herself. “I should go,” she nodded quietly, grabbing her jacket again. “I’m sorry, I just--” she started, waiting for the best words to come to her. “I’m gonna go.” This option didn’t feel good either but it felt like the only one that made sense. There was no way they could just--pretend it didn’t happen and sit around comfortably, watching movies and drinking tequila. It was all she wanted to do but it didn’t seem possible now. “I’m sorry,” she repeated earnestly, shrugging, and stepped back out into the night. Her chest burning furiously the whole way back to her car. Another Merry fucking Christmas.

Mistake. The word barreled into Marley’s head and ricocheted around and shattered every ounce of happiness she’d been holding onto. It dredged up memories and voices she thought she’d forgotten, and all she could hear was ‘You are a mistake’, ‘Adopting you was a mistake’, ‘Taking you in was a mistake’. She didn’t say anything when as Erin gathered up her stuff. She didn’t say anything as Erin left out the front door and shut and locked it. She didn’t say anything as she walked over to the tequila bottle, hand shaking, and drowned herself in it as much as she could. And when she saw the urn sitting on the table, she lost it. Turning on her heel, she launched the bottle as hard as she could against the wall, screaming. It shattered and spilled everywhere in the hallway. Next, she turned to the urn, gripping it with both hands, raised it above her head, ready to smash it on the floor in front of her, but-- but-- she couldn’t. She just...couldn’t. Instead, she sank to the floor, hugging the cool marble box to her chest, and fell back against the wall. Mistake, was all she could think as she stopped trying to hold back her tears, I’m a mistake.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: erin #erin #home for the holidays #tw domestic abuse mention

12 notes · View notes

not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

More Than Words (Twenty-Six)

Peter dives further into research, so this chapter contains the same generic TW as the last one for mentions of the Holocaust and mistreatment/torture of mutants. I had a blast writing some of the history for this verse, and I’m not saying I want to write a Stucky centric spin off based on what I’ve written in here, but like also, I sort of want to write a Stucky centric spin off.

Also, it ends with a line to make you scream, you’re welcome.

MTW MASTERLIST HERE

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

“Pete?” Harry had to put his shoulder against the apartment door and shove to get it open. “Pete? What the heck is blocking your door? Where are you?”

“I’m here.” Peter hurried towards the front door and pushed boxes out of the way to let the Alpha through. “Sorry, I got busy and all my reading sort of expanded--” he gestured to the entire living room. “--everywhere. Did you bring me the movies?”

“I brought movies and I brought food.” Harry held up a to go box and then a stack of movies. “But I think you owe me for all the weird looks I got picking out all these titles.”

“Why were people looking at you weird?” Peter was starving, and he snatched at the food before Harry had even made it to the kitchen, throwing back the lid and exclaiming in delight over the chimichanga inside. “That video store is known for having obscure movies and random documentaries, I feel like these ones aren’t half as crazy as most of the stuff on the shelves.”

“The Rise of the Squatch.” Harry read out loud. “The Girl from Lava Island. The Creature from the Mines. This one is called ‘What Lurks Within’ and I dunno what that could possibly be about. What’s with all the cheesy monster movies and faux documentaries?”

“Every crazy story as a little bit of truth somewhere along the way.” the Omega mumbled through a big bite. “The stories that get told over and over had to be true at some point, right?”

“Uh huh.” Harry said skeptically. “Which is why you had me rent ‘It Came From the Manhole’, right? Because ‘It Came in the Manhole’ was right next to this one and that’s just straight up porn, Pete. It was just porn and I’ll give you a guess which movie case I grabbed for the first time around.”

“...well was it interesting porn?”

“It had MANHOLE on the cover, Peter!”

Peter almost choked when he tried to laugh around a too big mouthful of tortilla and Harry threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I didn’t even realize I grabbed the wrong one until I got to the front and the kid behind the desk asked to see my ID! He wanted to know if I’d need the coordinating magazine!”

“There’s a manhole magazine?” the Omega asked innocently, and Harry huffed, “If I wasn’t so happy to see you smiling again I’d bite you for that. I had to stand there while some high school senior asked if I wanted to rent a nudie mag to go with my manhole porn. It was the worst three minutes of my life.”

“But--”

“Quickly superseded by the look I got from the same kid when I handed him--” Harry checked another title. “--Bagging Your BigFoot: How to Catch the Monster of Your Dreams. Cos that doesn’t make me sound horny for Sasquatch at all.”

“It’s not my fault monster documentaries are always titled to sound vaguely pornographic.” Peter offered his friend a conciliatory piece of chimichanga and smiled when Harry grumbled through the entire bite. “And thank you for getting them all for me. I’ve been so busy lately I’ve hardly left the house at all.”

“M’just glad you called me, Pete.” Harry leaned in to wipe at the side of Peter’s mouth, and when the Omega didn’t move away, he leaned in closer and placed a very soft, very chaste kiss on Peter’s cheek. “We’ve all been real worried about you lately. I mean we’ve been worried about you anyway but after the other night--”

“I called you guys to tell you I was okay.” Peter went back to eating so the Alpha wouldn’t see him frown. “You didn’t believe me?”

“You got so sad so quick Johnny actually threw up.” Harry pointed out and Peter grimaced apologetically. “Calling us two days later to say you’re fine and busy and not to worry wasn’t very reassuring.”

“Harry--”

“You’ve said you’re fine every day since you got home from the hospital.” the Alpha continued stubbornly. “And every single time you’ve been lying, Pete. You’re my best friend, we’ve been through everything together. Heats and ruts, AP Chemistry and physics, you were there when my Dad went off his medication for a while and I had to call the cops. What makes you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

“...right.”

“And what makes you think I can’t handle you telling me what's going on?” Harry pressed. “I know Mary Jane is an Omega so you guys do that crazy intimate Omega bonding thing. And Gwen believes in forced cuddles and being there whether you want it or not, and I’m glad you and Johnny figured out what’s going on but Pete-- this is me.”

The Alpha put a hand to his chest and held the other out to Peter. “This is me and you don’t gotta lie to me anymore. Tell me what happened or-- or tell me why you can’t tell me what happened. Where did you go the other day? What’s with all these monster hunting books and movies? Talk to me, I’m here for you honey. I am.”

Peter tried to smile and Harry cajoled, “At least tell me why I had to go to the super creepy video store and convince an eighteen year old I grabbed the porn by accident. At least tell me that, I think I deserve to know.”

“You do deserve to know.” Tears pinpricked behind the Omega’s eyes, and Harry rumbled at him comfortingly. “And I’m sorry I’ve been lying to you lately. And keeping you out of things. I’m sorry.”

“No one’s mad about it.” Harry pulled him in for a hug, holding Peter steady with a hand at the base of his neck and another low on the Omega’s hips. “We aren’t mad, Pete. But we’re worried. And May is worried. And I dunno what to do about it, but I think I’d figure a few things out if you’d just talk to me.”

Peter was quiet and Harry added, “At least about the Bigfoot thing. Minimum.”

“Okay.” he nodded into Harry’s shoulder. “Okay I’ll - I’ll tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“...what do you know about mutants?”

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

The boxes had arrived the morning after Peter’s heat, appearing in his living room with the same abruptness that Cable used to bump in and out of his life. The Omega had tripped right over the first one on his way out of his bedroom, banged his knee on a second one and by the time the third caught him in the shins, Peter forced himself to stop walking, wake up all the way, and actually look to see what the hell was happening.

Boxes. Everywhere. Stuffed full to the brim and straining their seams with stacks and stack of paperwork, folders worth of redacted information, books about mythology and epic beasts and folk tales about shape shifters and early gods.

On top of an an ancient German book of fairy tales was a note:

Find your answers but keep them to yourself. -- C

And then scribbled along the bottom: This should free me from having to answer any questions. I don't give a damn about your curiosity, don't bother me anymore.

Peter laughed softly and carried the book with him to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Of course the cranky Alpha didn’t want to stick around and answer questions, and while it was thoughtful to the point of being caring that Cable had taken the time to gather this information and apparently drop it through a wormhole into Peter’s apartment, the Omega was more excited by the prospect of reading through files that had so obviously been taken from somewhere secret. .

The amount of redaction in the few papers he’d glimpsed in a box on his kitchen table was exhilarating, and the publication dates on some of the books meant the stories and legends inside had been accepted as truth for hundreds of years, perhaps even told as fact for thousands of years before that. Cable would have had to snatch the files from secure storage facilities, maybe the mutant had even gone back in time to find the correct information before it had been incinerated like most sensitive documents were.

The idea of boxes and boxes of dated and perhaps even classified information just piling up in his living room waiting to be read through-- well there was a reason Peter had become a journalist, and it had less to do with working to better humanity and more to do with everything he absolutely had to know.

And he absolutely had to know all of this, so Peter had brewed another pot of coffee and went right to work.

It was some point near the end of the first day when the Omega dragged himself away from a file about the LA riots and into a shower. He’d gone to push his hair out of his face and ew his fingers had snagged and pulled hard enough to hurt, the sudden pain made Peter jerk and then oh no he’d gotten a whiff of himself and immediately went to wash.

The perfunctory post heat shower hadn’t been enough to wash away months of depression, so Peter stayed beneath the water until it ran cold, soaping and resoaping his hair, scrubbing the lather down his body until his skin was pink from the loofah. Then it was his fingernails that needed clipped and filed down a little bit since anxiety had led the Omega to bite them too raged and pick his cuticles to bleeding and if he was going to do that, he supposed he should maybe comb his hair extra well and maybe shave the little bit of scruff he’d managed to grow in the last few months.

Showered and scenting clean again, Peter went right back to the couch to cross reference some of the information with what he could find online but then fuck he was suddenly starving, when was the last time he’d eaten at all?

Food was ordered and inhaled while the Omega kept one eye on the computer screen and the other flipping through page after page in the file and jotting down every note that came to mind--

--and somewhere along the way, clean and comfortable in his favorite pajamas and stuffed full on delicious food, his mind running a thousand miles a minute on something other than heartbreak--

--Peter fell right the hell asleep, no medication needed, and didn’t wake up again until morning.

And maybe he wasn’t better but for the first time since waking up in Haven Mercy Hospital, Peter felt like himself. He felt real and he felt normal so he got a cup of coffee and settled back in with a new notebook and pen, opened up a new file and got right back to work.

That had been five whole days ago, and the Omega had escalated from just reading files and comparing them to online articles to requesting books from the Central library and having them delivered, downloading full texts and printing out hundreds of pages so he could light up the words with neon highlighters so he wouldn’t lose a single bit of information.

It was hard to sleep with so much to process, but most nights Peter dropped off from sheer exhaustion and slept dreamless for eight merciful hours. His mind came back online razor sharp in the morning, his energy levels rising after a few days of solid sleep and consistent food and even though Peter wouldn’t let himself obsess about the mentions of time travel, he found relief for all his other questions in the hours and hours and hours worth of tracking mutant activity across the last century and a half.

The Omega was almost positive he’d found evidence of Logan in both World Wars and then shockingly, again in Vietnam. There just couldn’t be too many people with that signature fuck off scowl and the unnerving habit of coming back from seemingly any injury no matter how ruinous. The oldest records were sparse and hard to follow but Peter put the stories together as best he could until he could write the profile of a man-- of a hero-- who seemed to sign up for every fight only to disappear the moment it was over, usually after turning the tide of the battle with some feat that couldn’t possibly be anything other than supernatural.

There were a few instances that could have been Eddie, could have been the black that existed beneath the mutants skin and dug deep down into his soul. Stories of man eating shadows, of villages terrorized by something that came from the darkest nights, of blood curdling roars and the click clack of too many teeth, of hiss and the sound of liquid as something unknown slinked by filled more than a few books and Peter devoured every word.

He couldn’t stop himself from looking for signs of Wade, reading and rereading the texts he thought could be about Logan hoping for a peek at a story about someone else immortal, someone scarred, someone they would have thought was a monster with the way his eyes went red and his fangs ran long.

Not that Wade was a monster, no no no, Peter screwed his eyes shut tight and whimpered into his palm even thinking about people calling his mate a monster but he would read thousands of reports like that if only it meant Wade was still around.

Five days of intense research had uncovered more information than Peter could have hoped to find in an entire lifetime of searching, but he’d still only barely broke into half the boxes Cable had inexplicably gifted him. The movies were a way to ease the strain on his eyes, to give his brain a break while still staying immersed in the subject of mutants. There were too many parallels between the horrors film makers insisted could be lurking just out of view, and the lists of confirmed mutant powers Peter had either seen firsthand in Haven or found records of in the books and files from the war and the riots. The movies would all be outlandish but they would have a bit of truth somewhere in the hours and minutes of terrible graphics and B-list actors and maybe-- maybe even if there hadn’t been sign of Wade in the files, maybe someone like him would show up in the older films.

It was worth a try and it was worth the time and when Harry asked Peter to just talk to him, everything Peter had learned in the past several days leapt to the tip of his tongue and damn near spilled out.

But the information was Peter’s to have, the answers his alone to hoard, so the Omega couldn’t tell Harry everything, he could hardly tell him anything at all, so instead of blurting it all out and waving his hands wildly while spilling his guts, Peter took a deep breath and backed up a step and smiled, “Okay, but this is going to get a little crazy, okay?”

“I’ve known you forever, Pete.” The Alpha said confidently. “I can handle your crazy.”

“If you think you’re up for it.” Peter teased gently. “Try and keep up, okay?”

He couldn’t tell Harry everything, but he told the Alpha enough to explain the piles of books, the reams of paper downloaded and printed off of archives both national and conspiracy theorist-owned, the still growing collection of movies ranging from Men in Black and the Shape of Water clear through to low budget horror films and documentaries lacking any shred of scientific basis.

Peter showed Harry the wall-size map of the contiguous states he’d pieced together and pointed out the red stars as ‘credible, repeated sites of monsters’ instead of naming them as Havens for the mutant community. He held up vintage comic books about Captain America and the Red Skull and compared it to the very few files he’d managed to dig up on Project Rebirth, showed Harry highly redacted pages and pages of coordinates where Captain Rogers’ plane might have gone down.

The Omega flipped through no less than a dozen texts that all insisted Van Helsing had been a real life priest turned monster hunter, and another dozen that collectively agreed Big Foot wasn’t actually brown but was somehow bright blue and had definitely been seen wearing glasses on more than one occasion, and one beautifully inscribed religious text that spoke of an African goddess that controlled the weather.

Peter talked and talked and talked, put in different DVD’s and paused them at specific moments to show Harry where the film makers had seemed to draw their inspiration from these specific stories, and look this one goes back to before white men even came to the continent and don’t you think it could be true if the stories are older than we can document?

“You’re talking about dragons, Pete.” Harry stared down at a brilliantly colored photo and ran his fingers along the delicate script. “This is-- I mean, no way I speak Chinese but--”

“It’s Cantonese.” the Omega corrected, hurrying over with another book to show off. “Saying every language that looks like that is Chinese is like saying all the indigenous people are from the same tribe. Different languages, different um-- you know, there’s different tones to the way it’s spoken? And I’m pretty sure I read that they use a different style of characters. More traditional versus a simpler style.”

“...why would you know that?” the Alpha only blinked at him. “Pete, why do you know that?”

“Because I need to know.” Peter said quietly, as if that answered any questions at all. “I’ve got to know, Harry. I have so many questions and there’s so much information out there and I have to know.”

“Alright.” Harry went back to the book again. “So. Cantonese. Why does that matter for dragons?”

“Because it's older than Mandarin by a couple thousand years, which means this is an older story and I want the oldest ones I can find.” Peter found the page he was looking for and tapped at it triumphantly. “And because it says in your book and again right here, that these-- these monks. Or religious… people. I’m not actually sure if monk is the right word. But right here. A legend about one of them that turned to a dragon to protect the temple and his village. A dragon, Harry. Do you know what that means?”

“It’s an old story, Pete--”

“It means that at some point someone saw this guy breathe fire.” Peter stated. “Or call fire. Summon it. Whatever you want to call it. This story is thousands of years old and it’s talking about a mutant.”

“Okay but--”

“Right here.” The Omega got another book. “Skinwalkers. Yes, it’s probably some beautiful spiritual bond that we could never hope to understand or whatever, maybe you think it’s hallucinations or whatever But what if it’s a shapeshifter, Harry? What if they are a mutant and there’s been a record of their existence for centuries?”

“What if they are?” Harry didn’t know if he was intrigued by all the data the Omega was throwing his way, or worried that Peter was so clearly obsessing about something that couldn’t end well. People’s careers had been ruined chasing after mutant-related things, professors barred from universities, law enforcement imprisoned for less-than-responsible actions, chapters about riots and ethnic cleansing pulled from history books. Chasing stories about mutants couldn’t end well, and Harry didn’t know if the trouble it would bring was worth the way Peter’s eyes were lit for the first time months and the way his softly sweet honeysuckle and lavender scent had started to fill the air between them.

“What if they are mutants, and that kind of--of person has been around for thousands of years?” he asked again. “What does that matter Pete? Why are you so hooked on it right now?”

“Look at this.” Peter dragged a chart out from beneath an encyclopedia. “Look at this. Back in the forties there was this Project Rebirth and it's rumoured to have created Captain America. Captain America, Harry. And the way they did it was mapping of mutant genes. Tracking people through generations. Hundreds of thousands of hours of work put into this project and after the war ended they just scrapped it, pushed it all away and piled it somewhere in the dark.”

“Wait so the guy with the shield and the tights from the comic books? He was a real person?”

The Omega held up a copy the Captain America vs The Red Skull excitedly. “They both were! Captain Rogers and this guy here? The Red Skull? Real people, and they weren’t mutants, they were the product of experimentation with mutants!”

“The American government doesn’t experiment on people, Pete.”

“Oh.” Peter’s smile dimmed around the edges. “Of course you still think that.”

“What?!”

But Peter was off again, shifting from talking about Project Rebirth to rambling about the riots in the seventies and a lab explosion that hadn’t been an explosion at all and the way storms increased in frequency along the Eastern Seaboard in a schedule that fit oddly in with a traditional school semester and sure, that could be coincidence but what if it was young mutants coming into their weather control powers and they were practicing during school hours and oh Harry! What if--

“Pete. Hey hey hey.” Harry grabbed at Peter when the Omega darted past again, framed Peter’s face with both his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “M’not gonna lecture you about how dangerous it can be to look too deep into what happened to the mutants, and m’not gonna tell you how damn crazy you sound talking about schedules and patterns and conspiracy theories about comic book heroes, alright?”

“You said you wanted me to tell you--”

“I did.” the Alpha interrupted. “And I’m glad you’re talking with me Pete, I am. But you gotta tell me, does this have anything to do with what happened to you? Or are you just hyper fixating to keep your mind off everything else, like you did switching from physics to journalism after Ben passed away. Is that what this is? Distraction?”

“Would that be okay?” Peter squeezed at Harry’s wrist and tried not to let the utter dejection show on his face. “Is it okay if I’m obsessing because I need to focus on something besides what happened to me?”

“It’s totally fine.” Harry left another one of those sweet, chaste kisses on the Omega’s cheek. “However you need to cope, honey. I’ll sit here and watch bad sci fi films and listen to you draw wild conclusions all day. It’s fine. I’m here for you, I’m willing to listen.”

“You’re a good Alpha.” Peter swallowed back the immediate protests and the always present threat of tears and smiled up at his friend. “Thank you. Sorry I’m all crazy right now, but this is helping me cope. And it’s better than pills and sleeping all the time, right?”

“So much better than pills.” Harry agreed instantly. “I’ll turn on some music and order in some more food for later and we can spend a few more hours working this out and then I’ll stay over, make sure you sleep instead of writing books full of theories. I know how you get when you’re like this, you’ll go crazy just trying to get all your thoughts out on paper.”

“You know how I am.” Another smile, and Peter turned around before Harry saw it fall. “This is definitely not-- not anything real. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault he couldn't grasp the enormity of Peter’s project. The Alpha had been subjected to the same history classes they’d all sat through-- ones that talked about uprisings and violence as if a minority demanding rights was something worth deploying the army to crush. Ones that conveniently dialed down the Holocaust to a few paragraphs talking about the religious groups persecuted but not the mutants, never the mutants. Ones that presented Manifest Destiny and ‘made in God’s image’ as a valid reason to exterminate anyone who didn’t fit the mold or stood in your way.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault he didn’t understand why Peter was so passionate about it all. The Omega was only telling him half truths after all, changing the names of the Havens to make them just be paranormal sightings, downplaying the significance of Project Rebirth and skipping over the experiments and concentration camps and torture the mutants were subjected to just for a few vials of super soldier serum.

And of course, the Alpha had no way of knowing Peter cared so much because of Wade, because of Haven, because of Cable and time travel and the ring that never left his finger.

Harry had no idea, no way of knowing and Peter couldn’t possibly hold that over him, couldn’t possibly be irritated his friend assumed this was all coping-by-obsessing and didn’t mean anything solid and real.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault, so Peter tucked away his disappointment and decided to just try to have a decent night in with the Alpha. He felt better after heat, after talking with Cable and putting some truth to the emotions building painful behind his heart so maybe he could make it through an evening without breaking down or running away and maybe everyone would believe him when he said he was fine.

It's fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine.

And tomorrow after Harry left, Peter would gather up some of his notes and go ask for answers from a man whose family name had been all over the Project Rebirth files, scribbled in margins next to blacked out test results, signed on the bottom of medical release forms and typed at the top as letterhead for some of the most horrifying information.

Stark.

Cable had made him swear to only use his answers for himself and not to cause a fuss but Tony Stark had to know something about all of this. The richest man in the city and one of the most influential men in the world had to have some answers and Peter could only hope his previous interactions with the powerful Omega would make Tony more receptive to answering a few questions.

How involved had Howard been with the soldiers and was Captain Rogers really buried above the arctic circle somewhere?

...and why were there blacked out test results and bloodwork from May of 1970 stuck between the pages of Howard Stark’s notes?

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

“Peter Parker.” Tony Stark was the sort of Omega that commanded the attention of every person in any every he entered. It might have his perfectly styled hair and shockingly expensive suits, it might have been the mega watt smile and boisterous laugh, it might have been the weight of money and power around his shoulders or the intrigue of mystery and addiction that scented stronger at the hollow of his throat and curve of his neck.

Either way, Tony Stark walked into a room and every head turned and Peter was no exception, scrambling to his feet and awkwardly smoothing his clothes down when the intimidating Omega came towards him.

“Peter, how are you? Heard these last few months have been rough.” Tony clasped both his hands over Peter’s and squeezed lightly. “I’m glad to see you up and around again, ready to write another world changing article? I have all sorts of dirt on Justin Hammer just waiting to be printed.”

“All sorts of dirt, huh?” Tony had the unnerving habit of wearing sunglasses everywhere, even inside, even in more intimate settings and one on one meetings and today was no exception. Peter blinked a few times trying to see past the blue tinted glass to the other Omega’s eyes but was given only the sight of raised eyebrows and a half expectant smile. “Oh uh, well maybe we can print scandalous exposes later. I’m actually here to ask a favor.”

“Well, I’m still going to hold you to the scandalous exposes.” Tony motioned Peter towards a chair and sat down opposite him. “What else can I do for--” his voice trailed off when he caught sight of Peter’s notebook and the hastily scribbled questions, and when the other Omega leaned in closer to scent Peter, the mood in the room shifted abruptly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?” Tony asked again, cooler this time. “And why don’t you tell me why you’ve had a recent run in with Mr. Summers?”

“Mr. Summers?” Peter ducked his head to discreetly sniff at his shirt. “It’s been most of a week, I didn’t realize I still smell burnt. Is it really obvious?”

“It is more obvious to people who don't realize what they are smelling.” The other Omega pulled off his sunglasses and tilted his head, looking Peter over closely. “You aren’t surprised I knew about Mr. Summers.”

“No I’m-- I’m surprised.” Peter admitted self consciously, “I was more worried about smelling gross in front of Tony Stark. Um. Sorry about that. How-- how do you know Mr. Summers?”

“You could say we run in a few of the same circles.” the air seemed to ripple, and Peter’s gaze darted to the left when a stainless steel tumbler rattled at the bar. “You don’t become one of the most influential men in the country without knowing a few key players in the game. Why are you here?”

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Peter settled a notebook and pen on his lap and hesitated, “About Project Rebirth and the role your father played in the experiments. But now I’d also really like to ask you just how much you know about Mr. Summers.”

“Project Rebirth.”The metal sculpture on the nearby end table slid a few inches forward and Peter took a deep breath in when the other Omega’s vanilla and clove scent flattened towards disapproving “Why are you asking questions about defunct science attempts from the forties?”

“Because I know it wasn’t just an attempt?” he said carefully. “I know Captain Rogers wasn’t just a good ol’ boy who joined the army and bulked up and went off to fight before selflessly sacrificing himself to save the world. I know there was a -- a process and that it's been scrubbed from history books because it’s considered a failure. But your father--”

“--was a bastard and a bully, but even he drew the line at the sort of shit they were doing back then.” The pendulum inside the grandfather clock at the wall snapped forward and cracked the glass casing when Tony gripped at the arms of his chair and Peter had the distinct, sudden notion that he could be in danger.

“Um, Mr. Stark--”

“Enough.” The Alpha Pepper Potts was every bit as beautiful as her Omega mate and somehow infinitely terrifying despite her sweet smile and slender frame. Her voice was soft but razor sharp all at the same time, and when she put a hand on Tony’s shoulder the noise in the room stopped immediately, the clock settling and silverware stilling and sculpture returning to its original place. “Darling, that’s quite enough.”

“Ms. Potts.” Tony tipped his head back and trilled at his mate, and Pepper gave him an indulgent smile in return. “I was only going to scare him a little. Just to be funny.”

“Well no one other than you thinks that little display is funny.”

Peter stared between them with wide eyes then gaped over at the broken clock and score marks at the table. “What-- what--? Sorry, was that supposed to be funny?”

“Tony thinks it's hilarious to mess with people who are aware of his mutation but haven’t quite figured out where his talents lie.” the Alpha said blandly. “Though judging from your expression, I think you haven’t figured out that Tony has abilities and he’s being ridiculous for no reason at all?”

“Oh my god, that’s why you know Cable.” It all made sense in a matter of seconds, and Peter swung from feeling foolish and maybe even a little afraid to suddenly intrigued, and then slightly hysterical at the thought of Tony Stark being a mutant. Tony Stark of all people. Mutant. “You run in the same circles because you both are mutant.”

“Can’t see any other reason to spend time with the guy.” Tony grunted. “You still aren’t are surprised as I’d thought you’d be.”

“No, my brain is--” Peter made a gesture around his temples. “But I’ve read so many things in the last few days this is just another insane truth I’ll have to come to terms with later. So um, it’s metal then? Your ability?”

“Metal and then some. You don’t think I build all those computers and tech by hand, do you?” ” Tony slipped an arm around Pepper’s tiny waist and tugged the Alpha down onto the edge of his chair, turning his head to push his nose into her shoulder for a moment. Pepper kissed his hair immediately, then his cheek and when Tony looked up, his nose as well. It was sweet to see such open affection between a mated pair, and Peter’s hand went to his scarred bonding spot unconsciously when Pepper nuzzled into Tony’s ear and murmured something adoring at her mate.

I miss you, Alpha my Alpha.

“How are you then, little love?” Pepper asked softly, and Peter jumped, snatching his hand back to his lap when he realized the Alpha was watching him again. “You don’t just scent like Cable, you scent mate sick. Are you alright?”

“I um--”

“Not real often a mutant mates a human.” Tony interrupted, his dark eyes flickering electric blue for a split second. “I can scent that on you too. Where’s your mate, Peter?”

“Tony.” Pepper murmured. “Easy on the child, look at him, he’s miserable.”

Miserable? Peter tried to smooth down his hair again, sitting up straighter in the chair. He thought he’d been doing better with everything lately, so being told he stank like Cable and still smelled mate sick and miserable stung a little.

“I don’t want to talk about my mate.” he said softly. “Could we-- could we not do that, please?”

“Very well, Mr. Parker.” Pepper kept running light fingers through Tony’s hair, but her green gaze never left Peter as she said, “But you know, there are only a handful of reasons why you would be researching Project Rebirth, and within those reasons there is only the slimmest chance you’d come across Howard Stark’s name. You need to tell us immediately what sort of questions you are here to ask, and what sort of answers you are trying to find.”

“I’m not asking questions with the intention of hurting anyone.” the Omega reached up to press at his bonding spot again. “And the answers are only for myself. I swear it. I just want to know. Just want to understand.”

“Because of your mate.” Tony prompted, and Peter nodded slowly. “What does your mate have to do with Project Rebirth?”

“Nothing, I don’t think, but I don’t want to talk about it.” the Omega couldn’t seem to stop staring between the pair, taking in Tony’s startlingly blue eyes and the way every bit of metal in the room seemed to tilt to face him. Pepper didn’t seem perturbed by the show at all, and Peter put his questions about Rebirth aside to ask, “Mutants don’t usually mate humans?”

“Hardly ever.” Tony confirmed with a slight smile. “In fact, I don’t know a mixed mated pair at all, do you, my love?”

“Not at all.” Pepper’s skin shimmered and shifted across her face and down her neck, along her arms to her fingertips. Scaled pieces clicked together lightly, shining iridescent in the warm lights before melding back to perfectly smooth, there and gone before Peter even had the time to properly gauge. “Peter, you might be the first human I’ve ever met with a mutant Alpha.”

Peter couldn’t have formed a proper response if his life depended on it, struck silent by the display from the formidable pair, stunned speechless by the way Pepper’s gaze swirled fiery orange before settling back to green.

“See there, now he’s broken.” Tony scolded his mate teasingly. “All I did was rattle a few silverware, you’ve got him worrying you’ll get scaly and burn him to a crisp!”

“Hush you.” Pepper warned playfully just as Peter managed a squeaky, “You’re a dragon!?!”

“Most people assume I’m a snake.” the Alpha’s eyes flickered orange again. “Thank you for choosing something much more beautiful to compare me to.”

“That-- that wasn’t a yes?”

“Well it wasn’t a no either.” Tony waved his hand as if dismissing the topic entirely-- as if the topic of dragon mutants could be dismissed-- and leaned forward in his chair to pin Peter with a measuring look. “Now listen, kid. I’m going to be upfront and honest with you, only because you scent like Cable and have an entire notebook full of questions which means you probably know most of the answers I’m going to give you, and simply want confirmation.”

“Uh, yes sir?”

“Smart Omega.” Pepper said approvingly, and bent to give her mate one last kiss. “Be nice to him, Tony. He might be brilliant but he is still mate sick, do you understand? Gentle with your words.”

“You say that as if I am ever anything but thoroughly patient and whole heartedly kind.” The Omega made an affronted sort of noise and Pepper only laughed at him, waved at Peter over her shoulder, and closed the door to the living room as she went.

“Alright then.” the moment his Alpha had gone Tony straightened in his chair and squared his shoulders, commanding the room again with barely any effort. “Project Rebirth. You know about our frosty friend lost somewhere beneath the ice?”

“Yes.” Peter checked his notes. “Yes, Captain Rogers. His plane was put down over the Arctic circle.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tony pursed his lips in thought and Peter waited only somewhat impatiently for the other Omega to choose his words. “Alright listen. Project Rebirth wasn’t the patriotic endeavor they tried to make it out to be, do you understand? They took in poor kids from the street, mostly mutants but some just human and turned them into lab rats. Took what they needed from one boy, pumped it into another and more often than not, killed both when nothing worked the way it was supposed to. Mixing DNA isn’t a real thing we can do now, there was no way a bunch of hack-job scientists working out of a basement could do it without mass casualties.”

“...Captain Rogers?”

“He was the first attempt that worked.” A glimmer of regret sliced through Tony’s vanilla clove scent. “My Dad used to say Steve never would’a signed up for that project if he’d known what was really in the so called super soldier serum. But he didn’t know because no one would ever say and he went from a sickly kid who could barely climb stairs to someone who could lift cars over his head within an hour. An hour. Even by today’s standards those sort of results are amazing, back then it was a goddamn miracle. Steve Rogers was a walking miracle, bought and paid for with the blood of a hundred different innocents and when they realized they’d created a literal god among men--”

“--they put him in the ice.”

“Dad stormed off the project when they realized they planned to crash the Valkyrie.” Tony said quietly. “Then he spent the next forty odd years searching for the crash site to try and rescue Rogers. Didn’t ever find him, so he spent any extra time he had searching for the cyborg they’d created after losing Rogers. Not as much is known about that one, but rumours are it was another kid from Steve’s neighborhood. Bright eyed and gung ho about serving and got himself turned into a monster.”

Peter grimaced as he circled the word ‘cyborg’ in his notes and Tony clicked his tongue sympathetically. “They tried it all over again in the seventies, even came to my Dad to help with it but he had his hands full with me so he turned them down. Some bloodthirsty bastard named Striker kidnapped and tortured and killed dozens of mutants trying to find the right amount of powers that could co exist in a body without self destructing. He wanted another Captain America but less along the lines of national hero and more along the lines of personal assassin. He was shut down after a few years, but by that time the damage had been done and all the mutants pretty much went underground. It was easier to hide than it was to stay public and go through all that in another twenty or thirty years.”

“I found mostly redacted paperwork from May of 1970.” Peter held up a copy of the page. “Is that-- is this you?”

“It’s probably me.” Tony started forward like he wanted to take the page, but then shook his head and sat back again. “My Dad had my blood tested when I was kid to try and confirm a theory.”

“What was the theory?”

The other Omega watched Peter for a long minute before finally saying, “That it skips a generation in males, but the Omegas are always carriers whether the family has a history of mutation or not.”

“Wait. What?”

“The mutant gene.” The corner of Tony’s mouth lifted in a half smile when Peter started scribbling notes just as fast as he could. “When present in a bloodline, it skips generations between presenting in males, but not females. Pepper’s mom was a mutant along the same talents, so was her grandma and so was Great Granny Potts. My dad wasn’t a mutant, and as far as we know, neither was Grandapa Stark. But male Omegas carry the gene no matter what so--”

He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers and Peter jumped when the metal sculpture closest to him abruptly melted, liquefying into a shiny puddle of silver right there in the center of the table.

Oh holy shit.

“So I carry the gene.” Peter pointed at himself, swallowing around a little burble of hysteria. “I carry the gene?”

“Whether you have anyone in your family mutant or not.” Tony confirmed. “You’re not mutant but you’ll still pass it on to any kids you have.”

Oh ho ho holy shit.

“My mate and I won’t ever have kids.” Tony said then, and he sounded sad about it. “We always want to think the world has changed and attitudes towards mutants has changed but the fact is, it will never be safe to be us. Pepper and I are on the cover of every magazine, on television for interviews and always at one social event or another. Our kids would be so widely watched that they’d never have a chance to be normal anyway, and when you add in the absolute guarantee of mutant abilities--” he shrugged. “--it's not an option. We won’t do it to them.”

Peter tapped his pen on the paper a few times then asked quietly, “Could I ask you what happened when you-- when you came into your powers? Is that alright?”

“I was fourteen.” Tony launched right into the story, visibly relieved to be talking about something other than all the horrors his kind had been subject to for decades. “I had just gotten accepted to MIT and met my roommate, James Rhodes. The first night I had a nightmare about being trapped and overwhelmed and nervous about starting college and my powers surged while I was asleep. I ended up warping the bunk beds, twisting the metal into pretzels and trapping myself and Rhodey inside the mess.”

“I woke up screaming.” The Omega’s scent swelled with fondness. “And Rhodey talked me right out of the panic, right through undoing it all, then climbed up into my bed and hugged me tight. I could have killed him when my abilities spiked like that, and by all accounts he should have ran for his life, but he took the time to comfort me instead. He’s an actual saint. A literal angel for putting up with my shit all these years.”

“James Rhodes.” Peter thought back to the ceremony several months ago when he’d received the grant money from Stark Industries, to the Alpha in full military dress that had been standing next to Tony. “Colonel James Rhodes?”

“One and the same.”

“Is he--!”

“No.” Tony shook his head, adoration coloring his scent warm. “James is wholly human, which is why I’m sure he’s a saint. No one else could possibly put up with me.”

Peter was quiet, thoughtful as he wrote down a few more things, careful to leave names out of his notes in case anyone came across them later.

“Your mate is mutant and you smell like Cable.” Tony broke the silence again. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Yes.” Peter said shortly. “But uh-- it’s not the one you’re thinking.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Okay but I promise?” he laughed a little. “I promise that whatever you are thinking about me and Cable, the truth is even stranger. He is not my mate, no way.”

“Well thank god for small mercies.” Tony nodded. “Be careful down this path, Peter. Not everyone will be willing to talk like I am and most will be angry you’re asking questions at all.”

“I just want the answers for myself.” Peter repeated softly. “I just need to know, I have to know. I can’t explain it but--”

“--Do you believe in soulmates, Pete?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since you’re the first person I’ve ever known who was human and had a mutant mate.” The Omega shrugged, but his eyes were kind. “Maybe soulmates is the only explanation you need for why you need to know everything about your Alpha’s people. Hm?”

Peter left a few minutes later, stepping out the door with a firm handshake and a smile and the reassurance that he could come back any time, and so long as he was keeping the answers for himself Tony would be happy to talk with him some more.

“He’s so sad.” Pepper curled close into Tony’s arms and kissed her mate on the cheek. “It breaks my heart to see anyone sad from mate sickness, but it’s worse when they are so young. Mid twenties is too early to know that sort of grief.”

“Mmm.” Tony hummed in agreement and soaked in his Alpha’s scent for a minute. “I know someone who might know what happened to Peter, or at least why he’s been around Cable of all people.”

“Who’s that?”

“Well.” The Omega pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts until he found a number he only called on the rarest occasions. “There’s only one person Cable trusts with his business in this particular timeline, even though I’ll never figure out why. The guy is a literal quack.”

Pepper chuckled under her breath when Tony dialed the number labelled “Neighborhood Quack” and then laughed louder when the phone answered on the first ring and the initial outburst from the other line was all swearing and various threats about what would happen the next time a Stark called his phone.

“Always good to hear from you, pal.” Tony said blandly, and on the other line Hank Pym screeched, “Don’t you call me pal, kid. I was teaching doctorate level university classes while you were still shittin’ in your diapers. What in the hell do you want?”

“Been spending much time with Cable lately?” It took a considerable amount of self control for Tony to not insist he could have taught Hank’s doctorate level classes while in diapers, and his moment of maturity was rewarded by a sweet kiss from his Alpha.

“I hardly think that’s any of your business!”

“No?” Tony challenged. “Cos I’ve got an Omega in here stinking like Cable and mate sickness while asking me about mutants and Project Rebirth. You’re the only one that grouch talks to in these parts, so I figured you’d know something!”

“Well if I knew something I wouldn’t tell a Stark. You’d sell the secrets for petty cash!”

“Old man, your secrets aren’t even worth the pettiest of cash--”

“Alright.” Pepper snatched the phone away. “Doctor Pym, this is Pepper Potts.”

“...oh hell.”

“Yes, that’s right. I understand you and my mate have some history, but I’d very much appreciate it if you helped me, do you understand?”

“...yes Ms. Potts.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor Pym. I’m looking forward to talking with you again later this evening.”

“...yes Ms. Potts.”

Pepper hung up and her mate whistled appreciatively. “How on earth did you manage that, my love?”

“I’m fairly certain my mother breathed fire on him at one point or another.” the pretty redhead said demurely, far too innocent for the way her eyes were sparkling. “Turns out you only have to do that once to put the fear of God into a man.”

“I love you.” Tony said seriously and the Alpha patted at his cheek and crooned, “I know you do, darling. I know.”

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

“Harry says you’ve got a thousand books in your apartment.” Gwen shoved a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, then offered Peter a bite as well. “Oh, and he was bitching about you making him rent porn? What’s that about?”

“For the last time.” Peter took a tiny bite of the heart attack Gwen called dessert and shook his head. “It’s not my fault the video store rents sketchy documentaries right next to the porn. Also not my fault that Harry grabbed the wrong one.”

“I’m just saying, if there was an Alpha you wanted to pick out porn with, I’m definitely the better option.”

“GWEN!”

“I’M JUST SAYING!” The Alpha darted close for a kiss and then held up another bite for Peter. “Eat, pretty Omega. You’re practically skin and bones these days and I miss your butt. Fatten them cheeks up again, kiddo.”

“You’re being terrible tonight.” Peter informed her. “Honestly just terrible. What’s going on?”

“Seriously, I’m just happy you called me for ice cream.” Gwen admitted. “Just glad you’re out and around and being yourself again. Sorry if I’m being terrible but I’ve got three months worth of shenanigans to get up to with you, you ready for all this?”

“Yeah Gwen.” Peter squeezed at the blonds hand affectionately. “I am ready for some shenanigans with--”

--he stopped mid step, froze halfway between one stair and the next, skin crawling with goosebumps and hair standing on end, breath constricting in his chest and throat closing up until he was seeing spots in front of his eyes.

“Oh woof.” Gwen inhaled and made a face. “What smells like over ripe Alpha? One of your neighbors in rut, Pete? Or newly mated? No one stays off suppressants long enough to scent that strong unless they are honeymooning. Don’t they know there’s hotels for that? Wow.”

The Omega didn’t answer, and Gwen snapped her fingers in front of Peter’s face to try and get him to blink. “Pete? Hey, what’s wrong? Alpha scent bugging you? You okay?”

“I--I--” Peter peeled his tongue off the roof of his mouth and tried again. “I um-- Gwen, you need to go.”

“I need to go?” she asked in confusion. “You aren’t gonna invite me in? We’re like three feet from your apartment and--”

“You need to go.” Nothing more than a whisper, but Peter’s dark eyes flashed in determination even as he shoved the Alpha away. “Leave me alone. Please. I’ll call you but you need to go now.”

“Pete--”

“I’m fine.” he pushed harder, forcing her down the hall. “Gwen, I’m fine I promise but I need you to leave right now. I’ll call you, I promise. I’ll call you but you have to leave. Leave!”

Gwen grumbled all the way back down the stairs but Peter tuned it all out. His fingers were shaking as he tried to get the door unlocked, his keys failing once and then twice before sticking into the slot and turning the knob to open.

His apartment was dark, every light off and every curtain drawn and that wasn’t how he had left it, but Peter didn’t care about that right now, he didn’t care about anything right now.

He shut the door behind him and then leaned back against the wood, shut his eyes tight and opened his mouth to inhale a scent so potent he could nearly taste it on his tongue, feel it rushing in his veins and settling low into his soul.

My mate.

“....Al-- Alpha?”

And a hoarse voice from across the room, deep and smooth and so so beautiful the Omega’s knees nearly gave out right there--

“I’m here, Pete.”

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

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER! (and thank you for all the great comments last chapter! They were all so good and I loved them!)

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

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @lookuplaughing @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @water-colouredmemories @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @ricecakeandhoney @ardatlily @fawnandgays @bluedreamdino @bibbarnes @blackstar1602 @hi-inevitable-im-deadpool @scientifically-lesbian-jesus @the-pagely-gun-slinger @oshuncheyenne @the-dragonwolf-den @pumpkin-spidey @sozvuchiy @cappunico @tired-dragons01 @chiby-chan @ahumoki0 @kanizsacollage @tulipsnbigcats @hiddenaurora @notchronicle24 @marvels-gurl @iridescent-idiot @badndbourgeoisie @eversomniator @local1dreamer @loveisblindwade @ssssssssssssssssssssslytherin @theunwantedomega @littlepolypan

#ncts fics #spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #time travel au #soulmate au #abo dynamics #tony stark #pepper potts #nathan summers

129 notes · View notes

sarcastically-defensive17 · 3 years

Text

Party? - P. Parker x O.F.C.

Was totally meant to post this on Halloween but LOL SORRY

Hope you enjoy this, my darlings! I had heaps of fun writing this and exploring the OFC! I’m always a sucker for a little (long) fluffy Petey fic.

- Caz

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

High school was an atrocity of many forms.

The cliques, the bitching, the stress, the finals. But most of all, Flash Thompson.

In a previous life, Flash would have ruled the roost as a self-righteous jock who believed all should bow to him because he could throw a ball 20 yards. In this life, Flash was a brainiac. He used intelligence as if it was his super power, earning him popularity and allowing his vindictive ego to flourish until even the popular kids believed they should bow to him.

In truth, Flash was no more intelligent than any other averagely gifted student at Midtown Science High. His intelligence quivered in the shadow of Peter Parker’s and Flash knew so; hence, sweet, lovable Peter - with his soft puppy eyes and his beautiful brown curls - became a target for Flash’s childish jokes.

The only person who would call Flash out on his bullshit was the one person he was afraid of; his twin sister, Edith.

Edith Thompson. Short, beautiful olive skin, a sarcastic smile that could make anybody flinch, kind eyes, haphazardly chopped brown hair and a bored expression that she often directed towards her brother - who was younger by 16 and a half minutes.

She had often stood up for Peter, showing him and his friends nothing but kindness. Edith was part of the popular clique, and while she enjoyed it, she hated the people. She didn’t hate her brother, but she hated the way he had grown to act in the presence of othersl. In actuality, he was a kind person, empathetic and helpful.

Edith was often known as the mean one in their family, as she rarely allowed somebody to hold something over her. That was evidenced when her uncle told her to focus less on her studies and more on learning to cook. Her uncle no longer allows himself to hold a conversation with Edith anymore, for fear of being ridiculed for his growing misogyny, historic views and all round “douche-baginess”.

But alas, Flash was a man full of secrets, and he used his popularity and viper tongue to disguise his anger and fear of those secrets being found out. As a result, Edith found herself looking out for Peter Parker and his friends.

Peter on the other hand, had no idea why Edith Thompson, one of the popular kids and sister to the head honcho, Flash Thompson, cared enough about his existence to call her brother out.

He admired the woman. He wouldn’t go as far as saying that he had a crush on her - because he knew a popular girl was far above his punching weight - but he did find her to be sweet, generous, beautiful inside and out. He was completely enamored by her.

He also couldn’t deny how his heart slightly skipped a beat when she personally invited him, Ned, Betty and Mj to the Halloween party her brother was holding.

She leaned against his locker one day after class, blocking him from opening it, sending a wolffish grin to himself and the small group of friends that were trailing beside him. As soon as he felt her gaze on him, he blushed uncontrollably.

It only made her grin widen.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite group of smart people,” she drawled. “You busy Halloween night?”

Peter gaped like a fish, confused at the question.

“Well I’m stuck being dragged by my little sister to strangers houses so she can do exactly the opposite of not taking candy from a stranger, so I’m out of whatever you’re planning.” MJ sounded bored with the idea. They got on like a house on fire, and both were happy to call the other a friend. They shared their art class, and the two would often spend the time complaining about anything they could think of.

“We’re going to a haunted house,” Ned chirped, Betty beaming from his side. The two were deeply immersed in the honeymoon stage. It was sickening but also heartwarming to see the two so enamored with one another. Edith couldn’t help but smile as she nodded at his words.

Within milliseconds her eyes were on Peter, watching him all but squirm under her gaze. She quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for an answer.

None came. She sighed, “Come on Petey. I’m 0 for 3 at the moment. I need somebody to hang out with while my brother and his goons overrun the house with their lame halloween party,” she snatched his hand into hers, holding it in both of her smaller appendages and smiling brightly at him.

He brought his eyes up to hers. He didn’t want to go to the party, but he couldn’t think of any excuse to tell her otherwise. He couldn’t exactly say that he was spending the night on patrol as Spider-Man. Instead he simply said, “Uh, yeah sure. I’m free.”

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles, watching the redness spread to the tips of his ears. “That’s why you’re my favourite - sorry MJ.” She dropped his hand, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket. On it, was scribbled a number, and an address. “Text me later and i’ll tell you what time.”

She left with a wink, beaming as she walked away. She genuinely enjoyed the company of the four friends, and while she was hoping that more of them would be free to hang out with her, she couldn’t deny the butterflies that flooded her stomach at the thought of Peter coming.

Behind her, Peter watched her figure retreat into the crowd of people, faintly seeing her hand come out and smack her brother on the back of the head as she walked past him.

Ned and MJ were looking at him cautiously, the blush on his skin still not fading. He had said all of 5 words to her, and even then, that was a feat.

“Dude, if you come out of that party having not confessed your intense crush on her, I think I may die from the second hand embarrassment I feel whenever she’s around you,” MJ laughed, rolling her shoulders as if to brush the feeling off. “Honestly, I feel like I need a shower to clean all of your oozing adoration.”

Peter snapped out of his gaze, turning to glare at the woman. “What are you saying? I don’t have a crush on Edith Thompson! She’s Flash’s-“

“Oh my god, we know she is Flash’s sister, but she obviously has a thing for you! She kissed you!” Ned added.

“She kissed my hand!”

“She wanted you to go hang out with her,” Betty interjected, distracted with her phone.

“She wanted all of us to go!”

MJ sighed, “And you’re nervous about hanging out with her.”

Peter groaned loudly, attracting the attention of a few passerby’s as he pulled his locker open a bit too hard. He tried to ignore the sound of the creaking metal. He was definitely nervous. He was excited, but terrified.

“Okay, fine. Maybe I am a little nervous.” He tilted his neck back, lowering his voice as Flash walked past. “She’s Edith. Shes popular and I won’t have any back up!”

Betty looked at Peter with sympathy, feeling sorry for the man. She directed the same look at Ned. Ned’s eyes widened as he realized what exactly Betty was thinking.

With a sigh he turned to his best friend, “What if Betty and I come with you? We can go to the haunted house later.”

Peters protest was met with a flick on the forehead from MJ. “I’ll be there too. Once the demon goes to bed, I’ll escape to your rescue.”

“So you have backup for when you want some alone time with Miss Thompson,” Betty winked at him, smirking at the groan that escaped his lips and the sound of his forehead clanging against a shelf in his locker following by a grumble of pain.

~~~~~

The Thompson house was well kept. Responding in Midtown Manhattan, it was exquisite like the properties flanking it. Walking distance to Central Park, close enough to school that Flash didn’t need to drive, but instead preferred to draw attention in his fathers Audi. Both Edith and Flash had their license, their birthdays a few months before Peter’s, but the elder twin preferred to walk to school or ride her bike.

Peter had never seen the house before. He knew that some people in his class had fancy houses - Liz Allen’s house was evidence enough - but with the way Flash Thompson held himself, Peter thought their house would be a mansion.

The party had begun already. The sight of various of his classmates downing liquid from red cups, grinding against one another, dressed in both elaborate, and barely obvious Halloween costumes.

He felt as if he stuck out like a very sore thumb. He couldn’t think of a costume, so he made the bold decision of wearing his Spider-Man suit, with a basic pair of jeans on top. He forwent the mask, but deeply regretted his decision. As soon as he walked in the door, Flash saw him.

He was sitting on a large lounge, people fawning around him. He was dressed as Frankenstein’s monster.

There were cups set out on the table in front of them, people bouncing quarters off of the table as a drinking game.

Flash smirked at Peter’s arrival. “Hey Penis Parker! Did you get that suit from your Stark Internship?” He mocked. “Should have picked up a Black Widow one-“

Edith smacked him in the back of the head as she walked past the lounge. “Shut it.”

She had decided on a vampire costume, which was really a large band shirt tucked into a leather mini skirt. She had fake blood dripping from her mouth, down her neck, and completed the look with vampire fangs.

She looked divine, but Peter wouldn’t let himself admit it.

She approached him, smiling a toothy welcome, showing the false fangs in the process. “How you doing, Petey? Thanks for coming.”

He struggled to bring his eyes up from her mouth, her smile was enamoring. “No-No problem. Happy to be here.”

She nodded towards the rest of the house, signaling for him to follow. She was wearing black vans, showing her short stature.

“I like your costume. Like a laidback Spider-Man.” She surveyed him young and down, and Peter tried not to shrink under her gaze. The blush was evident. “You look hot.”

“Oh! Um, you too?” He sputtered, eyes wide, more of a question than an admission. Edith simply chuckled, sending him a wink as she led him to the kitchen.

She poured herself a glass of water, preferring to stay sober to make sure Flash didn’t ruin their house. She was raised with expectations of taking care of him when he got himself into trouble, so it was the least she could do to stay on top of his nuisance behavior.

“What’s your poison tonight, peter?” She asked, sipping her own drink. “You getting onto alcohol or are you gonna take the path of the sober loner with me?”

He had always pictured Edith to be a party girl - after all, she was Flash’s sister. “I’m fine with just water, thanks. I don’t drink.”

A few of Flash’s friends made their way to the kitchen, cracking jokes among themselves and eyeing Edith and Peter. The latter did his best to ignore them, feeling more uncomfortable being there by the second, but he was surprised to see Edith looking as out of place as he did.

One of them, a tall, slightly buff man with a 5 o’clock shadow brushed up against her back as he went to get a cup. He eyed peter with a smirk, leaning down to Edith ear. He made no effort to cover his whisper, “When you get sick of this nerdy weasel, you should come find me. I’m happy to show you what a real man is when he disappoints.” The unnamed jock blew a kiss at Peter before slapping Edith harshly on the behind.

Peter stepped forward to punch the asshole, but his chance was taken when Edith grabbed his wrist and put him in a chicken wing hold. The douchebags friends gasped and jeered, watching the 5”3 girl throw their friend against the kitchen counter.

Edith flicked her hair over her shoulder and leaned down to his ear, her vampire fangs shifting her appearance to a more threatening vibe.

“Rule number one of being in my house: don’t ever fucking touch me. Rule number 2: don’t overestimate how much of a good time you can bring to the table, and rule number three,” she turned to look at peter, “A real man doesn’t put his hands on another person, and you are not even half the man Peter is. So keep your hands to yourself, baby.”

She let him go, grabbing her drink and Peter’s arm and rushing out of the kitchen.

“Edith?” He asked, his worry growing the more she pulled him along without a word. He didn’t know where they were going. “Edith, are you okay?”

She dragged him outside, to the backyard specifically. They walked until they reached an old wooden staircase. It led to a treehouse to which the years have not been kind to. Peter was skeptical and didn’t quite trust the wood to hold any weight, let alone that of two people.

She went to drag him up the stairs but he wouldn’t move, pulling her back slightly. “Edith, are you okay? What happened with that guy seemed like it was about more than his disgusting attitude.”

She couldn’t deny how innocently cute peter looked. There was faint lighting, the moon providing most of the source, and the concern in his eyes shone true. It had been the first time he spoke to her all night without hesitance its nervousness lacing his tone. Perhaps it was the first time since they started at school together.

She didn’t particularly want to open up, but out of all people, she desperately wanted to know Peter, and for him to know her. Her feelings for him were too strong.

A soft sigh left her stained lips, “Just... cmon up and I’ll tell you, okay?”

She started walking up the stairs, the creaking of the old wood familiar on her ears.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Peter frowned, brown curls falling over his forehead. “It sounds like it’s going to break any second-“

She turned back to face him, her hair, almost as short as his own, flying around her. “There is nothing wrong with this tree house. If it’s going to break then you can just use your spider detector thingy and let me know.”

“Yeah you have a good point,” he nodded, moving towards the staircase, but then realisation of her words set in. He snapped his head back up her, only to see her walking through the door of the treehouse with a smirk on her face. He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the exhausted groans that followed each thudding footstep. “What did you just say?”

She had made herself comfortable on a bean bag that looked far more new than the surrounding wood did. Her dainty hand reached across and flicked a switch, and within seconds almost two dozen fairy lights shone in the space.

“Hey MTV, welcome to my crib,” she grinned, dorkish glee in her eyes ignoring the fear on his face. His brows were high, his face pale. “Okay, okay, fine. I notice things, and one of those things, is that you’re a badass superhero.” She was picking at her fingers, suddenly so aware that Peter may be furious at her for finding out his secret.

“What? No! I’m just Peter. I can barely walk without tripping over my own feet, how could I be Spider-Man-“

She sighed loudly, interrupting his rambling. She raised a brow, trying not to smile. “I have an internship with Stark Industries. I’m a lab assistant, getting credit and extra-curricula’s for college apps.” She shook her head. “I got curious as to why I never saw you there, and I asked Tony Stark about you. He said he had never heard of you before.”

“That doesn’t mean that I’m Spider-Man!” He was visibly nervous, shaking hands and gaping mouth. Edith found it adorable. “Tony just works a lot. I don’t work with him all of the time so he wouldn’t remember me over people that are more important-“

“Not to mention that you came to school one day with no glasses, no inhaler, you’re buff as hell, and you’re literally wearing an authentic Spider-Man suit.” She rose from the bean bag, walking close enough that she could press her hand against his chest. His heartbeat was static underneath her palm. “Unless this is like, the best replica ever made, you’re Spider-Man. I’m kind of obsessed with him - well, you.”

“You’re obsessed with me?” He whispered, the smell of her perfume filling his senses.

She lifted her hand to his chin, taking him by surprise before she turned his head slightly to the left. His eyes locked into a wall full of newspapers where the headline focused on a superhero.

“I’ve been documenting since Iron Man came onto the scene in ‘08.” He turned his head back to her, but her eyes were turned down. He could faintly see a pink tinge in the tips of her ears.

He nodded softly, breathing out a heavy inhale. He tried to force his fear to subside, “Okay. You know my secret. I’m Spider-Man.” He stepped around her, careful not to touch her. His feet carried him to the other bean bag. It was a dark blue colour, a contrast against the red one that Edith made her way to. He guessed they were for her and Flash. “So, since were opening up, what’s your secret?”

Her laugh was melodic, her eyes troublesome. “You can’t handle my secrets, Petey.”

“Try me.” He smiled back at her. Her laughter was infectious. “I want to get to know Edith Thompson as more than the girl who led me to a terrifying tree house just to spill my biggest secret to me.”

She snorted, “I’m not sure there’s much more to me than that.” Her fangs were still in, fitting perfectly against her teeth. Her smile was dazzling, and the feel of her dark eyes on his face felt like he was being watched by a thousand eyes. He was starting to like the feeling. “Alright”, she crossed her leg over the other. “Speak the questions that weigh on your mind and I shall answer.”

“That douche in the kitchen...” he trailed off, watching her carefully. She didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Ex-boyfriend. Convinced to date me by Flash, expected to use me for sex, didn’t like that I have a brain in my head, I developed feelings, he cheated on me, the rest is history,” she smiled small. There was an air of unease around her, it was full of fear. She rarely had the chance to talk to people in this way. “That the answer you were looking for?”

He huffed through a smile, leaning forward onto his elbows. Almost all of his previous nerves had dissipated. After all, Edith Thompson was now one of the few people who knew of his own biggest secret. How much worse could things get? “I don’t really know what to expect from you, Edith, so yeah, I guess it will suffice.”

“What do you mean by that?!” Her voice raided in pitch, eyes crinkling with a smile.

“I mean,” he cleared his throat. “You’re an enigma. You’re popular, you’re intelligent, kind, beautiful, you stand up for people-“

“You think I’m beautiful?” She winked at him, watching as a slight blush rose on his cheeks and he stammered through some words once again.

“I, Uh, I just don’t really get why you talk to people like me, when you have so many people clinging to any bit of attention you give them.” He wrung his hands together, nervous for the answer. The thought had been going over his mind for so long.

Edith Thompson was the most popular woman in school. She had many friends, yet she chose to talk to Peter and his band of outcasts friends. He was the butt of all jokes to her twin brother, yet she gave him the time of day.

It was hard for his brain to completely comprehend that he was sitting in an old treehouse, on the Thompson residence, with Edith Thompson.

“I’m not popular,” she laughed softly. She looked almost sad, but the micro-expresssion was quickly hidden by an empty gaze and the same smile she had plastered on her face since they sat down. “I’m surrounded by people who want to be friends with my brother. I stick around him out of obligation, not desire.” She looked out the small window that was next to them. Of all the things on the property, the treehouse was the most normal. Edith and Flash had built it with their father when they were younger, and Edith got her wish for it to be as average as possible. “I love my brother, but living in his shadow is lonely. You and your friends are the only people who actually go out of their way to talk to me about more than my brother.”

“Then why don’t you just ditch him? His friends are all assholes anyways. Come join the cool club,” the joke inflated his confidence and he found himself winking before he could stop himself.

She snorted, leaning forward slightly. There was something about peter that made her want to open up. He was kind, inside and out.

“If only it were that simple,” she replied, allowing the vague response to linger in Peter’s mind. “Besides, if I weren’t around him, then I wouldn’t be able to smack him every time he’s a dick to you.”

There was a pregnant silence. It was then that the reality of the situation set in. He was at the house of the person who bullied him constantly. The sister of his bully was sitting in front of him, knowing his biggest secret and had confessed a need to defend him whenever her brother was a dick to him. Shame visibly washed over him.

He hung his head. “Y’know, you don’t have to do that.” He focused on a splintering piece of wood on the wall. Despite the damage it still looked stable. “I can defend myself.”

Edith furrowed her brows, “I-I didn’t mean to offend you, Petey. I didn’t mean to say that I was protecting you, it’s just, I know that Eugene is my responsibility to keep in line is all.” In the middle of her sentence she had stretched her body over the gap between them to lay her hand on Peter’s arm to reassure him. “It’s not the first time he has scared somebody away from me.”

“You won’t scare me away,” he smiled at her, almost sadly. “If anything, I would scare you away. I don’t have many friends outside of my little group.”

Friend. The word stuck in her mind, taunting her. She had thought her feelings were obvious to peter. She had constantly felt the need to make sure he was okay, and she routinely protected him from her douche of a brother. She was absolutely smitten with him, and she had been for a long time.

“When Eugene and I were younger, my mother told me that I need to look out for him. He tends to get himself in to trouble out of a constant need for validation. It’s been like that when our dad moved out, but dad tends to favour Eugene because he is doing well in school and has become popular.” Peter’s eyes widened. He had no idea that the Thompson parents were separated let alone that Flash had underlying triggers for his behaviour. Edith raised hair hands, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excusing him at all. He’s an asshole and that’s the bottom line, but... I don’t know. I just understand him.

“But, he has also shown a tendency to get jealous when a man comes into my life that he doesn’t approve of. He worries that I will leave like dad did.” It was Edith’s turn to have a sad smile. “Whenever I’ve found somebody on my own, he’s made it impossible. And now that I’ve found somebody, I’m worried that he will scare you away.”

Her eyes turned down, not meeting his. The silence was full of electric tension and she fought with her growing regret. She had wanted peter to know how she felt about him, but she hadn’t wanted to pressure him. She wanted to explain her reasons for fearing the loss of him, and why she tends to jump to his defense in the face of Flash.

Peter was quiet for only a minute, but the time it took for the realization of her words to set in felt like hours for the both of them. But when he processed her words effectively, his heart began to race.

Edith Thompson had just confessed that she had feelings for him. His mind was racing with two possibilities: 1. She had figured out that he was Spider-Man and wanted to use him to further her popularity, or 2. Edith was every bit as kind and amazing as he though her to be, and she simply had feelings for him that she wouldn’t pursue.

She watched his hands move. His deft fingers seemed to run along the black spider emblem on his chest, and she could guess where his mind was traveling.

“I’ve been worried about that for a while, Petey.” Never has he seen Edith seen so shy. “Since middle school really. Long before you were Spider-Man and I was in with the popular group.”

Her words corrected his thoughts, and his eyes widened more than they both thought possible. She had always admired his large eyes, needed to stop herself from staring into them multiple times.

She could faintly see the tips of his ears tinge pink once again in the dull light.

Peter knew his next words, but they came as a shock to Edith. “I’m not going anywhere, Edith.”

Her head shaped up, her eyes searching his face from behind her haphazardly chopped bangs.

She allowed a small smile to occupy her lips, slowly stretching larger.

“I really like you,” he whispered to her, leaning forward to grab one of her smaller hands.

Her smile enlarged, showing her teeth in a vampire fanged-grin, “I really like you too, Petey.”

“Do- um,” he looked at his hand where his fingers traced over her knuckles. “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

Her heart felt a flutter at his soft spoken question and as an answer, she leaned forward to close the gap between them, her lips caressing his with such a gentle touch.

All that could be heard between them was the mingling of their breath and the bass or the music from the house.

For the first time, Edith Thompson and Peter Parker sat together, in one another’s arms. They spoke about almost anything, enjoying the company of one another. Peter had even agreed to let Edith take him on a date. They hadn’t even noticed their friends wandering around the party in search of the two of them.

“So...” he began nearly two hours after their original conversation. She hummed in reply. “How did your brother get all of the teachers to only call him ‘Flash’ instead of Eugene?”

She barked out a laugh, not quite knowing the answer herself.

“And why the fuck did he decide to be called ‘Flash’?!”

Tag list: @starshonerose @mantlereid @another-lonely-heart @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3

If you would like to join the tag list then send me a message or let me know in my inbox!

#peter Parker #peter Parker x reader #peter parker x original character #peter Parker x Edith Thompson #marvel #Spider-Man #Spider-Man far from home #Spider-Man homecoming #peter is a cinnamon roll that owns this ass #Caz writes fluff #Caz writes stuff #hope you enjoy darlings

16 notes · View notes

akumageist · 4 years

Text

I would die for Hitori Uzune. RIP to Kazuaki, but I’m different.

The Hatoful fandom consists of 13 people and a paperclip. It always has. Unfortunately, it probably always will. Where this is cause for some perks, it’s also some of its faults. In example, it’s still an anime game, made by a Japanese woman, and attracts weebs. Weebs tend to like to think of characters 2-Dimensionally, breaking the character down to what they think is their core personality traits. Hitori is no stranger to this, and is beaten down into this heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. But I believe Moa is saying “anyone, even the best of us, is capable of becoming a monster if driven to it.” Let’s roll.

2162. Hitori was born into a world of war and hate, plopped into an orphanage at just 2 years old. This can be found in Moa’s canon spin-off manga, where Hitori at about ten years old is caring for the other war orphans along with the other older birds. Luckily for him, he was a genius. He was able to go out and get jobs tutoring birds and support his rag-tag family at his young age.

With that, we know Hitori was not originally cold and heartless, despite how the world may have birthed him. Especially when Nageki arrived frail and sickly. Hitori and the other birds were happy to put in overtime in an attempt to pay for the poor dove’s medications, even in his protest.

Then, 2180 happened. Imagine what sort of toll that would take on Hitori. he was absent. He was at work, unaware of the jeopardy that befell his family. What kind of horrible, mind-rattling survivors guilt must rack this bird’s brain, knowing he wasn’t there as his family was massacred one by one?

“What did we do? We had nothing. Our parents and homes had already been stolen by the humans. All we had left were each other.”

We can gather from this same scene Hitori blames himself for not being there. For not being able to protect his family, or even Nageki. Even though had he been there, he would have died alongside everybirdie else, and left Nageki to succumb to his illness alone. Something of this magnitude would create anxieties and trauma unfathomable to those who did not deal with it.

In Hitori, this manifested as full-blown helicopter mom. He can’t help but think of every little nit-pick detail over Nageki, terrified one feather out of place will kill him. The fandom is good about this side of his character! And of course, so is Moa. This may be the Summer Vacation Drama CD: Hitori The Worrywart (which takes place in MIRROR AU), but I love it’s portrayal of the anxious quail.

Hitori continued to care and ache over Nageki’s declining health. He was desperate. Begging doctors, even though deep in his little quail brain he knew Nageki was a lost cause, and that he was dying. But he couldn’t think of a life without Nageki, and did all in his power to try and keep the bird as well as he could. We can see a great example of this love in words you might not think of.

“How about this? From now on, ‘I’m fine’ is not allowed.”

I’ve always imagined Hitori getting mildly heated at Nageki in this conversation.The quail is on his last strands of stability, and the dove he cares endlessly for is trying to hide the very thing he ails himself over. The genuinity in his words shines through- telling Nageki he’d rather hear he’s bad and hurting.

So, in this desperation, Hitori carted Nageki off to some strange doctor in some strange prestigious school. And how couldn’t he? A doctor who claimed to know of the virus eating away at Nageki’s life, and how to cure it. Hitori’s beacon of hope in a sea of darkness. The only bird in the entire universe he had left to love, the one he had arguably always favored and adored, was dying. He would do anything in his power to keep the one thing he loved alive, no matter the irrationality or cost. No matter the very dying bird’s own lips saying “I… don’t want to go.”

Whether or not you ship these birds, I firmly believe Hitori is in love with Nageki in a romantic sense.

“I can no longer love another creature // I think we meant more to each other than anybirdie else in the world... // The love I felt soured into resentment // I should remember the beautiful face I knew, not… a photo covered in scribbles”

Not to mention admitting he can’t bear to live without the dove in BBL. And, in his route, Hiyoko goes as far as to refer to this bird as a female, which means he’s speaking so fondly she’s assuming it was a lover, and therefore a woman. Hitori’s stopped any sort of love at the idea he can only love Nageki post-mortem. That is canon. And well… that’s not very brotherly, no matter how good of a relationship you may have with your sibling (I speak from experience).

Okay, okay, this persuasive essay is NOT for convincing you of this ship, that is another essay for another time. I’ve only mentioned this opinion because I need you to understand his irrationality for the one thing he has left, and the fragility of it. And why it might drive anybirdie to… Hitori-level madness. Moving on.

2183. A mere 3 years after Hitori had lost the majority of his family to human terrorists. Nageki sends a coded letter, and… we can see Hitori’s anxieties outright.

“It’s happening again. Nageki needs me, and I’m not there.”

This is… a very powerful line in the game. We’re seeing just how vulnerable Hitori truly is. This is a traumatized individual in a panic attack- realizing the love of his goddamn life is once again faced with something horrible, and Hitori is once again absent from the scene.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The only thing. The only one Hitori had left in life to love. To live for. Taken from him without so much as a second chance. This is painful to write. This part of Hatoful is, without a doubt, the most agonizing. I know how it is to lose something so dear and feel as though maybe it’s not worth going on without them.

This is the peak of Moa’s tragedy writing ability (and yes, I’m including Holiday Star). But this is my point, is it not? Though his kanji may be “sun bird”, the actual word for his name “Hitori” quite literally means one, alone, solitary. He is now all alone in the universe, no family left. How can anybirdie even remotely remain in charge of their faculties (as Sakuya would put it) by now? You wouldn’t.

Hitori is now a husk of his former self. Anything he’s ever cared for is gone, he has nothing left to live for. He goes- my favorite coined term for him- absolutely batshit. He gets what we call “trauma-induced psychosis”, and begins to hallucinate very vividly, a form that he refers to as “Nageki”. We all know him of course, as Shadow. Shadow, from the little information we’re able to gather from BBL, is tormenting Hitori ruthlessly.

Shadow is easily misunderstood, because Moa made him fathomable, so the reader was able to understand exactly what was happening. What had become of Hitori Uzune. Shadow in all his simplicity- is Hitori. It is an introjection of Nageki, manifested to validate Hitori in his self-hatred. Don’t you get it? He hates himself just as much as you hate him!

Anything Hitori thinks of himself, Shadow is there to back up. He’s taunting him day in and day out, reminding him that he killed Nageki, and every ounce of Nageki’s suffering life was the fruit of Hitori’s inability to protect him. But again, it’s his own brain, telling him exactly what he wants to hear. What he truly believes. Telling himself what he’s done, and how he deserves this. ...And to seek revenge.

Hitori lost his mind. He had nothing else to lose, after all. He became obsessed with Nageki even moreso than he was in life, because there was no level-headed dove to calm him and tell him to stop worrying so much, or keep him at least reasonably held together by simply being there.

He listened to his psychosis, and when he made a friend (Moa gives evidence Hitori and Kazuaki were friends prior to Hitori’s ill-intentions), his psychosis got in the way of that, too. As he travelled down this relationship (which Moa herself says is pretty much romantic), we can assume he realized just how unable to love he was. He had Kazuaki around because, let’s face it. He wanted someone like Nageki who was incompetent so he could nurture and care for them. And for a while, it worked. But it didn’t. Hitori didn’t love Kazuaki. He couldn’t. He was too busy looking for Nageki.

So, you’re reading this in english. You speak english. At least a little, right? So maybe you played the english (and localized) version of the game. Well then you may not know the following. Please pay attention! This gets a bit rocky, and a bit more “Hitori...!”.

In the English version, Hitori disguised as Kazuaki is “tired”. In the Japanese version, he’s “sleepy” or “dreamy”. I’d describe him as ditsy, for sure. He kind of acts like an airhead who knows absolutely nothing, and his students don’t take him seriously. In the Hatomame Sweet Blend Drama CD, there is a track that follows Kazuaki on a little adventure of his narcolepsy, and going to Shuu for help.

In and out of comatose, Hitori, as himself, is there in his dreams as a separate bird.

“This bird with a face I had never seen spoke to me in a voice I had never heard, and this is what he said.”

“Nanaki-sensei” is clearly denying his own identity.

“I’ll sleep, just a little, and then leave… good… night…”

“But sleeping is my job… You still have a little longer. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that…”

This is dream Hitori telling himself that he has to continue his alias until his revenge is fulfilled. The quail that was once Hitori must remain dormant until he is reunited with Nageki again, and can be happy again. As a metaphor for depression… don’t you feel like you’re a shell of your former self?

So, going off this information… I believe Hitori has repressed himself. This is due to my own knowledge on psychology but-- Hitori doesn’t want to be Hitori anymore. It’s too hard. Hitori the war orphan. Hitori the lone survivor. Hitori the murderer and identity thief. It’s him not wanting to deal with his trauma in a healthy way, and instead locking it up and becoming somebirdie new and undamaged.

He killed Hitori.

This falls into the other delusion- that Nageki is somehow not completely dead and gone and ash- but still trapped, somehow, somewhere, and Hitori needs to find and get him. To kill Isa and the researchers who “killed” Nageki, and bring “Nageki” home. Whatever he believes Nageki is. In BBL, we see this quite literally varies! He tried to cut Ryouta open and steal his liver!

“Sir, Nageki would have never wanted this…!”

There is no difference between a serial killer and someone in a court room screaming for the serial killer to be murdered in turn. That mourning mother is then one in the same with that killer, is she not? She sees him, and wants him to die. She wants him to die and suffer. She believes that will bring her a sense of justice. Even though she knows it will not return her son to her. Hitori, is that mourning mother. He sees Isa, and all he can see is the man who murdered his dove.

I know the biggest aspect as to why the fandom hates Hitori is the sole factor that Kazuaki is #relatable. He’s a depressed college student who thinks he’s better off dead. Then, Hitori tricks him. But you’re not reading Kazuaki right. It’s okay, he’s easy to misread from Holiday Star’s plotline.

Holiday Star was written with Kazuaki as the villain, do you forget? A grey villain as well, but a villain nonetheless. He told his tragic sob story death in such a way, you can’t help but to cry. He’s the victim! I’m not saying he’s not. But he was written specifically to be pitied in Holiday Star, and as you continue on, you begin to see he’s actually just anti-self help. He doesn’t want to face his fears. He doesn’t want to leave his safe egg and take the risk he should have.

Kazuaki is meant to be pitied, yes, but just on the brink of annoying with his helplessness and self-deprecation. He’s, forgive me, a “sad sack of shit” who does nothing to help himself. Don’t come after me for being “ableist” or whatever- Moa literally wrote him this way.

This is also depicted in “Kazuaki-kun’s Book”. Now, this book takes place in the MIRROR AU, but it tells of how Kazuaki met Hitori. Moa starts the manga off by explaining Kazuaki had a great chickhood, a healthy life, and an easy, happy time. But then, he flunked his college exams and didn’t even get into his safety school. He lazed around, grew depressed, and let his apartment rot. He played video games until his online friends got jobs, and wasted any money he had on them as well. The only thing that scared him out of it is when his next door neighbor was found dead, having rotted into his own futon.

So imagine Hitori, who has worked so hard and lost everything he had done so for. Tirelessly, through his horrible, fucked up existence. Nageki, who had his short and miserable life robbed from him, had to die. Had to kill himself. And this random quail has the audacity to bitch and moan, thinking he’s got it bad? He’s a waste of space that could have been filled with Nageki. This is what Hitori’s brain is thinking. Hitori’s only ~20 years old when Nageki dies, after all.

I’m not saying this is cause for murder and identity theft. Don’t you dare misread me on this. But as I’ve stated prior- Hitori’s completely lost it. But you ship him with the chukar that literally ruined his life. Hitori’s a grey villain but holy fuck why would you want him to fuck the partridge that tortured and drove his only loved one to suicide?

It was wrong to trick Kazuaki. It was wrong to insult him as he died. It was wrong to steal his identity. That’s obvious and a given. But you all seem to look at that factoid alone, chalking it up to ‘preying on a poor mentally ill man” but not taking into consideration Hitori is mentally ill himself. ...Just not #relatable enough for you.

Hitori is suicidal as well. He’s been suicidal presumably since Nageki died. Don’t you dare say Hitori isn’t at least a little in the same boat. I don’t care if he’s not as soft and uwu and cuddly as Kazuaki. Mental illness is not rainbows and butterflies and emo hair (though Kazuaki is not portrayed this way).

Holiday star bears all the answers. I raise you important points, so pay close attention. The first key component is Hitori, found upside down in the pudding. He’s crying. Why is he crying? Because he’s lost his name? Oh, but think deeper.

“I’m Nemo”.

“Nemo” is latin for nothing, and his name translates to “nothing” in every language of HoliStar. The King has vomited him up in his kingdom, and robbed him back of what he stole from him. His identity.

But it goes even deeper than that.

“I’ve lost something, and so, I think I might cry.”

From this phrase alone, it’s painful to play this game. Nageki is right in front of his beak. But what did he do? He ate his own eyes. Hitori, in his refusal to identify with himself, has robbed himself of quite literally seeing the very bird he adores and sought after. Then, he is renamed his own identity by that bird (the only identity he accepts). How surreally real.

The second key component is when everybirdie is being rescued, but Leone warns Yuuya the quail is clearly falling more rapidly into a coma, and may not be able to awake. Why is this? Because Hitori wants to die. He’s fine with it, and Kazuaki is more than happy to keep him. When Yuuya finds him, Hitori is not at all alarmed as he should be. He seems passive, and simply wants to fall back to sleep. He’s to the point of trying to strangle Yuuya in attempt to let himself fall into eternal slumber (even if he thinks Yuuya is… Kazuaki..?).

Heed these next words carefully. When Yuuya asks if The King did something to him, Hitori replies-

“...No, all The King did was close the door.”

I am a firm believer this is Hitori indirectly saying “Kazuaki did nothing wrong, and I do not resent him for hating me.” Especially since Hitori shows signs of knowing it’s Kazuaki, and repenting.

“He said I need to be punished. Apparently I did something bad… and I think I know what it was.”

This is confirmed in my next point, so bear with me.

Hitori, in this same conversation, is admitting he wants to die. The only thing that stops him- as morbid as it may be, is remembering this takes place before the events of BBL. He hasn’t fulfilled what he believes is his “something I need to do”. Which is seek revenge, and bring Nageki home, as per Shadow’s orders.

Lastly, at the bitter end of Holiday Star when everybirdie is plummeting through the air from the false star, Hitori is still blind and confused. Suddenly, The King erupts from behind Hitori, and appears to be talking to him.

“Oh, is that right?”

“...I know, I know. ...but it’s still too soon. That’s right, I’ll be along soon. I’ll catch up with you. Someday…”

This is arguably my most prominent point in the entire essay. This is Hitori, admitting not only does he still plan to kill himself, but that he intends to keep his promise and reunite with Kazuaki in the afterlife. These are not the words of a heartless quail. These are the words of somebirdie who knows they’ve taken advantage of a friend, but is continuing to do their best to keep their promises and make amends. This is Hitori telling Kazuaki he still cares for him.

Hitori is the result of trauma and hardship beyond compare, and his inability to cope. He is not meant to be hated. He is meant to have shock value, yes. What he has done his disgusting, but you want to love him. Because he raised the sweetest bird in the entire game who would rather kill himself than hurt others.

Grey-villains are difficult, and because you can’t love them for being purely evil, you end up hating them for being a good person who’s done bad things. Hitori is a cracked window. Not quite shattered, but no longer whole, with a faulty image. Hitori is not just some heartless, manipulative, selfish bastard. He’s quite literally a bird with a broken wing (or entire ribcage more like), trying to… well, Live, and be happy.

#hitori uzune #uzune hitori #hatoful boyfriend #hatoful kareshi #hatoful #hatoful boyfriend bbl #kazuaki nanaki #nageki fujishiro #hatoful boyfriend holiday star

51 notes · View notes