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sl-walker · 3 years

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All right, since I’m in the middle of a flare and have to work manual labor for the next four days despite it, I figured I would make myself -- and hopefully other people -- laugh by talking about one of my favorite OG Captain Marvel stories. Namely, from Whiz #50, with a cover date of January, 1944, meaning it was probably produced sometime in late 1943.

I want to share it because why not, this is some absurdly charming stuff.

I’ll get more into why it’s one of my favorites as we go, in the form of running commentary. So, full story (with said commentary) under the cut. If you wanna just read the story without my commentary, stick to the pictures. XD

First, let me say that the cover and splash page definitely live up to the story, though the cover’s a bit more sensationalized. But the premise is pretty damn simple: Our intrepid hero and his newsboy alter ego are on vacation. Cap decides to go swimming. It goes hilariously wrong and thus ensues a bit of a madcap adventure, no puns intended.

Second, the fact that Cap and Billy are depicted as essentially different entities makes what Billy does next the ultimate trolling:

Gee, airing out the stolen laundry on the radio? Really? I’ll leave it up to you, gentle reader, whether Billy actually was trolling his own alter-ego for ratings or whether he was just innocently sharing the story while his other-self winced quietly in whatever ether-space he exists in when not front-and-center.

Either way, I love it.

Continuing on...

I get a kick out of the fact that Billy’s monologue is that he’s no dare-devil. One, because that’s so obviously not true in any way -- (that kid is awesomely, sometimes recklessly brave on the regular even without Cap) -- but two, because the bridge is actually named Dare-Devil Bridge. We aren’t given any reason why this dangerous potential death-trap is there, hanging without so much as a gate or a warning sign or anything, because we don’t need one. It’s there specifically for what happens next.

Which, of course, is Billy calling in Captain Marvel, who does some light complaining about the situation Billy left him in. There’s no bite to it, which I find adorable -- Cap actually does get frustrated once or twice in other issues with Billy calling on him for mundane stuff, though he’s never mean about it -- but there is a bit of the sense of being put-upon there that’s just-- I dunno, cute. It’s something I miss a lot in the various post-crisis takes on the character: That duality, that difference in personality, and the way each of them responds to different situations. Often, they’re on the same page, but notably, sometimes, they aren’t.

Someday, I promise, I need to sit down and write how I think that works between those two without being a truly frightening mental illness manifested, what with them being the same person but not the same person. Because I have so many ideas, and I’ve only had since the early-2000s to percolate them. LOL! But until then, just enjoy this.

Here is another reason why I love the Golden Age Captain Marvel books and why I love this specific story: This is an absolutely normal, mundane thing to do. It’s the human thing to do. These aren’t the actions of some super-serious superdude. These are the actions of a pretty shockingly normal guy doing something mundane. And a whole story is built around that normalcy.

It’s cute. It’s funny. It’s the reader already knowing that he’s getting himself into a situation that he absolutely could have avoided, but also completely understanding how it happened anyway. It’s pretty brilliant writing: I say this as a pretty damned good writer myself.

So much of the reason why, I think, Cap was so endearing as a hero is that humanity. He’s got pretty much god-tier power in the Golden Age, once his powerset is established. He’s utterly invulnerable to all physical harm while powered up. But-- he’s human. He knows he’s human. He acts like it, and decides, “You know what? I’m going skinny-dipping.”

He and Billy are both characters it’s so easy to empathize with.

Also, a reminder that the art under Chief Artist C.C. Beck is really, really good. (He had a whole stable of artists to help produce this stuff!) Ignoring registration issues on the printing press, the actual line art is amazingly good; proportion and perspective and consistency.

But anyway--Cap does get to enjoy his swim. But, then, oh no.

I love the idea of a world where the prime hero -- and he definitely is in that world -- can take off his suit and go swimming, and where someone else is bold enough to steal the damn suit off of him. The first time I read this, I started laughing here. Not at him, but at the situation he’s found himself in. At the idea that some random passer-by saw Captain Marvel’s costume and went yoink!

Another thing I love about this particular story is how much Cap and Billy have to work together, just by necessity. Like-- it’s just really good. But anyway, thank everything Billy Batson is on the ball, coming to the rescue.

Sheer bad luck via the weather keeps this story rolling along in hilarious misdirections. Realistically, that uniform probably wouldn’t be all buttoned together (we see Cap take off pieces of it aside the pants in other issues, including socks!), but who cares? The point of the story is that giant bear rug on the floor’s gonna get put to use.

Man, when have you ever seen Superman creeping naked through some stranger’s house wearing nothing but a random polar bear because he went skinny dipping? No wonder these comics sold so well. This next panel is when I start wheezing, though, and pretty much keep wheezing.

“A lady, too! I’ve got to get away from here!”

I’m dying at this point. That’s such a characteristic response, and yet, I think that’s why it’s funny.

Anyway, because this is an excellent story (I mean this without an ounce of irony, too), our dynamic duo stumbles across a plot in play to rob the hotel they’re staying at.

Here’s a big part of why this is such a good tale: Everything fits. Even when it isn’t explained, like Dare-Devil Bridge, it still fits. Why is the tree down? Because there was just a thunder storm, the same one that blew Cap’s suit into the room with the gangsters.

I don’t know if this is Otto Binder’s story, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. It’s a complete story told in relatively few pages that accomplishes everything it’s meant to.

Anyway, using foliage as cover, Cap gets to be heroic----then Billy gets to get back to the business of trying to stop the robbery of the hotel and get his heroic alter-ego dressed again. Which leads to a rather adorable and funny scene of Billy not only trying to describe what Captain Marvel wears, but what size it would need to be tailored in.

(Cap is supposedly a 44 for a suit coat, we find in some earlier appearance, which would refer to his chest size. So, an XL for shirts and suit-coats. He’s a big guy, but he’s actually not a hulking huge guy. But more on that later.)

I love the fact Billy tries to like-- use himself as a model. Maybe in another ten years, kiddo. Billy’s actually pretty buff for like a 12-14 year old, he’s not a scrawny kid at this point, but yeah, no. LOL!

Another thing I also really, really love about this style, though, is that they draw Captain Marvel as being strong, as having a powerful build-- but not as a dehydrated body-builder with deep cuts. He’s got human proportions, regardless of his strength; he’s got a human build, not a superhuman one.

C.C. Beck had a lot of things to say about superheroes who were just muscles on top of muscles, all clearly defined, and he didn’t like it. As someone who first got into comics in the early 90s with Jim Lee’s X-Men--

I do get Beck’s point. I not only get it, but I really highly approve of it. He maintained to the end that he drew (and oversaw) the Marvel family to look like high school and college athletes, and I can see that. I think the one person who’s gotten it right in the modern era is Evan “Doc” Shaner, who did Convergence: Shazam! He not only nailed that strong-but-not-hulking build for Cap, but also how young he looked. College-age, in fact.

But anyway, enough digression into art and why I like this better than most modern takes on the character. Also, that’s just a cute set of panels.

I also like that there wasn’t an easy fix there. Cap’s still in his not-birthday suit, and Billy’s still stuck running around trying to solve the issues at hand. Next comes some other really good panels:

-snorts- He’s locked in. Yeah, that’ll hold him.

Anyway, what I really liked here was again that tandem working; Billy can’t punch through a wall, but Cap can. Cap can’t crawl out while he’s au natural -- well, he could, but he’d probably rather die first -- but Billy’s got no such issue. It’s just fun when you get to see them doing something like that. You have to really think for a minute about the trust each of them must have in their alter-ego.

ANYWAY, we get the rare treat then--

--of Captain Marvel not only yoinking a dude into a dark room, but then stealing his clothes. Except, not his underwear. Because that’s nasty. LOL!

I love that in this series, you do actually get to see him wear other stuff. Go incognito. Get his red suit messed up enough to take it to a dry cleaner’s, wherein he ends up dressed like a musketeer after. Jerry Ordway’s series is, I think, the only other time we see Cap not wearing his famous suit, but it happened enough in the Golden Age that it wasn’t a shock.

Like, I hate to be the one to say this, but I do think DC drops the ball often on just how much you can do with Captain Marvel (or Shazam, depending on timeline, but that’s the wizard’s name to me so mostly I’ll stick with the original name) if you unbend enough to. It’s not just the costume change, or the duality of him and Billy being the same but not, but also his inherent, essential humanity.

But I am digressing again, sorry. XD I just feel strongly enough about these versions of these characters to spend hours writing this.

Anyway, only a single panel later:

And that’s that! Billy Batson has just outed his own alter-ego’s most embarrassing moment to whomever’s listening to WHIZ radio -- thank everything podcasts and the internet weren’t available then, ha! -- and we get to see a recounting of a very fun story.

Like I said earlier, I love this one for its essential humanity. The hero got himself into this mess, he and Billy got him out of this mess, and stopping the criminals was actually just kind of a lucky stroke thrown in there. But even though Cap got himself into this, the story never treats him like he’s stupid. It never treats him like he’s some kind of idiot. You’re laughing, but-- not in a mean way.

I love how human it is. How complete it is. How genuinely funny it is. It’s a thousand times more funny when you genuinely love and respect Captain Marvel and Billy Batson, too.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this dissertation on a skinny-dipping hero. LOL! I enjoyed sharing it with you.

#dc captain marvel #billy batson #shazam #whiz comics

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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Welllp These Are Books: the April 2021 Edition

I did not read Romeo and Juliet this month. I read a bunch of other books. Like, a bunch. More than one series. Because Big Bang burnout is real and grown adults missing their deadlines is a real good way to stress me out. So, I read a bunch. Good books, very bad books, books that caused limbs to flail. For positive and not-so-positive reasons. Naturally, all those reasons must be shared. Under the cut with occasionally long and rant-prone reviews, as well as spoilers. Beware of spoilers under the cut. Please keep telling me what to read, internet. My library wish list is almost comically long now.

GIVE ME ALL THE WORLD BUILDING AND SNARK AND FIGHTING! WITH MAGIC! AND SWORDS! IT’S MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Shades of Magic Series by V.E. Schwab

Kell is one of the last Antari—magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

— Picture it, approximately twelve forty-seven am. My husband is asleep. I am reading. The second book in this series ends. And I say, right out loud, at what might now be twelve forty-eight am, HOLY SHIT IT JUST ENDED. Justin thought we were under attack. No man has ever snapped awake quicker. He was not pleased. At least not in the same way that I was about these books. Which I goddamn LOVED. Loved. The world building. The magic. The banter. Rhy and Kell’s relationship. Once more. RHY AND KELL’S RELATIONSHIP. Which I might have cared about more than the romance??? Maybe??? I cannot get over how good this world building was. I know people have quips with it, and that’s fair. I saw the “twist” coming in the first book, and I think trying to preserve that left some plot holes that are understandably frustrating. Because Lilah definitely needed depth perception to fight as well as she did. Also did Schwab really refer to her as a cross dresser in her author’s note? Yikes. She wore a dude’s jacket, like—c’mon V.E. Other than that though. I loved it. Also shout out to @peglegsjones for suggesting this one in my 2020 post and call out to me for taking so long to read it.

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

Ketterdam: a bustling hub of international trade where anything can be had for the right price—and no one knows that better than criminal prodigy Kaz Brekker. Kaz is offered a chance at a deadly heist that could make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But he can't pull it off alone. . . . A convict with a thirst for revenge. A sharpshooter who can't walk away from a wager. A runaway with a privileged past. A spy known as the Wraith. A Heartrender using her magic to survive the slums. A thief with a gift for unlikely escapes. Six dangerous outcasts. One impossible heist. Kaz's crew is the only thing that might stand between the world and destruction—if they don't kill each other first.

— I’ve talked about how little I cared about anything that happened in Shadow and Bone before, but I kept seeing gifs of the Crows in the Netflix show and my brain was like: huh, I could like them. So, after some help from the very helpful internet, I’m happy to report I do in fact like them. At one point, I slunk into the couch. Like that’s how overcome with emotion I was. Kaz ripped a dude’s eye out! For Inej! Matthias loved Nina’s laugh! I would like to hug Jesper. Seriously, this hit all my high points and world building and banter and I lol’ed at “scheming face.” I would like my hold to come through faster on the sequel.

THEY DID NOT CALL INTERMISSION HALFTIME AND MY COLLEGE EXPERIENCE WAS WAY DIFFERENT THAN THESE KIDS

The Off Campus Series by Elle Kennedy

Hannah Wells has finally found someone who turns her on. But while she might be confident in every other area of her life, she’s carting around a full set of baggage when it comes to sex and seduction. If she wants to get her crush’s attention, she’ll have to step out of her comfort zone and make him take notice…even if it means tutoring the annoying, childish, cocky captain of the hockey team in exchange for a pretend date. All Garrett Graham has ever wanted is to play professional hockey after graduation, but his plummeting GPA is threatening everything he’s worked so hard for. If helping a sarcastic brunette make another guy jealous will help him secure his position on the team, he’s all for it. But when one unexpected kiss leads to the wildest sex of both their lives, it doesn’t take long for Garrett to realize that pretend isn’t going to cut it. Now he just has to convince Hannah that the man she wants looks a lot like him.

— The first book in this series was free on Amazon. So, I read it. And really liked it??? It was so chock full of cliches and badly written tropes and Garrett probably should have accepted that Hannah didn’t want to go out at the start, but like—he was cute? And as we all know I am TRASH™ for stories set in the same verse, so, like, I just kept reading these trashy college hockey books. Trashy is a compliment here. God, these kids had so much sex. So much. An incredible amount, really. I once had a guy tell me he was physically attracted to me, but not emotionally attracted to me in college. Like, that was my college experience. The first and second books were the best, I think. I didn’t really like Dean that much.

MAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE HE WAS A RABBI???

The Intimacy Experiement by Rosie Danan

Naomi Grant has built her life around going against the grain. After the sex-positive start-up she cofounded becomes an international sensation, she wants to extend her educational platform to live lecturing. Unfortunately, despite her long list of qualifications, higher ed won't hire her. Ethan Cohen has recently received two honors: LA Mag nominated him as one of the city's hottest bachelors and he became rabbi of his own synagogue. Low on both funds and congregants, the executive board of Ethan's new shul hired him with the hopes that his nontraditional background will attract more millennials to the faith. They've given him three months to turn things around or else they'll close the doors of his synagogue for good. Naomi and Ethan join forces to host a buzzy seminar series on Modern Intimacy, the perfect solution to their problems--until they discover a new one--their growing attraction to each other. They've built the syllabus for love's latest experiment, but neither of them expected they'd be the ones putting it to the test.

— Ok, I know that sounds bad. Again, I’m a creature of predictable habit and this was the sequel to The Roommate, which I absolutely LOVED last year. But where as the relationship in that one was kind of swoony, this one was...I don’t know, really. Everyone was a well-rounded character and the plot was good, but there was this semi-invisible something that made it difficult for me to get fully on board with the whole story. Honestly, it might be because he was a religious figure?? Also, they got together real quick. Like zero to sixty in twenty-six seconds flat.

I KNOW IT’S BAD, IT WAS BAD AND YET—I CANNOT STOP READING IT???

Too Wild to Tame by Tessa Bailey

Sometimes you just can't resist playing with fire . . . By day, Aaron Clarkson suits up, shakes hands, and acts the perfect gentleman. But at night, behind bedroom doors, the tie comes off and the real Aaron comes out to play. Mixing business with pleasure got him fired, so Aaron knows that if he wants to work for the country's most powerful senator, he'll have to keep his eye on the prize. That's easier said than done when he meets the senator's daughter, who's wild, gorgeous, and 100 percent trouble. Grace Pendleton is the black sheep of her conservative family. Yet while Aaron's presence reminds her of a past she'd rather forget, something in his eyes keeps drawing her in. Maybe it's the way his voice turns her molten. Or maybe it's because deep down inside, the ultra-smooth, polished Aaron Clarkson might be more than even Grace can handle . . .

— Last month I read the first book in this series and it was absolutely ridiculous. This one even more so. The Clarksons are still on the road trip (sans one sibling because she fell in love in a week in the first book) and Aaron was, like, not a root’able character? Very Edward Cullen I’M A BAD GUY, BELLA vibes and his relationship with Grace was so strange. Super rushed again, obvs. Meeting in the woods is weird enough. Professing love forty-eight hours later is decidedly unbelievable. Also there was a kidnapping involved? I totally put a hold on the next book in the series.

COME UP WITH DIFFERENT TRAUMA, I DARE YOU! OR NO TRAUMA. WHAT A CONCEPT!!

The Trouble With Hating You by Sajni Patel

Liya Thakkar is a successful biochemical engineer, takeout enthusiast, and happily single woman. The moment she realizes her parents' latest dinner party is a setup with the man they want her to marry, she's out the back door in a flash. Imagine her surprise when the same guy shows up at her office a week later -- the new lawyer hired to save her struggling company. What's not surprising: he's not too thrilled to see her either after that humiliating fiasco.

Jay Shah looks good on paper...and off. Especially if you like that whole gorgeous, charming lawyer-in-a-good-suit thing. He's also infuriating. As their witty office banter turns into late-night chats, Liya starts to think he might be the one man who truly accepts her. But falling for each other means exposing their painful pasts. Will Liya keep running, or will she finally give love a real chance?

— I had such high hopes for this one. Which is on me, I guess. Because I didn’t hate this one, but it was...not great. Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety but I am BEGGING romance writers to come up with different trauma for their female protagonists. Not every woman has to have been assaulted to rationalize their current personality. Doesn’t have to happen. Like, ok, yes it does happen. Far more than it should. But that’s an entirely different story, and I am so tired of female characters getting absolutely destroyed by their past only to have that be their defining characteristic for so much of the book. Until a nice man they were initially mean to shows up and he’s UNDERSTANDING and he CARES and it’s just, bleh. It’s bleh. Tired and predictable and I’m over it.

IN WHICH I SHOULD HAVE LOOKED AT THE COVER

Much Ado About You by Samantha Young

At thirty-three-years old Evangeline Starling’s life in Chicago is missing that special something. And when she’s passed over for promotion at work, Evie realizes she needs to make a change. Some time away to regain perspective might be just the thing. In a burst of impulsivity, she plans a holiday in a quaint English village. The holiday package comes with a temporary position at Much Ado About Books, the bookstore located beneath her rental apartment. There’s no better dream vacation for the bookish Evie, a life-long Shakespeare lover. Not only is Evie swept up in running the delightful store as soon as she arrives, she’s drawn into the lives, loves and drama of the friendly villagers. Including Roane Robson, the charismatic and sexy farmer who tempts Evie every day with his friendly flirtations. Evie is determined to keep him at bay because a holiday romance can only end in heartbreak, right? But Evie can’t deny their connection and longs to trust in her handsome farmer that their whirlwind romance could turn in to the forever kind of love.

— Ok, so I had had this book on hold for so long that I genuinely forgot about it and forgot who it was written by. Samantha Young wrote that one book that I called the worst book I had ever read. Only I did not realize that when I started reading this one. So, you see how this sets us up for disaster. Because this book was a disaster. Everyone was goddamn annoying. And whiny. Shit, everyone whined. About everything. Also, the actual writing was atrocious. I am not usually one to be like “men can’t write,” but at one point I told both @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl that this book must have been secretly written by a man because no woman writing it would be so obsessed with pointing out where her cellulite was. Like, what??? Also the first sex scene? Oh my God, I laughed. Guffawed. The so-called love interest literally asked: “Are we going to have sex now?” And then they just did. It was so bad. Also there was a dog? Who went everywhere with the so-called love interest. And they just never explained that? I thought it was going to be part of some crushing and depressing backstory. Nah, he was just there.

HOLY SHIT THIS WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS WAS A BOOK! A BOOK MEANT FOR YOUNG ADULTS! WHAT IS YOUNG ADULT???

The Queen’s Secret by Melissa de la Cruz

Lilac's birthright makes her the Queen of Renovia, and a forced marriage made her the Queen of Montrice. But being a ruler does not mean making the rules. For Lilac, taking the throne means giving up the opportunity to be with love of her life, the kingdom's assassin, Caledon Holt. Worse, Cale is forced to leave the castle when a horrific set of magical attacks threatens Lilac's sovereignty. Now Cal eand Lilac will have to battle dark forces separately, even though being together is the only thing that's ever saved them.

— Remember last month when I was like: can’t wait for my hold to come through on this sequel so I know what happens? What an idiot. THIS BOOK WAS SO DUMB I CANNOT BELIEVE IT WAS A BOOK. As always in my rage-induced rants, no apologies for spoilers because seriously do NOT read this, but Lilac (legit, that was her name) married some other dude but just kept fucking Cale??? Like she had a secret door? So he could come in and they could fuck?? I just—oh my God. So, all these things kept happening. Magic and bad stuff and horses were killed. Lilac’s mother was the absolute WORST. Honestly the most worthless character who at one point was like “well, my story is over, guess it’s time to leave,” and then just left?? Forced Lilac into a marriage of alliance and no love and then everything evil was defeated in point two four seconds. It happened so fast I wasn’t even sure it happened. So, then I’m like, ok, how are Lilac and Cale going to end up together? Because this is YA and that’s how it’s supposed to work. Only her being married and that marriage requiring an heir is something of a rather large hurdle. Don’t worry! Remember when Lilac and Cale were fucking? Everyone totally knew. Including the king Lilac is married to. Who is somehow like...ok with this? And tells Cale that Lilac is pregnant. ISN’T THAT WONDERFUL! Sure, because now they can lie and claim its the king’s heir. ONLY IT’S CALE’S KID! AND CALE IS COOL WITH THIS! His entire internal monologue during this is about how he realizes he might not ever be able to tell his kid he’s their father, but he’ll be around and that’s good. Wait, what??? But there’s more! Not only is Lilac having Cale’s kid, but the king she’s married to is in love with one of Cale’s spy associates. So the king and the spy are going to go hang out (and presumably have their own kids) at one castle and Lilac and Cale are going to go to another. Lilac and the king never get divorced or annulled or whatever. Everyone stays as is and married as is and—they all live happily ever after? This was presented as a good ending, I swear. What the shit, guys, seriously.

#book rec #book reccs #fantasy recommendations #rom com recs #laura reads books #i am still waiting for people to respond to my emails #and only vaguely stressed out about it #welllp these are books

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cagestark · 5 years

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Could you please write about Tony being jealous after Peter spends too much time sciencing with Bruce?

Sorry if you didn’t want so much angst. Hope this is okay

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: alcoholism. Unhealthy behaviors all around. But it does have a hopeful ending I think. 5.7k

Peter is elbow deep in his paper on NASA’s Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope when he gets that tingle, like a finger being dragged up his spine. It sets all his hairs to standing, heart pounding. He is not alone. Keeping perfectly still, he holds his breath to better listen and scans what little of the kitchen he can see without moving his head. But the breaths—so quiet, he can barely hear them—are coming from behind him. The person is still, seated, unthreatening.

He relaxes, twisting on the stool at the island. “Hey, Nat. I didn’t hear you come in.”

She is the picture of poise, perched in the armchair across the room. Peter still isn’t quite used to seeing her like this. In private, she is very different from the woman he first met on the tarmac in Germany with the chic hair and tight, dark outfit. Not relaxed, per se, but maybe as relaxed as the assassin can be, dressed in loungewear, face clear of makeup, her growing hair plaited back. It must be a huge sign of trust for her to show this side of herself, but Peter has been told that he always looks for the best in people.

“Peter,” she greets coolly. Her legs cross, slowly, the dragging of nylon loud. He thinks she might be trying to seduce him. The Avengers already know that he is gay, but maybe old habits die hard. His internal character assessment almost causes him to miss what she says next: “Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

Peter blinks. He points at the paper scrawled with notes. “Actually. Not really. I’m working on this paper for my Physics class, see. But we’ve been discussing gamma-rays and there is something about electromagnetic—”

“I mean with Bruce and Tony,” Natalie says.

His face puckers into a comical expression of confusion, glancing around the kitchen like the two scientists might actually be there without him knowing. “Uh—nothing?”

She looks unimpressed. “You’ve been spending every day with Bruce in his lab or up on the roof.”

Does she think that something is like, going on with Peter and Dr. Banner?

“We’re looking for signs of gamma radiation in thunderclouds. There was a big study last month that found gamma-rays preface some lightning strikes—” Natasha’s flat, unmoved stare stops him before his rambling monologue can truly begin. He swallows, throat dry, feeling some sort of dread in his gut, though he doesn’t know why.

Why is she being so cold to him, right now? It’s reminiscent of the stress dreams he used to have after Tony first offered him the position with the Avengers, dreams where he moved into the tower only for everyone to ostracize him and ignore him, dreams where Tony and Steve would sit down with him and say, Sorry Pete, it isn’t working out, you don’t mesh well with us, and may we please have back your suit?

“What is it?” Peter asks, trying to be brave. “Have I—did I do something?”

Natasha sighs, lifting herself from the armchair gingerly like she is twice or thrice her real age. She crosses the room and he has to force himself not to move away. The tingle is back, and this time, that primal spider-instinct inside him feels threatened, like he is bug beneath an incoming shoe. A large black stiletto maybe, with the Black Widow insignia on the bottom like a target for where his tiny body ideally will be smushed.

But he overrides the instinct and swallows down the fear: this is Natasha. She wouldn’t hurt him.

She does box him in, though, coming into his space and bracketing him with her arms, palms flat on the marble countertop behind him. “Tony doesn’t like me, much, Peter. Surely even you have noticed that. I once broke his confidence in me, and now I work very hard to make that up to him. You could say that a part of my reparations involves looking out for him.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Peter says, polite but firm. “I like to look out for Mr. Stark too. Excuse me—could you give me some space?”

After another moment, she pulls away. “You’re too smart to play dumb. Stop hurting Tony.”

Then she is snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl and strolling out of the room, not even leaving the scent of perfume behind. Peter feels baffled enough by the conversation to wonder if maybe the entire thing hadn’t been a hallucination. There’s no feasible way that Peter could be hurting Mr. Stark—he’s barely seen the man all week, since Peter has been so busy being tutored Bruce for his physics class.

Still, it takes him a long ten minutes for his senses to stop feeling like he’s in danger, and by then, he has completely lost his train of thought for outlining his paper. Sighing, he closes the book.

“It’s just going over my head,” Peter admits. It’s the weekend, when any other college student would be out on the town. Not many college students have the option of hanging out with the Avengers though, so. You know. Peter isn’t totally lame. At this time on a Saturday evening, most of the core Avengers are occupying their floor in the Tower. Peter has his own room there, with sheets that are royal blue and soft as silk and a picture on the wall of Tony presenting him with his Stark Industries internship certificate. “Every other aspect of physics is cake to me. Chocolate cake, even.”

“That’s his favorite,” Clint supplies helpfully. He’s playing cards with Nat and Tony at the other end of the island. Natalie is the best bluffer, but Tony can count cards in his sleep, so the odds are pretty evenly stacked, he’d say.

“Yes, it’s my favorite—! But as soon as gamma-rays come in, it’s like my brain shorts out. I failed the quiz over these, and it’s throwing off my curve. If I don’t ace the paper, I’ll freak out.”

“Cheer up, kid,” Tony says. There is an amber glass at his elbow, even though it was whispered very quietly around the tower a few months ago that Mr. Stark was working on getting sober. Peter guesses that it isn’t going well. Now that he looks closely, the man doesn’t look well at all: thinner, grayer, sadder. His dress-shirt collar is rumpled. That’s so not Mr. Stark. His voice is a warm vibrato that Peter feels in his bones: “Take a break. We’ll deal you in. No one is good at everything.”

“What are you bad at?” Natasha asks, maybe flattering him, maybe teasing.

The smile Tony gives her shows too much teeth to be friendly, eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses that he is wearing more often than not these days. “I’m bad at plenty of things, Miss Rushman.”

“He’s right, Peter,” Bruce says. They’re at the other end of the island, both of their shoulders aching from hunching over Peter’s textbooks for the last hour and change. “This is pretty advanced stuff. Difficult enough for scientists who are in this field to grasp. You said that this isn’t the focus of your major? Then I wouldn’t stress over it.”

Peter is stressing though. MIT has been tougher than he thought it would be, and he still worries that his success in high school was just him being a big fish in a small pond. Suddenly the pond is bigger: a fucking ocean. He feels like algae on the waves, tossed to and fro compared to some of his classmates.

Glancing up, he catches Natasha’s eyes. She is watching him, face blank, but he can’t help but feel that there is a silent message in her eyes. Seeing her unfriendly disposition makes him remember the conversation they had the day before—the one where she threatened him, in vague terms. Against his will, his eyes flicker to Tony. The drink beside his chips is empty now. His elbow is propped on the table and his chin rests in it, one shaking thumb running over the edge of his cards. He looks lost in thought. Sad thought.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter says slowly. He closes his book. “Go ahead and deal me in, Mr. Stark.”

And that makes Tony sit back in his seat in surprise, glasses slipping down his nose to show pleased though bloodshot eyes. He grins—not one of those shark-grins he gave Natasha, but a real one. A smile. It makes butterflies spread their wings in Peter’s gut. God, he’s had a crush on the man for, like, ever. But Mr. Stark is a crush so unobtainable that Peter’s never even had to stress over it. Never had to stress about the juvenile stuff like does he like me back or what can I do to make him notice me. He’s just able to melt in it, enjoy his attraction and idol-worship. It’s all very sexually frustrating and uncomplicated.

Tony pulls back the stool at his side and pats it invitingly. When Peter sits down, he can just barely smell the bourbon on the older man’s breath. Tony then asks: “Bruce, do you want in on this, too?”

There is a difference in the way the billionaire asked Bruce to play when compared to when he asked Peter, but Peter can’t put his finger on what it is. Something about the tone, the inflection... Under the countertop, Tony’s hand comes to rest on Peter’s knee for a moment, squeezing warmly. But then it doesn’t move, just rests there, burning a hole through Peter’s jeans. It prickles, but this is a different kind of danger, he thinks. He’s so busy trying to remember how to accomplish basic human functions like breathing and swallowing that he completely misses Bruce’s response—a kind no thanks. Then Tony’s thumb is moving, brushing the outside of Peter’s leg in a few slow, firm strokes, and Peter feels a dangerous stirring in his pants. The hand starts to slide up his leg—

Then the hand is gone. His blood is still rushing south, propelled by his hammering heart, but it’s like all his senses beside touch come rushing back the moment Tony removes his hand—Clint is dealing, cards whispering over marble as he passes them out, Natasha and Tony are bickering though Peter doesn’t yet have the brainpower to decipher what about. His knee is still burning hot, and it tingles for the rest of the night.

But he doesn’t think it’s his imagination that the entire evening is lighter, smiles and laughter flowing more freely, and when Mr. Stark gets up to get a drink, he comes back with water.

From then on, Peter’s image of Mr. Stark begins to change. Mostly thanks to the patchwork of knowledge Natasha feeds him in passing moments—when they encounter each other in the hall going different directions, when she is running on the treadmill beside him in the gym, when she passes behind him at the kitchen island for another apple, or, like today, an orange.

“He only drinks when he’s sad,” she says in his ear.

Peter starts to look for that as an indicator to Mr. Stark’s mood: times when it’s late at night and he walks in on Mr. Stark standing alone by the window looking at the view of the city, shaking hand clutching a drink that rattles when he sets it down to avoid Peter seeing it. Nights when Tony passes through the living area, glancing at the group gathered around (almost always Clint and Nat watching television, and Peter and Bruce talking through Peter’s homework), rejecting their offer for him to join with a quiet, just passing through, before grabbing a bottle from the kitchen and disappearing into the elevator. If Tony drinks when he’s sad, then he is often sad.

Peter thinks it’s safe to assume that when Tony isn’t drinking, he’s happy—or at least neutral. And taking into account the poker tournament from a few weeks before, Peter begins to notice that he himself seems to make Tony happy.

The knowledge weighs down his shoulders…but mostly, it makes him feel full of helium, light and bouncy, liable to lift off the ground and break through the atmosphere should he not hold on to the world around him. Peter makes Tony happy. For some reason.

“Everything he does is for other people,” she pants, trying to keep up with his enhanced abilities in the workout room. Peter himself is sweating from the break-neck pace he’s adopted on the treadmill, but he doesn’t need to focus to run, so instead his mind is far away.

Natasha is absolutely right. The topic is a sore spot. Peter knows that there were cutting words exchanged between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers at the beginning of their relationship when the super soldier accused him of selfishness. It’s obvious how little they knew each other then, because even now he sees the fondness Steve has in his eyes for Tony, the gratefulness he exudes and goes out of his way to express to the billionaire. Tony funds the entire Avengers Initiative. He lets them live expense free in his home, feeds them, clothes them, patches them up. Scraping by with his Aunt for most of his life in a tiny apartment in Queens has made Peter keenly aware of all the things he has in his life now, solely thanks to Mr. Stark. And the older man doesn’t bat an eye at it.

And alright, Tony is a billionaire. Those expenses probably don’t scrape the surface of his wealth. Yet there are many other ways his altruism is expressed, ways only Tony Stark could express them. When Peter’s suit was malfunctioning in the wetter-than-usual New York springtime, Tony didn’t sleep for three days while working on it. Got to make sure you’re safe, kid, he’d muttered. Wouldn’t get a bit of sleep otherwise. Tony hadn’t even delivered it in person so that Peter could thank him, just left it neatly for him outside his bedroom door.

There were other things, of course. Providing Bruce his own lab and the resources to expand his research. Once he sat for a portrait at Steve’s insistence, and it was the stillest he’s ever seen the billionaire be. Mr. Stark makes it his personal responsibility to enrich the lives of those around him—he even seems to enjoy it—

“Did you hear me, Peter?” Natasha asks.

Peter stops the treadmill, jogging while it slowly decreases the pace. He’s been a thousand miles away, or several stories away, rather, down in the lab with Tony. “Sorry, I didn’t.”

“I said—what does he have for himself? What does he want for himself?”

Then she is gone, ponytail bouncing as she disappears towards the showers, a towel over her shoulder. Tony has everything. He has an inordinate amount of money at his disposal. What he could possibly want for?

The questions haunt Peter for the rest of the night, even as he spends the evening in Bruce’s lab while the man reads over his paper on the Fermi Telescope. Peter is anxiously squeezing a stress ball—carefully, though, because last time he truly squeezed one, it crumbled in his hand—when Tony appears in the doorway. He’s dressed in what Peter knows to be his lab-attire: comfortable, cheap t-shirt, jeans that are wearing through at the knees. The man’s hair is un-styled, free from gel, and it looks so soft—

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says. “Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t even greet him, still reading Peter’s paper. He does lift a hand though.

“I brought the LVC permits for you, fresh off the government’s press.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce says absently.

“What are you doing up here, Pete?” Tony asks, putting the papers on a nearby lab table. There’s something in the older man’s voice—something. But Peter’s never been good at stuff like that: deciphering looks, or tones, or subtextual clues. On instinct, he scans the man’s face, trying to determine his mood. It doesn’t look promising, the circles dark beneath his eyes, the frown lines deep. Even when he smiles, it looks tired and sad.

“Just having Bruce look over my paper, Mr. Stark.”

“When are you ever going to call me Tony, kid?”

Peter laughs a little. “Never, probably,” he jokes.

Tony doesn’t look like he thought the joke was funny. He gives a half-hearted wave goodbye and then disappears. Peter is at the perfect angle to watch him through the glass door. He stops outside the elevator and hits the button, leans his head forward to press his forehead to the doors, the picture of dejection. There is an uncomfortable knot growing in Peter’s stomach.

What could the man who has everything possibly want?

Bruce glances up ten minutes later after flipping to the last page, glasses a little askew. “Was that Tony I heard?”

The days afterwards, Natasha seems more disgusted with him than usual. Her occasional comments about Mr. Stark have stopped, and Peter laments the loss of help, because he feels no closer to understanding what she wants from him or what’s wrong with Mr. Stark.

Peter spends his nights laying in bed, restless, staring up at the ceiling to avoid listening to the distant movements of the Avengers around him in their own respective rooms—he didn’t need to know so much about Steve and Bucky’s after-hour activities, thanks very much—pouring over his interactions with Natasha.

What do you think you’re doing with Bruce and Tony? she had asked. And what was Peter doing? He’d been spending much more time with Bruce lately trying to grasp gamma-rays. Usually his time was spent equally divided between patrolling, school, homework, and spending time down in the lab with Tony. Of those things to take the backburner, it had been his time spent with his idol-cum-crush. Was the man feeling neglected?

Peter rolls out of bed. He’s tempted to put on his suit and go into stealth-mode, but instead, he tiptoes out of his room in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, using all of his enhanced senses to make sure he doesn’t encounter any other Avenger on his way to Natasha’s room. When she opens the door, she looks like he’s the last person she ever wanted to see on the other side.

“It’s late,” she says. Peter slips through the crack between her and the door anyway, but he figures if she truly wanted to keep him out, she might have tried. You know. At all.

Her rooms are as large as Peter’s, tastefully decorated. He notes that the only personal decorations in the room involve the Avengers: the group photograph taken of them and a few drawings of Steve’s, framed carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about all of the things you said, and I still don’t get it. I don’t know what’s going on—I see that there’s something wrong but I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Natasha sighs, already opening the door to usher him back out. “Everyone needs everything spelled out for them. It’s late, and I’m tired. Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce over him, or I’ll have to spend the next few weeks finding an incredible foreign benefactor willing to sponsor Bruce’s work only if he relocates overseas. That takes a lot of work Peter. A lot of work. Now get out, and fix this mess.”

He doesn’t even hear the real door shut in his face, because he’s too stunned by the metaphorical door that has been shut in his face. He gapes at the hardwood, eyes unseeing, all of his senses growing dim as he focuses his brainpower on the words that just spilled out of Natasha’s mouth.

Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce.

Peter lays awake the entire night. He can’t spot Natasha’s angle, can’t determine why she’d want to lie to him that way. Surely she has some sort of motive that Peter can’t see—he’s not a super-secret-spy type. Espionage and subtext aren’t his forte. She could probably run cryptic circles around him, and Tony once jokingly said that Natasha wouldn’t even sneeze unless she wanted someone to say bless you. So what is this? What is she doing to him? Hoping to embarrass him? Maybe she thinks that he’ll make some grand gesture, some romantic monologue to Tony and he’ll be so crushed at the subsequent rejection that he’ll leave the tower and stop Avenging altogether.

When sunlight is coming through the tinted windows of his room, he has not slept a wink, and has the throbbing headache to show it. His paper is due by 11:59 PM, and he still has a few revisions he needs to make. The other quizzes on gamma-rays and other electromagnetic radiations weren’t much better than the first, and all of his hopes for maintaining his perfect grade point average are riding on this one paper.

He dresses, only able to find mismatched socks, and takes the subway to make it to class on time. He’s there until early afternoon, and by the time he arrives back in the Tower, his stomach is growling painfully and he’s emotionally at the end of his rope. Why hadn’t he taken a gap year before starting school like Ned had? Maybe a year older, Peter would be more capable of handling all that is on his plate. As it is, he feels like a waiter balancing one-too-many glasses of water. Failure seems imminent.

As soon as he is in the tower, he cracks open his laptop and begins to finish the revisions Bruce advised him on—but then the word count is just under what the professor asked for, and now Peter is scrambling for extra content. His senses alert him that someone is coming, but he knows the length of the steps to be Tony.

“Hey Pete,” Tony mutters, looking like he just woke even though it is nearly three in the afternoon.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “How are you?”

“Has this coffee been here long?” Tony asks, pointing to the half-full pot. His hand is shaking.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I just got here.” Peter frowns to himself, fingers hovering over the keyboard even his brain feels like a train stuck on the same track. He has to say something to Mr. Stark. Has to. “Hey—um. I wanted to say. While you’re here—”

His mouth dries up as Tony turns to give him his full attention. The man is always so courteous, stopping whatever he’s doing to listen to what Peter has to say. It’d be impossible not to notice that the man has a problem with interrupting, talking over other people. But it’s never been that way with Peter. He stops. He listens with a kind of single-minded intensity that makes the younger man flushed. That much focus and attention feels like a laser beam directed at him, about to dissolve him into goo.

“—I wanted to say. That I hope we can hang out again soon.”

Tony leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. For a guy in his 40’s, he’s still fucking fit, biceps thick and strong, core toned. “I hope so too, kid. I’ve—missed you.”

Peter melts, heart aching in equal parts joy and sadness. “Maybe tonight? If you’re free. I could come down to the lab.”

Tony feigns like he’s thinking it over, knuckles rasping against his chin. “What about your—” he waves a vague hand at the laptop on the countertop. “I don’t want to come between you and school, Pete. I’m not very good at being a responsible role-model, but even I know that your education is important. That should be your focus.”

“Don’t worry about it. How does seven sound? I’ll finish this up, get it turned it, and then I’m all yours. I mean—we can—you know. Hang.”

The older man has that look he always gets when Peter’s mouth runs away from the rest of his consciousness: equal parts amusement and endearment and exasperated fondness. “Sounds good. You know where to find me.”

Peter does know. He does. The knowledge weighs on him for the next four hours that he spends staring at his laptop, writing a sentence just to destroy it, flipping frantically through the notes that Bruce gave him. Not meeting the word count means that he will automatically lose 10% of his grade, no matter how good the paper might be. But it’s like his brain is drawing a blank, all cylinders firing emptily.

By the time he is done, it ten PM. The hours ate him up like quicksand. His head aches with exhaustion, eyes burning from staring at the glow of the laptop, but he rushes into the elevator, eyes filling with tears. Surely Tony will understand why Peter is late. But it still makes him feel like shit.

“To the lab please, FRIDAY.”

The elevator moves without any verbal confirmation from the AI. By the time the doors open, he realizes he’s made a mistake. The lab is dark and quiet, lacking the usual soundtrack of classic rock hits. When he grasps the handle, it doesn’t turn. He’s too late. Mr. Stark was probably so angry that he went straight upstairs to the penthouse. If Peter were to follow, the door would probably be locked against him, refusing him entrance—

The door beneath him opens, automatic lock clicking open. Peter nearly falls through as it swings inward, his enhanced senses being his only saving grave. The lab is even more eerie from the inside, because it is all right and all wrong mixed together. The smell is comforting. The darkness is unsettling. He knows this place like the back of his hand when it is lit, but suddenly it is an entirely foreign place as he wanders through, carefully feeling his way, unsure why he hasn’t turned around and left yet.

Lights come up, blue dots like holographic breadcrumbs on the floor. FRIDAY. Where is she leading him, and why?

The lights circle on lab table, and when he comes close his eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to see why. Mr. Stark is there, slumped over the lab table. Peter would say that he is asleep except for the stench of alcohol and the empty bottles beside him, faceless in the dark. Sad sentinels watching over their king.

“Oh Tony,” he says. His heart feels too heavy for his ribs to hold. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, gently trying to rouse him. It doesn’t work. Even when he whispers the man’s name in increasingly louder increments, the man doesn’t stir. Throat closed up tight in the fist of fear, he gently presses two fingers to just under the man’s jaw—

Tony jerks away from the lab table, striking out at Peter. His aim is off, so his knuckles barely glance against the younger man’s chest. The force of the failed punch tips over the chair and Tony nearly falls to the floor—would, if Peter weren’t there to catch him. Still he struggles against a foe he doesn’t recognize.

“Getaway—”

“Mr. Stark—it’s me, Peter.”

Mr. Stark blinks, eyes moonish in the dark. He squints. “Pete?” he asks, voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry that I’m late.” He guides the man back to the chair and searches for one of his own, finds a stool with wheels and rolls it over so they can sit side by side. Tony is swaying dangerously even just sitting.

“’s okay, Pete,” Tony says. “You were with Bruce.”

“What?” Peter cries. “No, I wasn’t. I was working on my paper, remember? Just like I told you in the kitchen? Why would I be with Bruce when I had—” he just barely catches himself before the words a date slip past his lips, “—when I had plans with you?”

The laugh the older man gives is mirthless, slumped over the table. With every shaking breath comes a cloud of acrid liquor. Peter has never understood how Tony could drink that stuff, alcohol with so much burn and no sweetness or sourness. “Why wouldn’ you be with Bruce, kid? I get it.”

“I don’t know what there is to get,” Peter says gently. He knows from his minimal experience with drunk people that drunkenness heightens emotion, and they can be as likely to lash out in anger as they are to burst into tears. Without his suit, Mr. Stark probably couldn’t hurt Peter even sober, but he doesn’t want the man to hurt himself.

“No, no, Bruce ‘s a great guy. He’s a great man. Better man th’n me.”

Peter gapes, even if Mr. Stark isn’t even looking or couldn’t even see him through the darkness. Because, what? Seriously? “Mr. Stark, you’re like the greatest man I know. I don’t—I don’t know anybody who I, I admire or look up to the way that I do you.” That answer is maybe a little too honest, but he can’t help it. This vulnerability, this sheer pain coming from the man who has held Peter’s heart between his palms since he was just a little boy. It’s a terrible thing to witness, and he’d do anything to change it.

“You’re a good kid,” says Tony. He reaches with a hand like he wants to pat Peter on the head but loses strength far before then.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs again in that terrible depreciating way. He rests his forehead in his palm, staring down at the lab table. “Trust me, Pete. I know.”

“Why have you been so upset lately?” Peter asks smally. “I’ve been worried.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you, honey.” The name makes Peter glow, even if its slurred in that terrible, sad voice. “I guess ’ve been—going through some stuff.”

“Like what?”

The exhale he gives is long and loud in the quiet lab. “Adult stuff.”

“What, like, erectile dysfunction?”

The sound Tony makes is indignant. “No you little shit.” It’s said with unbearable tenderness and fondness though, until it almost feels like a caress instead of an insult. “Just, you know, your general everyday average feelings of inadequacy and unbearable loneliness.”

“You’re too hard on yourself Mr. Stark. I mean what I said. You’re the greatest man I know and I—I like you a whole lot. I know you’re having a tough time. But I’m here for you. And I know that you don’t think I’m strong enough, but you can lean on me. I can take it.”

When Tony stirs, lifting his head from his hands long enough to glance at Peter, his cheeks are wet, tracks of tears that just barely catch the light. He could almost mistake it as his mind playing tricks on him, but the man’s shoulders begin to tremble like his hands when he hasn’t had a drink, and Peter gets off of the stool so quickly that it goes rolling in the other direction.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony, pulling his head to his chest like a mother might hold a baby to her breast. There are no sounds, no sobs or whimpers, but the shaking lasts forever it seems. Then all at once the man melts, soft and languid. When he pulls away a hairsbreadth, Peter’s shirt is wet where his face was pressed.

He turns his head and leans in again, this time resting his temple on Peter’s abs. The younger man barely resists carding his fingers through Tony’s hair—just lets one hand gently rub at his back instead. When he speaks Peter can feel the movement on his stomach. “You’re too good f’r me, Pete. I’m so sorry I’m like this. Hated seeing you spend so much time with Bruce ‘cause I’m just a jealous old pervert. A fucking drunk, just like Howard—”

“Don’t say that.”

“’s true, kid.”

Peter swallows, struggling to gather courage. But if he can’t ask questions of Tony now when the man is drunk and possibly unlikely to remember them, when the man is too relaxed to lie, then when can he? “Why—why are you a pervert?”

All the breath seems to go out of Tony in a hot rush of air that Peter can feel through his shirt. “C’mon kid. You have to know.”

It does all make sense then: Tony’s recent behavior, Natasha’s cryptic comments.

What does he want for himself, she had asked.

Carefully—so, so, so carefully—Peter lets his hand drift up the back of Tony’s neck and slide into his hair, dark waves that are soft and free of product. It feels like silk under his fingertips, so fucking intimate. If this is all he gets of Tony, then he’s going to savor it, sear it into his memory. Blunt nails scratch gently at the man’s scalp and he purrs. He groans, the vibrations sinking through cotton and skin and muscle deep into Peter’s bones. “God, Pete,” he says. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Peter gasps. He’s hard, 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, heart hammering, struggling to draw in breaths. “I won’t, Tony.”

“Never stop,” Tony groans softly. “You are the most important thing in my life, kid.”

And then the man is asleep, snoring breaths into Peter’s abs. It takes a while, listening to the gentle breathing, for Peter to calm down. “FRIDAY,” he croaks. “Unmute.”

“Thank you, Peter,” she says. “May I turn the lights on? I’m afraid boss might need some assistance getting to his room tonight. Would you be of service?”

“Yes. To all counts, FRIDAY. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A pause. “And thank you, Peter.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, hoisting the heavier man up. There’s no use putting just an arm over his shoulder—Tony is out cold. Instead, Peter scoops him up, grateful for his enhanced strength, and begins the trek to the elevator.

In the morning when Tony wakes, Peter will be there waiting. With some water and aspirin.

Because they need to talk.

#starker #tw: alcoholism #tw: alcohol

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monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 4 years

Text

McDonald's! McDonald's!

I actual posted this a few days ago on AO3 but I’ve been lazy about posting it here, I thought I’d try writing something a little more comedic in tone than what I usually write (even though it has angst by nature of when the story is set).

AO3 Link

Post 13x01 - On the way back to the bunker the Winchesters stop for dinner at a McDonald’s with the day-old Jack. The nonsense you’d expect ensues.

Sam felt like a cosmic joke.

Not in the general constant way that came from his life being an actual, honest to goodness, vastly pre-planned since de-railed cosmic joke, but in the way that he could imagine Chuck standing on a stage in a c-list comic club pitching his current predicament in a nervous voice to a tough crowd.

"So, uh... two brothers and Lucifer's newborn son who just happens to look like a… I-don’t-even-know-what-ager, are on a road trip…"

Sam almost snorted and rubbed at his eyes tiredly, if he was laughing at that he was, well and truly sleep-deprived. It had been a very long very draining forty odd hours filled with loss and death and… and all the other shit their lives entailed, he wanted nothing more than to eat something and pass out.

Dean looked exactly the same as he had when they entered the car hours earlier, staring straight ahead, dead quiet, not even one of his old tapes crooning from the speakers.

And Jack…

Sam glanced behind him expecting to see the boy still sitting stiffly watching both men, but was surprised to see him face squished against the window, eyes closed and breathing deeply, out like a light.

So Nephilim slept...

It dawned on Sam they didn't know the first thing about the kid. Despite what age the boy appeared it was still terrifying to have someone's hours old child depend on you for safety and survival when you had no idea what their needs were.

Was he hungry too? Did Nephilim eat? Sam almost smacked himself. He and Dean could deal with skipping a meal or two to make good time on the road, but it was just wrong to make a kid go hungry.

"Dean?" his brother ignored him staring out at the dark road.

Sam, sighed, "It's been hours, do you… do you want to swap places?"

Dean almost never wanted to switch but it was enough to make Dean raise his eyebrows and get his attention.

"I'm fine," he said gruffly.

"You're not... ready for a break?" Sam said carefully.

Dean shot him a look, "we stopped for a piss break like an hour ago, your bladder isn't that small."

Sam huffed he guessed he'd have to spell it out, "look, Dean, we’ve been running ragged for two days straight, the only calories you’ve consumed was a friggin’ big gulp, and we have a kid in the back seat, we need food, we need sleep…”

Dean shot his brother a sharp look probably about to make another rude comment about said kid, but Sam shot the look right back.

He knew his brother was in a bad place, hell he was in a bad place, he felt like as soon as he let himself think about Cas or Mom or even freaking Crowley he’d fall apart but that didn’t mean he was okay with Dean taking everything out on him, or Jack.

Dean sighed.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Sam couldn’t talk his brother into stopping for the night but he did at least manage to convince Dean to stop somewhere for food.

Judging by the enthusiastic nodding Jack gave when Sam asked if he was hungry, Nephilim, unlike the angelic side of their family tree, did in fact eat.

The only place nearby that was open at half-past ten was a twenty-four-hour McDonald's off the highway.

They decided to actually go inside the restaurant for once since it was nearly empty and no one working the late shift would ask questions about two strange men carting around what looked like a perpetually confused college freshman.

And anyway it didn’t matter how old Jack looked there was no way Dean was letting a twenty-hour-old kid eat in Baby.

Sam made sure Jack's coat was closed enough to hide the bloody hole in his before they headed inside. Dean told the kid to sit down and not do anything in one of the corner booths as they went to actually get the food, but Jack didn't seem to mind, he just keep looking around with a kind of cautious curiosity.

Like all fluorescent lighting and brightly colored window cling ads were the most fascinating things he’d ever laid eyes on.

It made Sam's mouth twitch upward despite everything.

"Do you think the Anti-Christ eats McNuggets?" Dean said bluntly.

Sam shot him a look, "kids like them so it's probably a fair bet, yeah…"

"You're not his nanny Sam, until we..." Dean lowered his voice to a whisper, "until we figure out how to deal with… it, I'm not going to play house or get attached, and you should probably do the same…'

Sam bit back a response that he wasn't planning to let Dean kill a kid who at this point had done nothing wrong, how he thought Jack could be the only way they’d get their mother back. He knew after everything that had happened that if Dean killed the newborn Nephilim it would push him over an edge he wouldn't come back from.

But now… wasn't the time.

Sam wasn’t ready to say it and Dean certainly wasn’t ready to hear it.

“That’s still no reason to... Dean?” Sam snorted as Dean ignored him and walked up to the counter to address the bored-looking teen behind the cash register.

“Sam?” a quiet voice made him jump a foot in the air.

“Jack…” Sam breathed heart racing, “you, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, fiddling with his hands.

“Did you need something?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed looking deep in concentration for a moment before looking up with a satisfied smile.

“No.”

Of course not…

“Hey hey… I thought I told you to stay at the table,” Dean pointed a handful of straws at Jack accusatorially.

“I got bored.”

“You got…?” Dean snorted, “Whatever, I don’t care, just go back and sit on your ass until we bring the food over.”

Now Sam was annoyed, “you ordered for me?”

“Yeah, don’t give me that look, you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Excuse me sir…” the bored teenager blinked wearily at them, “what dipping sauce did you want with the nuggets?”

Both brothers looked instinctively towards Jack who just looked confused, “Sauce?”

We’ve got, Barbeque, Sweet and Sour, Signature Sauce, Ranch…” the teen trailed off at the blank look on Jack’s face.

They sighed and clearly having stopped giving a fuck by this time of night reached below the counter and plunked two multicolored fistfuls of sauces onto their tray.

Jack’s eyes went wide, “Thank you, you’re very nice!”

“Go nuts kid," they sighed going back about their business yelling at someone behind the counter about a lack of fresh fries..

Jack beamed at the brothers, Dean rolled his eyes looking like he was about to say something but Sam interrupted grabbing two cups from the tray and pulling the boy away before Dean could say something snarky and crush his enthusiasm.

"Since Dean said he has the food," Sam handed the confused Nephilim a paper cup, "I've got a new job for you…"

Jack followed Sam like a duckling over to the drink machine holding his cup gingerly with both hands and just… staring.

Sam felt incredibly awkward doing a simple task with a rapt audience.

"You just…" Sam gestured for a moment then sighed going through the process of filling his cup with ice figuring it would be better to just show the boy.

He got lemonade as it seemed to be the only option that didn't have a thousand grams of sugar and dye and felt oddly accomplished as Jack watched him work the machine with awe.

He carefully finished capping the cup and putting in the straw, and then found himself almost pushed away in Jack’s eagerness to apply his new skill.

Jack painstakingly and carefully filled the cup with ice and then peered at all the spigots looking mildly overwhelmed.

"Just pick what looks good to you buddy," Sam found himself saying amused.

Jack nodded seriously, at this point in the less than a day of what made up his entire life on Earth it was probably very important to him.

He eventually settled on some strangely flavored Sprite with a bright green and orange label smiling triumphantly at Sam as he managed to start the machine.

It took all of four seconds for Jack’s triumph to turn to horror as the soda neared the top of the cup and then proceeded to fizz over.

Oh right… newborns know nothing about carbonation...

Before Sam had a chance to react Jack panicked and in his hurry to pull the cup away managed to slosh a good bit of it over his hands and part of his jacket cuffs.

"Whoa whoa, hold on," Sam reached out to steady the cup and Jack stepped back with his dripping sleeves held out in front of him.

"I… I'm sorry, did…"Jack looked forlornly up at him, "did I do that?"

"Did you…" Sam blinked perplexed, "Oh no no, no that wasn't… the machine is supposed to add bubbles to some stuff. I really should have warned you… um."

The boy stared at him, wet hands still stuck out awkwardly.

"There should be a bathroom you…" Sam sighed setting down both drinks and gently guiding him in that direction, "you'll need to wash your hands before they get all sticky, do you know how to…"

Jack blinked and said as if it was obvious, "mom taught me how to wash my hands."

Ah yes, the mysterious Nephilim fetus telepathy Jack had mentioned before.

"Right yes, go… do that, and I'll wait for you at the table, okay?"

Jack nodded and headed off to the bathroom arms still stuck out. And Sam dealt with the drinks and went to guard the table while thanking Kelly up in heaven.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Where the hell’s the kid?" Dean said when he arrived with their tray of sauces and food.

"Bathroom, there was uh… a mishap with the soda machine," Sam said sheepishly.

Dean put down the tray with a little more force than necessary and looked around wildly, like he was half ready to draw his gun..

"Seriously?" Sam deadpanned, "dude, would you just chill, he's not going to open up a hell gate in the men’s room."

"You were supposed to watch him," Dean said accusatorily.

"Half of creation wants him dead and we're literally the only living people he knows, where would he even go?'

"You're really buying this lost puppy routine Sam?"

"Ah yes, because we all have such devious plans when we're a day old," Sam muttered dryly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "You know that’s not the same. And this is exactly what I'm talking about Sam, he already has you under his thumb."

"He's a kid not a prisoner, and I'm not going to treat him like one when he hasn’t actually done anything."

"Because waiting until he kills someone is a great idea,”Dean muttered darkly unwrapping his Big Mac and taking a pointed bite.

Sam ignored him, snatching a few of Dean's fries petulantly.

"Really?" Dean huffed with his mouth full, "eat your own food…"

Sam blinked innocently, "I wanted fries, you got me salad, you should’ve asked."

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam snorted a laugh pulling his actual meal off the tray.

"How long has that kid been gone anyway?"

"Uh, ten minutes…?" Sam said sheepishly.

Dean paused, "to wash his hands?"

"It's fine," Sam said, coating his salad with dressing, definitely not concerned.

Dean looked about ready to leap up and make sure Jack hadn't teleported off to destroy Chicago, but thankfully about then the kid finally emerged.

"What took you so long?" Dean asked, annoyed when he reached the table.

"It… it was different than at the house," Jack said playing with his hands nervously, “there were two sinks…”

Dean and Sam both looked at each other in confusion, Sam shrugged, maybe it was a kid thing?

"It's fine, just come sit down," Sam brushed it off patting the seat beside him Jack took it, still eyeing Dean a little warily.

Dean grabbed his fries and did his best to move them out of Sam's reach then pushed the tray with the rest of the food towards Jack.

"Here, McNuggets, fries, eat," Dean said gruffly.

Sam handed Jack his drink he’d salvaged with a little less roughness, the boy thanked him and everything lapsed into awkward silence.

Sam cleared his throat, “so um… I was thinking, in the morning we need to stop at a thrift store or something.”

“Yeah, why?” Dean asked, preoccupied with his food.

“For Jack,” Sam explained, “he only has the one set of clothes, and his shirt already has a big bloody hole in it.”

“Just lend him some of your clothes if it bothers you so much,” Dean balked.

Sam snorted at the image “We’re not exactly the same size, he’d be swimming in them, and besides Jack doesn’t even own his own underwear.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “there’s no point in buying a bunch of crap he’s probably never going to get the chance to-” Dean paused distracted.

He reached over to grab the sauce Jack was struggling to open and tore off the top, “you pull the tab,” he said gruffly.

Jack gave a small unsure smile and went about more cautiously opening more of the sauce packets, “Is your house close by?” he asked hopefully.

“It’s not a house, it’s a bunker…” Dean said bluntly, his voice softened to normal after catching Sam’s glaring at him, “And no, it’ll take a few more days..”

Jack shoulders drooped for a moment before he sighed softly, shook himself and got back to contentedly opening and lining up one of every sauce in a big arc.

Maybe the long hours on the road were tiring him out to… Sam made a note to find something for the kid to do besides nap and sit in awkward silence over the next few days.

“Is it a very big place?” Jack asked after a minute.

“Just eat your McNuggets,” Dean sighed.

Jack looked sheepish but, seeming satisfied with his rainbow of sauces, finally opened his box of chicken nuggets and took one out eyeing it a little warily.

“They’re good I promise,” Sam prompted him gently.

Jack nodded seriously and finally took a cautious bite.

The kid’s eyes lit up and he looked up at Sam, a big smile quickly spreading across his face as he chewed..

Sam was unable to stop himself from smiling back.

"They're good!" Jack declared happily.

Sam chuckled and stabbed a fork into his own food ignoring the look he could feel Dean giving him. “Bite me Dean,” Sam thought. Good things in their life were too rare not to smile at a kid’s obvious joy.

Jack hummed happily to himself as he sampled his fries next but he again ran into a bit of snag when it came to his drink, he put his mouth over the end of his straw-like he saw Sam and Dean do, but then paused and looked perplexed. He pulling the straw out of his mouth and then tried again, still clearly not getting anything. He huffed and pressed his lips together in frustration.

Sam noticed and cleared his throat to get the boy’s attention telegraphed the process for Jack to follow, being sure to make a loud enough slurping noise that the boy realized what he had done wrong despite the disturbed look it earned him from Dean.

It was worth it to see the lightbulb go off in Jack’s head and the pleased mildly overwhelmed look on the boy’s face when he got his first taste of pop.

"Sam," Jack said a little sheepishly after a minute, dipping one of his nuggets in barbeque sauce, "can I ask you a question?"

“Shoot”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed.

Sam kicked himself mentally, “I mean, yeah, sure, of course, ask away.”

Jack nodded, still looking a little confused, “Um, my mom she taught me a lot of things, but I keep finding new things that I don’t… get?”

It made sense, Kelly only had, what?, a few short months? Weeks? Who knew how short of a window between when a Nephilim gained awareness and when they were actually born to teach her son all she could. And while Sam sent a thankful prayer up to heaven for her positive influence (and for her teaching Jack things that would be incredibly awkward to have to teach to a kid that looked Jack’s physical age) he doubted things like why McDonald’s workers wore weird topless hats made the cut.

“Like what?” Sam prompted him gently.

"Like…" Jack looked a little unsure, "why there were two different sinks in the bathroom."

Sam opened and closed his mouth, the answer felt so obvious he had to be missing something, "what do you mean?"

"Well one was normal and had a handle though it didn’t stay turned on," he described, "but the other one,” Jack looked a little uncomfortable, “ It turned on whenever it looked at me…"

Dean nearly choked on his drink.

“When it… looked at you?” Sam asked carefully as Dean hacked up a lung.

Jack nodded looking mildly concerned towards Dean, “Um… yes, and the paper towels did the same thing and so did… what I think was soap?”

“What you think was soap?” Dean said incredulously, clearing his throat.

Jack nodded, “the sink with the handle had a regular bar of soap, but it was in a cage that I couldn’t see how to open to open it so I used the foam stuff the machine by the other sink spat at me.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed then he buried his face in his hands.

“Um… Well I think the foam was probably soap…” Sam blinked deciding to ignore the i ndecipherable cage part, “and the sink, it… it wasn’t watching you… or spitting at you, the sink and stuff like that just have a little machine inside that makes them turn on whenever something blocks the light. It can’t actually see you.”

“Oh…” Jack looked equal parts relieved and disappointed, he shrugged again seemingly satisfied and went back to happily testing sauces.

“Soooo evil,” Sam muttered in Dean’s general direction making his brother roll his eyes and ignore him in favor of his burger.

Jack for his part seemed nonplussed continuing to experiment with his fries and nugget pulling various faces.

He paused after a moment looking genuinely confused, pushing a bright orange sauce in Sam's general direction and pointing carefully with one finger, “this one it makes my tongue feel…” he screwed up his brow, “stingy?”

Sam borrowed one of Jack’s fries to test it himself, “Buffalo sauce, it's spicy…” he explained gently.

“Spicy…” Jack tried the word in his mouth.

“Do you not like it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t…” Jack tilted his head slightly in thought making Sam’s chest feel heavy, reminding him for all the world of Cas.

“I don’t think I want to feel like anything else is attacking me today…” Jack said tapping a McNugget pensively against its box.

Sam smiled sadly, “I don’t blame you.”

"Do you like spicy things?" Jack asked him curiously.

"I guess, sometimes," Sam said offhandedly turning back to his own salad

Sam heard faint rustling and looked up to see Jack holding out the partially eaten sauce to him expectantly.

"Oh um… thank you," Sam took it sheepishly, not having the heart to tell the kid he had no use for it on his salad.

Jack smiled satisfied going back to his own food.

"Okay," Dean announced after a few more minutes balling up his trash, "we should probably get going…"

“We just..” Sam muttered through a mouth full of salad pausing halfway through to swallow, ( he didn’t want to be teaching Jack bad habits early ) “We just got here.”

“You’re almost done eating anyway, and he’s…”

Jack looked owlishly up from where he was casually dipping a single Mcnugget in every one of his sauces.

Dean blinked incredulously at Jack for a long moment, “anyway… we have a lot of ground to cover and we need to get moving. You remember what happened back at the police station, until we find some way to ward the kid or get back to the bunker sitting still is painting a big blinking target on our back.”

Sam sighed but knew his brother was right, “okay, fine but we can’t wait five more minutes...?”

Dean rubbed tiredly at his face, “Whatever, I’m going to the john before we leave, you can deal with... that.”

Dean got up from the table muttering something that looked suspiciously like, “two sinks?” under his breath.

Sam wished Dean would at least stop talking about Jack like an object to his face.

He turned towards the boy and did a double-take.

“Jack stop, don’t do that you’ll choke.”

Jack stopped trying to hurry by stuffing multiple McNuggets into his mouth at once looking like a sheepish chipmunk.

“I’m not going to take them away from you Jack,” Sam told him gently.

Jack chewed and swallowed before answering earnestly (making Sam feel like he’d made at least one positive foster parent decision and wasn’t completely failing Cas) “I know… but if Dean’s right, I don’t want anyone here to get hurt like at the police station…”

Sam wished he wasn’t so physically and emotionally exhausted so he could come up with a good way to convince the kid that what happened wasn’t his fault but for now he settled on just distracting Jack by asking him what was his favorite out of his sauce rainbow.

Jack’s eyes lit up and he launched into his explanation as he finished up his nuggets and shared his fries with Sam. Sweet and Sour, Honey Mustard, Barbeque, his favorites were all the sweetest sauces to no one’s shock. Still, with the literally and figuratively hellish 48 hours Sam had had, having Jack go on and on pleased with something simple was a nice distraction for the older man to.

Sam nodded along with a soft smile, Jack helping him clean up the table when they finished, continuing to chatter like he was determined to test every adjective he’d learned up to that point to describe his most recent culinary experience.

“And I don’t know what zesty means but that one tasted very confused,” Jack waved and gave the tired late-shift worker a cheerful, “goodbye,” as they made their way out to the Impala sitting on the back bumper to wait for Dean.

“Do you think there’s McDonald’s up in heaven where my mom is?” Jack asked Sam innocently still sipping his drink.

It hurt to hear the kid ask that, but Sam was thankful Jack had at least chosen the least painful recently deceased person to ask Sam about.

“I don’t know, heaven… it’s a place where people can relive their best memories, and I didn’t know your mother well enough to say,” Sam answered honestly.

Jack nodded solemnly but then gave Sam a cheerful smile, “I think if I was in heaven, there would definitely be a McDonald’s there, this place is wonderful.”

It was such a bizarrely bittersweet thing to say, but before Sam had a chance to respond the door to the McDonalds swung open with more force than necessary and Dean stepped out staring at Jack with a look of abject horror on his face.

“Please, please tell me you DID NOT wash your hands in the urinal!”

#SPN #Supernatural #fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #humor #angst #Kelly Kline (mentioned)#Castiel (mentioned)#crack treated seriously #Jack is baby #S13 Dean is S13 Dean #Sam got attached in five minutes

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langdvnshepherd · 5 years

Text

Good For You ~ Part 4 (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

PART ONE ~ PART TWO ~ PART THREE

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you. — Duncan puts you in an uncomfortable situation that leaves you torn between confessing your truth or walking away from it all.

Word Count: 9.8k (I’m sooo sorry omg)

Warnings: sugar daddy!Duncan, fem!reader, angst, smut, fingering, oral (female receiving), daddy kink

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but here it is! The final chapter (blowing nose emoji). It’s long as hell so I’m kinda sorry about that, but I just had a lot I wanted to include! Also even though it’s deadass like a novel, I still feel like I kinda rushed it?? idk lmk your thoughts I guess. I’ve loved writing this series and I’m sad to see it go, but it’s definitely time to move on lmao. I want to give another shoutout to @avesatanormalpeoplescareme for the inspiration for this chapter you truly saved my life again! Also to @belusima (she doesn’t know it but I left her a lil surprise in here hehehe). I barely proofread this and wrote most of it literally at 5 o’clock this morning so if you notice any major mistakes pls don’t roast me. Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words regarding this fic and my other work! I truly appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. (gif credit to m-langdon666)

Three aggressively persistent knocks on your door sent you jolting out of bed one morning. It was early, at least to you. Maybe your roommate stayed out last night and was finally coming home, but other than that you had no idea who could possibly need your attention at this hour. Rising from your bed with a loud yawn and stretch, you reluctantly made your way out of bed and towards the door of your tiny apartment. You must not have been moving fast enough for their liking, because three more rattles on the cracked paint of your front door echoed throughout the apartment not long after the first.

“I’m coming! Jesus,” you muttered, picking up your pace and swiftly running to the door. As you passed the mirror in your hallway, you catch a glimpse of your current state: hair knotted from tossing side to side on your pillow, eyelids puffy from sleep, nipples peaking through the thin fabric of your thin, ratty university t-shirt in the cool air of your apartment. Definitely not presentable by any means, but whoever was beating on your door at this ungodly hour needs your attention and they need it now.

Fully expecting to see your roommate on the other side, you unlatched the chain lock and forcefully flung the door open. She was really in for it thinking she could stay out all night and come home whenever she pleased, waking up the entire building as she did. Ready to lecture her about leaving her keys at home and the danger she puts herself in by partying through the morning at frat houses, you were instead greeted by a different set of eyes.

“Duncan?”

The morning sun pierced through the shade of aqua, turning them an almost glacier-blue shade in the light. He had one arm propped against the door frame, the other rubbing against on the scruff on his neck. Clad head to toe in the most expensive black coat and pants money could buy, he looked so obscure standing in the doorway of your tiny, run-down apartment building. But nonetheless, he looked perfect. Upon hearing your voice, he perked up instantly and the word vomit began.

“Y/N. Is this a good time?” The way his leg was anxiously twitching made you think his question was more of a courtesy, and that he was coming in whether you responded or not.

“Uhh,” looking down at your bare feet and legs, you crossed your arms across your chest hoping to mask your horrendous appearance from Duncan as much as possible, “Yeah, come in.” You stepped away from the entrance and he swiftly entered your living room, making sure to shut and lock the door behind him.

“I’m about to ask you to do something, and I need you to help me out. Okay?” In this moment, both you and Duncan realized he had never been inside of your apartment. He took in the setup before him, recognizing pieces scattered throughout the space that he had purchased for you. An Oscar de la Renta coat hanging on the rack by the door, your Macbook resting open on the side table by the sofa, the high-end coffee maker he’d sent you after casually mentioned your old one had finally bit the bullet. It looked exactly the way he’d pictured it, bits and pieces of luxury scattered amongst the dingy, outdated furniture and appliances.

“Okayy?” you responded, although it came out as more of a question than an answer. You’d never seen Duncan look so distraught before. He was pacing back and forth like he might explode if he stood in place for too long.

“I got a phone call this morning,” he began. “Apparently, the lady in charge of our family’s finances saw my bank statement from our little... trip to Paris and got suspicious. She went digging and found everything. For whatever fucking reason, she took it upon herself to alert my mother. Thought maybe my card got stolen or something. Why she thought that was my mother’s business I have no fucking clue. So, I have spent the better half of this morning trying to make sure my mother didn’t have a stroke from how mad she was when she found out." Blood rushed to his face as he babbled on, his neck turning an irritated shade of pink.

You stood there, leaning against the arm of the sofa, legs crossed in front of you, still holding your arms in front of your chest. You were trying to process what Duncan had just said, but you were still fairly confused. His mother had found out about you. Did this mean he came here to call it off? Why would she be mad? Duncan is a grown man that can spend his money as he pleases.

“And sooo what is it that you need me to do exactly?”

Duncan took a deep breath before finally turning to face you head on. He had been too apprehensive to look you in the eyes from the minute he walked into your living room. “She backed me into a corner. She kept asking if I’m being blackmailed for money or if I’ve been hiring hookers and I didn’t really know how to explain it to her without it being completely fucking embarrassing so I just told her that I’ve been seeing someone. Then she freaked out. Said she wanted to meet whoever it was. Told me to bring them to the event we’re having this weekend.”

You cocked your eyebrow at him, still not understanding.

“Y/N, I wouldn’t be here this early in the morning if it wasn’t important. I need you to go to that event with me...and pretend we’re together. Just for my mother’s sake. We don’t have to stay long, just long enough to say a couple words to her. Prove that you’re real. Then we can go and I’ll never ask you to do something like this ever again. Whatever you want, consider it yours. I just need you to do this. For me.” The pleading look in Duncan’s eyes was almost comical. He was scared of his mother. It was clear at that moment that he cared way too much about what his mother thinks for someone his age. For what reason, you weren’t sure.

“I...uh...wow, Duncan.” You felt a twinge in your stomach that was hard to explain. Maybe it was just nerves from having all of this sprung on you just moments after waking up, or maybe it was because the thought of pretending to be Duncan Shepherd’s girlfriend for a night was enough to make you hurl. Your feelings about Duncan were becoming harder and harder to ignore since Paris, and you weren’t sure how doing this would make you feel afterward.

“I’m not sure I can...I don’t know if-”

“I know. I fucked up. But please don’t make me beg.” It felt like he was staring into your soul. He had never looked this desperate in the entire time you’d known him. You really wanted to be hesitant, to say no. It wasn’t a good idea, it didn’t do anything to help your situation. But who were you kidding, he could have asked anything of you, and you would have come running.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just tell me what I need to do and I’ll be there.”

Duncan let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll have someone drop off a dress, just be ready by 7 on Saturday.”

“Okay,” you replied, unsure of saying anything else.

“Okay,” he repeated, satisfied with your compliance. “I’ll see you then.” Duncan approached you, taking your elbows in his hands. It was a gentle, gesture of gratitude, but it made your stomach flip.

“Thank you. Again. I mean it.” He rubbed circles on your arms as he spoke. You looked up to meet his eyes once again, his gaze making your heart rate skyrocket.

You nodded in response, casually rolling your shoulders to shake yourself out of Duncan’s grasp. He took this as an opportunity to leave, making his way towards the door as his dress shoes tapped against the vinyl floor. He turned his back to take one last look at you before leaving.

“See ya,” you called out. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, a slight smile appearing on his face.

“Bye, Y/N,” he all but whispered as he shut the door behind him and went about his day.

You sat in the limo more or less pondering your entire life, and how you’d ended up in this situation. If you would have told yourself 5 years ago, hell, even a year ago that you’d be in this position, you’d laugh at how insane you sounded. Not only had you accidentally found a sugar daddy, if that’s what you want to call it, but you’d also managed to catch feelings for him. Where he once was nothing more than a business arrangement, he now encompassed nearly your every thought.

There was a war going on inside your brain. Part of you wanted things to go back to the way they were when Duncan called on you once a week to fuck and sent you expensive gifts afterward. No strings attached, just fucking. The other part of you wanted clarity, to know how Duncan felt. If you confessed your feelings, would Duncan reciprocate? Could the two of you actually be together? If you weren’t on the same page, would he break it off? Cut you out of his life and leave you a broke, struggling college student?

The conversation you had with your roommate just minutes before Duncan arrived in the limo echoed in the back of your mind.

“You HAVE to tell him how you feel,” she exclaimed, with a little more sass than you were expecting.

“It’s not that simple!” you argued back.

You had finally let her in on everything that had happened with Duncan. The incident with the frat boy, the trip to Paris, that drunken night, the stolen glances, the event you were about to attend and pretend to be his girlfriend for the night. She was convinced Duncan felt the same way you did, but you weren’t sold on the idea.

“But it is though! Come on, Y/N. What you said makes perfect sense. He likes you. He has to. When all of this shit started, it was strictly business. I remember. But now he’s acting all weird and shit and it just doesn’t add up. He either likes you or he’s been buttering you up to kill you this entire time.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you with your little ‘poor me’ attitude. You should just tell him how you feel. What’s the worst thing that would happen? He doesn’t feel the same, and he breaks it off. I highly doubt you would ever run into him again. Plus, think about what would happen if he liked you too. You wouldn’t have to hide in his apartment or in hotel rooms every night. You could actually spend time with him outside of the pillow talk you have right before you leave. And I mean I know this might be a sensitive subject buuttttt...imagine all of the shit he would buy you if you were actually dating. I mean we’re probably talki-”

“Okay, that’s enough. Thanks. I get it.” Her rambling made you feel ill. Maybe she had a point. For something that started out so harmless, it was now eating you alive. “I just don’t see it ever working out. I’m a college student who barely has her shit together and he’s apparently a member of the most influential fucking family in America besides the goddamn president. We don’t go together,” you babbled, emphasizing your points with elaborate hand gestures.

“Tell you what,” your roommate started, “This...event? Is it?” You gave her a confirming nod from your place at the end of your bed. “Okay, so if you’re pretending to be Duncan’s girlfriend tonight, why don’t you just multitask and figure out whether or not you’d even want to be with him? You’ll be out with him in public, where everyone can see. You’re getting to meet his mother. It’ll be like you’re actually together. If it goes well and you could see yourself doing something like this again, you should tell him how you feel. If you hate it, you should break it off. You shouldn’t let a man take up this much of your time if he’s making you feel like this.”

Damn, why was she always right?

A gentle squeeze on your kneecap drew you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Duncan staring at you from his side of the limo with concern washed over his features.

“You okay?” he asked. “You’re looking a little spaced out.”

“Yeah,” you enthusiastically nodded, hoping to put up a persuasive front and not let Duncan know the internal chaos going on in your body. “Just a little nervous.”

“Me too. It shouldn’t be that bad though. Don’t worry about it too much. I’ll try to do most of the talking. My mother will probably ask you what you do or what your thoughts are about the wine selection. Whatever you do, just try not to mention the...nature of our relationship.”

And what exactly is the nature of our relationship? you thought to yourself.

You absentmindedly picked at the beading on your gown as the limo ascended the winding, cobblestone driveway of the venue. It was a country club of some sorts, so you were dressed to the nines. The dress Duncan had picked out for you was modest enough to meet his mother in, yet showed off just enough skin to still make you feel sexy.

Duncan seemed to think so too, given that his eyes nearly fell out of his head when he picked you up at your apartment building. He knew he had good taste, but he was always taken back by how beautiful you looked.

As the limo came to a halt, Duncan was the first out. He quickly straightened out his suit and made his way over to your side of the car, opening the door for you like the gentleman he was.

“Ready?” he questioned, placing both of his hands on your shoulders to smooth out the creases in your gown from the ride over. It was a gentle and soothing gesture that made your heart beat in your ears.

You looked him up and down one last time before looping your arm around his. He looked perfect, as always. Dressed in all black, and not a hair on his curly head out of place. It was styled differently this time, quaffed back instead of resting to the side. His scruff had been cleaned up around the edges, meaning he was really trying to make an impression on his mother with you by his side.

“Ready.”

You joined Duncan at the elbow and waltzed into the french doors of one of the largest country clubs you’ve ever seen, unsure of where the night would lead you.

The ballroom of the country club must have been bigger than your entire childhood home. The ceilings felt like they were 50 feet high, and there was a waiter stationed at least every 10 steps to cater to your every need. Duncan escorted you straight to the bar, claiming that you both needed at least one drink before doing anything or speaking to anyone.

He was nervous like you, and you could tell, but of course, he had different reasons. It was clear by the way he acted in your apartment that he cared a great deal what his mother thought of him, and impressing her was on the top of his list. Maybe she’d have his ass for spending so much money on a young girl such as yourself, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around it as to how that could be. You’d settled on the idea that perhaps he just had a close relationship with his mother, and that he’d do anything to stay in her good graces.

As you nursed the cocktail Duncan had ordered for you (Which was fucking incredible by way. Why was he so good at everything?), your eyes wandered around the spacious room. There had to have been at least 200 people in the room, and more than a handful of them were familiar faces. You’d read about them, learned about them in class. They were infamous lobbyists, members of Congress, even a member of the Presidental Cabinet you’d managed to pick out amongst the crowd. This was his circle, the big dogs he ran with. You began to feel extremely overwhelmed and claustrophobic, the energy of the room becoming overbearing. How could you ever be with Duncan when this is what he did for a living?

Just as you were about to excuse yourself to the bathroom for a proper panic session, Duncan’s grip on your arm tightened exponentially. Turning to him to see what was wrong, you noticed a small-framed, brunette woman making her way towards you with an ear-to-ear grin plastered on her face.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to finally show up!” The woman took both sides of Duncan’s face in her hands and pressed short, brief kisses on each of his cheeks. You weren’t sure who she was, but you had the inkling this was the woman of the hour. The one you’d been waiting to meet. Although she didn’t resemble Duncan in the slightest, the way Duncan’s jaw was tightened and the short breaths he was taking made you certain that she was an important figure.

“Hi, mom,” the words slipped past his lips, almost in a mumble.

“I was beginning to think I’d never find you in this place! You know I really like this venue, I think we should keep it in-“ by this time she was rambling about things beyond your grasp of knowledge. Something about the app you’d heard Duncan mention plenty of times before but could never wrap your head around, something about crowd-funding and one specific congressman you’d heard about from a tax-evasion scandal on tv. It sent you further into your spiral of anxiety. It must have been pretty obvious, because Duncan then unthreaded his arm from yours and moved it to rest on your hip, pulling you closer towards him to steady your shaking. He ran his hand up and down your side against the embellished fabric, it was calming to you but it was more for himself at that moment. He was nodding at every word that left his mother’s mouth, even though he could barely focus on her words himself.

“-anyways. Enough of all of that. Were you going to introduce me or were you just gonna let her stand there all night with her hip glued to yours?”

Your stomach dropped as you peered up at the woman. She was looking you up and down, taking in your form. You checked yourself one more time, making sure you hadn’t spilled something on your elaborate gown or had lipstick in your teeth. This was it. Time to put on a show.

“Mom, this is Y/N.” Duncan’s features softened slightly as the mention of your name, a smile ghosting over his lips. He continued to run his hands up and down your side as he introduced you, a crutch for both you and him.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Y/N. I hope you’re finding this evening to be worth your while. We put a lot of work into this event, so I hope everyone has a good time.” She extended her hand to you, and you reciprocated, giving her a firm shake.

“This place is incredible, Ms. Shepherd. Thank you so much for inviting me,” you stated in the most uppity voice you could manage. A beauty pageant smile adorned your face, sure to fool anyone.

“Oh please, call me Annette!” She placed her hand over heart in exclamation.

“Well, it’s great to finally meet you, Annette.” Duncan watched the two of you interact intently, ready to interject at the split second something could go wrong.

“Duncan’s not told me much about you. What you do? Where are you from? Tell me all about yourself! You’ve got to be some kind of special if Duncan’s spending more money on you than he is on himself.”

She wasn’t nearly as intimidating as you’d imagined. Sure, you were nervous as hell that she’d ask you a personal question about Duncan you didn’t know the answer to, and you were nervous about the decision you’d have to make by the end of the night (to confront him about your feelings or walk away from it all), but there was nothing about this woman that was particularly menacing.

You cut your eyes to Duncan before parting your lips to speak. He gave your side a quick squeeze, letting you know you were going to be fine.

“I, umm...I’m a student at Georgetown. I grew up kinda far away from here actually. I don’t have any family here or anything-“

“That’s actually how we met, isn’t it, Y/N? At Georgetown? That symposium about higher education and research?” The cock of his eyebrow pleading for you to catch the hint.

“Yeah, it was,” you shot him another glance and a toothy smile, slowly becoming more comfortable in Annette’s presence thanks to Duncan.

“Aren’t you two just the cutest!?” Annette professed. “If I remember correctly, that symposium was forever ago. How come I’m only just now finding out about you?”

Both you and Duncan swallowed the lump in your throat. You racked your brain for an excuse, anything to get her off this line of questioning. Thank god for Duncan’s smooth tongue, because you were at a loss for words.

“We’ve just been taking it slow. Didn’t want to rush anything. We’re both pretty busy so we just haven’t really had the time to take any extra steps.” He spoke so calmly as if he’d been practicing how he would answer this exact question. He was her son, after all, surely he was aware of the kinds of things she’d be asking about.

“Well, I hope you can make it out to another event soon. I think there’s a gala in the works for next month. Or maybe you can convince Duncan to come back to his mother’s house and we can have a proper get-together over a nice dinner. He never comes to see me outside of work anymore. I’m sure you’re busy with school, but I’d love to see more of you,” Annette gave an earnest smile to the two of you.

“Of course, I’d love that,” you flashed your pearly whites at Annette and looked up one more time at Duncan. His face had completely softened when looking into your eyes. You caught a flicker of a spark behind his ocean blue’s, unsure of what it meant.

“If you guys don’t mind, I actually just spotted one of the potential top donors for tonight. I’m gonna squeeze on by and say hello before he gets too drunk and has to be escorted out,” Annette tensed up in amusement and disappeared in the masses.

Duncan exhaled audibly as soon as she went out of his line of vision. He turned to face you, now resting both hands at your hips.

“Thank you. So much.”

“No problem. It wasn’t that bad. She’s not nearly as terrifying as you made her out to be,” you said with a few chuckled in between sentences. You really didn’t know why Duncan made her out to be this big, bad, scary monster. She behaved like any other mother would in her situation. She hardly batted an eyelash when you told her you were still in school, and didn’t ask anything that was particularly worrisome. There was nothing out of the ordinary of her in your eyes. As far as you were concerned, she seemed pretty satisfied.

“Yeah, well, maybe if she raised you you’d know how hard it is to make her happy. She was either lying her ass off just then, or she was actually impressed. I genuinely don’t think she was lying, didn’t see any of her tell-tale signs, but then again she never fails to surprise me,” a blush covered Duncan’s cheeks and he scratched the back of his neck as he spoke.

You quietly nodded back at him, unsure of how to respond.

“Anyways, how about we actually enjoy ourselves now that my mother is under control? I can show you around if you’d like.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

How you’d ended up outdoors, propped against the lip of an Olympic-sized, cascading water fountain was beyond you. To your chagrin, Duncan excused himself to talk to one of his business partners, claiming he’d only be a second. Seconds turned to minutes, and by now it must have been about 15 since he’d left your side. You took a couple turns down a never-ending hallway and somehow managed to find the doors leading to the garden. There were topiaries galore, and greenery covering nearly every square inch of the back yard. It was peaceful compared to the medley of booming voices indoors.

You took some time to reflect on the night, weighing out the pros and cons of what you were going to do. You hadn’t forgotten the way Duncan had been looking at you all night, it almost resembled the way you look at him. His eyes flutter like he was looking at something precious. The way he always kept one hand on you at all times was not unlost on you either. You wanted to believe it was genuine, but you had convinced yourself it was all part of his act. To sell this fake relationship to his mother and to everyone else in the room.

On the other hand, you were actually having a fun night. Duncan had led you throughout the country club, showing you the various rooms whilst talking shit about almost everyone in attendance. When you went back for more drinks, you caught Annette’s eye again. She gave you a cheerful wave and tilted her glass of wine towards you. You’d even introduced yourself to your favorite journalist, gushing over her latest work.

Your pondering was cut short when you heard the rustling of bushes not far from where you were resting. You were about to have company or you were about to be brutally murdered by some creep that had been hiding out.

When your vision cleared, you realized it was a man. He looked vaguely familiar from far away, maybe he was another famous public figure that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He was dressed in a tuxedo, and his swagger was way too arrogant for your taste. Whoever he was, he was coming your way. You weren’t prepared for what was about to happen next.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

His voice immediately sent shivers down your spine. You knew exactly who this man was. The two of you had a history, and not a good one. A few months before you met Duncan at the hotel bar, you’d had a little rendezvous with him. A couple times actually. Like Duncan, he had coaxed you back to the hotel more than once. You abruptly cut it off after finding out about his backwards, conservative rhetoric. You discovered via the internet that he was everything you despised, and you couldn’t even stand to look him in the eyes. He was a higher up for some media company that had tried to win you over multiple times by bragging about how much money he had. You never accepted a dime apart from the drinks he’d let you run up on his tab. He was repulsive, which you had told him the night you broke it off. It ended in him calling you a gold-digging whore that cared about no one but herself. Definitely not a ladies man to say the least.

You weren’t sure how to react, so you stayed put, straightening out the bottom of your gown that had been folded under your legs. Why the fuck was he even here? Of all of the people you could have run into, of course, it had to be him.

“Should have known you would have found your way into one of these. Tons of rich guys you can fuck around with and use for your own benefit,” he scoffed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. He smelled like bourbon, and you could see the drunken blush that covered his entire face even from the faint glow of the water fountain lights.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your eyes glued to your heels, praying for him to walk away or for someone to come to your rescue.

“Oh come on, Y/N. We both know that’s not true.”

“You’re just mad that I refused to blow you after I found out your company is one of the top donors to the NRA,” you fired back. “Plus, it’s not like I was missing out on anything special when I called it off.”

His jaw clenched, clearly infuriated. You realized maybe it wasn’t the best idea to get into it with a grown man that was at least a head taller than you outside, in the dark, where no one could see or hear. When he took another step towards you, you flinched.

“Listen here, you fucking slut-”

“Y/N?!”

You had never been more thankful to hear Duncan’s voice in your entire life. He all but broke out into a sprint trying to reach you. Mumbling a quick, “Thank god,” to yourself, Duncan finally caught up to you.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I was starting to think you ditched me or something,” Duncan said with a hearty chuckle.

“No fucking way. You’re here with Shepherd?!” the man beside you ragged. Duncan hadn’t paid any attention to him until just then.

“Do you two know each other, Y/N?” Duncan looked at you both with raised eyebrows and his lips turned down in disgust.

“Umm...we-” you started, scrambling to find the right words.

“We do. Quite well, actually,” said the foul man cut you off. “You better watch your back around her, Dunc. She’s trouble. Only cares about herself. She’s nothing but a gold-digging whore that’ll leave you high and dry after she gets what she needs. I’ve seen her do it, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she’ll do it again.”

He jabbed his finger at you aggressively as he spoke, like he intended to shove you back. Before he got any closer, Duncan was immediately in-between the two of you. Duncan’s nostrils flared and his chest was poking out, mere seconds from snapping.

"Duncan, can we please just go,” you whispered from behind him.

Duncan looked over his shoulder at you, giving you a brief head nod.

“You should probably get the fuck out of here,” Duncan spat at the man. “Unless you want your face plastered on the cover of every fucking newspaper in D.C., I suggest you never show your face to me ever again. The press loves a juicy story, and I’d be glad to give them one that’ll burn your company to the fucking ground.”

He gave Duncan one last snarl before stomping off in defeat like a dog with its tail between its legs. When he was gone, Duncan gripped you by the elbow and led you out of the backyard, going around the side of the building instead of through the inside. He was quiet the whole time, and you were scared to know why.

The car ride was silent, for the most part. Duncan revealed he went to the same university as the man from earlier. They were rivals, always going for each other’s throats whenever it was possible. Aside from that, not much else was said. You could tell Duncan was bothered by what happened, but you didn’t know if it was directed at you or the man. He kept rubbing his hands up his cheeks and jaw and had his body turned away from you, leaning on the window.

You had to face the music. After everything that just happened, was tonight the best time to confess your feelings? Were you even certain about what you wanted anymore? Sure, Duncan was great, but could you keep up with his lifestyle? The confrontation between you and the media mogul caused you enough anxiety to last a lifetime, and you certainly never wanted to have to do that shit ever again.

You’d told yourself the same thing one million times before. He’s a grown man, it would logistically never work out. Especially after this.

“Duncan,” you started, ready to shatter your hopes and dreams.

He turned in your direction, the same, exhausted look on his face.

“I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his facial expression quickly changing to one of confusion.

“This. Us. All of it. I don’t want to do it anymore,” each word out of your mouth wedged the blade deeper and deeper into your chest.

Duncan just stared at you, his face unreadable. His chest began to move more rapidly, but he stayed quiet. The silence lasted what felt like an eternity, damn near making you want to jump out of the moving limo.

“Say something, Duncan. Please,” you pleaded.

“Guess he was right, huh?” Duncan’s voice was low, like he was trying to steady himself without cracking.

“What?”

“That guy. When he said you take what you want and then you leave. You’re doing it right now. Aren’t you? You got what you wanted. The money, the clothes, the trips. You got caught, and now you’re running.”

You couldn’t do anything but stare at Duncan with your mouth agape. He was really accusing you of being a gold-digger. If he only knew you stopped caring about the money months ago.

“Are you fucking serious? You don’t actually believe what that piece of shit said, do you? You said it yourself, he’s a narcissistic asshole. He was fucking lying.” You argued, highly offended that Duncan would even say such a thing.

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore. I can never figure you out. One minute it’s like you couldn’t care less about me, the next you look at me like you want something way more than a fuck. I’m not sure I can handle any more either.”

There it was. The twist of the knife. It was ironic, really. Under any other circumstances, you might have thought Duncan was confessing his feelings for you. What he had just said was a mirror image of your inner thoughts, how you’ve been feeling about him for months. But the way he said it was so condescending, so hurtful, that you knew that wasn’t the case. He wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

A stray tear managed to slide down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away with the flick of your finger.

“Okay then,” you sighed, truly devastated that the man you had grown to care about so deeply thought so poorly of you. “Anything else you wanna add? Any more bullshit you wanna spew before you never hear from me again?”

Duncan could barely hold eye contact with you. He was just as crushed as you were, only you didn’t know it. He kept his head tilted down, opting for silence.

“Stop the car, please!” you called to the driver.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Duncan rolled his eyes at you.

“Going home. I don’t want to be in the car with you anymore.”

The limo’s brakes screeched as the driver veered off to the sidewalk of the busy street. You gathered the bottom of your heavy gown in your hands and shoved your body out of the vehicle.

“Y/N, stop being stupid. It’s late, it’s not safe. Let me drop you off, please,” Duncan called from the rolled-down window of the limo.

“I’ll figure it out, Duncan. I’m not your responsibility anymore” you fired back. “You don’t have to ‘take care’ of me. I was fine before you, and I’ll be fine after you.”

Your heels clanked against the uneven pavement as you walked away from Duncan and all of the baggage that came with him. In the heat of the moment, you were too fired up to not rub it in his face one last time how wrong he was. You turned back to see the limo still parked on the sidewalk, Duncan watching you. Perfect. Trudging back over to the car, you gave Duncan one last piece of your mind.

“And by the way, asshole, I never did ANY of this for the money.”

Adrenaline coursed through your veins, making you too wired to wait for Duncan’s reaction. You barged off into the dark of the city, this horrible, humiliating night being the only way you would remember Duncan for a long time.

Months had passed since you had removed Duncan from your life. There wasn’t much left of your time together, your roommate insisted the two of you burn most of the shit he had bought you, lingerie included.

You did keep some things, however. Without Duncan’s money, you were back to being strapped for cash and trying your hardest to hit overtime at the coffee shop. You couldn’t afford to go out and buy a new laptop or replace the coffee maker, so he still popped into your mind from time to time.

School was going great, to your surprise. You were on track to graduate in just a handful of weeks, had good grades, and a positive outlook on your future. You even got accepted to conduct research with the head of your department in grad school next semester, which is how you’d once again ended up at that damned hotel for another university sanctioned gala in honor of their top students.

You clung to the wall with your eyes peeled for Duncan. You weren’t going to let him sneak up on you like he had done all of those months before. You’d triple checked the pamphlet for tonight’s event, The Shepherd Freedom Foundation was the featured guest speaker for tonight, so you knew either him or Annette would be making an appearance. The particular corner you had set up base in gave you the perfect view of the entire ballroom, so you were sure to catch Duncan the second he entered the room.

It wasn’t Duncan, nor was it Annette that took the stage. It was some man you’d never seen or heard Duncan ever talk about, so you were relieved, to say the least. Settling on the idea that Duncan had ditched tonight, you could finally let out the breath you’d been holding in ever since you waltzed through the revolving doors of the lobby.

The gala had slowed, guests clearing out, music dying down. You found it best to leave, but not before heading to the bathroom one last time. The restrooms in the train station were filthy, and you wouldn’t be caught dead using one of them.

On your way out, you bumped chests with someone. Hard. The force sent both of you flying back at least a foot or two.

“Holy shit. I am SO sorry,” you called out, still not being able to see properly.

“It’s fine. I should have been watching where I was goi-”

You tilted your head up, wondering why the stranger had stopped talking so suddenly.

“Duncan,” you puffed. Of fucking course. Just as you thought you’d made it out unscathed.

“Y/N.” Duncan looked like he had seen a ghost. “How have you been?”

“Why do you care? I thought you couldn’t ‘handle me’ anymore. Isn’t that what you said?” you smarted off.

“Please don’t be like this,” Duncan started, already tired of your attitude. “If you have a minute, I’d love to talk to you about that night. There are some things I need to get off my chest.”

“Duncan, I really don’t have a minute. Save it, honestly. I got your message the first time. No need to rub it in again.”

“That’s not it, Y/N. I want to apologize. I was a dick. For no reason. Come up to my room and give me 20 minutes to explain myself. That’s all I’m asking for.”

You were ready to thwart him off again, hurl another insult at him. But the look on his face, the sincerity, made you hesitate. “It really isn’t worth it,” you thought to yourself, but seeing Duncan in the flesh opened the floodgates, your heart swelling full of emotion once more. Even if nothing came of what Duncan had to say, knowing you let him speak his mind made you think there could finally be some kind of clarity.

An overwhelming feeling of deja-vu consumed you. You felt like you’d been in this exact position, better yet, you knew you had been in this exact position before. Leaning against the sturdy dresser of the hotel room while Duncan sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Only the last time, it was under completely different circumstances.

“You wanted to apologize, right? I’m listening,” you didn’t have long until the trains stopped running, so 20 minutes was really all you had.

“Y/N...What I said to you that night. Was shitty. Uncalled for. I shouldn’t have let what that guy said get to me, but I did. You’re right, he is a narcissistic asshole. I know you would never do something like that. He was just jealous. Always has been ever since I can remember.”

“No shit, Duncan. If you would have let me talk that night, I would have told you the truth. He never bought me anything besides drinks. That’s it. I called it off because he’s as disgusting as you said he is. I’ve never gone as far with anyone as I have with you.”

“I know,” Duncan whispered. His nerves were building, you could sense it from the slight changes in his composure that you once picked up on all that time ago.

“Then why did you do it?” you grilled at him.

Duncan was quiet again, staring at his feet.

“Duncan? Hello??”

He finally looked up at you, his eyes glassy and lashes fluttering to ward off tears.

“Did you mean it when you said you never did this for the money?”

Duncan got up from his seat and made his way over to you, your heart rate skyrocketing. You guessed now was as good as it was going to get if you were going to finally tell him how you’d felt about him for the back half of the time you were together.

“Yeah, I did. At first, I didn’t mind it. The lingerie was nice, but I stopped caring about everything about halfway through. Paris is what kinda did me in. Every call, every trip. I just showed up for you. You could’ve cut me off from everythingand I still would have been at your door in a heartbeat. I never said anything, because I was never sure how you would react. I was more comfortable putting on a front than potentially ruining what we had. But I don’t really know why I’m telling you all of this. It’s not like it matters anymo-”

You were cut off by Duncan smashing his lips against yours. Immediately, his scent, his taste, the feeling of his hands on the sides of your neck, it was completely overbearing. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed kissing him until now. The faint taste of liquor always on the back of his tongue, the way he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth in a way that was rough, but just the way you liked it. When he drew back, you were breathless, your lips tingling from the stimulation.

Duncan rested his forehead against yours, hands still holding on to either side of your face.

“Y/N I think I’m in love with you.”

Spots clouded your vision. This whole time, you’d torn yourself up over the idea that Duncan could never care about you in the way you felt for him. You were sure of it. You’d said it over and over, at least a hundred times.

“Duncan-”

“I’m serious. I never realized it until you were gone. I was raised on the premise that money solves all problems. That money gets you what you want. I’m not good at communicating how I feel. I was taught to manipulate and to lie from the time I could speak full sentences. I thought that if I kept buying you shit, you’d stay. That any form of intimacy was good enough, even if it meant nothing to you. But it meant something to me. It always did. I just never thought that I’d end up caring about you this much.”

You weren’t aware of the tears littering your cheeks until Duncan swiped them away with his thumbs. There you both stood, chests shaky, trembling in each other’s arms. Everything was on the table.

“I need you to stop talking and kiss me again,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Duncan gave you the toothiest grin you had ever seen and pressed his lips to yours again, only gentler. The muscles of his mouth expertly worked against yours. You savored the feeling you’d deprived yourself of for so long.

Caught in another wave of familiarity, you walked him back to the bed. He caught on, letting you shrug off his coat before placing himself right at the edge. You crawled into his lap, your thighs straddling his waist, never once breaking the kiss. Duncan held you in place with his large hands, sighing at the sensation of being able to hold you once again. He really thought he had lost you for good.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to fuck you again if you were going to turn your back on him the second you finished.

You nodded, looking deep into the crystal blue skies of his eyes.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”

Duncan silently chuckled into your open mouth, pulling you in for another kiss.

“Good. Now take off your clothes and lie down.”

His demand ignited the fire in your belly, sending the already pooling wetness in your core over the edge and into the fabric your panties. You did as you were told, torn between wanting to tease him by taking your time and all but ripping your blouse off of your chest to get straight to business. Duncan licked his lips as you undressed, never once taking his eyes off of you. Once you dropped your panties on top of the rest of your discarded clothes, you made your way to the king-sized bed. The same exact one you’d spent many sleepless hours in for several consecutive months.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” Duncan said, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, parting them to reveal your glistening center. Duncan groaned at the sight, closing his eyes in satisfaction. He slowly ran his fingers through you folds, spreading your slick around, making you jolt on contact.

“No teasing. I need you inside of me,” you panted.

Duncan clicked his tongue at your remark. “I need to show you just how sorry I am. Let me prove it to you.”

With that, he dove into your heat, lips immediately attaching to your clit. He started with slow, gentle sucking motions, pulling back every now and then to place delicate kisses on your most sensitive area. The tugging on your now swollen clit combined with Duncan’s velvet tongue had you whimpering within minutes. Maybe it was because you’d been touch-deprived ever since you ditched Duncan, or maybe he was really just that good. You truly missed this. No one compared to the way Duncan could make you feel. He was acutely aware of every twitch, every reaction you had to his touches. He decided to push you further by dipping his tongue into your entrance to fully taste you. Duncan moaned into your cunt, the taste of you being something he swore he could never get enough of.

“God I forgot how fucking good you taste, baby girl.”

You mewled underneath him, his words sending another bout of arousal through your body. He let a warm string of saliva fall from his lips, watching it drip down your already drenched folds before diving back down to drink from you once again. You felt your slick and Duncan’s spit running down your core, surely forming a wet spot on the duvet. Instinctively, you reached one arm down to pull Duncan closer by his hair, pleading for him to work his tongue faster and harder against you.

He took the hint, moving on to rutting in and out of your pussy with his mouth and gliding his tongue through your folds with more vigor than before. You were grinding against him, trying to gain any kind of friction there was to offer. Duncan removed one hand from of the inside of your thigh and trailed it down to where his mouth was, leaving goosebumps along your legs. Using his index finger, he torturously worked you open while his lips continued nibbling at your clit. He was lost in his own world, eyes closed, nose pressed harshly against your hood. It gave you some relief, but it still wasn’t enough. You wanted to let go so badly, to let pleasure overpower you. But Duncan’s cock was what you really wanted more than anything.

It took everything in you to push Duncan’s head away from you. Using your elbows, you sat yourself up on the bed and reached for the buttons on Duncan’s shirt. He happily obliged, working at removing his belt and pants. When he peeled his tight boxers off of his thighs, you were greeted by his rock hard cock bobbing in the cool air of the hotel room. Your mouth watered at the sight, so many thoughts racing through your mind of what you wanted to do to him.

He hungrily climbed on top of you and began kissing up and down your neck and into the dips of your collarbones. You never thought you’d feel this way again, consumed by Duncan. His hair tickled your chin, causing you to squirm and giggle beneath him. He pulled his lips from your neck with a smacking noise and looked up to see what you were laughing at.

“What?” he asked, lips red and puffy, slick with spit.

“Your hair. It tickles.”

He looked at you once again with bewilderment. How he had managed to find you both back then and now again tonight was beyond his comprehension. He could look at you smiling like that for the rest of his life, he thinks to himself.

Duncan returned the smile before bringing your lips together once again. You used his moment of weakness to take control, wrapping your legs around his torso and shoving Duncan sideways with your arms so that you were now on top of him, your bare core pressed against his stomach. Normally, he’d punish you for even thinking about doing such a thing. But this time, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was willing to do anything to you and for you, even if it meant letting you take the reigns.

You slid back, leaving a trail of your wetness all the way down to Duncan’s waist. Using the muscles in your thighs, you carefully lifted yourself away from him so you could position his aching cock beneath you. He hissed at the stimulation of only your fingers, just as touch-starved as you.

First running his tip through your slickened folds for lubrication, you then hovered his cock directly above your entrance, bracing yourself for the stretch. As you sunk down, your eyes grew wider and wider, your face contorting into a look of pain and pleasure.

“You okay?” Duncan asked when you were fully seated on his cock, his brows furrowed, with small beads of sweat collecting just above them.

“Mhmm,” you said, or moaned rather. “I forgot how big you are.”

Duncan lay beneath you, biting his bottom lip so hard he might have drawn blood, but was too preoccupied to notice. It was taking every bit of the willpower had left not to begin bucking his hips into yours.

He reached forward to grab both of your hands, lacing your fingers with his. He brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing reassuring kisses to each digit.

Once you were as adjusted to Duncan’s cock as you’d ever be and the slight pain from the foreign stretch subsided, you began to swivel your hips along his stomach, just barely grinding against him. Duncan kept his eyes on you, squeezing ever so slightly on your palms. The tiny whines leaving your chest with every rotation was music to his ears, but it was egging him on more than he could handle.

“As good as you feel right now, princess, I’m gonna need you to move a little faster before this takes a turn for the worse and we’re both unhappy.”

You snickered at Duncan, leaning down to lay your chest flat against his, his throbbing cock still piercing you. You kissed up his jaw, savoring the coarseness of his scruff against your lips. His hands unraveled from yours and went immediately to your ass, spreading you further apart and kneading the skin with his fingers.

“Tell me how much you missed me,” you started, in between nipping and sucking at the skin behind his ear with your teeth. “Tell me how much you missed this, daddy.”

Duncan swallowed hard. He hadn’t heard you say his name like that in what felt like a lifetime.

“I missed you,” he gulped, “So fucking much. I missed your tight little pussy. How good it feels when you cum all over daddy’s cock. I wanna fill you up so bad.”

You spasmed on top of him, another wave of arousal gushing from you. With a throaty groan, you lifted yourself off Duncan’s cock and quickly slammed back down. Duncan’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, finally scratching that itch he’d had for months.

You sat up slightly, placing the palms of your hands on Duncan’s pecks. Your pace was as quick as you could manage, his cock sliding in and out of your drenched cunt effortlessly. You fit together like a puzzle piece you thought. Made for each other, not belonging with anyone else. The gushing sounds of wet skin slapping together and exhausted panting encompassed the room. The initial burn had long gone and pure, carnal pleasure had taken over you as you impaled your body on Duncan’s cock.

“God, Y/N. Are you close? I don’t think I can hold it much longer,” he confessed.

“Almost. Just hang on for a little while longer. I wanna cum with you.”

You were bouncing on top of him now, your breasts bobbing along to your movements. Duncan shifted his position slightly, moving both of you a few feet back so he could rest his back against the headboard. He took you by the small of your back and pulled you as close as humanly possible, wanting to feel every inch of your skin against his.

He eagerly placed on hand on the back of your neck, moving the other up to the spot between your shoulder blades to keep you close as you milked his cock. He started at your lips, working his tongue against yours in starving passion. Moving down to the hollow of your throat, he sucked harsh, moon shaped marks against your skin. You were chanting his name over and over, thrust after thrust like a prayer, losing yourself in Duncan’s touch.

You weren’t sure if you could do it. Every muscle in your body ached from riding him, sweat coating every square inch of your skin. Duncan noted your falter and began moving your hips for you, thrusting you up and down his cock with all of the strength he had left. He was barely holding on himself.

“Y/N I’m gonna-”

He came suddenly with a grunt. His eyelashes fluttered and his mouth was parted slightly. You felt him spill inside of you, his hot seed coating your contracting walls. Duncan milked you for all that you were worth, his cum leaking onto his shaft, spurring on your own release in the process. The heat once pooling in the pit of your stomach spreading throughout your entire body. Your hips sputtered, unable to keep going through your orgasm, you buried your head in the crook of his neck.

For a solid minute, neither of you said anything. You just laid there, still inside of him, catching your breath, your cheek resting on his shoulder. You had no idea what was going to happen next. You’d both just confessed your feelings, and you both felt the same way, but you kept asking yourself the same question. Would it ever work?

“Duncan?” You spoke up, still not moving your head from the comfort of his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we could ever be together?” you were quieter this time, suddenly feeling as vulnerable as the night he approached you with the idea of the “arrangement” that briefly turned both of your lives upside down.

“Is that not what we’re doing right now?” he asked.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m willing to give it a shot. We’ve made it this far. Only a smaaaall mishap.”

“Yeah, a small mishap,” you laughed, nuzzling further into Duncan’s neck.

“Tell you what. Why don’t you stay here, and we can talk about it in the morning. I’m actually extremely fucking exhausted.”

“Deal,” you replied.

Duncan slid himself out of you, a chill taking over you at the suddenly emptiness. He turned you on your side, wrapping his long arms around your waist as he pulled the sheet up to your chest. You faced him this time, not worried about what he was thinking or what he would say next.

He kissed the top of your forehead while running his fingers through the knots in your hair. You leaned into his touch before exhaustion took over and you both fell asleep. You dreamed of each other again, just like in Paris, only this time about the future each of you would have together.

Tagging:

(If you’re not on my tag list, I hope it’s okay that I tagged you! Definitely let me know if don’t want me to!)

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon @ccodyfern @michaellangdong @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @wroteclassicaly @omg-hellgirl @aveiangdon @belusima @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @langdonsdemon @ticklish-leafy-plant @michaelfuckinglangdon @fpsjacket @mother-tequila

#duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #Duncan Shepherd #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #my writing #mine

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

Text

Batman #440

Look at this beautiful cover! I don't know why I even read modern comics.

But don't worry! He's The Batman! He doesn't know what the word "mortal" means!

Some kid on a bike stood off in the distance taking pictures of Batman battling Ravager. At least I'm assuming it's a kid simply because he rode their on his BMX. He might also be a DUI. Whatever, the kid slash drunk with a suspended license rides seems to know Batman is actually Bruce Wayne and that Dick Grayson is Robin and/or Nightwing. Hopefully he captured the moment Batman kicked Ravager off of the dam and into the churning water below so that when The Ravager's body turns up, Batman can finally be exposed for the fraud he almost certainly is! Nobody fights crime for years, beating the shit out of everybody he meets, without killing a couple of criminals! Batman just can't admit that he's killed anybody at this point because Superman would have a field day lording it over him.

Oh! I wonder if the little girl spelled the name of my blog?! Good for her!

How is a conservative supposed to enjoy this Batman comic book after Wolman takes that shot at George Bush?! Ha ha! That was a rhetorical question. I don't really care if a conservative can't enjoy this comic book now. Get fucked, snowflakes! Some guy's radio convinces him to kill Batman. Again, I guess, since it looks like he's the one who sent Ravager after Batman. Is he also the guy on the bike? I don't know! It's possible I'm supposed to have figured out who this guy is six pages in but I'd hate to truly believe that because then I'd have to admit I'm stupid. And there's one thing a stupid person will never admit to being is stupid! Just try it! Call somebody you know is stupid stupid and see how quickly they retort, "I am not! I'm smart!" Then call a smart person stupid and watch how they just smugly laugh in your face and go about their business. It's the easiest intelligence test in the world! By the way, I'm not stupid! Batman crawls back to Wayne Manor where Alfred is ready to give him a good doctoring.

Oh, did I say "doctoring"? I meant "buggering".

Look, I said I wasn't stupid! I know Alfred isn't really fucking Batman in the ass in that picture. It's actually just Batman vomiting up the bed sheets he ate earlier. Alfred looks on at Bruce sleeping after the "doctoring" and thinks, "He looks so tired. He has since Jason passed away." "Passed away"?! Jason was brutally murdered by The Joker! Stop being so passive in your language! I mean, you even say "he looks so tired" instead of admitting the man is fucking exhausted! Fuck, why do I expect anything but passivity from the man who allowed a traumatized child to turn into a violent, obsessive, death-wish holding, bat-cosplaying maniac?! Send that kid to counseling, you idiot! My version of DC's Zero Hour would have led to a Batman had counseling as a child and became more noble and non-violent than even Superman. A man who used his money to help his community to actually get better rather than reliving the pain and trauma of his youth night after night. And Superman would been found by the Kents who wouldn't have taken him illegally into their family. They would have run him through the system where he would have become a bitter and cynical child of the American foster program. He'd be even grimmer than Return of the Dark Knight Batman! Wonder Woman would still be Wonder Woman but instead of using the invisible technology for her jet, she'd have used it for her costume. Oh! I just realized the stupid kid on the bike is Tim Drake! I think I remember him getting his Robin series with the fancy covers during my first year of college. I probably would have remembered this earlier if it hadn't been thirty years since I read this comic book and also I was better at retaining DC history!

This was the clue that made me remember Tim Drake!

If I scan all of the panels where Dick Grayson's first name is used innocently in a way that makes me laugh, I won't have time for any inciteful commentary! And yes I spelled it that way on purpose. I've been doing this gig for eight years and I'm fairly certain I can take credit for five different riots.

Sometimes?! SOMETIMES you wonder?! You should be kissing Alfred's ass every fucking morning you wake up alive, you ingrate!

Alfred lectures Batman about how careless he's become since Jason's death. Instead of responding by saying, "No, you're right, Alfred. I've been a wreck," or "It might be twenty years too late but maybe I should look into therapy," or even, "Alfred, I know you care. But somebody has to protect the people of Gotham," he doesn't say a thing. He just sits there grinding his teeth angrily pouting. Alfred must not have perfected his tough love approach pre-Zero Hour. Alfred's words have an effect on Batman. He slows down the next night and thinks with his head instead of whatever he was thinking with before. He said that, not me! He was looking at his fists when he said it but you know what his head was thinking about. Using the detective part of his repertoire, Batman finally realizes that Two-Face is behind the attempts on his life. He curses himself because it should have been obvious. But it's only obvious after you realize Two-Face is behind it! I mean, I almost figured it out on the second (2nd!) page when Batman thought, "The Ravager, in the past two weeks he had killed as many policemen." If only I had gone on the rant I was going to go on about that only being two cops (which, obviously, is two too many! Whew! Good thing I said that before the Blue Lives Matters bullies descended upon me!). Maybe I would have been all, "Only 2 cops! Over 2 weeks! And this clue on the 2nd page. OH MY GOD! Two-Face!" Tim Drake decides to hunt down Nightwing because he knows how much Batman needs Dick. But he doesn't find him at Titans Tower nor at his apartment which he shares with Starfire. Although Tim does remain on stakeout watching Kory through his binoculars until after she's showered. I think Tim Drake just discovered a dick he hadn't been looking for! Is that inappropriate? He's like twelve or something right? I think making a boner joke about a twelve year old is okay. I just thought, for a second, he might be eight or nine. That would be crossing some kind of imaginary line that I can't see but everybody else seems to notice for me all of the time, judging by all of their judging. Batman #440 Rating: A. Yeah, I know, right?! I gave a comic book written by Marv Wolfman an A! But it was co-plotted by George Perez who probably had all the good ideas, like the Alfred lecture and the Two-Face reveal and keeping Tim Drake's identity a mystery by having the reader look through his eyes and avoiding putting him in rooms with a mirror. Not that anybody would recognize him! I mean, they might. I think he was introduced a few issues prior to this. But who pays that close attention to comic books?! Fucking nerds, that's who! I'm using the term "nerd" in the 80s sense where it's a devastating insult that means your head is about to be shoved into a toilet bowl hopefully devoid of urine or feces and not the modern use of the word nerd where people use it as some kind of cutesy brag that they're into nerd culture. "Oh, I'm such a nerd! Tee hee!" Man, I wish every ticket to Avengers End Game came with a surprise swirly on the way to the theater! Just for the, you know, authenticity! People should have to remember the actual consequences nerds had to once deal with!

#Batman #Marv Wolfman #Jim Aparo #George Perez #DC Comics #DC #Tim Drake #A Lonely Place of Dying #Comic Book Reviews

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jennycalendar · 5 years

Text

imperfections (65/?)

read it on ao3!

i should have packed for my college visit, but instead i wrote this chapter. smart? no. time-savvy? also no. i am a champion

Jenny returned to work a few days before Rupert was due to, mostly because she had missed more than enough class already. She made a polite apology to Snyder (who, based on his thinly veiled threats, had completely forgotten that he’d technically already fired her), assigned some homework to the classes she’d missed, and swung by the library after school to pick up a few of the books Rupert had requested for pleasure reading, Willow and Faith in tow. Willow had the list of books that Rupert had written up, and Faith said she’d left her headphones in the library.

They were extremely surprised to find the library already open for business.

“Is that supposed to happen?” said Faith, squinting at the propped-open door. “That’s not supposed to happen, right? Don’t they need an actual librarian to run the library?”

“That would be me,” came a voice, and the door was opened all the way. A young man, about college-age, wearing an impeccably pressed suit and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, was looking at them with an expression that reminded Jenny strikingly of Rupert at his stuffiest.

“Watcher!” said Faith loudly, pointing at the guy with a huge grin on her face.

Willow started giggling, and when Jenny noticed the affronted expression on the man’s face, she couldn’t help but join in. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, pressing her fingers to her mouth, “it’s just—your face!” and then she too succumbed to laughter.

“Yes,” said the Watcher, looking somewhat bothered, “well—”

“I’m getting good at spotting them, right, Jen?” said Faith, sounding extremely proud of herself.

“I’ll have to get you some reward ice cream on the ride home,” Jenny managed, squeezing Faith’s shoulder. To the Watcher, she added, “Sorry, did we, uh, ruin your moment? We’re really just here to pick up some books.”

“Now seems like a good time to formally introduce myself,” said the Watcher, now visibly flustered. “I-I had intended to wait until Miss Summers and Miss Lehane arrived at the library in search of Mr. Giles, but—”

“Oh, no, Giles is at home,” said Faith, looking bemused. “With us. He’s taking the day off today to take Buffy to the ice show, and then tomorrow he’s getting some TLC from his honey—” Willow elbowed her, and Faith hastily revised her statement, “—uh, some, some completely professional time with Ms. C, and then it’s back to work for him.”

“Yeah, we know where he’s at,” Willow agreed. “We’re all taking a break from vampire slaying till he’s feeling better.”

The opportunity was just too good to pass up. “You can’t really slay vamps without a smart, capable Watcher, right?” said Jenny innocently.

“Well,” began the new Watcher, puffing up.

“Let us know if you find one,” said Jenny, patting the new Watcher’s shoulder.

Faith hid her face in Willow’s shoulder, shaking with suppressed laughter. The new Watcher stared at Jenny as though not quite sure how he had lost control of this situation. “Wesley,” he said weakly. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I’m the, the Council’s new—this is my first—”

“We’ll be back on Friday and you can attempt to commandeer our meetings then,” said Jenny cheerfully. “Till then, I really appreciate you filling in for my boyfriend.” Her hand tightened on Wesley’s shoulder, and she couldn’t help enjoying the way his eyes fluttered fearfully down to it. “But you would do well to remember,” she said, her smile thin, “that Rupert Giles is irreplaceable. And any attempts to replace him won’t end well for you.”

Faith let out a low, impressed whistle. Willow looked extremely pleased.

“The last guy who tried something with him got stabbed,” said Jenny, still smiling. “Let’s hope you’re smart enough to avoid that.”

Wesley had stopped looking afraid and started looking affronted. “Ms. Calendar,” he said. “You are Ms. Calendar, yes? You would do well to remember that I am appointed by the Watchers’ Council to—”

“You didn’t get our memo?” said Faith. “Man, you guys are shit with memos.”

“We’re leaving the Council,” Willow piped up. “You can hang around if you want, but you’ll be contributing to world-saving, not leading it. That’s Buffy’s job.” She considered. “And sometimes Giles and Jenny’s, but mostly Buffy’s.”

Wesley pursed his lips, attempting to shake Jenny’s hand off. It didn’t work. “I will see you on Friday,” he said stiffly. “And I will expect—”

Jenny dropped her hand, turning away and beckoning for the girls to follow. She didn’t think Wesley’s expectations were all that important when it came to the fate of the world.

Wesley was utterly flabbergasted. Not one part of his first interaction with Calendar had gone as planned. She was volatile, certainly, but he hadn’t at all expected that she would have the genuine and unwavering support of one of his Vampire Slayers. From Travers’ description of the situation, Wesley had gathered that Calendar’s judgment was flawed, but that, with some provocation, the Slayers might be steered in the correct direction. However, Miss Lehane had seemed obstinate, coarse, and utterly ill-mannered—absolutely impossible to reach with logic and reason. He hoped Miss Summers wouldn’t be similarly defective.

Still struggling to understand where, exactly, he had gone wrong, Wesley headed in the direction of the staff room, and then stopped in his tracks. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen was rounding the corner, her soft, flaxen hair falling in gentle waves to brush against her shoulders. Her eyes were a sweet sea-green, her mouth a perfect pink—

“You are blocking the hallway,” snapped a thoroughly ill-mannered young girl, shoving past Wesley and catching the lady’s attention. She raised her eyes to his, then gave him a small, amused smile, and Wesley found himself utterly breathless.

“New here, huh?” the lady asked.

Wesley had found Calendar’s American accent distasteful, but the bluntness of the lady’s tone was…stirring. “Ah, yes, I, I’m certainly—yes,” he stammered, blushing. “I’m filling in for, for an absent teacher.”

“You and me both.” The lady shifted the books she was carrying, and Wesley caught the title of one: The Rise and Fall of Ancient Rome.

“You teach history?” he asked shyly.

“I’m subbing,” said the lady with a little smile, as though privy to a joke that no one else knew. “You could say I have a…rich background in history.” She stepped forward, made a motion as if to stick out her hand, and nearly dropped the books. Clutching them to her chest, she laughed at her own clumsiness. “Can’t shake your hand,” she quipped, “but it’s still nice to meet another substitute on staff.”

Something about her seemed different, Wesley thought, well beyond the women he had met in England. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” he said softly. “It truly is a pleasure.”

The woman’s smile was practically a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m Anya,” she said. “Anya Jenkins.”

Rupert and Buffy were already home by the time Jenny and the kids arrived back from school, Buffy chattering happily away about some ice dancer or another while Rupert listened with a small, relaxed smile. Upon seeing her, his smile widened, at which point Buffy noticed, grinned, and turned. “Guys!” she chirped. “I have to tell you about the ice show! Giles bought me one of those programs with the glossy pictures and we got hot chocolate after and he let me have half of his even though I drank all of mine—”

Jenny crossed the room, dropping down on the sofa next to Rupert. “So I think I scared the hell out of the new Watcher,” she informed him, cuddling into his side.

“It was awesome,” Willow agreed.

“There’s a new Watcher?” said Xander with interest.

“Wesley Snooty-Last-Name,” said Faith, making a face. “Thinks he’s gonna train us up.”

“He’s got another think coming,” scoffed Buffy. “I am a one-Watcher girl, and that one Watcher just let me have an obscene amount of hot chocolate.”

Rupert looked extremely pleased by this turn of events. Tilting his pad towards Jenny, he wrote, Can you just keep running them out of town?

“Sure,” said Jenny, and kissed his temple. “So is there anything supernatural on the agenda?”

“Well, Giles says there’s a cave downtown making a lot more noise than it should be,” Buffy answered, crossing the room to sit on the arm of the sofa. “Maybe Faith and I should swing by tomorrow, check it out?”

“Can we try out that clouding spell?” Willow added hopefully in Jenny’s direction. “You said you thought I was good enough at it to use it on vampires—”

“Yes, I did say that,” Jenny agreed, “but we need to practice it a few times tonight before bed, okay? Magic can be a little dicey in the field of battle.”

“Ooh, dramatic,” said Faith, “the field of battle,” and threw herself down on the sofa next to Jenny. “Giles, can you help me with my thing for history? Ms. Jenkins wants us to have a paper done by Monday—”

The name reminded Jenny of something else. “That’s another thing we should practice,” she added to Willow, who beamed. “Lost object spells. Can you check in the library and see if there’s anything we can use to help out Ms. Jenkins?”

“You guys have a library?” said Buffy disbelievingly.

“Sometimes I go in there and read comics,” said Xander happily. “It’s pretty cool.”

Why does Ms. Jenkins need a lost-object spell? Rupert wrote on his pad, looking bemusedly up at Jenny.

“She says she’s looking for some necklace,” Jenny answered, waving her hand.

And she asked you because?

“Uh,” said Jenny. “Willow and I were kinda having a discussion about magical rituals in the grocery store. I guess she must have overheard. I’m still a little on the fence about doing magic with someone I barely know, but at the very least, learning how to find lost objects might be good practice for Willow tonight.”

Rupert relaxed. So nothing’s writ in stone, then.

“Not yet,” Jenny agreed. “Besides which, we have bigger fish to fry than some substitute history teacher. That nest of vamps will definitely need our attention tomorrow.”

“Am I coming?” said Xander uncertainly.

Jenny looked up, surprised. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, nest of vamps,” said Xander. “Last time something vamp-related went down, you told me and Willow to stay home, remember?”

“Last time something vamp-related went down, Rupert almost got killed,” Jenny reminded Xander, trying to keep her voice light. “I wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity.”

Xander nodded. “Point taken,” he said. “But still—”

Rupert had written something on his pad while Jenny wasn’t looking, and held it up now. Your help is always valued, Xander.

Xander blinked, then grinned a little awkwardly. “Yeah?”

Rupert nodded, giving Xander a small, reassuring smile in return.

“Okay,” said Xander. “Okay. Just, usually I’m not that great with vampires—”

“The trick is to treat vamps like Jen treats Watchers,” said Faith helpfully. “Grab ‘em and stab ‘em. Right, Jen?” Buffy fell off the arm of the sofa, laughing.

“Grab ‘em and stab ‘em,” Xander repeated solemnly to himself.

“Glad to see I’ve imparted some wisdom,” said Jenny, doing her best not to start laughing herself. It felt really, really good to be back in business—especially since Wesley Snooty-Last-Name didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be causing any problems for them.

Generally, Anyanka didn’t involve herself with mortals outside of the vengeance gig, and flustered, stuffed-shirt academics weren’t usually her type anyway. But Wesley had been talking pretty loudly about his status as the Slayer’s new Watcher, and Anyanka knew for a fact that the Slayer wasn’t interested in any Watcher but Giles. Paying attention paid off, she thought, and paying attention to eager-to-please Wesley might work out pretty well for her in the long run.

The hardest part, she thought, would be keeping her smile placid and kind. Spending time with that idiot was somewhat akin to the sound of nails on a chalkboard. If she’d had her way, she’d be seducing whip-smart Jenny Calendar or bitingly sarcastic Rupert Giles. Or both. Now that would be interesting. Unfortunately, both Calendar and Giles were definitely smart enough to pick up on her efforts to regain her necklace—though Anyanka’s attempts to reach it through Calendar’s protégé did seem tentatively promising. Perhaps wooing Wesley wouldn’t be necessary after all.

Still, it was important to keep her options open. Anyanka decided she would stop by the mall to stock up on lipstick and business-formal clothing; those Brits really did seem to like their ladies all dolled up.

#fic #imperfections #canon at this point is now a mere suggestion #also expect LOTS of anya bc i am soft and i love her way too much

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brendancorris · 6 years

Text

Thundercats Roar thoughts...

So a friend of mine showed me this trailer a few weeks ago, and for a second I didn’t believe it was real. But, before I get further into my thoughts on this thing everybody else on the internet has already covered, let me go into my history with Thundercats.

Despite never drawing much fan art for the series, Thundercats is a property I love, and one of the biggest parts of my life in my earliest years. Born in ‘86 with three older siblings, I was just in time for the original Thundercats. My family already consisted of die-hard fans, so it was naturally one of the first franchises I got into. From the time I was born to when I was about 4, Masters of the Universe and Thundercats were what it was all about. It wasn’t until ‘89 that I got my first TMNT toy, and about a year later that was literally all I cared about.

But before my TMNT obsession, there was Thundercats. While I do have many fond memories of watching the show, my most beloved memories of it are simply being a fan. Collecting the action figures, listening to my siblings talk about the show, and playing Thundercats. Not a video game, though. On nights when my Mom was out, my Dad would host He-Man or Thundercats games where he’d be either Skeletor or Mumm-ra, my oldest sister and brother would be She-Ra and He-Man or Lion O and Cheetarah (while my other sister would be... somebody) and I, being the baby, would always get stuck being Orko or Snarf. All us kids would wrestle our dad and beat up on him as he’d try to defeat us. Epic stuff. Some how the younger of my two sisters would usually end up horribly injured after each game, though...

Simply put, Thundercats was the real deal with my family when I was little. The action was great, the evil beasts were awesome, the toys were a blast, and Cheetarah, along with the He-Man girls, made me feel things my tiny self wasn’t yet ready to feel.

It wasn’t until I was in high school that I revisited the show, and, honestly, I was surprised how much it held up. Especially considering in high school I was “too cool for everything” yet I still acknowledged its quality. Yes, it was corny in the way all old children's’ shows were at the time (I have nothing but love for that tone, but I can see how it would be hard to digest for later generations), but it still had great, smart, sophisticated writing for its time, amazing animation and artwork, good characters, and one of the most hype intros ever.

In 2011 a reboot was made. This reboot was far darker and more built on political commentary. It was an understandable progression. The fans had grown up, so the franchise did too. While I wasn’t a huge fan, I can respect the quality of the writing, art, and over all work that went into it. It was a sophisticated piece of art. I felt it went a bit too extreme with the tone it was pushing, and as a long time fan of the original, found lots of the changes and design choices hard to digest. But again, it was a good show, and I respect what it attempted to accomplish.

However, the show was canceled before season 2 could air. This left a lot of fans mad, confused as to whether it was low ratings, low ratings as a result of its switched time slot that was far from ideal, or just a business decision to sacrifice a popular show just to make way for a potentially more popular future show. While I can understand the upset from fans 100%, I didn’t feel it as I wasn’t a regular viewer.

So, fast-forward to earlier this month when my friend shows me this trailer. As I said, at first I thought it was a joke, like College Humor or something. Then when the realization sunk in that it was real, I hated it. But, quickly I told myself that I don’t know enough about it yet to fully judge. I haven’t seen an episode. Sure, it looks awful from what I’ve seen, and I can clearly see the “monkey see monkey do” going on here with the copying of other successful modern cartoons. But, again, I haven’t seen it. Before I get into my final thoughts thus far, I need to address the elephant in the room...

...the similarities everybody has seen in this and Teen Titans GO!

While I wasn’t a die hard or anything, I did watch the entire first two seasons of the original Cartoon Network Teen Titans series when it was new, and I did like it. I thought it was very well-written, well-acted, had great characters, great character development, great stories, and great action. The characters worked off of each other beautifully. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I had some issues with it.

UNPOPULAR OPINIONS AHEAD - PREPARE TO HATE ME

Since its release I have always found the art style to look very under-developed and unappealing. It looked like an awkward imbalance of the (already bland in my mind) Justice League cartoon style and a newbie anime style. The best way I can describe it was it resembled the artwork of a junior-high kid who just started drawing anime. Also, I found a lot of the anime-inspired elements to feel forced. When characters would mutate into chibi disasters or tropes like sweat drops scrolling down their faces would happen, it was always a bit cringy and out of place. It felt like it was shoehorned in rather than rightfully fitting in.

But the most notable thing about the show was it was a pretty huge departure from the original DC comics. Gone was the realistic art style of the comics. Now the characters all had big, round heads, twig-like limbs, huge hands and feet, and big anime-eyes. Everything was very simplistic, sharp, and jagged. There was far more comedy, some great, and some that cringy chibi stuff I mentioned. The integration of anime tropes and far more kid humor was a huge departure from the comics. So, basically, despite being a good show, Teen Titans, the show, was a huge departure from its source material.

Then comes Teen Titans GO! and overnight it becomes one of the most hated (and most popular) cartoons of this age. I didn’t quite hate it, but wrote it off as crap without seeing it. It is a shame that the original show was canceled before it got to be finished, but putting fans’ anger towards that aside, the creation of TTG makes perfect sense. The characters proved extremely popular and marketable, largely because how comedic they could be when bouncing off each other (and the original show had been canceled. Continuing a canceled show years later is a difficult task, regrouping the team, dancing through the legal BS, and finding enough staff and people to fund it to be on board, as well as a network to accept it). More simplistic art styles were becoming more popular, and after the post-Adult Swim days, hyper, wacky, odd comedies have become the norm.

To be honest, any time I have seen Teen Titans GO!, which has only been about three episodes or so, I laughed. I don’t care what people say, the show is legitimately funny. Is it the greatest show ever? Not by a long shot. Is it better than the last TT show? Probably not. Is it a shame it exists while the original never finished? Kinda. But is it a bad show? Honestly, no.

TTG knows exactly what it wants to be and delivers. It may not be the sequel show old fans wanted, but if you put aside the hatred, you’ll see it’s not only a funny cartoon bursting with energy and very well-defined and appealing character designs reminiscent of shows like Dexter’s Lab, but also a huge love letter to the Titans, the last show, and all things DC. It is clearly made by DC fans. I may be biased because I love Weird Al and The Golden Girls, but, man, this is funny right here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ICmOMLX3rQ

Admittedly, even the movie trailer looks funny, and I’ll likely see it, despite not really being a fan of the show. Just like the 2011 Thundercats, I see what the TTG team is intending to do, and I appreciate how well they do it, despite not being a regular supporter of it.

And, well, that brings us back to ‘Roar’. Will I like it? Based on what I’ve seen so far, likely not, but who knows. It could end up being the next Sonic Boom. I do strongly dislike the art direction for Thundercats Roar, and the footage shown thus far did not make me laugh (except Mumm-ra learning about the cats being on Third Earth by reading it in the newspaper. That actually got a chuckle from me). But, as much as my gut is telling me to hate this show, I won’t pass judgment until I’ve at least seen a couple episodes. It’s definitely not the Thundercats I love, but to be honest, I didn’t want a TC reboot. I was fine with it just being as it is. So if somebody’s going to reboot it for a new generation, I’ll be glad to see my favorite franchises get passed down, so long as it is done lovingly. If the show truly is a love letter to the history of the franchise as it claims to be, and if it’s a decently quality product that obvious care went into, I’ll be fine with it.

It would be so easy to tear it apart and hate it, but as I get older I find myself growing more accepting of such change. I’m not EXPECTING to like it, but who knows, I also wasn’t expecting to like Sonic Boom. Basically, so far I’m not digging what I’ve seen, but I’ll keep an open mind and stay hopeful. Here’s hoping they can change my mind with the final product.

The End

#thundercats #thundercats roar #reboot #Brendan Corris #BrendanCorris

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mercedesnameinlights-blog · 7 years

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Para: Samcedes Catching Up

WHO: Sam and Mercedes

WHEN: June 20, 2017

WHERE: On the Bus

WHAT: Reconnecting with Marvel Movie Madness

Mercedes was ready to chill for awhile. The group had spent the day Forest Park and then had drove to Sullivan to check out the Meramec Cavern and stay there for the evening at their campgrounds. It had been fun and very adventurous to say the least, but all she wanted to do now was kick back and maybe watch a movie. She and Sam hadn’t had much time to really talk, outside of regular chatter with the group as a whole, so she thought this would be as good a time as any to bond with her best friend again.

It took her a minute to find him since everyone had broken off on their own, some in pairs and others just enjoying the quiet time alone. She didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up with someone, but part of her was feeling anxious at the idea of getting to talk to him one on one for awhile. “Hey,” she smiled when she finally found him. “You busy?”

Sam had had a really fun day. It was still really weird for him to see Mercedes with Puck, but she seemed happy. So San was happy for her. Having the rest of his friends there was just like old times, and he realized he’d missed them more than he'd thought he would. He had good friends back home in Tennessee, but no one was quite like this group of people.

He was hanging back on the bus while everyone was off setting up camp and hanging out because he just needed a little quiet time. He’d decided to watch a movie because it was the first time he'd gotten a chance to because it was hard to focus on watching a movie when everyone around you was talking. He glanced up when he heard someone getting on the bus and hit pause on the opening Marvel logo. His stomach flipped at the sight of his ex, and he smiled when she spoke. “No, I'm not busy. I was just about to watch Thor. Why? What's up?”

Her face practically lit up at the mention of the movie and she gasped dramatically. “You were about to watch my Asgardian boo without me?” She put her hand on her chest for added effect. “I am wounded, Sam, truly wounded.” She laughed softly. “I was actually wanting to see if you wanted to watch a movie. If you’d rather be by yourself though, I completely understand.” She wanted to reconnect, but she didn’t want it to be forced or uncomfortable. Sam had always been the easiest person for her to talk to next to Santana, but maybe he wasn’t the same Sam anymore.

Sam hesitated, but only because he could already feel himself excitedly saying yes, and that was weird, right? She was engaged to his high school friend. He needed to cool it. “Nah, I don't need to watch it alone. ‘Sides, what kind of guy would I be if I deprived a pretty girl of her favorite Asgardian demigod?” He stood up and hooked his laptop up to the tv that Finn had put on the bus. “This way, we don't have to huddle together to watch it on my laptop,” he explained as he worked.

She smiled at him and did her best to ignore the ridiculous fluttering feeling in her stomach when he called her pretty. She was about to get married, that shouldn’t happen! She quickly pushed the feeling out of her mind, chalking it up to being an old habit rearing itself. Sam’s southern twang made his words ooze with sincerity, so any girl would feel slightly giddy. “Plus I need to see Thor in all his muscled and golden haired glory in full 1080p and optimum screen size.” She teased.

“True, he and I have that in common,” he joked, taking the couch after he’d hooked it all up. He pulled his laptop into his lap and hit play on the movie. It was quiet for a moment, and he kept trying to find something to say, but nothing felt quite right in the situation. They were familiar but strangers at the same time it felt. How did someone interact with someone who’d once been their best friend and love of their life after not really speaking in four years? “So, how’s...everything going? Are you...nervous for the wedding yet? Or has it still like not sunk in that in a few weeks you’re going to be the new Mrs. Puckerman?”

Mercedes couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I’m telling you, you’re missing out on making the big bucks by cosplaying as Thor for events.” She had always joked with him about that back in the day. She sat down on the couch next to him, but not close enough to touch. Being in this space with him was so...different. “Things are good. Hopefully the PMJ show next month will get some positive buzz going for me, so cross your fingers.” She bit the corner of her lower lip slightly. “I don’t feel nervous, but...I don’t know, maybe it is nerves, just not performance ones.” She felt something, but she didn’t want to bother Sam with all her mental workings. “It definitely hasn’t sunk in. I mean, I’m still learning about what he can and can’t eat and things like that. Part of me feels I’m gonna mess it all up.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ve done it before. It was fun. There’s pictures somewhere. I think they’re on my Insta.” He’d done well. Girls seemed to really love it. “You'll learn it all, and it's not gonna get messed up. That's the fun part of marriage, learning how the other person works. You have a lifetime to learn, right? You don't gotta know it all right away.” He couldn't really see her being with Puck forever, but that wasn't really his place because he knew really nothing about their relationship except that they seemed happy when they were together. So he was probably wrong.

“Oh you ain’t right for telling me that! I’m going to be combing through your Instagram like a stalker now.” She laughed, sobering slightly. “I know, but...I think I’m just being overly critical of things. It doesn’t help that my mom asks me every single day if I’m sure I want to get married now and stuff like that. But enough about me, I want to hear about how awesome everything is in Tennessee.” And it was true, she and Sam were friends on Facebook, but she didn’t get on there often because of work, and when she wasn’t working she was taking online courses to try and finish her degree so her dad would stop growling at her about it. She wanted to hear that he was happy and doing what he truly wanted to do.

“Don't let anyone try to talk you out of something you know is right in your heart,” Sam offered. He might not think that they made sense, but Mercedes had always been her own person, and if there was anyone he trusted to know what they wanted, it was her. “Tennessee is awesome. I'm really happy I went home for college. It was like I'd never left. I missed everyone, of course, but Lima isn't like home to me. How about you? Is New York everything you thought it'd be?”

She wasn’t sure anyone was trying to talk her out of things as much as they were worried there was a reason she had agreed to getting married so quickly and so young. She had assured them she wasn’t pregnant. “That is awesome. I’m glad you came to Lima, but Tennessee is definitely your home.” She smiled at him, thinking of all the good times they had back then. “New York is like no other place on earth. I definitely have a love/hate relationship with it at times. But I know this is where I need to be to make the dream happen. Even though it’s a struggle to not feel defeated everytime I get rejected.”

“Well, your songs are awesome from what I hear and that's not a surprise because you've always been really great at singing. Plus, I know you're working your butt off. But it's kind of like catching lightning in a bottle, but you're gonna do it. I have every faith,” Sam said easily. He knew it was a tough industry, but Mercedes was strong and brave. “And then I'll tell my kids that we used to date in high school, and they'll never believe me in a million years.”

“No chance you could be the real Thor and use the hammer to throw some lightning my way?” She shook her head, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. When he began to talk about kids, she felt...weird. She wasn’t even sure how to describe what was going on inside her head. “Whatever! Your kids are going to be too busy being amazing little artists and creating the next awesome cartoons and comics to care about some woman singing songs. When I finally do get a record deal I’m going to need you to design my cover.”

“I hope they're artists that like good music. So they will definitely know your music,” Sam assured her, his mind unable to stop from imagining the kids he thought he'd someday gave with her, but that was a long time ago. She was going to have kids with Puck. “Deal. I'll design the first one for free.”

“My cheeks are starting to hurt, I haven’t been able to stop smiling. It’s so nice to get to talk to you and see you. I’ve missed that. I’ve missed you.” It was an easy thing to say because it was true. She and Puck were close, but he wasn’t as into the superheroes and geeky things like she was, so they bonded more over music and the entertainment business in general. It was easy to talk to someone that was dealing with the exact same things and knew how crazy the hours could be. But at the same time, it created a bubble. Being together was easy because they didn’t have to explain work life. There was a familiarity and a sense of comfort to being with Puck because she knew him. She felt safe. “You are still doing your art right? Are you working on a graphic novel yet?”

Sam couldn't help but smile back even if it made him feel guilty. “I missed you too. Blaine’s pretty geeky, but it's not quite the same as when we’d hang.” And he didn't mean because they'd sometimes hook up. “But we're getting to hang now So that's awesome.” He let his attention drift to the movie for a moment before nodding. “I still do some art, but it's mostly just graphic art for school. I haven't really been illustrating lately.”

“Are you still interested in doing that? Or are you really into the schoolwork art?” It had been 4 years, goals changed just like people did. Something that hadn’t changed was the way his smile was contagious, or how his eyes could lock you in place if you looked at them too long. Which made it very clear she needed to be looking at the movie and not him. She shouldn’t be thinking about another man’s eyes, she was getting married! What was wrong with her?

“I don't get what you mean. What's schoolwork art?” He let his gaze return to her, his brow wrinkled a little in confusion. Had he just not been completely paying attention again? It happened sometimes. His meds didn't usually wear off so quickly, however. So it probably wasn't that.

“The art you do for school. Do you draw for yourself anymore? Or someone else?” She asked him, tilting her head slightly. She still had all the pictures and cards he had ever drawn her. They were in a binder on her bookshelf. She couldn’t get rid of them.

Sam’s cheeks flushed as he let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Ohhhh, not really? Because school was just like a series of projects, and I went digital. Sometimes I doodle in my notebooks, but mostly I'm learning to design for marketing and stuff. That's how I got the job I have waiting for me back home.”

She nodded her head in understanding. “Oh, okay! That sounds pretty neat. Do you like it? Will you have an office and have to wear a tie?” She liked finding out more about his life, she used to know everything about him, and with him being here now, she wanted to learn all she could about him.

“It’s pretty fun,” Sam answered, pausing again to watch a part of the movie. “I get my own cubicle, and I don’t have to wear a tie. That’s what I like about tech jobs. You can basically just wear a t-shirt and jeans.” His lips quirked a little. “You’re the lucky one. You don’t have to work an 8-4 like me.”

“But at least you get regular days off. Being a backup singer means crazy weird hours, and that’s just for recording in the studio. Being on tour was super crazy, but fun. And then when I’m not doing either of those I work at the studio, and sometimes I have to be there late into the night. But I have to put in the work if I want to put out my own album one day.” She smiled before turning her attention to the movie. “I’m glad you came, Sam.” She said softly.

Hearing her crazy schedule made Sam feel a little better that they’d ended their relationship before college. If he were dating her now, they’d never see each other. “Paying dues, right?” He had a few friends back in Tennessee that were trying to make it as country artists. He’d played a gig once when one of his friend, Trent’s, guitarist got sick. It had been great and really fun, but he definitely wasn’t meant for that life. “You’re going to do it. I know it.” He gave her a little nod and smiled wide at her soft words. “I’m glad I did too.”

#para #r:sam #backtrack

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

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The Foxhole Court, Chapter 11 – Orange Sportsball Gets The Fuck Real

In which the Foxes play their first match of the season, I have questions about American college sports, my Percy Jackson obsession has a brief cameo, and I’m sadly less excited about Actual Sportsball Games than I should be.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

Thursday’s excitement had nothing on Friday’s. The whole school got decked out overnight with vibrant orange and white streamers. Ribbons and banners hung off every sidewalk lamp. Live student bands took over the amphitheater for short concerts and the student newspaper released that morning gave details for the afternoon parade.

Is that, like…………. Normal behavior on game days?? Actual American high school/college students, please confirm. Is this an actual thing???

I mean, I know y’all are big on sports and school spirit, but this big??

Please understand my confusion: At my school, no one fucking gave a shit about the sports teams. I didn’t even know when anyone had games/competitions unless we got told afterwards who won what brilliant award now, and even then like 5% of us cared. And I can’t speak for my uni yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same there as well. Do German unis even have sports teams?

I always liked to make fun of High School Musical 3 for having those giant ass banners displaying the athletes hanging in the halls. I am now starting to realize that might be perfectly normal for American schools.

What the fuck.

Also, Neil officially came out now – as a member of the Foxes, that is, of course.

Neil wanted to cut class and hide at Fox Tower until game time, but athletes weren’t allowed to call out without a legitimate medical excuse. Someone from the athletics committee went around all day counting heads through classroom windows, and Wymack would be the first to hear Neil was absent.

They seriously stalk their students all day in fear they might be skipping class? And these students are in college, they are grown adults, not 14-year-olds. Again, is this a thing, what the fuck??

Then again, we’re talking about the country who invented hall passes. This is probably not the craziest thing around.

Fortunately, the Foxes decide to display their first sign of group solidarity in these trying times and guide Neil from class to class. This is a really small detail, but I love it.

I’m imagining Neil as a lil baby duck who obediently follows a big spikey-haired Matt duck, a small white-pastel-y Renee duck or a glamorous blonde Allison duck, wagging behind them in a tiny duck-sized jersey.

Although, when you think about it, they’re all just lil baby ducks following a big Wymack momma duck.

(Someone draw me fanart, I’m BEGGING YOU.)

I’m getting off track. Back to the plot.

Andrew hadn’t lied to Neil back in May. In almost every article that talked of Neil’s pathetic experience Kevin was quoted as having high hopes for him. Kevin really had said that Neil would one day be Court.

Because this is the second time this has come up: What exactly does “being Court” mean?? Like, being Captain? Being MVP? Also, is this a regular sports expression or is is Exy-exclusive? Exyclusive?? Help.

A small silver lining of future hilariousness appears on the horizon: An Exy kickoff banquet is going to happen sometime in the next few chapter, and I am HYPED. This chaotic mess of a team + all their rivals + dates + drinks can only equal a Massive Fun Time™.

Fun for us, not for them, might I add. I am dying to see this.

“[Renee] hasn’t asked [Andrew] yet, but it’s inevitable. (…) Money’s on the table as to whether or not he says yes. Pot’s getting pretty big, so get your bet in fast.”

The only thing the Foxes had in common besides Exy and hardship was their strange obsession with betting on the stupidest things. Neil had figured that out only two weeks into practice. A week didn’t go by when there wasn’t money on something or another.

A team after my own heart <3 Can I join? I can never find anyone to bet on dumb things in my own circle of friends.

Will I throw this piece of paper in the bin on my first shot? Will the bus be late? Will Friend A and B hook up tonight? Will I lose my (nonexistent) emotional sanity to this series before the last book is over?

I don’t know about the others, but the last one is 100% happening.

“There’s something we haven’t told you yet,” Dan said. (…) “So Andrew’s technically legally required to take his medication, right? (…) He struck a bargain of his own with Coach. The only reason he signed with us is because Coach agreed to let him come off his drugs for game nights.”

Is this supposed to come as a big plot twist? Because I kind of saw that coming. 10 bucks says Andrew comes off his meds for all Important Moments.

*insert yet another rant about the negative portrayal of mental health meds as barbaric mind-numbing, mania-inducing ~happy pills~ here*

Anyways, back to game day!! Our beloved foxy nutcases are playing against the Breckenridge Jackals, which is shaping up to be a Fun Time™ as they are apparently the biggest bullies around (second only to the Edgar Allan Murder Mob Clique, of course).

However, when faced with his impending wipe-out on the court, our favourite Sassmaster McSavage reaches new levels of Hell Fuckin Yeah:

“[Gorilla] will break every bone in your body if you give him the chance.”

“Don’t worry, though,” Matt said. “He’ll probably be too busy killing Kevin and Seth to notice you.”

“This is my reassured face,” Neil said, pointing up at his blank expression.

SAVAGE.

I actually laughed so hard at that. This is some Percy Jackson level of sass right there.

Come to think about it, I want the entire AFTG series narrated by Percy Jackson, especially the chapter titles.

“I Am Offered A Foxy Deal”

“My Troubled Past Comes Back To Haunt My Ass”

“I Get Dragged Into Some Gay Shit”

“We Kick Serious Jackal Butt, Sort Of”

Remind me to make a full post of that once I’ve finished the series.

Off topic again. Sorry.

Before we finally begin the actual match (and wow, it’s 1.1k words already), Nicky seems to finally get the mental slaps I’ve been sending him since a few chapters ago:

Nicky looked at Neil. “Hey,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk after… Well. I wanted to say sorry, but I kept chickening out. Are we okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” Neil said.

Nicky weighed that for a minute, then sighed and said, “Fair enough.”

Deep sigh. Who are we kidding, I can never resist a self-aware comic relief, Nicky, you’re still one of my faves. At least he knows he fucked up.

And now, finally: It’s Orange Sportsball time!!

Time for fast-paced sports action, balls flying, racquets hitting, body-checks left and right, a flurry of energy and emotion… that I simply can’t get behind.

I’m sorry, you guys, but I found myself having to double- and triple-read passages here in order to keep up with who is standing where, who is passing to whom and just generally what exactly is going on. Maybe it has to do with my own lack of interest for any sports involving balls (or actually any sports that isn’t dance, cheer, or anything involving performance), but I’m not really excited about this whole game part, to put it mildly.

Don’t get me wrong: I am loving the emotions attached to it. Solidarity, passion, group dynamics and character development shown on the field, give me all that good shit. I just couldn’t care less about who’s passing to who. Forgive me.

Did someone say passion and group dynamics?

Neil’d watched his teammates fall apart to in-fighting all summer long, but now he finally saw them as a whole. As much as the Foxes disliked each other at times, they disliked their opponents more. They were still too fractured to be truly great, but they were good enough to give him chills.

This is shaping up to be good, you guys.

I can only imagine the sheer gloriousness in the upcoming books when Kandreil finally get their shit together and play on the field as a beautiful unstoppable three-way killing machine. I WILL DIE.

Twenty minutes into the game, Seth is crushed against a wall by three hundred pounds of pure douchebaggery – and I actually do feel sorry for him, not gonna lie – which means it’s time for the moment we’ve all been waiting for:

“Going on for Seth Gordon is freshman Neil Josten, number ten, of Millport, Arizona.”

Neil wondered if casket lids sounded like court doors being shut.

Ah yes, thank you for reminding me, even in the face of impending doom, how incredibly extra our boy Josten is.

“A national champion and an amateur? South Carolina’s gotten even crazier than usual.”

“An amateur and a cripple, you mean,” the dealer said.

Andrew slammed his racquet against the goal, making several athletes jump and drawing more than a few wary looks his way.

This is such a small detail but it’s the /best/. Nobody insults my boyfriends in front of me, fuckface.

Bla bla bla more sports bla bla, I’m putting everything remotely interesting that’s happening in a bullet list because let’s be honest, it’s not fucking much.

Neil scores! Twice! Good boy.

Matt takes a card for the team by punching the fuck out of Gorilla, what a babe.

Also, his mom is a professional boxer? When can we meet her. I’m always a sucker for strong women who could kick my ass.

Gorilla has been hitting Kevin’s hand on purpose all the time, which is not cool, yet not surprising, ain’t no honour in Exy injuries, apparently.

That is it, my dudes.

Writing the next chapter on a coach (yet again) as I’ll be visiting some friends in NRW, so I’ll be coming to you live from my Prime Flixbus Office Space, let’s see how that works out. Till next time, ily all. <3

#tfc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #would you look at that!!! I'm on time!!!!#amazing #don't get used to it

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sad-trash-writing · 7 years

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idk if you've seen that extra gum commercial where this guy draws little comics on gum wrappers, and he has this crush on this girl. they date and he draws things from their relationship on the wrappers and he draws one to propose to his gf and she says yes. and the song playing is "i can't help falling in love with you". i really would love to see a skimmons version of that. it could be a high school-college au

I know this took ages, but I hope it’s worth it. Thanks for the prompt! It was a ton of fun!

AO3 Link

Whoever invented high school clearly hated teenagers. Daisy huffed out a dramatic sigh and leaned back in her rickety wooden desk. The teacher kept droning on about some boring battle in the Civil War (which Daisy swore they learned about last year, too). Worst of all, she had forgotten her backpack at home today so she didn’t even have anything to doodle on to kill the time.

A slight rustle in front of her drew her attention from counting the ceiling tiles to Jemma Simmons, the only redeeming factor of this class. US History was the only class Jemma wasn’t in the advanced section of (since she was British and only moved to America last year) so Daisy got to stare at the back of her head and listen to Jemma’s voice every time she asked a question.

The sound that drew Daisy’s attention was just Jemma digging a pack of gum out of her bag. A lightbulb went off in Daisy’s head when she realized that it was the type that had the little foil wrappers, or in Daisy’s universe, something to draw on.

She leaned forward across her desk and lightly tapped Jemma on the shoulder. “Can I have a piece?” Daisy whispered.

Jemma lurched slightly in her seat, but pulled a second piece of gum out of the pack and handed it over her shoulder. “Of course.”

She shot Daisy a bright smile and turned back to her notes.

Daisy’s heart really should not be beating this hard from that seven-word conversation. So maybe she had a little crush on the super genius Brit she never saw outside of history class. Sue her.

Once her pulse returned to normal, Daisy slipped out the pencil she always kept stuck her ponytail and started sketching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Um, excuse me? Do you mind if I sit here?”

Daisy’s head whipped towards the accented voice and instantly regretted taking Miles’ bet that she couldn’t fit a whole order of spaghetti in her mouth.

“Jemma!” she exclaimed through a mouth of pasta. “Yeah, sure you can—”

Daisy quickly realized that Jemma couldn’t understand her and she would probably choke if she tried to swallow right now. Instead, Daisy planted a foot on Miles’ chair and shoved him far enough down the table that there was space for a chair next to Daisy, ignoring his indignant noises.

Luckily, Jemma didn’t seem disgusted by Daisy’s antics and just smiled and pulled up a chair next to her. Daisy quickly choked down the remainder of her spaghetti and tried to remember what a normal sitting posture was.

To distract herself from the sudden presence of the girl she had a major crush on Daisy held her open hand out to Miles.

“Pay up, I did it,” she demanded. She half expected Miles to argue with her, but he slyly glanced at Jemma, who was suddenly engrossed in her sandwich, and slapped a $5 bill into Daisy’s hand.

“So, Jemma—” Daisy started, but was cut off by Jemma mumbling under her breath. “Uh, what was that?”

Jemma peered at Daisy and blushed. “I bet you can’t fit that whole piece of garlic bread in your mouth,” she muttered with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Daisy balked for a moment. Whatever she expected from the quiet British girl, it wasn’t that. “You’re on.”

Once she won Jemma’s bet, after nearly inhaling garlic bread crumbs while laughing at Jemma’s shocked expression, Daisy slipped a spare scrap of paper out of her bag and doodled a tiny scene on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Jem. Wanna watch Sharknado or Paranormal Activity?”

Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe those are the options you’re giving me.”

“Well, do you want to take apart the science of demons or sharks forming a tornado and eating people?” Daisy countered.

Jemma rolled her eye. “I suppose Sharknado. I know there’s at least two more Paranormal Activity movies that you’ll try to force me to watch next, so let’s avoid that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. There’s four Sharknados, too!”

Jemma groaned loudly as she and Daisy strolled towards the bus stop. Jemma had started sitting at Daisy’s table everyday for lunch and even choosing Daisy every time they had a partner project in class. Daisy wasn’t complaining. She even managed to shove aside her stupid feelings for awhile to just spend time with Jemma as a friend.

And friends watched terrible movies at each other’s houses every weekend while over-caffeinating themselves and staying up way too late.

“I can’t stay too late tonight, though. I’ve got an interview tomorrow for a college scholarship,” Jemma said.

“College? We’re sophomores. How have you started looking at that already?” Daisy replied.

Jemma shrugged. “I’ve just had a few contact me because of my test scores and thought it would be a good idea to check my options now.”

Daisy chuckled. “Well, you always do know how to over-prepare. But I guess we’ll only watch Sharknado one and two tonight then. The others can wait until next weekend.”

“Unless every copy of the DVDs mysteriously goes missing by then.”

“That’s what the internet is for, Jem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This has got to be my favorite song,” Jemma announced.

Daisy looked up from her ice cream with a frown. She hadn’t even realized there was music playing, honestly. She was just tired from the school day and not looking forward to the amount of homework she had to do later. Luckily, Jemma agreed to help her out, on the condition that Daisy took her out for ice cream first. Only when Jemma mentioned it did she notice that Can’t Help Falling In Love With You was quietly playing over the speakers above them.

“Didn’t take you for an Elvis fan, Jemma,” Daisy teased.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Well, not Elvis per se. Just this song is beautiful.”

Daisy snorted. “Seems a little sappy to me.”

Jemma tossed a wadded up napkin at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy blinked away the tears before Jemma could notice them. Jemma was occupied, cramming more bags into her dad’s car while Daisy stood off to the side, wringing her hands just to keep busy. Despite her somber mood, Daisy couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of her throat when Jemma had to crawl into the backseat and pull one of her bags from the inside, while her dad pushed it from the outside.

Once the bag was stuffed into the car, Jemma tumbled out of the car, dusted off her hands, and admired their handiwork.

“Why’d you have to be such a smarty-pants and graduate early anyway?” Daisy teased.

Jemma flashed her a sad smile. “I’ll be back for holidays and summers still, I promise.”

“I know, but now I have to sit through history alone,” Daisy whined.

“For that, I am truly sorry,” Jemma said with a smirk. Despite the attempts at humor, Daisy could see tears welling up in Jemma’s eyes as well. Daisy grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a tight hug, burying her face in Jemma’s neck.

Daisy didn’t know how long they held each other, but she vaguely heard Jemma’s mom clear her throat at some point. Jemma just waved her off and kept squeezing Daisy like her life depended on it.

Eventually, they broke apart, both giving up on containing their tears.

“You’ll keep in touch, right?” Jemma asked in a tone that sounded more like a demand.

“I-I—” The ‘I love you’ that Daisy desperately wanted to say caught in her throat. “I will.”

Jemma smiled and gave her another quick hug, before jogging over to the car where her parents were impatiently waiting and hopped in. As they drove away, Daisy stuck her hands in her pockets and found a crumpled gum wrapper. She smoothed it out and started drawing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy tried to keep her promise. She really did, but life happened. The first six months Jemma was away at college, she and Daisy Skype’d almost daily and texted after every class. But then Jemma had research deadlines come up and Daisy had to study for midterms and they lost touch.

Years passed. Daisy was accepted into her first choice school for graphic design and packed up to move across the country. She quickly acclimated to the dorm life with her new roommate, Bobbi.

How she got paired up with Bobbi as a roommate, Daisy would never know (Daisy being an art kid and Bobbi majoring in biology). They got along well enough, despite their differences, and it turned out that Bobbi’s sometimes-boyfriend, Hunter, was an art student as well.

They had a standing lunch date at one of the cafés on campus between the art building and their dorm. Daisy jogged in, late as usual, with paint and charcoal smeared on her shirt and a handful of paintbrushes jammed into her pockets.

“Hey! Only ten minutes late this time! Maybe next time you’ll actually be here on time,” Bobbi teased, sipping her coffee.

Daisy rolled her eyes and flopped into the chair across from her. “My lateness is a performance art piece on the societal construct of time. And Professor Rogers made me stay after to clean the paintbrushes again.”

“I’m surprised you can resist calling him Mr. Rogers and asking how things are in the neighborhood.”

“Why do you think I had to clean the paintbrushes?”

Bobbi chuckled and glanced towards the door. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited someone else to join us today.”

“Oh? Who?”

“A girl from the bio lab. She’s our age, but a couple years ahead in her program already,” Bobbi said.

Daisy groaned. “Great, so I’m going to have to sit here and listen to two of you biobabble at me?”

“Don’t even act like you don’t rant about your dorky art stuff at me. Sorry I don’t know the difference between Dega and Dada.”

“Okay, those two aren’t even in the same category. Dadaism is a movement—”

“Daisy?” A new voice cut in.

Daisy’s attention shot to the new voice and her jaw dropped. “Jemma?!”

They stared each other down, wearing matching expressions of shock. Once Daisy’s brain caught up to her eyes, she shot out of her seat like a rocket and swept Jemma up in a bone-crunching hug. All these years later and she even smelled the same. Not that Daisy remembered what Jemma smelled like.

After a few long moments, they loosened their grip and started babbling over each other.

“I thought you were going to some fancy private school—”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming here—”

“—I didn’t know you were going here or I would have said something—”

“—It’s been so long I wasn’t sure I had your phone number anymore—”

Bobbi clearing her throat behind them stopped the tirade of overlapping statements. “Uh…So you two know each other?”

“Daisy and I went to high school together,” Jemma supplied.

“And we were really close, until someone had to graduate two years early,”

Daisy accused, with a teasing smirk.

Jemma just rolled her eyes.

Bobbi smirked. “Then, I guess you two have a lot to catch up on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the years apart, Daisy and Jemma fell right back into their old patterns of movie nights and teasing each other. Nearly every Friday, they would squeeze onto Daisy’s dorm bed with Bobbi and Hunter and project a movie onto the opposite wall. Daisy finally gave in to Jemma’s begging and agreed to watch something that wasn’t a SyFy original and threw in some pretentious movies her fellow art students loved to brag about, exclusively to pick them apart.

Unfortunately, those stupid feelings Daisy repressed for years reappeared the moment Jemma did.

One day, a new face appeared in Daisy’s dorm room.

“Everybody, this is Will,” Jemma introduced, “He’s an aerospace engineering major.”

Daisy waved a hello with the others, but for some reason decided she didn’t like this guy. Sure, he may be a perfectly nice guy, but he stood just a little too close to Jemma and stared at her with just a little too much fondness.

That night, Jemma chose to sit on the futon below Daisy’s lofted bed with Will. Daisy spent the duration of the movie grumpily glaring in the direction of the movie, but not really watching it.

A few hours later, Bobbi flicked on the lights and everyone shuffled out of the room, leaving just Daisy and her roommate.

“What was that all about?” Bobbi demanded once the door clicked behind Hunter (always the last to leave).

“Hey, I didn’t pick the movie this week,” Daisy defended while she stacked up popcorn bowls.

“That’s not what I was talking about. You’ve never been that quiet during a movie night ever and, every time I looked over at you, you were glaring at the floor.”

Daisy flushed. “It’s just been a long week and I’m tired. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Bobbi muttered, unconvinced, but she let the subject drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall weather had officially settled in, making it suddenly bearable to be outside. Daisy had to dodge at least three runaway Ultimate Frisbee games on the way to lunch and couldn’t help herself from stopping to pick some of the small fall flowers out of the dining hall’s landscaping. She had a mixed media project coming up that she could probably use them for.

As usual, Daisy was one of the last to arrive for lunch. Bobbi and Hunter were already settled in, bickering about something, but still eating off the same tray. Fitz was tinkering with some new gadget, while Trip leaned over and kept trying to poke at it. The only person missing was Jemma.

“Hey, you’re not the last one here for once,” Bobbi teased as Daisy sat down. Daisy waved her off and tossed her bag on the table, despite Fitz’s indignant protests. She had barely opened her mouth to ask where Jemma was, when a flurry of brown hair and lab reports ran into the table.

“THE ORIONID METEOR SHOWER IS TOMORROW NIGHT,” Jemma shouted, slamming her hands on the table.

Her statement was met with blank stares. “Um…Kay?”

“We need to try to see it! It’s supposed to be spectacular,” Jemma continued.

Daisy shrugged. “I’m game. I might finally see my first shooting star.”

The rest of the table mumbled their agreements and Jemma launched into planning mode.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daisy hadn’t realized how much stuff they would be bringing to go watch the stars. Why they needed an inflatable pool was beyond her, when some ratty blankets would do just fine. She hauled the giant box out of the back of her van and dropped in in the middle of the field Jemma had staked out for the group. Even though it seemed unnecessary to Daisy, Jemma found the idea on Pinterest and thought it sounded fun, so Daisy would go along with it.

Once she wrenched the wad of plastic from the box, Daisy hooked up the automatic air pump to the pool, flipped the switch, and then sat back and waited.

The sun was just beginning to set on the grassy field. The tranquil silence was broken by the jarring whir of the pump, but the scenery was still beautiful. Jemma had really outdone herself when picking this spot to watch the meteor shower (she was very insistent that it had to be far enough away from the town to avoid light pollution). Daisy could only imagine how beautiful it would be out here when the stars came out. She rooted through her pocket and found a folded up scrap of sketch paper. She pulled out a pencil and started sketching the trees that lined the field and dotted the horizon.

The pool was just starting to take shape when Jemma’s tiny hatchback pulled up beside Daisy’s van. Jemma hopped out of the driver’s seat and popped the trunk open, while grumbling under her breath.

“Hey, Jem,” Daisy greeted. “Where’s the rest of the group? It’s going to be hard for them to find us when it gets dark.”

“They’re not coming,” Jemma huffed. “Bobbi and Hunter said something about a last minute date night and Fitz called and rambled some nonsense excuse regarding a project he was working on with Trip.”

Daisy frowned. “Huh. That’s strange. Oh well, I guess they’ll miss all the free wishes.”

“So, you want to stay?” Jemma asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, of course.”

Jemma breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god. I was hoping you wouldn’t want to leave because everyone else cancelled.”

“I didn’t come out here for them,” Daisy blurted. She ducked down to fidget with the pool in an attempt to hide her blush. With a sly peek out of the corner of her eye she caught Jemma’s shy smile.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Want to help me unload the car?”

The trunk and back seat of Jemma’s car were both stuffed full of pillows and thick blankets, which Daisy and Jemma dragged out by the armful and tossed in the misshapen pool.

Once everything was arranged and the pool had taken shape, they shut off the noisy air pump and flopped into the giant nest of blankets. Jemma tucked a bag of popcorn and a thermos of hot chocolate in the folds of the blankets and they snuggled in to wait for the meteor shower to start.

Silence settled over the pair for a moment, before giving rise to the sounds of nature. Crickets chirped their last odes to the summer weather before the frost would inevitably sweep through. A light breeze shuddered through the branches of the distant trees, rattling the drying leaves together. A lone owl hooted in the shelter of the trees.

Jemma sighed contentedly and nestled further into the blankets. “The highest concentration of meteors ought to be around the Orion constellation, over there.”

Jemma gestured towards a cluster of stars, but Daisy had no clue where she was pointing. Daisy was too busy staring at Jemma, illuminated only by the dim starlight and talking excitedly about the origin of the Orionid meteor shower.

Daisy smile and nodded in agreement, meanwhile berating herself internally. Why, why did she have to fall for one of her best friends? Her straight best friend. Nothing good could come of this. Only awkwardness and heartache. Daisy pushed the thoughts of her killer crush away when Jemma offered her the bag of popcorn.

A few hours after it was completely dark, they saw their first meteor. Daisy almost wasn’t sure she had seen it. It happened so quickly so thought she may have imagined it, but Jemma’s slight gasp told Daisy that it was real. After the first one, they came more frequently, until they lit up the sky almost before the previous one had faded.

Jemma and Daisy both stayed mostly quiet, preferring to enjoy the natural phenomenon with minimal conversation. Daisy was so entranced by the streaks of light cutting across the sky that she hadn’t even noticed Jemma fidgeting with her hands until she spoke up.

“Daisy, can I talk to you about something?” Jemma asked in nearly a whisper.

The tone betrayed the serious nature of whatever Jemma wanted to say and Daisy’s eyes snapped to Jemma. “Of course. What’s up?” Daisy replied with forced casualness.

Jemma fidgeted for a moment more with her eyes fixed on her hands before she spoke up. “I— Well, it’s—There’s been something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for awhile, but it’s—it’s just never seemed like the right time and there’s always someone else around, or we’re busy or—or—”

Daisy waited with bated breath while Jemma paused to collect her thoughts.

“I—um. I like girls, I guess,” Jemma finished.

Daisy’s heart leaped and a tiny hopeful part of her brain started cheering, but Daisy quickly shoved it away. This isn’t about you, asshole, she thought.

“Oh. Cool, um, thanks for trusting me with that,” Daisy replied, “Actually, while we’re on that subject—”

“I know, this probably isn’t the best time, but I don’t want to keep any secrets from you,” Jemma rambled. She briefly reached for Daisy’s hands, but seemed to think better of it and folded them in her lap. “You’re my best friend and I don’t want anything to change between us because of this.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just completely bowled over you. We’re you going to say something?”

Daisy blanched. “No, never mind. It’s not important.”

“Please, I don’t want anything left unsaid between us now,” Jemma prompted.

“Let’s get it all out ther—”

“I love you.”

It seemed even the crickets were silent following Daisy’s confession. If she wasn’t in the middle of nowhere, Daisy probably would have bolted for the nearest closet to hide herself in for the rest of her life.

Jemma’s silence was almost worse than if she had run away in disgust. Daisy mentally begged her to say something. Anything.

“…Really?” Jemma finally whispered.

Daisy nodded, though she wasn’t sure Jemma could see her in the dark. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Let’s just pretend I never said—”

Now it was Jemma’s turn to interrupt. She leaned across the narrow space between them, capturing Daisy’s lips mid-word, and slid a hand around the back of Daisy’s neck to pull her in closer.

Daisy’s body processed this new development before her mind caught up, kissing Jemma back fervently before she was even fully aware what was happening.

By the time they broke for air, Daisy’s brain had finally caught up. “I thought you said you didn’t want anything to change between us,” she said, stupidly.

“That was a complete lie,” Jemma chuckled. “I’ve been mad about you since high school.”

“Really? Why did neither of us say anything before now?” Daisy asked.

Jemma just giggled and leaned in for another, more gentle kiss. Meteors continued to streak across the sky the rest of the night, but they passed completely unnoticed by the pair curled up in the inflatable pool together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What? Even I can tell you that’s a terrible— No, he’s great, but I know your— Hey, don’t yell at me, you’re the one who’s dumped him four times!” Daisy screamed into her phone. “Hello?…She hung up on me.”

“Um…Is everything alright?” Jemma cautiously asked.

Daisy groaned. “Bobbi just decided she’s going to move in with Hunter at the end of the semester.”

“Oh. That’s…good?” Jemma guessed.

“The school can’t find anyone willing to move into the dorm halfway through the year, so they’re going to make me pay the 'single-room’ price. I can’t afford that!” Daisy complained.

“I can see why you’re upset now.”

“Yeah. I supposed my van is big enough to throw a mattress in the back. As long as campus security doesn’t get weird about me parking it somewhere.”

“You can come live with me next semester,” Jemma shyly suggested.

Daisy’s heart sped up. “What?”

“I have a full scholarship that covers my rent as well as tuition, so you wouldn’t have to pay anything,” Jemma explained, “I wouldn’t mind having someone to live with. It can get a tad quiet.”

“Are you sure it’s not too soon? I mean, we are dating now. Would it be weird for us to live together so soon?” Daisy asked.

Jemma shrugged. “I was going to ask you to move in with me any way. Do you really think I’d let my girlfriend live in her van?”

Daisy pulled Jemma into a tight hug in answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma’s apartment was nice. Very nice, in fact. The extra scholarship money allowed Jemma to afford a place right off campus, away from the noise and annoyance of the fraternity houses. It was small, but not cramped. Just enough space for Jemma’s sparse belongings.

And now Daisy’s. Jemma failed to mention that her apartment was only a one-bedroom before Daisy had hauled the first box of her possessions up the stairs.

Daisy hadn’t wanted to presume anything, so she tossed her pillow on the couch and looked for a corner to cram her stuff into. Jemma had just chuckled, grabbed her hand, and dragged her towards the bedroom.

Daisy was surprised by how easily she settled into domesticity with Jemma. Given that she was completely prepared to live out of her van, Daisy didn’t expect to find herself so comfortable now. They settled into an easy routine. Jemma left at the crack of dawn for her classes, Daisy following around noon, Jemma went to the lab for a few hours after class, and Daisy went to work at the campus bookstore. They both returned to the apartment late and collapsed into bed or watched TV for a few hours. Friday night, they would make sure to be home in time for dinner and one of them would cook something nice.

The cooking was the one thing Daisy never got the hang of. Her artistic talents definitely did not translate into the culinary arts. The most complicated thing she had ever managed to make herself was a can of chicken noodle soup that she put in the microwave, so she struggled whenever it was her turn to make Friday night dinner.

But she was going to try her hardest anyway because she loved Jemma and wanted to make her something nice.

So here she was, fighting her way through making spaghetti. Jemma was perched on the corner of their bed with her headphones on full volume, typing away frantically at a report that was due early, and made it clear that she should not be interrupted until either she or dinner was done.

Daisy grumbled to herself about the inconsistency of using a 'clove’ of garlic as a form of measurement. Daisy made the mistake of buying the already diced garlic that came in a jar (much to Jemma’s dismay), so she just guessed and threw in a full teaspoon with the meat. Hopefully that was enough.

Next, she grabbed the jar of sauce. Daisy twisted the lid, but it didn’t budge. Daisy squeezed and twisted harder. Nothing. She tried clamping the jar between her knees and using both hands to twist. It was like the lid was cemented on the stupid jar.

Daisy huffed. What was the trick Jemma always used? Tapping it on the counter!

Daisy gingerly tapped the rim of the jar against the edge of the counter a few times and tried again. Still no movement. She tapped it harder. Nothing. Daisy glared at the offending jar. Now it was starting to feel personal.

Daisy gave it one last try and whacked the jar on the counter, but heard a cracking sound rather than the pop of the lid she was hoping for.

“Damnit,” she grumbled. She grabbed the lid and it twisted right off.

Which took the top half of the jar with it. The jagged edge of the jar cut into Daisy’s palm as she twisted.

“Shit!”

The stripe of blood that welled up on her palm started small, but quickly began trickling down her hand. Daisy set the ruined jar on the counter and grabbed for a paper towel to put some pressure on the cut. She barely got the paper towel ripped off the roll when the timer for the noodles went off, startling her.

She jerked back, hitting the sauce jar with her elbow, which sent it tumbling towards the ground where it shattered on impact.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Is everything alright out there?” Jemma’s voice called from the bedroom.

Daisy sighed and glanced at her still stinging wound. “Hey, Jem. You know how you said to only bother you if something was on fire or I was bleeding?”

Daisy heard the bedsprings creak as Jemma rolled of the mattress and shuffled toward the kitchen. “I sincerely hope you’re being dramatic again or you’re paying the security dep— OH MY GOD!”

Daisy looked up from her cut and saw the carnage of the red-splattered kitchen where she was the focal point. Right after she said she was bleeding (because clearly nothing was on fire). No wonder Jemma was freaking out.

“Oh, no no it’s just this!” Daisy announced holding up her (relatively speaking) tiny cut for Jemma to see, “I can’t really get to the mop without stepping on glass so…”

Jemma stared, wide-eyed, for another moment. Then she burst into a fit of giggles. Soon, the giggles turned into raucous laughter and eventually Jemma was bent over, gasping for air between fits of cackling.

Even though Daisy felt terrible about ruining dinner, she couldn’t help laughing along with Jemma at the entire situation. Her laugh was infectious.

Jemma grabbed the mop and helped Daisy clean up the mess and Daisy went to pick up some Chinese take out. Later that night, when Jemma went back to pouring over her computer Daisy found a red pen and sketched the scene on the back of a receipt and tucked it away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma shoved the apartment door open with a bit more force than was truly necessary. It had been a very long, arduous day and all she wanted was to eat a pint of ice cream and go to sleep early.

She shuffled through the door, knocking into the wall with her stack of reports and struggling to keep them from falling. She grumbled to herself as she kicked some of Daisy’s art supplies out of the way, so she wouldn’t end up tracking paint through the apartment (again) and trudged towards the bedroom.

A little flashing light from the kitchen made her pause. The 'new message’ light on the answering machine to the landline the apartment required them to have flashed insistently. Jemma frowned. Typically, no one called that number. If they needed to get ahold of one of them, Jemma and Daisy both had cell phones that they checked more regularly.

Jemma threw her stuff down on the table and jammed the little button.

A chipper voice cut through the silence of the apartment. “Hello! This message is for Daisy Johnson, regarding the job you applied for at Creative Concepts. It turns out we will be able to cover your relocation to New York City, as well as offering you a percentage more than the listing stated. We would like to get you settled and starting work by late next month so if you could give us a call back at—”

The number the woman rattled off was drowned out by the slamming of the front door.

“Jemma, you home? I got out early and was thinking we could go do something—,” Daisy rounded the corner and saw Jemma’s face, “—fun? What’s wrong?”

“You got a job in New York?” Jemma asked, tersely.

“I what?” Daisy replied.

“A place in New York just called and said you’ve got a job. They want you to start in a month,” Jemma gritted out through her teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Daisy blinked at her for a moment. “I thought you’d be…happier.”

“Happier?!” Jemma snapped, “You never even told me you were looking for jobs, much less ones in New York City!”

“Well, duh. What did you think I was going to do, mooch off you the rest of my life?” Daisy spit back.

Jemma recoiled. “I thought you would at least tell me that you were thinking of moving across the country. What am I supposed to do? Quit my job and follow you at a moment’s notice? Or were you just going to leave and not even talk to me about it?”

“I thought you’d be excited! This is a great job and I’d finally be pulling my own weight,” Daisy shouted, more confused than angry.

“Without me!” Jemma yelled, “We’re in a relationship. We’re supposed to talk about things like this together. Why did you hide this from me?”

“I didn’t…I didn’t actually think I would get it, I just wanted to see what would happen,” Daisy said. “What do you want me to do? Not take the job?”

“Yes! No. I—” Jemma huffed. “I don’t know, I just…I need a minute.”

She stalked off to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Daisy groaned and thumped her head against the wall. Eventually, she shuffled over to the answering machine and replayed the message to write down the call-back number.

Daisy hung around the kitchen and nibbled on a fingernail nervously. She and Jemma had never had a fight like that before. Sure, they occasionally fought about little things, like Daisy leaving paint lying around or Jemma stealing Daisy’s leftovers late at night. Those were insignificant and usually ended in sex, so they weren’t too bad.

But nothing like this. Daisy wasn’t used to people sticking around after a fallout and kept waiting for Jemma to charge out of the bedroom with a packed bag and leave forever.

But that wasn’t Jemma. And Daisy wasn’t about to let what they had fall apart over this. Not after everything they’d been through.

She gave Jemma a few more minutes of alone time and tiptoed over to the bedroom door. She tapped gently on it, but got no response.

“Jem? Can I come in?” Daisy asked tentatively. After a few seconds with no response, Daisy was preparing herself to sleep on the couch, when a whispered 'yes’ filtered through the door.

Jemma was curled up on her side on the bed, facing away from Daisy. The occasional muffled sniffles told Daisy that Jemma had been crying and it broke her heart.

She slipped into the bed behind Jemma and slowly scooted herself next to her. When she wasn’t forcibly shoved away like she was expecting, she curled up around Jemma and rested her hand on Jemma’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy whispered, “I really wasn’t trying to hide it. I just…wasn’t thinking. I’m still not used to this 'serious relationship’ thing, I guess.” Daisy nudged closer to Jemma’s back and rested her head in the crook of her neck. “I’ll call them back first thing and let them know I can’t take the job,” she mumbled.

Jemma sighed and rolled over to face Daisy. “I don’t want that. I’m sure it’s a great job and I know you’ve been wanting to get out of this city. I only wish this wasn’t the first time I had heard about it.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Jemma whispered, “But, now we can deal with this. Together.”

Daisy nodded. “Agreed.”

She leaned forward and kissed Jemma gently, and then smiled to herself.

“Hey, Jemma,” she muttered.

“Hm?”

“We just survive our first big fight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They kept their promise to each other to deal with the new job situation together. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as seamless at Daisy would have hoped. Jemma couldn’t get away from the work she was doing for the university until at least the end of the semester, and then still had to find a job in New York City. So far, her hunt had hit a dead-end.

Daisy, however, couldn’t put off the start of her job and would have to move without her. As much as it would kill them to be apart for so long, they would have to make it work for now. They both promised each other that it wouldn’t end like the last time they were separated.

Daisy found a small apartment that she could afford on her single salary for now, and threw herself straight into work for a graphic design company that contracted out artists to client companies. The work was mind-numbing at times and she called Jemma nearly every night to complain about her thickheaded clients, but she was at least doing work she enjoyed and had many opportunities in New York to find an audience for her art.

Jemma continued to work at the university laboratory, apply for research-based positions in New York, and coordinate with Daisy when they would have a free weekend to visit one another.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jemma’s phone rang early one morning while she was eating breakfast. Well, it was a reasonable hour for herself, but for most of the population, it was early. It was especially early for Daisy, who’s name was the one that popped up on caller ID.

“Hello?” Jemma greeted.

“Hey.” Daisy sounded breathless on the other line. “Remember how we talked about you having a free weekend coming up? I really think you should come up here.”

“Alright, why the urgency, though?” Jemma replied.

Daisy was quiet for a moment and seemed to be catching her breath. “I got a gig at a gallery! I get to use the entire gallery to display some of my projects!”

“Daisy, that’s wonderful!”

“I know! This is gonna be such a great opportunity. All the best people are gonna be at the opening,” Daisy rambled. “So can you make it?”

“I’ll book my plane ticket immediately.”

The silence on the other line didn’t concern Jemma, because Daisy was probably just fist-pumping the air.

“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to see you,” Daisy finally responded. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few phone more phone calls later and they pinned down the details for the trip. Jemma’s flight was getting in the morning of the gallery opening, so she and Daisy would have some time to explore the city together.

The minute she landed and turned her phone back on, their plans were upended by a text from Daisy.

Super super sorry, but I can’t get out of work til later :( I left a key under the mat at my apartment so you can drop your stuff and nap. Sry ily

Jemma huffed, but understood and went to gather her things at baggage claim. When she went to hail a cab, she notice a nicely dressed man standing near the exit holding a sign that read Jemma Simmons.

Jemma frowned and approached him. At least Daisy spared her from having to trek through New York City with all of her bags.

“Mrs. Simmons, I presume?” the man asked.

“Miss, but yes,” she replied, adjusting her bags.

The man smiled. “My mistake. Can I grab your bags for you?”

The driver loaded her things into a sleek black car and opened the rear door for her to enter.

Once on the road, Jemma couldn’t help but ogle everything she drove past. The massive buildings sparkled in the morning sun and every variety of cafe seemed tucked into the lower floors of them. Cars choked the streets, allowing Jemma plenty of time to stare and memorize the source of every mouth-watering smell that she wanted Daisy to take her to.

Even more than the cars, was the sheer amount of people, bustling this way and that. How they could even move with some many people cramming the sidewalks was a miracle.

They passed through Times’ Square and the blinding lights from every corner dazed her momentarily.

They finally pulled up to Daisy’s apartment building, which Jemma recognized from the pictures she had sent when she first moved in. It was nothing compared to the glitz and glamor of the center of the city, but it seemed cozy enough.

The driver unloaded Jemma’s things for her onto the sidewalk and bid her a good day. Jemma rifled through her purse for some cash to give him a tip, but he had returned to the car and sped off before she could find it.

Strange, Jemma thought, but, then again, Daisy is always saying how weird New Yorkers are.

Jemma shrugged and headed towards the elevator.

Sure enough, a small key was tucked under the welcome mat in front of Daisy’s apartment. It still had enough of Daisy’s form of personalization scattering the floor and stuck to the walls to remind Jemma with a pang of their shared apartment. Jemma called Daisy’s name, hoping she would have made it home by now, but found the apartment empty.

She grumbled to herself, a bit annoyed that Big City Girl Daisy couldn’t seem to spare any time for her girlfriend who she dragged up to see her. She tossed her things in a corner in Daisy’s bedroom and headed to the kitchen to find a snack. A small piece of folded paper was propped up on the counter when she got there. Jemma snatched it and found another apology, but this one included cash.

Dear Jemma, sorry again I’m flaking out. I have a few more things to wrap with the gallery before the opening tonight. Here’s some cash so you can get yourself a nice lunch. There’s a diner two blocks down that you might like. The Wi-Fi password is Alhambra.

Also, I included a bit extra so you can go down to the boutique on 7th and get something nice to wear tonight. You get to be my arm candy after all ;) See you tonight. Sry and ily.

Daisy

Jemma rolled her eyes. She wasn’t really interested in seeing the sights in New York alone, but she probably should get a nicer dress for the evening. She had a feeling that 'nice’ was a different standard at a New York gallery opening than anything in Jemma’s college town. She snatched the cash and the spare key and headed back out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite what Jemma told herself, she did go see some of the attractions near Daisy’s apartment. She found a nice souvenir stand where she bought herself a mini Statue of Liberty magnet and a foam hat that she was going to make Daisy wear everywhere tomorrow. Then she headed down to the boutique that Daisy had mentioned to find a nice outfit.

She picked out a flattering sparkly dress that, normally, she would never buy for herself, but she wanted to impress the people coming to see Daisy. If it made Daisy drool over her and regret leaving her alone all day, that was just a bonus.

When it got close to the start of the event, Jemma was fully dressed and made up and Daisy was still nowhere to be found. Jemma was starting to worry that something might have happened to her, when her phone buzzed with another message from Daisy.

Hey things got crazy so I’ve got to stay at the gallery until it opens. There will still be a car by the apartment to come pick you up at 6:30.

Jemma frowned and typed back, Did you just have plans with your new girlfriend all day?

Jemma was mostly joking, but the lack of response way worrying. Sure, she figured Daisy was busy with the gallery and all, but it wasn’t like Daisy to be so cagey.

The car pulled up in front of the building at 6:30 on the dot, with the same driver who picked her up from the airport. He held the car door open for her, told her she looked 'ravishing,’ and then hopped in the driver’s seat.

The drive was mostly silent, with Jemma being too grumpy to initiate conversation and the driver too occupied with not crashing into every person who cut them off.

The gallery they pulled to a stop in front of was small, which Jemma expected. What she hadn’t expected was the dimness of the light filtering through the windows facing the street. Inside, Jemma could see a few small spotlights pointed at framed works on the wall that were much smaller than what Daisy usually created.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Jemma asked the driver.

He just nodded with a smile. “Daisy’s waiting for you inside.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Jemma was expecting a bit more fanfare about a gallery opening, even one this small, but there didn’t appear to be anyone here yet.

She pushed through the door and strode into the gallery, her slightly uncomfortable heels clicking loudly on the wood floors. She peered around corners looking for Daisy, or really any other person, but didn’t see anyone, so she paced around and looked at Daisy’s art.

Then, Jemma was more confused. Everything framed and stuck to the walls was just doodles on the back of a receipt of a gum wrapper. It wasn’t the kind of work that would normally be put up in a gallery.

“Do you like them?” a familiar voice called out behind her.

Jemma spun around and saw Daisy, dressed to the nines, slowly walking towards her.

“I…I guess. I’m just a little confused,” Jemma admitted. “And where is everyone? I thought you said everyone important would be here.”

“They are,” Daisy replied, her eyes fixed solely on Jemma. “Let me show you around.” This wouldn’t be the first time Daisy had to explain the intricacies of her art to Jemma. Just like Daisy took awhile to grasp microscopic biochemical processes, Jemma was not adept at interpreting art.

Daisy just smiled. “Don’t you recognize them?”

Jemma furrowed her brow. Why would she recognize doodles on gum wrappers? Daisy guided her back to the one by the door. It was a crumpled gum wrapped that had been laid flat with two poorly-drawn stick figure girls sitting in desks speaking. There was a tiny plaque under it with the title First Words.

It still wasn’t any clearer to Jemma, so Daisy took her hand and walked to the next one. This one was a lined piece of paper, clearly ripped out of a notebook, that had the same two girls at a long table, but one had some red scribble in her mouth and was titled Spaghetti Challenge. Jemma chuckled, since that one reminded her of the time in high school where Daisy had been dared to cram an entire spaghetti order into her mouth.

Daisy moved onto the next one and the pattern started to dawn on Jemma. The picture was on another gum wrapper and featured a small blue car and one of the girls leaving in it. The background was a wide road that faded into the distance where there was a big castle labelled College. The other girl had a small broken heart above her head. Daisy scratched her ear nervously and moved onto the next wall.

There was apparently quite a time skip here and the art style drastically improved. This one was drawn on a scrap of the same sturdy paper Daisy left lying around their apartment all the time for her class projects. It was a doodle of the two girls, which now that they had more fleshed out features, Jemma could tell were herself and Daisy, hugging in a café while another figure (presumably Bobbi) stole their food.

The next was a situation that Jemma recognized as one of their Friday movie nights in Daisy’s and Bobbi’s dorm, but she didn’t recognize the exact context. There seemed to be an astronaut sitting next to Jemma and Daisy was throwing tiny daggers at him. It was labelled Jealousy.

Jemma shot Daisy a curious look, but she just grinned and walked on.

The one that followed was obviously a focal point, with its multiple spotlights and larger frame. This one was also ripped out of a sketchbook, but it was a larger page and contained more detail. The simple, stick-figure style was the same but it had a light colored pencil gradient sketched into the sky above the two girls in a pool in an open field. Some flecks of white paint made up the stars accompanied by a single streak of white for a meteor. The plague underneath read Best Meteor Shower Ever. Jemma smirked at the memory.

The pattern continued. Sketches of Daisy and Jemma’s first date, second date, third date, that time Daisy made Jemma think she had gruesomely injured herself while making spaghetti, rendered in gory detail with vicious strokes of a red pen, the time Jemma made Daisy snort soda out of her nose with a particularly bad pun. Every landmark of their relationship scratched out in minimalist form on the backs of gum wrappers, receipts, take-out menus, etc. Basically, anything Daisy could get her hands on at the time.

Jemma circled the gallery in awe. Daisy had kept these scraps of memories for years, almost a decade in some cases, and documented everything.

Jemma circled back to the beginning of the display and noticed a solitary frame in the middle of the back wall. There were multiple spotlights aimed at this one lonely picture, as well as one pointed at the floor a few feet away. Jemma moved closer to the tiny scrap framed on the wall so she could see the detail.

It was on a gum wrapped that was pressed so flat, all the creases had been carefully ironed out. The two girls were again the main feature.

One was standing in the middle of an art gallery looking shocked.

The other was in front of her, down on one knee.

Jemma gasped and whirled around. She hadn’t noticed Daisy drop her hand or leave her side, but she slipped away while Jemma was entranced with reliving their memories.

Now, Daisy knelt in the middle of the strategically placed spotlight, with a small velvet box in her shaking hands. Daisy pulled a smirk, but Jemma could tell it was wavering and she was cripplingly nervous.

Daisy opened and closed her mouth a few times before frowning amusedly at herself. “You know, I had this whole romantic spiel planned out once I got to this point, but…I kinda just forgot the whole thing.” Her eyes sparkled with happy tears. “And you crying definitely isn’t helping.”

Jemma hadn’t even realized that she had tears rolling down her cheeks. She gave a watery laugh and stepped towards Daisy.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, you know,” Jemma teased.

Daisy chuckled. “I know. But with all the crap we’ve been through, the one thing I’ve known the whole time, without a doubt…is that you and I belong together.”

That was it for Jemma. The tears flowed even more freely down her face as she threw her arms around Daisy’s neck. Daisy huffed a short laugh, but Jemma could tell from the dampness on her shoulder that Daisy was crying too.

“So, is that a yes?” Daisy muttered into Jemma’s neck.

Jemma laughed breathlessly. “Of course it’s a yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wise men say, only fools rush in.

But I can’t help falling in love with you.

The minute the first chords of the song played, Daisy hoisted up the front of her dress and squeezed through the crowd toward Jemma. Jemma was sprawled out across two chairs at the 'in-laws’ table, her bare feet propped up on one and her discarded high heels tucked underneath it. Any other time, Daisy would have stopped just to watch her giggling into her glass of champagne with her family around her—now Daisy’s family as well, she realized with a jolt—but right now, she was on a mission.

“Can I steal you for a dance?” Daisy asked, extended a hand to Jemma. Jemma turned her flushed face towards Daisy and beamed. She set her glass down on the table and rose to meet Daisy with more grace than Daisy was expecting, given the amount of champagne Jemma had already consumed. Still, she took Daisy’s hand and strolled out to the center of the dance floor beside her.

Like a river flows surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Somethings are meant to be

Take my hand, and take my whole life, too

The standard hold for a partner dance was too distant for both Daisy and Jemma’s tastes, so they smushed the combined bulk of both of their white dresses together and held each other in a hug-like embrace while they swayed on the floor. All the practice they had done in Daisy’s cramped apartment the preceding weeks was unnecessary. It didn’t matter how they looked or how well they could waltz.

All that mattered was that Daisy now could hold Jemma, her wife, as tight as she wanted and nothing was going to take her away. As Daisy glanced out the windows of the banquet hall, over the bright city lights that glistened off every surface, Daisy started to understand why Jemma loved this sappy song.

So won’t you please

Take my hand, and take my whole life, too.

'Cause I can’t help falling in love

In love with you

'Cause I can’t help

Falling in love

With

You.

The End.

#strangegameprofessor #skimmons #bioquake #jemma simmons/daisy johnson #can't help falling in love #Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.#fluff #like super fluff

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