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uwingdispatch · 7 months

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From the Very First Night

Notes: Ezra Bridger/Reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, post-rebellion/post-war, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader

CW: light discussion of past traumas/implied PTSD

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

The day you met Ezra Bridger you laughed when he told you his name.

“Forgive me,” you told him, “but you’re not the first man on Lothal to try and pick me up while claiming to be the guy in the mural on the wall outside.”

“Well that’s new,” he said. “I tell you my full government name and you think it’s a ruse. Maybe I should have used one of my old aliases.”

You’d been finishing up some work in what had come to be your favorite caf bar in town, a few blocks from your home on Lothal. And you were thinking about leaving when a man approached with a look in his eyes that, on another day, might have prompted you to pick up your comms and fake an emergency call from a friend.

But now he was reaching for his wallet, pulling out an ID. “You can check my chain code if you want. I didn’t realize I had so many doppelgängers.”

You quirked an eyebrow. None of the other “Ezras” you’d met had offered ID but, as soon as you saw it, you felt heat rush to your cheeks. “Okay,” you said. “This is embarrassing. ”

He smiled warmly as he put his wallet away. “To be fair, most of the stuff in town depicts me as a kid, and I didn’t have this handsome beard back then. But I can appreciate a skeptic.”

You put away your datapad, your instincts still split between staying where you were and running out the side door. Surprising yourself, you say, “But I’m not hearing you say that you're not trying to pick me up.”

“Well…maybe. That depends, I guess, on whether you mind if I join you.”

You nodded, and he sat opposite you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling when he smiled. Up close, you could almost see the teenage boy from the mural. But his hair was longer, dark curls falling soft around his face, and he had a short beard that he did wear quite well.

You wondered if his nerves had caught up with him as he ran a hand through his hair, the late afternoon light coming in through the window catching a streak of silver at his temple.

“Sometimes it feels like I know everyone in this city. Or at least that everyone in this city feels like they know me.” he said. “But you’re new, aren’t you?”

“What gave me away?” you asked.

“Well, I could never forget such a lovely face.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“I really am.”

There was something sincere about him, despite the flirtations. Something about the way he moved was honest. Welcoming. A server brought him a cup of caf and Ezra exchanged a few words with him in Rodian.

“So how long have you been in town?” He asked.

“About eight months,” you said. “I just hit this point where I felt like a fresh start might be nice. I don’t usually abandon ship when things get rough, but I thought maybe this one time…I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

He winked. “I used a Jedi mind trick.”

“Right,” you said, fairly certain he was kidding.

He shrugged. “And somehow you landed on Lothal.”

“I narrowed it down to the places where I’d be able to have my astromech serviced.”

“Must be a special astromech.”

“She’s a therapy droid.”

“Ah,” he said. “There are several mechanics in Capital City who work with that program.”

You were a bit taken aback at how unfazed he was at the mention of your therapy droid—issued by the New Republic. Similar programs had been available to injured veterans before, but the civilian program was newer. And he not only knew about the program, but didn’t seem bothered by the fact that you had a condition that required this kind of aid.

“We had a lot of options,” you said. “But Ceetoo and I decided Lothal seemed nice. So…I’m here.”

“Glad you are,” he said, both hands cupping his caf mug.

“You just met me and the first thing I did was call you a liar.”

“That’s what I like about you.”

A day would come when you’d realize what he meant then. That when you saw him you weren’t thinking about all the war stories, about the way Lothal had memorialized him when they’d thought he was dead. That he had a chance, at least for a moment, to show someone who he was without the burden of their assumptions and expectations.

You would also come to realize that from the first time Ezra smiled at you, there was no coming back. He had you, melting like chocolate in the palm of his hand. Because he saw you too, like no one else ever had before.

***

It’s late afternoon when C2-B35 comes in from the garage bleeping about the line at the pharmacy. She’d gone with Ezra to pick up your medication after getting your doctor to call in something new for your joint pain. Ezra could have gone by himself but, because of an incident early in your dating history when there’d been a mix-up, Ceetoo almost always insists on going with him—and he learned a long time ago not to fight a stubborn astromech.

Ezra finds you on the sofa where you’ve been trying to relax, the pain in your back making it hard to even lie still. He knows better by now than to tell you that you’ve been working too hard, that you should take more breaks. He knows to help you up, taking you gently into his arms and kissing your hair. By the time he hands you the tablets, you’re already feeling a bit of relief.

You take the medicine and let out a heavy sigh, resting your head on Ezra’s chest before whispering a thank you.

“I wish I could heal,” he says.

“We still don’t know if that kind of healing would help me,” you say. “Genetic condition.”

It’s a dance you dance every time you have a flare like this, bad enough that Ceetoo insists on contacting your doctor.

“I met a kid once who could do it. His dad said he could nullify the effects of a neurotoxin. Close a wound like it had never been there at all.”

“What did the kid say about it?”

“The kid doesn’t talk much. Still working through some things, I think.”

He gets quiet, and from the look in his eyes you know that he’s gone somewhere in his mind lost you can’t follow. It’s been 25 years since he last saw his adoptive father, the man who’d trained him in the Force, and there are some wounds that time never quite heals. Ezra is still working through some things, too.

“Hey,” you say. “Come back to me.”

He smiles, his eyes bright as he gently squeezes your arm. “I’m right here, sunshine.”

The medication starts to hit, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You reach for his face, the sharp line of his bearded jaw, the parallel scars on his left cheek. “Just as you are, you’re enough, Ezra. I don’t need a Jedi. I just need you.”

C2-B35 beeps irritably before retiring to her room, reminding you that you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

“Thank you, Ceetoo,” you call, with a promise that you’ll have a proper dinner.

“Is it helping?” Ezra asks. “The medicine?”

“It is,” you say. “Finally.”

“Have you really not eaten all day?”

Your face tells him everything.

“Right,” he says. “Dinner. I could make some quick dumplings? I think I froze some last time to fry later…I’d just have to make the sauce, really.”

He’s up and in the kitchen, pulling jars of spices out of the pantry, and you know he can already taste this comfort dish, and so can you.

So much of his life had been unstable after Ezra’s parents disappeared. He was on his own at such a young age, and then after a few short years in the Rebellion he ended up in exile on Peridea. Now, everything he had felt like a luxury to him: a permanent home, a pair of naughty indoor loth-cats, soft clothes he wore without consideration for armor. He’d told you about learning to cook when he came back to Lothal and, now that he has access to just about any ingredient for any dinner in the galaxy, he has every intention of not only enjoying the luxury of any hot meal he can dream up, but to make sure you enjoy food as well. When Ezra offers to cook, you never say no.

“Ezra?”

“What do you need, love?”

“I need you to kiss me.”

And he does, pulling you up from the sofa, taking your face in his hands as he presses his lips to yours, his neatly trimmed beard soft against your skin. You’re lacing your fingers through his dark curls when he pulls away to look right into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whisper.

And he replies, “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

***

It was night before you left the caf bar and, at this realization, Ezra insisted on walking you home. “Unless you don’t feel comfortable with that,” he’d said. “I would understand. It’s just dark out and…”

And something about being with Ezra just made you feel safe. Even on that first night. You’d never let a strange man walk you home before—it was on its face a bad idea. But you’d stayed out much later than you normally would, and the idea of being alone felt far more unsafe than being with this charming man.

“I don’t normally do things like this,” you told him, the words coming out way too fast, just a block from your building.

“I figured,” he said. “For what it’s worth…I haven’t done anything like this in quite a while.

This did surprise you. “Walked someone home?”

There was a playful tone to his voice when he replied, “Approached a beautiful stranger in a caf bar.”

“You sure are bold for someone who doesn’t regularly…do whatever this is.”

“I just…” he started and paused, taking a breath. “This is going to sound like a line, but I just felt so drawn to you.”

“In the Force?”

“Maybe.”

“It does sound like a line,” you said. “But somehow I believe you. Jedi mind trick?”

“I’d never actually—”

“I know.”

You were both standing outside your door, a cool evening breeze in the air. You took all of him in—his firm chest beneath the deep v of his tunic, his dark hair catching on the wind, those blue eyes that seemed to see right past all of your walls. You’d met this man just a few hours ago but, beyond all reason, you so wanted to—

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, the words falling from his lips as if he hadn’t considered the consequences.

You nodded and he took a step closer, cupping your face in his hands, his nose brushing yours as he leaned in to press the most delicate kiss to your lips. And you felt his smile just as you felt that joy in yourself—a spark of something unlike anything you’d felt before. Maybe it was the Force, but every inch of your being wanted to be close to this man as you reached for his face, drawing him nearer, slipping a hand into his hair as the kiss deepened.

“I should go,” Ezra said, breathless into your ear.

“Why?” you asked.

“I have an appointment.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Then stay.”

Nervously you fumbled with your keys, dropping them not once but twice as you tried to open your door, Ezra eventually placing them steadily into your hand, and just the touch of his fingertips against your palm sent a pleasant shiver through you. Quickly you shooed an alarmed Ceetoo away as you entered. Unlike you, her memories included files from the war, and she recognized Ezra as soon as she saw him. Beeped out something along the lines of this one’s mostly trustworthy and I’m going to charge.

“Mostly?” Ezra said, almost in a whisper. “I wonder what she’s heard.”

You bite back a laugh. “I just need you to know I don’t normally do this either.”

“Okay.”

“I could make some tea.”

“Sure.”

But his arms were around you again and you both stumbled toward the sofa, falling into the cushions wrapped in each other like teenagers, wholly unworried about anything else in the galaxy.

That tea didn’t get made for hours. And it was nearly dawn when you retired to your bedroom and Ezra fell asleep on your sofa, your loth-cat sitting at his feet. When you woke, he was gone, a note left on your kitchen counter: Had to work this morning, but I hope you’ll call me. You traced your finger over the comms code left in scratchy handwriting below, wondering for a split second if this could be real. But if you closed your eyes you could still feel the sensation of his fingertips ghosting over your cheek when you’d handed him a blanket the night before. His voice when he’d whispered in your ear, “Sleep well, sunshine.”

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! They really gave us Hot!Ezra in the Ahsoka series and I'm just here to be a gremlin about it. I hope this fic made you feel seen and loved.

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#middle-aged ezra bridger #ezra bridger #ezra bridger x reader #ezra bridger x gn reader #ezrabridger x gn!reader #adult ezra bridger #ahsoka series #ahsoka series fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars rebels #and a loth-cat because I can #disabled reader #chronic illness #hurt/comfort #just a little domestic fluff #and a first meeting #comfort reads #the fluffiest fluff

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 3 years

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Some People Wrap Their Lies Around a Cocktail Glass | Damian Wayne

And You Sit Wondering Where You’re Going to Turn

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 3.3k

✦ fake dating AU

✦ summary — you need to cover up the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you a week before your step-father’s Christmas party, and Damian needs a date for his father’s New Year’s ball. Both of you are experts at pretending, what could go wrong?

✦ warnings — some angst, mentions of food, Damian and reader are neighbors, a little bit of awkwardness, sprinkles of fluff.

✦ mini series masterlist

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Every time your phone buzzed, you hoped it was him. Such a naive and sick logic, one of a teenager waiting for her crush to text back, was nothing compared with the sobering truth.

Your ex-boyfriend was your ex for a reason. And you would have to face the music on your own.

Your mother was going to be disappointed. Not more than you were. Travis had been a good boyfriend, goofy and nice. He hadn’t been the gentlest person in the world, but you learned to accept that he wasn’t perfect.

You could have fallen for him if he had given you enough time.

Your cellphone rang and the fact that it hadn’t buzzed startled you. A handful of people called you instead of texting you, yet you didn’t have to look at the caller ID to know who it was.

That was your luck. What a horrible week. And it was only Monday noon.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded to yourself and swiped your finger against the screen to take the call. “How is everything going?” you softly greeted your mother.

She sighed. “I will be relieved when the planning is over.” She changed the subject, “Did your boyfriend clear his schedule?”

You breathed out a small laugh. “He did,” you lied. Not even sure if Travis had truly wanted to attend, you lied some more, “He’s excited to meet you.”

“We are excited too. Your uncle said he won’t believe it until he sees it.”

You and him both. As she told you about every guest she was skeptical about showing up, you mentally went through your list of feeble romantic relationships.

Jordan was in town, you had heard about them a few days ago. But asking them to be your date out of nowhere would be embarrassing when the last thing they knew about you was that you were happy in a new relationship.

Liam’s bright blue eyes came to your mind, and you almost had the answer. You hooked up a couple of times after breaking up, and you were friendly enough for you to feel comfortable telling him the truth. The problem was that your mother hated Liam.

The list continued getting shorter and shorter, your anxiety levels higher and higher. You shouldn’t have lied to your mother, but pride was a marvelous and twisted thing and you shared such a stupid little thing with her.

“Have you spoken to your father?” she asked, unbeknownst to her only adding to the pile of regrets and worries.

“Brianna said he’s out of town.”

Your mother grunted. It was clear that both of you knew Brianna had lied. “Well, you’ll see him for New Year’s.”

“I suppose, yes.”

She said your name sternly. “He’s your father.”

He didn’t act like he was. “He hasn’t called in weeks,” you explained. “I am not sure he wants to see me.”

”Your father is a busy man,” she told you. It was like a reflex to her, excusing him even though she had divorced him when you were eight.

Adults and their busy lives, wrapped in their lies and inane promises. You had really tried to be different, but caving in was too easy. What a mess.

“I have to leave you,” she lamented. You could hear that she meant it by the emotion that seeped into her voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have a nice day,” you wished her, voice trembling as anxiety fully kicked in.

The moment the line clicked, you dropped your cellphone onto the sofa. Sniffing, you walked into your bedroom in search of a hair tie.

You needed to keep your hands busy so you could come up with something to say. Or somebody to date.

════════════════════════

Damian’s scrutinizing gaze greeted you as he opened the door. You analyzed his stance and attire, trying to assess whether you had interrupted anything or not.

He stepped back without taking his eyes off you, hand still on the door handle. His hair was damp, and he looked extremely comfortable, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He would also have looked approachable if his eyes weren’t so sharp.

“Are you coming in or not?”

You reacted, extending your arms to offer a container to him. “I made cookies earlier.”

He looked down at the container in your grasp, then back up at your face. “Get inside.”

You stepped into Damian’s apartment, used to the minimalistic style that you secretly wished you had chosen for your own place.

At the same time, you liked your apartment. Your mother helped you decorate, and she had impeccable taste.

He placed the cookies onto the coffee table, motioning for you to sit.

Sitting down, you watched him do the same just in front of you. His gaze was still sharp, but he waited for you to speak.

When you didn’t, he said, “I know you bake when you’re stressed.”

“It calms me.”

“You baked a pie two days ago. In the middle of the night.”

“And it was good,” you said immediately. “Right?”

He nodded. “Delicious,” he assured you. “Yet I can’t help but worry.”

You gripped your hair, exhaling harshly. “Holiday stuff.”

“Did you finally come to terms with the fact that all those ornaments look awful?”

“They do not,” you said, quite offended. You had spent an entire weekend decorating the living room. Sighing at the memory of choosing Christmas decorations and ornaments with your now ex-boyfriend, you explained your problem, “Travis broke up with me this past Saturday, and I don’t know how to tell my mother.”

Confusion was clear in Damian’s features. You had expected a comment about how you could find someone better, but not this.

“He was going to attend Leonard’s Christmas party with me.”

Leonard was your step-father. Your mother married him when you were a pre-teen and since then you had never skipped one of his parties or events.

He was the only reason why your mother and you were rich, and your biological father hated you for choosing him.

Money hadn’t been the reason why you took a liking to Leonard, although having everything you wanted and needed was nice, but your father wouldn’t have understood even if he tried.

Damian lifted an eyebrow. You could tell he wished you were joking.

“Too soon, I know.”

“I’m just shocked you planned to take him from all people to such event.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You met him on a dating app and your first date was at a bar,” he reminded you as though that explained everything. Your semblance must’ve shown skepticism because he added, “You are not supposed to take somebody like him to your family’s house unless you hate your family.”

“A lot of people do that and their relationships succeed.”

Damian inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Does Travis even own a suit?”

“I was going to buy him appropriate clothes, a matching tie, get him a haircut... He hates formal attire.”

“I thought you liked your step-father.”

“I do. That’s why I was finally going to take somebody with me so people wouldn’t ask him why I’m always single and make him uncomfortable.”

He hummed, nodding slowly. “So you wanted him to try and explain why his step-daughter was dating a bad boy caricature. Very reasonable.”

“First of all, some bad guys are attractive. Have you seen The Phantom of The Opera?”

“You didn’t just insult Erik’s skills like that,” he said, offended.

“I’m not comparing him to Travis. It was an example.”

“A poor one at that unless Travis smells as bad as Erik.”

You shook your head. Damian was exaggerating when he said Travis was a bad boy caricature — apart from the fact that he loved wearing leather and sometimes took part in street races, he was a normal guy.

“Besides,” he continued, always eager to be right, “a bad boy and a bad guy aren’t the same thing. I thought you were literate in media.”

It seemed like he would never let go of the fact that you had switched careers when film school got unbearable.

“The point is,” you tried to go back to the topic at hand, “that it could have worked.”

“If you say so,” he said sarcastically. “You didn’t tell me what is it that Leonard usually says when people ask about your love life.”

“That I’m focused on my career or that I like to keep my private life separate from big events.”

Leonard had always been nice to you. He never planned to have children of his own, yet he never complained about you. From the day you met, he tried to befriend you, and eventually, he started to treat you as a daughter. He never made you call him dad unlike your father’s third wife who cried when you refused to call her mom — he never forced you to do anything.

Damian offered you a cookie, but you shook your head and he motioned for you to continue speaking as he took a cookie for himself.

“I lied to my mother earlier and I don’t know what I’m going to do or say, but I would rather eat my own foot than tell her my boyfriend chose to break up with me a week before the day he was supposed to meet her.”

Damian bit into the cookie, and you waited for a comment about how good or bad it was. He stared at you, brow twitching, before he once again made a movement with his hand so you would continue talking.

He knew you too well for your own good. And he also seemed to know that leaving you alone with your mind wasn’t such a good idea when you were in distress.

“I considered calling up an escort and have them pretend to be my partner, but I’m nervous,” you admitted, dropping your hands onto your lap for a second before moving them to rest on the couch, one at each of your sides. “What if that ruins it even more? Such a waste of money. And the embarrassment…”

He silently chewed, eyes focused on you. As he swallowed, he pinched his nose with his free hand. “I’ll do it.”

“You want to pay for the escort?”

Unamused, he clarified, “I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend.”

“I can’t ask that from you, Damian. You have your own events to attend! You said you would spend the holidays at your father’s house.”

He stayed silent, not taking his eyes off you. He then licked his bottom lip and said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll be your sweet and loving boyfriend in front of your family and Leonard’s acquaintances, and you’ll be my mysterious and charming girlfriend in front of my family and my father’s acquaintances.”

His offer was reasonable. Pretending was easy for you, meaningless. Leonard and your mother were always clear when they asked you to dress in certain ways or attend boring events — they weren’t expecting you to change, just to fool other people into thinking you were different.

They did the same, and that was enough for you.

Leonard’s smile was fake and tight in public when the only thing you could think about the smiles he gave you around the house was how warm they were.

Your mother was the opposite. You had seen her the happiest with Leonard, but she had always been rather cold as a person. In public, she was a lovely woman, always smiling and laughing.

“We can’t be in two places at once.”

“Father doesn’t celebrate Christmas publicly,” he explained blandly. “You just need to buy a new gown and cancel your plans for New Year’s.”

“For your father’s annual ball?”

“Exactly.”

“I can do that,” you assured him. Or yourself.

That night, as you stepped back into your apartment, you couldn’t help but make a face of disgust.

The ornaments were truly awful. You had gone overboard with everything — at the moment it had felt so good, laughing and drinking with Travis as you filled the living room with colors.

But that wasn’t your style. You didn’t even like colored Christmas lights.

════════════════════════

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t keep yourself from being nervous. The last time you took somebody to one of Leonard’s big parties had been awkward and uncomfortable, a high school boyfriend who was too eager to impress your family.

Everybody understood because teen relationships usually are awkward and over-the-top. Now you wouldn’t have an excuse, you were an adult with a job and so-called social skills.

The first one was spot on. You had a job, you loved your job — and you didn’t need a job so you never felt pressured.

Your social skills, however, worried you. It was the anxiety playing tricks with your confidence, you knew, yet you couldn’t do anything but indulge it.

A part of you wondered if you would be this nervous if Travis was the one accompanying you. Perhaps you would be in a worse estate, or perhaps he wouldn’t have allowed you to worry.

But you didn’t have time to think about the what if’s. The party would take place the next day.

Time had flown by, you had been busy buying gifts and attempting to wrap them while balancing work and your friends’ own Christmas celebrations.

As though he knew you were a ball of nerves, curled up on the couch with a blanket over your shoulders and hands around your fourth —or was it the fifth?— cup of coffee that evening, Damian knocked upon your door.

You weren’t surprised to see him. He had said you would need to go through a few details before Leonard’s party.

You had barely interacted with Damian throughout the week, but he had assured you he was ready. He even sent you a picture of the tie he bought for the party, wanting to make sure the color was the right one.

His eyes scanned the living room as he made himself comfortable. He didn’t make a comment about the new ornamentation, but the fact that he hadn’t scowled was a good sign.

“I assumed you would be baking in preparation.”

“I’m not that stressed.” You folded the blanket and rested it onto the arm of the couch. “Can I offer you something to drink? Water, coffee, tea, alcohol...”

He shook his head. “Thank you. So, you don’t bake for your family?”

“Oh! I do, but on other occasions. Birthdays, anniversaries...” You sighed, shrugging. “Private things.”

A few times your mother had encouraged you to bake your father a birthday cake, but he rarely spent his birthday in town so that was even rarer.

“Have you already made our story up?”

“I suppose we should stick to the truth for the most part. Neighbors, then friends, and then...”

“Are you going to awkwardly tell your mother you’re dating me or are you just messing with me?”

”it’s hard for me to lie to my mother,” you explained, abashed. “It’s even worse if I have her in front of me.”

Damian stood up and opened an arm. “Come here.”

“I don’t need you to comfort me.”

He scoffed. “I’m not trying to comfort you. Come.”

You stood in front of him, looking down at his hand. “You want me to take it?”

“No. Well, perhaps...” He pensively looked at your form. “We have never been close physically.”

It had escaped you that you would need to touch him in order for your relationship to be believable. “So we’re going to practice.”

He hummed. “I’ll have my arm around you for most of the night,” he emphasized.

You stood beside him, expecting him to rest his arm behind your neck. Damian placed his palm on your upper back first, tentative.

His hand slowly slid up, tracing your shoulder blade. As he wrapped his arm around both your shoulders, he grunted.

Turning to look at him, you asked, “What?”

“It’s rather awkward to walk around in this position.”

“Okay,” you breathed out. “So?”

He slanted his head to face you. “Waist or hip?”

You considered the question, thinking about the way your dress would fall down your body. “Which one do you think would look better?”

“I have no clue.”

At least he was honest. Moving his hand off your shoulder, you lightly took it in your grasp. “Let’s stand in front of the mirror.”

Damian didn’t withdraw his hand from yours as you guided him into your bedroom. He curiously stared at the walls, quickly glancing at everything his eyes could fall onto.

He knew so much yet so little about you... you were friends, yes, and he trusted you with things he had never even imagined he would say out loud. At the same time, he was still getting used to his new life.

It wasn’t drastically different, but it was freeing in ways he never expected. With his new life came you, and he was astonished over the fact that you hadn’t met before when you had been forced to frequent the same places. Your presence was refreshing — welcomed from the very beginning.

Damian blinked rapidly. Getting reflective over being at a friend’s bedroom for the first time was new, too.

Standing in front of the mirror, you let go of his hand. Damian surrounded your body with his arm, delicately resting his hand on your waist.

“Is that okay?” he asked, watching you through the mirror as you shifted.

“Yeah. You can lower your hand if you want.”

He did so, pressing his palm against your hip.

“I think,” you mumbled, “your hand on my hip accentuates my stomach a little too much.”

He slowly trailed his hand upward, stopping at your waist once again. “Like that?” he asked in a whisper.

“Like that,” you agreed.

The two of you stood there for a long moment, facing your reflections. You moved first, and regretted it as the temperature changed over your form.

You hadn’t realized Damian’s body was that warm.

Sitting down on your bed, you followed his movements with your eyes as he sat on your vanity’s chair.

“Speak your mind,” he commanded.

“What if Leonard doesn’t believe... us?”

“I believe he has attended a few of my father’s celebrations.” He was stiff as he spoke. “But,” he added, “I have never crossed paths with him.”

“At least he doesn’t hate you.”

“Has he hated people you’ve taken to his parties?”

“Mmmmh...” You tilted your head as you made yourself comfortable by crisscrossing your legs. “Not to one of his parties per se, but he hated the boyfriend I had in college. They had met before.”

Damian’s eyebrows shot up. “You only had one boyfriend in college?”

“No,” you laughed as you confessed, “but my family only met one.”

“I’m more worried about your mother.” He tried to be nonchalant as he said it, but it sounded like a confession too.

But you weren’t. Damian was easy to like. You would have worried if he had to meet your father — he always seemed to think the opposite your mother did. Your father would have told you not to date somebody more attractive than you, or mocked you for supposedly dating a rich guy too.

“Don’t mention her age and everything will go smoothly.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

You shrugged. “Just to be safe, assume I am not.”

He huffed a laugh, mouth twinging before he sighed.

As he stood up, you did too. Damian looked at the time just to be sure that he had to leave already and said, “I should let you get some sleep and get some rest of my own.”

Agreeing, you silently walked him towards the door. You wanted to thank him for doing this, ask if he was sure he was willing to not only do this for you but trust you with returning the favor.

Words didn’t come out of you. They did from him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Yeah, you would see him in the morning for what would probably be one of the longest days of your life.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x plus size reader #damian wayne

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obxhoe · 4 years

Note

I was wondering if you could maybe do a JJ x kook reader, where the reader is kinda stuck being with rafe because of family ties and this is the time JJ takes the blame for what pope did to toppers boat, and the reader pays it off anonymously because they have a crush on him?

a/n: HI!!!! This is like a month late I’m so sorry y’all but I have more stuff in the works now that I have more free time. I spun it a little like John B and Sarah have been together for a lil bit, so the timeline is a tad off from the show. It’s kinda all over the place so I’m sorry about that.

Word count: ~1.8k

Warnings: mention of drugs, some swearing, probably typos, nothing else really

Ever since Sarah started dating John B, you’ve been hanging out with the Pogues. Your skepticism, due to being a kook yourself, about hanging with the group quickly fizzled after just one day on the HMS Pogue. And almost everyday you’re with them, that is whenever you can get away from Rafe.

Ah. Rafe Cameron. King of the kooks. And your “boyfriend”, not necessarily by choice. You two had grown up together on Figure Eight and of course as soon as you two had entered the age where it was acceptable to date, both sets of parents threw you together. It was nice, at first. It was new, exciting and you got to spend time with one of your best friends. But as time went on, and as you matured, Rafe seemed to stay in his high school days. Drugs controlled his mood, he was never on time or forgot you had plans and had completely changed from who he used to be.

You tried to break things off but your parents begged you to give it one more chance, they just couldn’t lose their friendship with the Cameron family or tarnish their precious image. So you gave it one more chance, about ten or more times. Your relationship at this point consists of hooking up with no strings attached, going to family dinners and putting on an act.

Your time is mainly spent with the Pogues. Rafe absolutely hated it at first, but he realized he couldn’t stop you and his sister, so he gave up eventually. Your summer days consist of surfing, relaxing on the boat or causing trouble around town. The trouble coming mostly from the shaggy blonde, with the ocean blue eyes that you were absolutely, undeniably, in love with. Rafe gets with his fair share of girls now. It never really bothered you at all since you both had come to a mutual agreement that this so-called relationship was purely physical and just an act to satisfy your parents. So now you spend your days and nights sneaking around with JJ Maybank, only the pogues and Sarah knowing what’s really going on. Rafe knows you’re fucking other people, but he doesn’t know who. If he did, he would lose his shit.

You wake up to your phone ringing next to your bed. Rubbing your eyes, you see the caller ID state that it was Rafe. You sigh rolling your eyes, you just talked to him before you decided to nap due to the exhaustion engulfing you after working a 7 hour shift this morning.

“Is this a booty call?” You ask, flopping back on your bed.

“Y/N! Someone sunk Topper’s boat!” He yells. You sit up immediately, stomach sinking, having an idea of who could have done this.

“Wait what?” You stand up and start pacing around.

“The plug wasn’t put back in. Topper claims he remembered to put it back in, but he was also drinking the last time he was driving it. Probably those fucking pogues though.” He raises his voice. “I don’t understand why you and Sarah hang around them, they’re trash y/n.”

“Rafe…” You state, already getting annoyed. “I love gossip just as much as the next girl, but I was hoping this was either more important information or a booty call. And seeing that it’s not, I am going to go back to bed.”

“Whatever. Come over tonight then?” He asks.

“Yeah yeah, see you then” You huff and lay back down trying to sleep, but your mind won’t stop thinking about the incident. Part of you knew JJ could have done this, and another part of you denied that. You give up on trying to sleep, throw on a bathing suit and one of JJ’s giant tees and head over to the chateau.

You hop out of the car and walk around to the backyard of the chateau.

“Now if any kooks come up to you and ask if you had anything to do with it, you walk up to ‘em, look ‘em right in the eye” You hear JJ stop and Pope mumble something. “And deny. Deny. Deny.” he finishes. You stop in your tracks, your suspicions now proving to be true. Your phone goes off and you mentally curse yourself for not putting your phone on do not disturb.

“Y/n?” JJ runs over to you, his face lighting up.

“What were you guys just talking about?” You ask nervously.

“Um uh well. I-” Pope starts but JJ cuts him off.

“Just talking about trying to find the gold. In case any kooks find out, we can’t have them fucking it up for us, ya know?” JJ says. You nod, not believing a single word but too scared to push for any further answers.

“Well I gotta go back to work, I told my dad I would only be gone an hour or two.” Pope says, heading to the driveway. “Dinner tonight?”

“Yeah. Wait no fuck. I forgot I have a stupid family dinner thing I promised my parents I would go to.” You say, remembering you told Rafe you’d go over tonight. “Can we just come and hang out with you at work?”

“Yeah sure, I don’t care. Kie said she would help out today so she’ll probably be there by the time we get there” He says, and the two of you follow him.

You get to Heyward’s and not even 15 minutes after you arrive, chaos ensues.

“Hey Pope, someone here to see you” Heyward says, eyeing the boy almost as a warning.

“Evening officer.” He says, swallowing as his hands start to shake.

“I have an arrest warrant for felony destruction of property.” Shoupe orders, as the other officers step forward and grab him. You start screaming, following Heyward outside, JJ hot on your heels. Kie starts to sob, and everyone else starts to shout, confusion in the air around you. Pope looks as if he can’t breathe. His eyes looking lost. All of a sudden the screaming stops, and you hear one voice call out.

“It wasn’t him! it was me. He tried to talk me out of it. but I was mad because he’d just been beaten up. I was so sick of those assholes from figure eight that I lost my shit.” JJ turns to Pope. “I can’t let you take the blame for something that I did. You’ve got too much to lose.”

“JJ what are you doing?!” Pope hisses.

“I'm telling the truth. For once in my goddamn life, I’m gonna tell the truth. I took his old man’s boat too.”

“What the hell?” Heyward says from behind you.

“JJ come on” Pope pleads.

“Shut up Pope, shut up. He’s a good kid. “This was all me.” That was the last thing they said before they took him away. You didn’t notice you had started crying until you felt your tears roll down your neck. You feel a hand on your shoulder and see Heyward giving you the most sympathetic look. As much as he acts like JJ annoys the fuck out of him, you know that he loves JJ.

You, Pope and Kie stay outside as everyone else retreats to where they were before. You sink to the ground, hands covering your face.

“What do we do?’ You groan, wiping away the rest of your tears from your cheeks.

“I’m not sure we can do anything” Kie says.

“Well,” Pope starts “I mean in a perfect world we could pay off whatever his restitution would be. But Topper’s boat is expensive, like only the Kook-iest of Kooks can affor-”

“Pope, we know okay. That doesn’t help” Kie interrupts. You shoot up, an idea coming to your head. Deciding to keep it to yourself knowing that the two of them would immediately shut it down and call you crazy, you make an excuse to leave so you can execute your plan.

“I have to go guys. Get all socially acceptable and that shit for dinner with my family.” You start walking in the direction of your car. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” You call out. You get into the car, open the glove compartment and grab the checkbook. Luckily, you share your bank account with your very, very elderly grandparents, who are loaded. And never check the account ever. So no one will notice anything missing. Your parents won’t be able to see anything, no one will ever know, and you’ll be able to do it anonymously. You drive to the station and climb out the car, your hands sweaty and stomach nervous.

“I’m here for JJ. Uh Maybank.” You tell the lady at the front.

“Let me grab Shoupe” She gives you a judgemental look as she walks back.

“Y/n, didn’t expect to see you here. Everything okay? Parents good?” Shoupe says as he sips on some coffee.

“Yeah yeah everythings fine. Um I’m here for JJ” You say, fidgeting with your hands.

“Maybank?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m here to pay his restitution.”

“That’s $25,000 Y/n…” He puts his coffee down.

“Alright.” You grab a pen from the desk and start to write in the checkbook.

“Woah woah woah. Slow down. What will your parents think when they see 25k missing?”

“They won’t know. It’s not their account.” You finish filling out the check. “I would like to keep this anonymous please.” You hand it to him and walk out the door. You drive to the local market and sit in the parking lot, air conditioning cranked high and your favorite band blasting through the speakers and wait for him to call or text you.

------

“Maybank” Shoupe says, unlocking the cell that he was sitting in. “Your restitution has been paid, you’re free to go.”

“By who?” He shoots up, eyes wide.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Get out of here.” Shoupe commands.

------

Your ringtone interrupts the music and you groan as you reach for the phone hoping it’s from the only person you want to talk to right now. *JJ* flashes on the screen, with a photo of him shotgunning a beer.

“JJ?” You try to sound confused to avoid any suspicion.

“Y/n! I’m out! Someone paid my restitution. Shoupe wouldn’t tell me who but at this point I don’t care. Can you come get me please? Oh! And bring burgers and fries, jail makes you hungry.”

“JJ you were there for 2 hours, tops.” You laugh.

“Yeah and I’m starving. I’ll be waiting outside the station.” You hang up, pick up some food and head over to the station.

The moment he sees you his eyes light up.

“Hey beautiful.” He hops in the car and grabs your face, kissing you passionately. “I love you. You know that? I fucking love you.” You smile as the words leave his lips.

“I love you too J. Now eat up.” You throw him the bag of food and drive off to the Chateau, texting Rafe that something had come up. You’ll come up with an explanation as to how you got out of your “family dinner” for Pope and Kie. Tonight, you’re putting JJ first.

#jj #JJ Imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj obx #obx #jj outer banks #outer banks

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fandomanxiety-library · 3 years

Text

The Groundbreaker - Chapter Two

The Outer Worlds Fic

Captain Dottie X Maximillian Desoto & Captain Dottie X Felix Millstone

Author’s Note: The title was wrong- it said three instead of two. I fixed the error, sorry for the inconvenience!

-------------------------------

The delinquent’s tossball stick made contact with the other man’s head, and the man stumbled back in pain. The younger man swung his stick again, landing another blow to the head that sent the man flying to the floor with a thud.

“Next time you'll believe me when I tell you that you should shut up!” He roared at the unconscious man, and he felt his clothes bunch up from someone’s grasp.

He was whirled around by a man in dark, night colored, armored man who was ready to sock him in the jaw.

“Hey! You let go of him!”

Ah, thank the Law for the mardets...

“This half-wit just knocked out one of my workers!” The man shouted at her, and she glared at Felix.

“Felix, we told you to cut this out!”

Felix wasn't listening as he spotted a woman stroll from a nice looking ship along with two of what he assumed, companions. A very cranky looking man and a woman in bright overalls. He examined the woman noticing she was looking around in awe at the place. She had muscular arms that made Felix stare.

Law have mercy-.

“Hey! You back-bays sprat! Are you listening?!”

Felix politely growled at him, “get spaced!”

“What's going on here?”

Felix whirled around to meet a set of green eyes that where narrowed at the armored man, and Felix saw the large, shiny knife hanging from her belt. She glanced at him and gave him a wink.

“None of your business, lady,” the man growled, and she laughed at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, I don't care, give him a break,” she smirked, and the man stormed away like a kid.

Felix eyed her pretty face with a large blush on his cheeks, and she smiled at him with her pearly teeth.

“Hi there, seems like you where in trouble, honey,” she spoke, and Felix turned a vibrant red color.

“Oh...um, I was handling it. Don't think I have a job now though...”

“What you do that riled him up so bad?” She questioned him, and he felt the anger return.

“My foreman kept bragging about how his team won, Spacers Chosen man. I couldn't let him talk about the Rangers like that!” He growled, and Max rolled his eyes.

This guy is an joke...Law, he’s going to get himself killed.

Max watched the man with annoyance as he chatted with the Captain, and she was agreeing with him!

Law, there both out of their minds! Completely juvenile!

Max would never admit it, but he’s done the same thing before with a man in prison.

Flashback

Max growled as the man argued back about which team should have won the match last night.

“No! He was out of bounds, stupid! They didn't deserve that point!”

Max lost it when he called him a name, and pounced at him from across the table. He slammed the man to the floor whilst crashing his fist into the mans skull. He heard a sickening crack from the jaw of his victim.

No way was he going to tolerate this idiocy, no one called him names, and no one got away with it either when they did.

The man flipped him over and punched Max in the cheek, which drove Max further up the wall in fury. He flung him off top of him with a growl. Max grabbed him up from the floor and slammed his face into the bench behind them.

C r a a a c k !

The man slumped to the floor making incoherent noises. Max didn't even flinch when he saw the mans jaw hanging open, pouring blood and teeth. He had tears rolling down his face as he reached for his jaw in disbelief.

Can’t run your mouth now, can you?

Max received isolation for that incident...for two weeks.

End Flashback

They bid the man farewell as the Captain made her way to Inspections with her companions following close behind. They stopped in front of the man there, and she presented her ID to him.

“Hawthorne, eh? Well beautiful, you have been flagged by The Board,” he spoke, and eyeing her with admiration.

Is he flirting with the Captain? Seriously? Right now?! Who does he think he is?! She wouldn't like someone like him.

“We haven't been out of Edgewater long enough to get in trouble!” Parvati cried, and Max rolled his eyes.

“Looks like you have done something to get on The Boards bad side, Captain,” Max huffed, annoyed.

“Well handsome, am I stuck here?” She flirted back, leaning towards the glass.

Max felt a twinge of jealo-.

Law have mercy. If he flirts with her again I am going to-.

“I wouldn't mind you being stuck here, honey,” he flirted, and she smirked.

“Can we move on with this? We have places to be,” Max growled, and Parvati squinted at him suspiciously.

“What's the rush, Mr. Vicar?” She questioned skeptically.

“I have places I need to go, Ms. Holcomb,” he shot back, and she grew quiet while looking at her shoes.

She smirked. A small smirk of knowledge on her lips.

Is she smirking?! What is she on about?

After wooing the mardet, the Captain left feeling accomplished from getting information out of him.

“Captain, could I talk to you for a moment?” Max asked, and she turned to face him.

“Of course, what do ya’ need, hun?”

She's doing it again. She's calling me those names...but she's not saying it with that sultry-like voice she used on the mardet. Only is she was- no. No! That is not, that is definitely not important right now. Law, what am I? A teenage boy in heat?!

“I believe the security offices would prove of great help finding Chan- a former associate,” Max stumbled over his words, and she eyed him.

“What was that?”

Lie. Come up with a lie about hiding a scholar. Something to cover up what you just did.

“You caught me, Dottie,” Max began, using her name to help win her over, “I was covering him up, the scholar would not like to be caught.”

Her heart fluttered at her name being uttered by him.

“Of course. I apologize, Max,” Dottie smiled.

“I can comb through the departures on the terminals, and see where they where headed,” Max explained, and she nodded.

After she talked her way inside, she let Max get a look-see at the terminal.

Chaney, you snake, I am going to find you, and when I do...I will beat you. I will send you to your maker.

While Max combed through the terminal, Parvati and Dottie stood outside the door.

“You should pick you up some clothes, mine are a little small for ya’, Captain,” Parvait spoke, and Dot dug in her pocket.

Retrieving a candy, she opened it, then popped it in her mouth.

“Yeah, I plan on it with my money- er bits,” she replied.

“What's money?”

“It was currency on Earth. Paper and coins.”

Max found the entry he was looking for, and felt his body shake with fury. He went off to Monarch.

Lovely, we are heading your way, Chaney. I can’t wait to wring your scrawny neck. I will kill you, and I will do it without hesitation.

Max exited the room and motioned for them to leave. When they where out the door he told the Captain the news.

“He is at Fallbrook, on Monarch. What better place to avoid the authorities,” Max spoke, composing himself.

“Alright! We’ll head that way, I promise. But we have to get that Navkey if we want to get there in one piece,” she spoke, and Max nodded.

They headed to get her ship out of impound first. She approached the big doors to the fancy “building” the Board had here.

She walked in like she owned the place, and was sized up by the tiny man at the desk. She approached him.

“I was told you where coming, but you are not Captain Hawthorne. Has something befallen upon my favorite freelancer?” He asked, worried.

“I am afraid he has passed, sir.”

Silence hung in the air, until he finally spoke.

“Did he mention Phineas Welles to you?”

“I am sorry to tell you, but he did not,” she lied- lied as if she didn't.

As if she was telling the truth.

The truth.

I’m not telling her the truth. I am using her to get to Chaney, using her so I can kill him. But she is making it complicated...making me like her. Like her when I don’t need to- liking her will only make leaving hard. The lying hard.

Max watched her smooth talk her way through her conversation with Udom. She was chatting him up, getting information she wanted. Using her likable personality to weave her way into getting what she wanted. She glanced at him with those green eyes that looked so enchanting. They where like emerald ore that he would mine for- search for as if his life depended on it. He examined her skin, that was covered in small freckles. Like a lush garden full of different flowers that dot across the land, they covered her skin- not just on her face, but her hands, her arms, everywhere.

Law, somewhere this is going to have to stop, Maximillian.

#tow #vicar max #maximillian desoto #felix millstone #felix #captaindottie #the outer worlds #theouterworlds

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jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets · 3 years

Text

Pas De Deux - Chapter 2

Title: Pas De Deux

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: not really needed for this fluff lol

Tags: fluff, pretty much just a whole lot of fluff XD

Summary: Dean is a closeted ballet dancer, and Cas is playing the Nutcracker Prince in the Kansas State Ballet. When the ballet loses their Clara and Cas confronts Dean about taking the part along side him, will he be able to put aside his fears and let everyone know who he really is? All to help the man of his dreams?

MASTERLIST

AO3

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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

Chapter Two

Since the first night Dean had danced with Cas, it was all he could think about. The intensity of their chemistry, even after only a few hours, was a feeling he would never forget, and one he had never known. It became something he craved all day long when he wasn't at the studio, and weekends were pure torture for him. And every night after the first night, when Dean would sneak his way into the dance studio, rather than going upstairs to his usual room, he had started going straight to Cas's practice room on the first floor.

The two of them practiced together every night for almost a month, and with every night not only did Dean's dancing improve, but so did their unspoken bond. They could both feel it. And by the end of the month, they had just about made it to the last dance between Clara and the Nutcracker. A dance Dean was very much looking forward to, especially since it called for a great deal of intimacy between the two leads. He was anxious to dance it with Cas, and they were almost there.

It was nearing almost three in the morning by this point, the two of them were sweaty and sore and all danced out for the night, so they decided to pack it in. Dean had to get home anyways, Sam would be waking up very soon and the last thing he needed was his little brother asking questions.

Cas walked over to his bag as Dean sat back against the mirror at the front to take off his shoes. He grabbed two bottles of water out of his bag and tossed one to Dean.

"Heads up!" Dean caught it, giving him a nod in thanks, before opening it and practically downing it in one go. Cas walked over to sit beside him, and decided now was as good a time as any to ask. "So Dean, we have stage rehearsals at the theater tomorrow night, so I won't be here to practice with you." He could see the disappointment Dean tried to hide, and hoped that it was a good indication that he would get the answer he was hoping for. "I was wondering if you'd like to come to the theater tomorrow night, sit in and watch the rehearsal. The doors are guarded while we are in there rehearsing, but I can leave your name with security if you would like to come."

"I would actually love to come and watch!" He nodded enthusiastically, "It's been so long since I've been to the theater to see a performance, and I would love to see you in action with actual professionals."

Cas nearly sighed in relief, he was so hoping Dean would say yes. "Great! Rehearsals don't start until seven tomorrow night, so come any time after that."

Dean just smiled, took off his shoes, and hurried out of the studio. He just wanted to get through tomorrow so he could go to the theater and watch Cas.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was sitting in the parking lot of the theater, had been for the last fifteen minutes. He was excited to watch Cas dance with the ballet, but he was also super nervous to be there. What if someone saw him, told his mom or brother that he was hanging around the theater. But after a few more minutes of deep breathing, he finally gathered up enough courage to practically run across the parking lot, praying that he wouldn't be caught. But his urge to see Cas seemed to be out weighing that little bit of fear, that and the thought of seeing Cas on stage.

When he made it to the front doors to the theater, he was very quickly stopped by the guard placed there. A very large, burly man who almost growled at him, "Sorry, Sir, you can't be here. Rehearsals are going on at the moment."

"Actually I was invited here tonight," he shifted nervously from foot to foot as the guard stared him down," Castiel Novak said he would leave my name with you, it's Dean Winchester."

The guard held up a finger to him, then turned a few steps away from him to speak quietly into a mouth piece on his jacket. After a few agonizing moments and the sudden worry that maybe he should just turn and run, he finally turned back to him. "Dean Winchester, you said?"

Dean nodded.

"Got some ID?"

He nodded again and hurriedly rifled through his wallet for his driver's license, holding it out for the guard to look at. Once he was satisfied, he pushed the door open and held it for Dean, "Go on in, just try to be quiet and sit wherever you'd like. Enjoy."

He nodded at the man as he walked by, practically ran past him and into the theater, quickly finding his way to the stage and quietly going inside. He was hit instantly by the all too familiar music he and Cas had been practicing to all month, and crept slowly to the front row to sit and watch as they finished the scene.

His eyes were fixed on Cas the entire time the dancers moved around the stage. He looked amazing up there, powerful, completely in his element and owning every inch of the stage with every move he made. It was hard not to watch him.

They finished the dance a few minutes later and the directors rushed the stage to chat with the dancers. Cas took that moment to finally glance towards the seats and saw Dean. He gave him a smile and a small wave, which Dean returned both.

A few minutes later the directors called for everyone to get back to their places and rerun the scene.

Everything was going great. The dancers were hitting every step perfectly on cue, everyone was expertly coordinated, and Cas looked great as hell. Until suddenly things took a hard right mid dance.

The girl playing Clara stumbled halfway through the dance and nearly fell flat on her ass center stage. Cas tried to reach out and steady her but she just angrily pushed him away and shouted to stop the music.

"Stop! Stop everything!" The music paused and the entire hall went silent as she then rounded on Cas, throwing her hands in the air and yelling, "Seriously, Castiel, you messed up the steps again?! Am I expected to work with amateurs my entire life?!"

Cas merely rolled his eyes and in his regularly calm voice answered, "I wasn't the one who confused the steps, Ruby. You should be at least a foot ahead of me, you're too close, which is why you keep stumbling."

She scoffed and crossed her arms, "Just like you to blame it on me. You think you're the best dancer here just because you practice night and day, you think you're better than us."

"Castiel is right, Ruby," the director stepped in, "you're too close to him. This whole thing could be fixed if you just take one step forward."

"Why is this utter fiasco being blamed on me?!" She turned on the director. "Why don't you tell your precious golden boy here to properly learn the steps!"

"No one is blaming you for anything. It's an easy fix, just one step forward."

"You know what?" She shook her head and placed her fingers on her temples. "I am done with this poor excuse for a ballet! Good luck putting on this shit show without me!"

Everyone remained still and silent as Dean watched in complete horror while Ruby grabbed her bag from backstage, and promptly stormed down the stage steps and out the door. His eyes followed her all the way until the door slammed shut behind her, then he looked back up at Cas. He just shook his head, completely exhausted. Obviously this wasn't the first time they had to deal with an outburst from her.

"Great! Just great!" One of the directors, the taller one, threw his notes in the air and ran tight fingers through his hair, "We have less than three months till the show debuts, and now we have to find and train another Clara for the show! It's impossible, we can't do it, show’s over!"

"We’ll find a way," the shorter director said, trying to calm the other, "we have to. Tickets are going on sale very soon and we are already expected to sell out. We can't cancel now, Chuck."

"Then what, Metatron, what do we do? Start auditioning again? Call back the people we rejected the first time? I’m sure they’ll love that!"

Metatron just shook his head and walked away, leaving Chuck to panic as well as the dancers on stage, who were all now gathering in groups and chatting frantically. Dean didn't know what to do other than just sit there in shock, he couldn't believe he had just watched one of the ballets lead roles walk out like that.

“Wait!'' Dean looked up to Cas with a start, and everyone else in the theater followed suit. “I may have someone who could help.”

Both directors gave Cas a skeptical look and waited for him to continue. Before he answered, Cas looked down at Dean with a frightening glint in his eyes that gave Dean the most frantic butterflies he had ever felt.

“You know someone?” Metatron asked, almost slightly impatient.

“Yes, they already know all the parts of the ballet, all the acts and all the steps, start to finish.” Dean perked up a bit in his seat, not liking the look in Cas’s eyes at all. That sudden feeling to get up and run had returned to him again, but he was also frozen in place. Seemed his brain and legs couldn’t come to the same conclusion. “They are talented beyond all belief and absolutely perfect for the role of Clara.”

Dean finally found a little control over his limbs and managed to stand, letting out a low warning as he did. “Cas.”

Though Cas ignored it and continued on, “I have seen them perform the ballet numerous times. Their execution is perfect, flawless, seamless, the perfect lead for this ballet.”

“Cas…” Dean took a few steps toward the front of the stage, speaking his warning a little louder this time but still getting no reaction out of Cas.

“And our chemistry in the roles is already… intense, electric,” he then looked over at Dean who was staring back at him with a lust he could feel across the room, “even outside of dance we have a profound bond.”

“Cas…” He breathed, almost completely breathless.

The two just stared at each other, the bond Cas had spoke of lighting the room with a fire that everyone there could feel.

“Well,” Chuck interrupted, pulling Cas's eyes away from Dean, “don't leave us in suspense! Who is it?!”

“Though, bringing this person in to play the lead role would change the dynamics slightly, but it might end up being a good thing.”

“Who is it, Castiel?!” Chuck was nearly pulling his hair out.

Cas turned back to look at Dean and everyone's eyes followed him. Dean just stood there, even more stunned then he was before, and now suddenly feeling trapped.

“Him?!” Metatron turned back to Cas who nodded. “Who even is he?”

“His name is Dean Winchester.”

“Let me get this straight,” Chuck took a few steps forwards, taking a second to rub a hand down his face before asking, quite annoyed, “you want us to let some random man off the street, someone I've never even heard of before, not only join our highly respected and prestigious ballet, but also play the lead?!”

“He is an amazing dancer,” Cas argued, “and he already knows the role, he would need very little training. Much less training then having to hire someone who might be a known dancer, but has never before danced The Nutcracker. And as you said, we don’t have much time.”

Chuck shook his head at Cas then rounded on Dean, “Where did you train?” Dean just opened his mouth and closed it again. “Who trained you?” Again, Dean wasn't able to say anything, just stand there awkwardly. So Chuck turned back to Castiel and threw his hands in the air, slapping them on his legs as he let them fall.

“I trained him,” Cas answered for Dean.

“You?!”

“Yes,” Cas nodded.

“So you mean to tell me that he has had no formal training?!”

“He's an amazing dancer,” Cas repeated, enunciating every word.

“No,” Chuck closed his eyes and shook his head, “no, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! No!”

“At least let him show you what he can do. Let us dance the finale together. Once you see his skills and our chemistry, I promise you will change your minds.”

Chuck looked over to Metatron who gave him a shrug, “What harm could it do at this point.”

Chuck looked between Castiel and Dean, then just waved his hands and said, “Fine, do whatever you want then,” and threw himself in a chair in the front row and waited.

Cas walked down the steps and over to where Dean was still frozen in place and stood in front of him.

“I… I can’t dance in front of people, Cas! Are you insane?!” He shook his head, breathless with nerves. “I’m a closeted dancer, not even my own mother or brother know that I dance! And now you not only want me to dance in front of the people in my own town, but then also travel around with you and dance in front of people nationwide?!”

“Dean, calm down,” he ran his hands down Dean's arms and it seemed to help a bit, “I know you have never told anyone about your passion for dancing before, but perhaps this is a sign. Maybe now is the time to just finally be you, to do what you love, to dance freely. At least give it a try, come on stage and dance with me and I promise you will love it.”

Dean just stared at him, mouth open and head slightly shaking.

“Dean,” Cas breathed, stepping closer and placing a hand on his cheek which Dean turned into, closing his eyes, “just let go, fall with me.”

After a moment of just soaking Cas in, and feeling the comforting warmth on his skin he nodded, taking one last shaky breath before he opened his eyes to gaze at Cas once again.

“Good,” Cas breathed, and he could feel the warmth ghosting over his lips, “do you have your duffel with you?”

“Yeah, it's in the trunk of my car.”

“Go get it, change backstage, and meet me center stage when you're ready.”

He nodded again then shook his head and whispered, more to himself then to Cas, “I can’t believe I'm doing this,” then turned and left the theater.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes later Dean was standing just off to the side of the stage, in the shadows behind the curtains, taking deep breaths as he watched Cas standing in the center. After one last breath he stepped out, slowly, cautiously, eyes wide as he saw everyone sitting in the seats below the stage, the directors dead center and eyes on him. He stopped walking and froze before he made it to Cas.

“Dean,” he heard Cas’s voice, but couldn't even move to look up at him, “Dean.”

He heard his voice that time and looked up. Cas was holding out a hand to him, waiting patiently for him to walk over, which he eventually did, very slowly.

He reached out and took Cas’s outstretched hand, allowing Cas to pull him in close to his chest, pressing their foreheads together. “It's just like at the studio, Dean. Dance like it's just you and me up here, together and alone. Just focus on me, nothing else.”

“But Cas, we haven't done the final dance together yet,” he risked a glance over to where the directors were sitting, looking a bit impatient now, “it's the only part of the ballet we haven't gotten to yet.”

“But you know the steps, Dean.”

“Yeah, but.”

“But nothing,” he reached up and ran the back of his hand down Dean's cheek, “you can do this. Show them just how amazing you are, how amazing I know you are.”

Dean nodded, then he and Cas separated to stand in their positions. Cas looked down to the composer with a nod to signal him to start the music, then looked over to Dean. He could tell Dean was nervous, shaking slightly and fiddling with his hands, so he called over to him and got his attention. “Just you and me, Dean.”

He swallowed hard but told himself that Cas was right. He just needed to pretend that no one else was there, the theater was empty, it was just him and Cas same as it was every other time they've danced together. So he closed his eyes, erased everything and everyone from his mind except Cas, and as the music started he smoothly transitioned into the steps he knew so well.

It was an almost instant change from Dean to Clara as he practically jumped into the roll, and he and Cas were moving as one. Despite the two of them having never actually practiced this dance together, they were in perfect sync, it was as if they had danced it a million times together. Every move they made, every step, every breath was taken as one, right up until the final note and they were standing frozen in their final position. They were chest to chest and nose to nose, a breath away, breathing hard after having given the most amazing performance together. And they had been here before, Dean thought, pulled together feeling this fire between them, and every time he waited for Cas to take that final step. To close the gap…

“That! Was! Magnificent!” Clapping from the seats below them had them turning their heads away from each other snapping back to reality, still breathless from the dance and pure intensity between them, their chests heaving together. “I… I am absolutely blown away! You were splendid, Dean, splendid!”

“Especially for someone who has never had any formal training before,” Metatron joined Chuck in his standing ovation, “where did you learn to move like that?”

Cas nudged a blushing Dean forward to the edge of the stage and urged him to answer, though he could tell that he was still nervous and obviously not used to the attention and praise over his dancing. “I… I taught myself, actually. I used online video tutorials, and also just watched and studied other dancers. And Cas, he's helped me to perfect my moves, I wouldn't be anywhere near this good if it wasn't for him.”

Dean turned to gaze at Cas with a smile. He still had an arm wrapped around Dean and was looking down at him with as much adoration as Dean was at him.

“And you were right, Castiel,” Chuck nudged Metatron beside him, and the two of them smirked as they looked up at the two dancers wrapped in each other on stage, “the chemistry between the two of you is perfect!”

“Chuck’s right,” Metatron spoke as he started walking up the steps to join them, and Chuck followed, “who needs that stuck up, snobby diva Ruby when we have you, Dean!”

“I-”

“And you are right, Castiel, bringing Dean on will change the dynamic of the original story, but this could be a monumental step for us!” Chuck then turned to Metatron as the two of them both started getting very excited about the thought of two male leads. “The first Nutcracker with two male leads! This could be big! We could be big!”

“So what do you say, Dean? Take the position!” Both of them locked their eyes on Dean, almost boring into him with an intensity that he felt in his soul.

“I…” He looked up at Cas, then just shook his head, “I don't know.”

“W-what do you mean you don't know?” Chuck was baffled, “People would kill to be in your position right now. An unknown dancer, picked off the streets and given the opportunity to play one of the lead roles in what is surely going to be a ballet to remember?! You could become a legend in dance.”

“I’m a bit of a closeted dancer. No one knows that I dance besides Castiel, and now you guys. It's…” He took a hard breath and let it out slow, “It's hard to openly be this person after I've been someone else my entire life. People expect me to be a certain way, and this sudden change could cause me to lose so much.”

“But also gain even more!” Metatron reached out and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I…”

Cas pulled Dean closer to his side, shielding him from his directors who he knew could sometimes go a little overboard. Not to mention the fact that he knew pressuring Dean like this was only going to make it worse, make his nerves worse. “We don't have another rehearsal for a few days. Let's give Dean some time to think about the offer before anyone makes any decisions.”

“You’re right, you're right.” They both raised their hands and took a step back. “Think about it Dean, take some time to make your decision, but while you think about it, know that we would absolutely love to have you with us!”

“If it's alright, I'll let you know by the next rehearsal.”

Chuck and Metatron both told Dean to take his time with the decision, but they both were praying that he would agree. Seeing the two of them dance together was an opportunity they really didn't want to have to pass up on. After which, Dean changed backstage, said his thanks to the directors, and then Cas walked him back out to his car.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean plopped himself hard on the floor and sat back against the mirror of the dance studio he shared with Cas. He was sweating and panting, he had been working harder this week then he ever had during practices, and he was more than sure that it was because he was trying to keep a certain decision from creeping into his mind every time he let it wander.

Cas came over to sit next to him, passing Dean a bottle of water as he did, and sat in silence for a few minutes. And though he knew that Cas was trying to give him as much time as he needed to make the decision about the position at the ballet, Dean could feel the tension and curiosity radiating off of him the entire night.

He took a drink then huffed to try and catch his breath before eyeing Cas from the side, “Alright, ask me.”

“Ask you what, Dean?” He tried to feign innocence but it was not fooling Dean.

“Don't try to play me, Cas,” he shook his head and shifted to turn towards Cas, “I know you want to ask me about taking the position, if I've made my decision yet. And I guess I should give you an answer, considering the next rehearsal is tomorrow night.”

Cas nodded, then he also turned so they were now facing each other, and tangled their legs together, “Well then, have you come to a decision?” Dean just sighed and lowered his head. “If it helps any, I would be there with you every step of the way, quite literally. Not to mention that I would love to be performing the ballet with you.”

“It helps a little,” he couldn't help but smile a bit, “but I… I don't know, Cas. If I do go through with this then eventually, at some point, my family is going to find out one way or another. Either I'll have to tell them, or someone in town will tell them, and I… I just don't want them to be disappointed in me.”

Cas shuffled closer to Dean, the two of them wrapping their legs around each other as Cas placed his forehead to rest against Dean’s. “Perhaps they will not be disappointed, but proud.”

“But what if they aren’t proud? What if they think my dad was right? That I should be playing sports not dancing around a stage in tights?!”

“Dean, calm down,” he smoothed his hands down Dean's neck, “you will never know until you try, and if they end up being angry or disappointed then that's their loss. No matter what happens I will still be right beside you. But it's time to stop hiding it, Dean, it's time to be you.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed hard, but nodded, “you're right. It's… it's time I think about what I want and not what my father would have wanted for me. And… and if someone's upset about that then that's not my problem.”

“Exactly. You are an amazing person, Dean, anyone would be a fool not to see it.” Dean smiled and ran his hands up and into Cas’s hair, the two just sitting there for a minute before Cas asked, “So, does that mean you'll take the part?”

“Yeah, I'll take the part.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

After Dean went back to the theater with Cas and accepted the part, the directors were thrilled. Dean was extremely nervous, but as Cas had promised he was right there beside Dean through every step.

They had been rehearsing for a few weeks now, and Dean had taken to his new role splendidly. Everyone in the theater was more than pleased with his performance during rehearsals, many of them gushing over the fact that it was going to be the best rendition of The Nutcracker to be performed in years, even decades maybe.

As Castiel had said before, they did end up making a few alterations to the ballet, one of them being that they changed Dean's role from Clara to Charles, as well as a few alterations to the ending. But despite the last minute changes that were made after Ruby's abrupt exit, the entire cast was very excited to be finally sharing their hard work with many people all across the country.

They had just finished up with one of their last rehearsals before the tickets for the show were to go live, and Dean and Cas were getting ready to leave for the night when their directors came over to them, each handing them a bundle of tickets.

Dean took them and rolled them over in his hand before asking with a raised brow, “What are these for?”

“Castiel told us you live with your mom and brother, right?” Chuck asked.

“Yeah…” He drawled, now a little worried.

“These tickets are for them,” Chuck confirmed Dean's fears, “front row seats for the debut show. Word has been getting around about our ballet having two male leads and the theater is already getting calls about buying tickets. We are expecting to be sold out of all shows within a day, so we reserved a few tickets for the families of each of our cast and crew members.”

“Oh...wow, I…” He stuttered, not really knowing what to say. Not to mention that his heart was now down in his feet at the mere thought of even humouring telling his mom and brother about the show. Was it naïve to think that he could just keep it a secret forever?

“No need to thank us,” Metatron smiled at him, not knowing how much dread was running through his veins right now, “We hope to meet them on opening night. Have a good night you two.”

Dean just kind of nodded as they walked away. He was unusually quiet as Cas walked him out to his car like he did every night after rehearsals. Then sat in his car for a few minutes before finally driving home, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to do this without either crying, throwing up, passing out, or quite possibly all three. It was bound to be a super fun weekend.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dean got home from rehearsals that night it was still pretty early. His mom and brother were still asleep, which he decided was for the better, seeing as his stomach was still turning pretty bad. The tickets were weighing heavily in his duffle that was slung over his shoulder, he could practically feel them burning a hole through the bag. But he pushed the thought aside for now since they were still passed out in bed, and decided to occupy his mind with doing some laundry instead. His tights were a complete mess from rehearsals this week and he would rather just get it done now before his mom and Sam woke up.

He went straight to the laundry room as soon as he got inside and tossed his duffel bag on top of the washing machine. Before he threw it in the machine he quickly bound up the stairs to his room to grab the special fabric softener he had bought for himself, partly because he liked the smell, but mostly because he knew Cas liked it.

He grabbed the fabric softener then took a moment to sit on his bed, rehearsals lately had been taking a lot out of him. As it got closer and closer to opening night, rehearsals got more and more intense. He placed the bottle on his nightstand and before he knew it, he was laying back on the bed. Just a minute, he thought, then he would get up and do his laundry. Then his eyes were closing and he decided he would let them, just rest them for a few seconds then he would get up. But before he could even stop himself he was passed out with his legs hanging over the edge of his bed, laundry completely forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~

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A/N: One more chapter to go after this!

Tags: @thebridgekid

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ripuels · 4 years

Text

Rival Gangs AU: warnings of blood, violence, swearing, bruising, etc.

For @annabellioncourt thank you!

(This got too long so I’m publishing as a text post to use a Read More that’ll actually work. This website is amazing. Really. Also I’m Very Tired, sorry if the editing looks like a four year old did it)

“Are you the one who's been following me? Stalking me?”

Amanda had recognised the eyes straight away, the depth of brown peering over a khaki bandana, pinched tight over his nose and tied at the base of his neck. The switchblade pressing against his throat shaves a tuft of green from it.

“Fucking answer me, pretty boy.”

His hand moves gingerly as if he were defusing a bomb, a knife rolls from his fingers and clatters into the blue metal like a gunshot in the dark.

“I’m sorry, Ripley.” The synthetic with every reason to flinch doesn't. This woman, more leather and machine grease than human, holding him fast against the tunnel wall, shivers with unpredictability. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You couldn't scare me if you tried. Fuck,” she grimaces against the fading adrenaline, leaving her a dizzy creature, a lamb, holding up a lion.��

They both know a severed throat wouldn't do much to stop a berserk synthetic, especially not with her struggling grip. He stands still regardless, unfazed by the threat.

“How the hell did you even find me, Samuels?”

He glances to the blood leading down the train line. A dot-to-dot probably leading all the way from the outskirts of snob-hill to here, X marks the spot right over his chest, staining his cashmere sweater.

Amanda grunts in comprehension and shoves herself off the wall, leaving him to brush his clothes smooth. “Okay, good point.”

Samuels wishes it wasn't. “You've lost a lot of blood. Are you alright?”

“Fucking peachy.” She says, retreating onto her gang's side of the tracks, replacing the switchblade into her leather jacket with incomprehensible speed. “Wish I could say the same about my bike, I swear to God, if there's so much as a scratch on it, I’ll kill the lot of ‘em.”

She brushes her fingers back through her hair, her hood falling down and he pans over her injuries.

“What happened to you?”

Ripley scoffs in disbelief, leaning a heavy shoulder into the dark emergency alcove. “Like you don't know.”

“I was told nothing more than they intended to attack. They know I'm conflicted by protocols. That I struggle in a fight. I think they try to be kind by not inviting me.”

“Or they know you'll get in their way.” Which he does, far too often to go unnoticed by David. “You're too good for this life, Samuels. It's going to catch up to you one day, believe me.”

This synthetic's deep frown flinches, easing to something far, far worse. Sadness. After all this time, after so many close encounters with others like him, she'd never seen one be that before.

“Was no big deal.” Amanda can't bare his gaze. “Got jumped behind the garage when everyone fucked off home, too pissed to ride. Fucking cowards, I got shoved in a boot, driven out, and I got away, but... Well,” she gestures vaguely at her face. “It's obvious they didn't want to kill me.”

Christopher knows it's because she would absolutely be dead, and they'd have war on their hands. No, this freckle of red and staining of blue was a scare tactic, an obviously ineffective one as she winces her next breath. Heavy, resolute. Plotting.

“They shouldn't have been on your side of town.” His voice sounds accusing, but for what it's unclear.

“I didn't fucking provoke them, if that's what you're asking. Your lil' biker gang of Decepticon wannabees probably just don’t like the fact we kicked your ass in the park district. It's ours now. You want it back? Fine, time and place. Name it.”

“I personally couldn't care less.” Samuels says rather than stating her very existence seems to egg his crew, his family, on. “I'm worried why you were left alone in the first place, is there still no honour amongst thieves?”

“It's Sunday.” Amanda shrugs as though it explains everything. “Believe it or not, we don't live to terrorize you, we all have jobs to go to tomorrow. Real lives outside this territorial bullshit. To be honest though,” she trembles to dab her brow and winces, a bruise beginning to darken the outer corner of her eye. “I could really use a day off.”

“I'm sorry.” He mumbles and it surprises her.

“Why? You had nothing to do with it. Funnily enough, you never do.”

“Yes, I did.” A hardness sets in Samuels' gaze, the purity and innocence vanishing in a heartbreaking fall. She can't help but feel as though it's like an angel from grace. “I could have warned you, but by the time I heard-”

“Shit, Samuels. Don't start blaming yourself, you would'a been killed for stepping foot over the tracks anyway, let alone coming to the workshop. You didn't do anything wrong, I know that. We're good.” It kills to give her direct rival such power. “And yeah, we might be from different worlds completely, but I don't let the actions of some reflect on the whole thing.”

“Who was it?” He doesn't need to ask, just go back to the clubhouse and see who's missing teeth or some digits. Find someone sourcing parts for repair. “Ash? David?”

“Doesn't matter who it was, they'll be on their guard for a bit now. No need to protect them.” The quiet rage surprises them both, just as genuine as it is violent. “Yet.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Despite all the warnings in his programming, Samuels steps over, ducking into the small archway she's hunkering in. “I’m sick of the bloodshed, on both sides. I'm thinking about- No, I am certain. I'm out, Ripley.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Yes.” He says in a way that makes her believe him. “I can't see people like this anymore, I can't keep repairing my friends and pretending that it's not all for nothing. That they aren't terrible enough they can do this to you, a human. That you, or one of your friends won't kill us in a few months when tensions run high again anyway.”

Tensions are always high, Amanda thinks as he moves towards her, licking his thumb and scrubbing at a spot of blood on her cheek. It makes no difference in the grand scheme, one mark amongst hundreds. He licks it again and she recoils, almost in disgust, but he stares like steel, nonchalantly taking to the mass of red on her cheekbone. She winces, but doesn't pull away.

“You look a mess.” Samuels hums thoughtfully, tugging his bandana off his neck and sucking on a corner, using it to clean her lip. “They shouldn't have gone this far.”

“Had worse. Done worse.”

“Seen worse.” He states flatly. “Doesn't mean it's not upsetting to me.”

“To your protocols.” Amanda doesn't mean to make it sound so much like a weakness, rather than she actually admired it about this one.

“That too.”

“Speaking of which, since when have you been carrying a knife?” Amanda cocks her head away into his other palm under her ear, a little skeptic, a little in pain. “You expecting a fight or something?”

“With Amanda Ripley involved, always.” He says deadpan, but there's an attempted note of humour in his voice. Her reputation is littered in grey, some awful things proven to be small town gossip; and other more harrowing tales that perhaps only he knows, absolute truth. “But it wasn't for you, I was worried about being followed.”

“Like you were following me?” Her voice finally cracks in good humour, it's short lived but Samuels falters.

“Just- keep still, will you?”

“Yes, okay, Christopher.” How anyone with a self appointed ID like that ended up in any gang at all is beyond her. She nudges him. “What the hell kind of name is Christopher anyway? Doesn’t exactly scream synthetic delinquent.”

“Like you're one to talk,” he finally smiles, “Amy.”

They fall into a relaxed silence in the dim, a damp trickle of moisture running from the overpass nearby, fog rolling in down the way. They are relatively secluded, the green exit sign casting them both in a nebulous glow as her wounds are silently tended to in less than sanitary conditions. His eyes leave the mess of injury for hers every few seconds, searching for a tell of her discomfort. Of course it is always relative. Now, it's not so much his proximity to her that's cranking at her anxiety, but the thought that if he was seen on their turf, even by a metre or two, he'd be killed. If they were seen so close, they both might be, the speed of which would depend on who came across them first.

She remembers Zula, the best damn right hand Amanda ever had, and that Davis, he was alright for a military device. They'd been chased to the edge of the world when David found out about them. They were nothing more than friendly, familiar, but they've yet to stop running for it. An anonymous letter is delivered every now and again, no return address, but one day, she knows they're going to stop.

This, she thinks, is far too close to that.

“What is it?” Christopher asks the darkening of her face, the silence waning of it's humour.

“Why the hell are you here? You know if I'm seen with you they'll fucking kill me.” She pushes off the wall, nearly right into his chest. Though her stature is found sorely wanting, her entire demeanour screams louder than Samuels ever could in raw, fearsome, violence. Barely contained in a 5’ 5 cage. “Get the fuck out of here Samuels, before you get us both-”

She swallows her words as his lips crash onto her own, hesitating briefly until her hands take his jaw with a demanding hardness. Shoving herself into him, they hit the far wall hard enough to encourage a deep grumble amongst a slew of colourful names for idiocy, and more specifically, him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Her body presents no complaint. “Chris- think about this.”

“I am- I have.” He brushes down to her neck, detects her tensing, pushing back harder as he finds a firm lump of bruise. A footprint. Fucking David.

It's a wonder what it would be like to feel, anything, let alone pain, learn what about it grounds this woman. It would be a fair deal, he supposes, to have a sense of the worst rather than nothing at all

“Then you're an idiot and a deadman.”

“You don't scare me, Amy.” He says as her angry kisses take control of him. Holding her, bloody and bruised, just tight enough to hurt in all the places it doesn't yet, until his systems blare that it's too much. That it encourages the alarming grip she has of his hair or neck or shoulders.

“I should.” She hisses in response.

Christopher knows it too. The ghastly stories she had whispered, melting from her lips as her icy exterior thaws over his chest. Her leather and flannels, his denim and cashmere, both of their embroidered patches, all scattered over the floor of dingy motels. Completely bare together, stripped of identity in the next town over, then the next. Riding further and further until one day they might never stop.

Never need to retreat with their fallen. To lick wounds. To prepare for next time.

Next time.

Because there were plenty. So often they met on the field, in the canyon, at the lookout, her hands stained white taking life, his red from saving it. For years Christopher would always find her after the fights by an upturned motorcycle, pacing at an old inn or bar, fingers through her hair, and he'd lead them to a room. They'd find relief from the wounds and the damage, the over-stimulation and adrenaline. Take whatever was left out on each other. It became their ritual.

Now, just like every other time, he takes the side of her face, but offers something new. “Leave with me. Right now. For good. Don't make me beg.”

“What?” Her lips are yet to leave his, but Samuels' eyes open to slits, slowly pulling away to gauge her.

“Why do we ever come back, Amy? We know how to get out, in the chaos of the aftermath, we abandon our people to fuck in cheap rooms and play it off as hunting down each other's stragglers. How long do you think we can keep this lie up? How long until they learn where we really go?” Samuels allows himself to lean in, accept a kiss that feels awfully final as her hands grow unbearably tight at his shoulders, taking him by the collar with a rough shake.

“Jesus, Chris, you can’t be serious. Open your Goddamn eyes.” A demand weaponized by a glance down, their different attire barely touching at the chest but worlds apart, threatening to collide like two orbits never meant to meet. On course to implode, or burn out. It's impossible to tell. “Look at us. I’m a greaser. A criminal. I darken the city with a pitch black bike, and run red into the streets. I am a fucking menace to society just like the rest of us. And you, fuck, you’re a synthetic with a heart of gold. And if you- if you let me, I’m going to ruin that. Ruin you. Shit, I mean you already look forward to the turf wars, because you know what comes after.”

“I do not look forward to them, but being there means I can keep an eye out for you if you need.” His gaze moves away lazily, unapologetic. “They do herald the time we spend together, but it's not that which I like. It's the fact we can escape for a while, just us. A breath of fresh air amongst all of this.”

“And we come back because we know they’ll-” her voice cracks, “they'll find us. Out there is a big fucking world that we already know we can't hide in, we'd never find peace. There's no future, not for me and you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean.” She stands back again. Breaking away. “I mean I'm out too. Of this. Of us.”

His face, already torn between sadness and fear, falls further. “Do you think there is peace here? At least we have a chance out there. Movement, that's what will keep us safe. On the road, under the sun and stars, rain and shine, I don't fucking care. As long as you say you'll come.”

“Samuels, we’ve tried before, to run,” she mumbles softly, “and we were caught. Hurting the others, I don't give a shit, you know I fucking don't, but having to hurt you-”

“Do not dare blame yourself.” He says sternly, holding his shoulder where a long jagged ridge of repaired silicone pushes back. “I didn't feel a thing. They had to believe me, it was the only way.”

“No,” the tremble cheats the strength in her voice, in her eyes. A hundred times he’d looked into them and not seen this. “There was another way, there was always another way, we just don't want to admit it.”

“And I never will. You cannot convince me to move on, to leave you.”

“You have to. My people will try to kill me, and they'll definitely kill you, and-”

“Then I'll die.”

“Christopher...” She closes the gap between them, hesitant and desperate arms crashing around each other. No longer willing to exchange needy kisses, but fill a void. Squeeze so hard his respiratory system freezes. “Where are we meeting this time?”

“Pardon?”

“I need to get my bike, and you need to get off this side of town. But then what?”

He frowns deeply, for the first time he doesn't want to go through with it. “For our usual rendezvous?”

She convinces herself to back away, catching the last fragments of him like this, his fingers loosening their suddenly paper gentle grip on her waist. “I've been called many things, Christopher Samuels, but never shy of a challenge. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Chris takes a step forward but stops, “Amanda,” he whispers, not wanting to ask if she's serious, strain this already brittle, whimsical promise. “Sunrise. The lookout.”

“Be there. Oh, and one more thing?” She calls back down the tracks, “I love you.” Her voice echoes in the dark long after she's gone.

#my brain feels like it's in the back of a moving van and the stig is driving #so i hope this is okie #enjoyyyy

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weartirondad · 5 years

Text

These Hands Could Hold The World (But It’ll Never Be Enough)

Prompt: Field Trip - i need a fic called "the 5 times tony went to peter's school and the one time peter went to tony's work/meeting/SI" by Anon

Warnings: Major Character Death (no description of actual death!), dissociation (not quite but just in case)

A/N: WE CAN FINALLY POST OUR FIRST PIECE FOR THE 1K CELEBRATION AND WE’RE SUPER EXCITED TO SHARE IT WITH YOU!

FF.net I ao3

The first time Tony sets foot into Midtown School of Science and Technology, he’s immediately overcome with everything he has always hated about high school.

There is the smell. Putting several hundred pubescent teenagers into small hallways and tiny classrooms tends to create a special kind of odor that makes him want to cover his mouth and nose with his hands as soon as the smell hits him. Of course he doesn’t do that, even though he’s about seventy five percent certain that either someone has died in there or the cafeteria has already started to prep for lunch. Maybe both.

He doesn’t dwell on it as he saunters through the empty hallways gracefully, taking in the lockers with all their dents of past fights and hissy fits and maybe one or two bad break ups. He remembers his year in high school vividly enough to remember what the insides of them look like. He hopes Peter hasn’t made similar experiences, he hopes his kid has been spared some of the torment that comes with being a genius in a world full of people whose thoughts are running so much more slowly and organized than your own.

Midtown is supposed to be better, though, with it being a STEM school it’s supposed to encourage thinking outside the box and nurture given talent. At least that’s what all the flyers are saying that May shoved into his chest the second he mentioned that Peter’s intellect might be better off in a private school.

Now, as per usual, May Parker has been absolutely right to keep her nephew with people of his age and not to tear the one friendship apart that has lasted a literal decade already despite their young ages. And while he hasn’t gotten another word in on the whole ‘which school is the right school’ debate, she has asked him to step up as one of Peter’s emergency contacts.

Which settles his anxious heart a little more than he would like to admit.

He tried to play it off with a wave of his hand and a “Sure, just put my number there. It’s fine.” but May didn’t buy it and simply smiled at him knowingly.

Tony isn’t sure what it is about Potts and Parker women that gives them the ability to just look through all his masks within seconds. Frankly, it’s scaring him a little to be that see-through but he’s been together with Pepper long enough to know that it’s usually for the best that they know what’s going on.

Apparently, though, the school didn’t believe it when one May Parker came up to them to put Tony Stark as her nephew’s emergency contact so, in mutual agreement of Pepper and May he is now making the way to Midtown himself. With an actual appointment. Like some normal parent wanting to talk about their normal child. As if anything about any part of their relationship was normal.

So here he is, pretending that this trip is a nuisance to a perfectly planned day full of very important appointments while secretly being relieved to get out of one of the countless board meetings. And, maybe he is looking forward to getting a glimpse at the reason for it all.

He’s already walked through most of the school and is about to turn left to follow the sign pointing him to the principal’s office when he hears a familiar high-pitched voice calling his name behind him. He grins.

“Mister Stark? What are you doing here?” Peter looks suspicious now that he’s recovered from his initial shock and maybe a little worried. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great, buddy,” Tony finds himself reassuring the kid and, as soon as he’s within reach, he puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it gently, pulling the teenager into his side momentarily. It’s crazy how instinctual these moves have become. “I’m just here to talk to your principle and sign some papers.”

Peter squints up at him skeptically. The motion makes his nose scrunch up and wrinkles appear on his forehead. He looks positively endearing.

“You’re not gonna buy the school, are you?”

And, even as he starts venting about what kind of picture the kid has of him, he has to admit that he would absolutely buy the school if he thought it would get Peter an advantage somehow. Good thing it doesn’t. He doesn’t want to have that conversation any time soon.

“Nah,” he shrugs finally, “May wants to put another emergency contact for you should she be busy and somehow the school didn’t believe her when she gave them my name.”

The kid snorts but his shoulders slump a little. “Yeah, I mean why would anyone believe that you even knew me?”

“Mister Parker!” a loud voice hollers through the hall then, making both Tony and Peter jerk in surprise. (And maybe Tony’s hand is going to his gauntlet watch and maybe he’s positioned himself between Peter and the noise but no one has to know that, right?)

“What are you doing in the hallways during class?”

A person accompanies the voice. A very non- threatening person in the form of a middle-aged well-rounded blonde secretary who peeks out from behind the office’s doors. Tony relaxes at the sight and puts a casual arm around the kid’s shoulders and a charming smile on his face just in case the teenager is actually in the wrong here.

Peter just waves a bleached out hallway pass at her and mumbles something about coming from the bathroom.

Tony really doesn’t like how the kid shrinks in on himself under her watchful gaze, as if he’s minutes away from being punished for something and he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s a fateful coincidence, though,” he breaks the awkward silence and tugs on Peter’s jacket to drag the kid along to the office, “As I am here for Peter.” His smile is so forced it starts to hurt his cheeks but he keeps it in check like he always does. “His aunt and I have come to the conclusion that it would be for the best if he had two emergency contacts and that the second emergency contact should be me. You know, in case he’s sick and needs adult supervision to leave.”

“I-Uh-I-“

She stutters for another two minutes and Tony’s sure he’s broken something inside her. But he feels Peter’s body shake with suppressed laughter, still tucked into his side, and decides that it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

“I can just write down my name and number real quick,” he offers finally and earns himself a frantic nod and a pen almost stabbed through his hand in the flurry she creates getting the paper ready.

It’s pretty anticlimactic, if Tony’s being honest, but by the time they leave the principal’s office he’s at least in some way officially responsible for this kid and said kid is beaming up at him, his eyes shining again.

“I’ll see you later?” It’s more of a fact that they meet up on Wednesdays after school but Peter still manages to phrase it like a question he expects to be denied.

“We will, kiddo,” Tony smiles and ruffles his hair, earning himself an annoyed grunt, “We’ll get ice cream on our way to the tower. Now get back to learning important stuff.”

He pushes him away gently and watches the boy until he disappears into one of the classrooms. There’s a skip in his step now and he’s walking more upright and if that’s all Tony’s presence in his school accomplishes than he would take another eternity of the obnoxious smell that is high school.

ii.

“Mister Stark?”

“Kid?” Tony frowns and checks the caller ID again. “Why are you whispering? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

A pause follows in which the billionaire can only pick up on hushed voices and a door slamming shut before Peter replies. “I am. I just- uh.”

He’s still whispering but his faint voice breaks halfway through the sentence and he sounds more nasal than usual. Tony’s on his feet immediately, ignoring the frantic whirring of Dum-E who only just catches the screwdriver before it can fall into the wiring of the newest version of Rhodey’s leg braces.

“Are you crying?”

“Uh- No, I mean,” and the way he lets out a very deliberate breath into the phone, tells Tony enough to get F.R.I.D.A.Y. to unlock his fastest car and open the garage.

It’s what Pepper calls his kid-in-distress mode and it’s worrying how often it has come into action in the last couple of months. He doesn’t dwell on the fact how instinctual worrying for Peter has become, how vital the kid’s wellbeing is to his own.

“C-can you come and get me?”

“Already on my way, buddy. What happened?”

Tony’s heart doesn’t stop racing until he’s in front of the locker room and Ned opens the door for him. Really, it doesn’t stop racing even when he meets Peter’s glazed eyes and drops to his knees next to where the teenager is curled into himself on the floor, it just settles enough for his hands to stop shaking and his voice to come out even. No need to agitate Peter any further.

“Hey there,” he greets him with a quick card through the sweaty curls, “how’s the ankle going?”

“Think i-it’s broken,” the kid stammers, eyes squeezing shut in pain when Tony’s hand settles on his shin ever so lightly. “I-I can’t walk. It hurts really badly. A-and May wouldn’t p-pick up a-and –“

He shushes him with a wave of his hand and reassures him before he can start apologizing again because really, he doesn’t look like he’ll manage to keep his cool for much longer. The kid’s a trooper but broken bones just fucking hurt. No matter how enhanced one is. Not that he knows but Steve once described it as being even worse because the pain is just much more easily perceptible.

“I’ve already called Bruce and he’s prepping the med bay for you so he can put you back together the second we get to the tower, alright?” He doesn’t wait for Peter’s nod and simply keeps talking, trying to distract the kid to the best of his abilities while he prepares to lift him. “You’ve always wanted to meet The Bruce Banner, right? He’s a pretty cool guy. Got a bit of an anger management issue but otherwise – ”

That gets a choked laugh out of him which is all Tony can hope for at this point.

As he’s squatting down beside Peter he’s grateful for how stretchy his workshop pants always are and that he’s regularly lifting a multiple of the lightweight that is this particular teenager. He moves slowly to let Peter know exactly what he’s going to do and when he adjusts his grip one last time, under his knees and ribcage, he waits for the kid’s final yes before lifting him up.

Even though he knew when it would happen, he still can’t keep a small whimper from escaping his lips and it pierces through Tony’s heart like a poisoned arrow. He waits for Peter to sling an arm around his neck and nestle into his chest more securely before he starts walking.

Every step seems to be agony and so, in an attempt to distract, he starts talking again.

“I thought your Spider Sense is supposed to warn you if there’s danger not get you into an accident.”

“It’s not that easy,” Peter mutters through gritted tears, “It basically goes up for everything and anything that might possibly be dangerous. It just took me by surprise is all.”

With Ned’s help Tony carefully maneuvers his precious cargo through the door and into the, thankfully, deserted hallway. “And it made you trip and break your ankle?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “It’s really not as glorious to get bitten by a radioactive spider as people make it out to be. Spidey sense sucks.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever made it out to be glorious, if I’m being honest, kid,” Tony quips. He’s breathing a little easier now that they’ve almost reached the front doors. “You just-“

Before he can finish the great joke he has lined up, another voice interrupts them.

“I’m sorry, sir. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Now that he thinks about it, it does look a little like a kidnapping the way he’s carrying a visibly uncomfortable teenager through creepy school hallways.

“I can explain that,” he says as he turns around to face a teacher who has the good thinking of taking a step back once he sees who he’s talking to. “You see, the kid tripped and sprained his ankle and he can’t walk anymore so I’m taking him to a doctor. I admit I should’ve thought of signing him out with your secretary but I was kind of –“

- too worried to think straight because this kid has wormed his way deep into the dark abyss that is my soul. Promise I’ll call ahead next time.

“You can’t just take a child out of school!” The teacher glares, taking a step closer and looking like he is about to take Peter from him. Which does not bode well with Tony.

“Oh really?” He snaps, tightening his grip on Peter and pulling him closer to his chest protectively. “I would really like to see you try and stop me taking my kid out of school to see a f- freaking doctor for his ankle.”

He is about to venture a tirade about the school’s inability when Peter’s small voice cuts him off.

“It’s okay, Mister Daniel,” he says with a forced smile, “Mister Stark is my emergency contact and he’s totally allowed to take me out of school in, you know, emergencies. Can you please let the secretary know? My ankle is hurting really badly.”

Tony expected more of an argument but it seems not even actual functioning adults can deny this kid anything and so he’s allowed to carry Peter through the doors and into his car without much more fanfare.

“What do you say – we let Bruce set your bone and then get ice cream?”

Peter nods slowly as he sinks down into the leather seats of the car. “You really think of me as your kid?”

The billionaire meets his mentees eyes shortly before pulling out into traffic. “Of course I do. I couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

Somehow the media finds out about Tony calling Peter his kid and headlines of Tony Stark’s illegitimate son dominate the papers and social media for weeks. The teacher is fired immediately, and Tony and Peter?

Well, Tony figures that at some point the world would have to find out about the kid he intends to make the heir of his multi-million dollar company. And Peter doesn’t like the press but there are worse things than being called ‘my kid’ by one Tony Stark.

iii.

When May texts him that she has something important she wants to talk to him about, Tony’s mind draws up a list of one hundred and forty three reasons how he has fucked up in the matter of a few minutes.

The question whether he wants to join her for the upcoming parent teacher conference is not on that list. In fact, it’s not even in the realm of things that he thought would ever be on any list other than ‘Bad ideas. Do not do.’

However, in May’s eyes it is, apparently, the next logical step in their road to co-parenting their vigilante superhero genius kid and so he doesn’t question it and rather just nods along when she’s listing everything he has to remember, topics they have to address and teacher they want to talk to. He’s glad F.R.I.D.A.Y. is smart enough to record the phone talk because his mind shuts down after the opening question.

After May leaves him to his thoughts and the contents of their conversation slowly trickle into the conscious part of his brain, he’s excited.

He never thought it to be possible to be as excited as he is about something so incredibly ordinary. But he is giddy with joy. This is his kid and he gets to be part of his normal life, outside of the whole superhero mentoring business they have going on. It makes his chest feel almost painfully full with emotions he can’t quite wrap his head around.

Tony is nothing if not thorough and by the time the PTC rolls around, he has planned everything to a tee and there are fail saves for his fail saves in place because this has to be perfect. He won’t be satisfied with anything short of an excellent meeting and he doesn’t care about the jabs he’s fallen victim to from both women and Peter himself.

This is important.

And, much to everyone’s surprise, the evening actually goes along without a hitch.

May and Tony have reached a comfortable pace of silent conversations and friendly jokes on the other’s dime and they stand strong on anything that is for Peter’s best (though what exactly that is differs sometimes). So, more than a forced co-parenting meeting, it feels like he’s here with a friend and partner in crime and he doesn’t understand why any parent would ever miss out on it.

They’re in the middle of a conversation with Peter’s art teacher who’s swooning over their next field trip to the Museum of Modern Art, when Tony pauses and ends up interrupting her long monologue about all the skills and knowledge the students are supposed to be taking away from it.

“Are there any field trips planned to visit universities?” By May’s gaze that wanders over him and settles on the woman in front of them questioningly, he can tell that that was a good question.

The teacher stutters for a moment before telling them to talk to one of the science teachers about that which, of course, they do.

And that ends up being one hell of a long conversation that evolves mostly around money issues that Tony just stops with a wave of his hand and a patient tone that Pepper would be proud of.

“The school is only allowed a certain amount of field trips for each class,” the physics teacher tells him again, “We’re a state funded school and simply don’t have the expenses to do more, even if we want to give our seniors the possibility to look at their options. And the trip to the museum has been voted for by most of his class members. I’m really sorry, but there’s not much I can do about that, Mister Stark.” He sounds apologetic and it’s the only thing keeping Tony from making a show of rolling his eyes.

Instead he leans forward and tries out the calm approach he has perfected in his trial runs for this exact situation.

“Expenses aside,” he starts and May besides him shoots him a half grin because she knows exactly where he’s going with this and for once she’s not going to keep him from waving the billionaire card. “Would it be possible for the kids to make a trip to, let’s say, MIT? Normal field trip, just a day and for purely educational purposes, of course.”

Mister Bryant cocks his head to one side, seeming to go over the schedule for the year before he nods, “Hypothetically speaking we could probably replace one of our project days with a visit to a university but –“ he pauses and meets Tony’s gaze a little sheepishly, “Maybe it would be more manageable to go to a university that’s a little closer. Columbia maybe.”

“Ah,” Tony shakes his head with a small grin, “No, I really think Peter and his classmates should be able to look at the best possible option and that is not Columbia, trust me. I’ve been there.” He leans back then, legs crossed and hands resting calmly on top of his knees. “I really think that MIT would be the best choice. I’ve still got some pull on campus and the flight from New York to Massachusetts is only about an hour.”

“I-uh I –“ Mister Bryant falters for a moment and gulps when he looks between May and Tony, a united front that does not take no for an answer but he tries anyway, “I think that would go way beyond the scope of what we can afford even if you did donate to the school, there’s just no way we can pay for plane tickets and –“

Now it’s Tony’s turn to frown in confusion, “Who said anything about me donating to your school?” Which, to be fair is phrased in a way that can be misunderstood easily and he enjoys the look of pure terror on the teacher’s face for only a second before he presses on. “I mean, I will of course support the school wherever I can but I am going to pay for that trip. And we will be taking my private plan so there won’t be any need for tickets and long waiting times at icky airports.”

That’s when the man in front of them finally cracks and starts thanking them on hands and knees for their support and frankly it’s a little disgusting how often he pats Tony’s hand but the billionaire appreciates the sentiment. This guy is thankful he can offer his students more than a state-funded school usually can and that’s something he can get behind. He puts a mental reminder on his growing to-do list to donate to schools more often.

They say their goodbyes and Tony’s watching May converse easily with parents and teachers alike, projecting a calm and nonchalant attitude that Tony can tell is a farce. A farce she manages to obtain for almost twenty minutes before she drags him through the hallway and out of the building only to hug him fiercely.

“Thank you,” he hears her say over and over again and his hands find their way to her waist to pull her away gently. He’s about to response when a bright flash startles him and suddenly they’re surrounded by reporters with microphones and cameras.

He can only about get the gist of what they’re all shouting at them and he’s more annoyed at himself of not thinking about this. The media has been going nuts about Peter and him ever since finding out about the teenager and his role in Tony’s life and of course they would figure out that today is the parent teacher conference.

With a growl he pulls May behind him to hide her from the lights that burn in their eyes and the questioning stares she is already getting.

“Does Miss Potts know you’re cheating on her with your son’s mother?”

And –

What?

Tony almost cracks up right on the spot because the guy who’s shoving a microphone into his face looks scared shitless as he repeats back what the person on his inner ear headphone must’ve told him to say.

“Miss who?” he asks innocently and keeps a straight face despite the painful jab in the ribs he’s getting from behind.

The reporter’s eyes widen and there’s a mutter going through the masses but no one steps forward to save the man who can’t be older than twenty five and who is probably praying for the ground to eat him up right then. He soldiers on, though, and that takes a lot of courage so Tony doesn’t interrupt him.

“M-Miss Potts, sir?”

Sir. This guy was a child.

“Ah,” he nods with a big, shit eating grin, “My lovely fiancée. No, I don’t think she knows I’m cheating on her with my son’s mother but if you don’t mind, I’m begging you to publish that nice little candid you took and tell her all about it.”

God, he loves messing with the vultures. He loves how they have no clue.

He turns to all of them with his arms wide open and a little bow, “Please feel free to publish any and all of these pictures. I would love to see the article and even more I’m going to enjoy watching while my beautiful fiancée destroys all of you before she’s done with breakfast.”

May is still hiding behind him but she’s holding on to his jacket, as if she expected him to assault one of the guys, and he can practically feel her shaking with laughter. It makes his grin grow even wider even though it earns him another light punch in the back.

“You think there’ll be any articles about this tomorrow?” she asks when they’re finally alone again and strolling casually to his car. She’s adjusting her back on her shoulder and biting her lip, obviously a little worried about the whole thing but he gives her a reassuring pat on the back.

“If they’re smart there won’t be. And even if there is, they didn’t get your face and we’ll make sure it stays that way. Peter has gotten enough public attention through our acquaintanceship as it is. I’m not letting them make this any harder.” It’s a hard promise to keep but one he means from the bottom of his heart.

She smiles, “I know. You’re a good man, Tony. I’m happy Peter has you.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that without his voice giving away just how much her words affect him and so he simply nods, puts the car in drive and brings her home so they can get the pizza they promised their kid.

There are no articles about Tony’s newest love affair whatsoever but Pepper somehow manages to get her fingers on the picture of May hugging Tony and frames it. It joins all the other pictures of his family in his lab.

iv.

Peter’s already sitting on one of the bar stools, inhaling his third bowl of cereal when Tony comes trudging through the door. He only stops to ruffle the kid’s hair and let out something that he hopes sounds like a greeting before continuing his way to his literal life saver: the coffee maker that’s already brewing the very first steaming mug of his deliciously smelling elixir vitae.

He’s already dressed, of course, and he’s kept it a little more casual than his usual three piece suit. No, today he is wearing a navy dress jacket with red studs and a white dress shirt. He hasn’t forgone the tie, though. No, he’s sporting his favorite custom made tie – a red one with dark blue highlights and designed to look like the Spider-Man suit, the colors matching his jacket perfectly. Instead of his usual dress pants he’s in much more comfortable faded denim pants. All in all, he really does like his attire.

And the kid’s face when he notices even makes him crack the first smile of the morning.

“Close your mouth or you’ll spill the milk,” he grins over the rim of his cup as the teenager splutters and actually does spill some of the milk but from his bowl by putting down the spoon with too much force. Ah, he loves catching Peter off-guard. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to anymore.

“Where’d you even get that?” he asks once he’s gotten his mouth to form words and he points to the shirt as if Tony needs any hint on what he’s talking about. “Are you gonna wear that? Like, today to MIT?

The billionaire spares his outfit a fleeting glance and leisurely takes a sip from his drink. “I designed it and then ordered it. How do you get your clothes?” he asks, fondness coloring the ironic quip, “And what else would I be wearing? You have a tie with science puns you haven’t told me about?”

That actually snaps Peter out of his staring and he glares at his mentor. An attempt at looking intimidating that is completely cancelled out by his baby blue t-shirt on which sodium and neon are out joking each other. “Even if I had, I’d only share them with decent people.”

As if on cue Pepper walks in, hair in a messy bun and tucked into a soft dressing gown that only shows a peak of Peter’s favorite ion joke.

“I give up,” the older man sighs in mock exasperation and downs the last bit of coffee, gratefully taking the next cup his fiancée is handing him. “Why do I even bother with this menace, Pep?”

She drops a kiss to the top of both his and Peter’s head before curling up on one of the chairs. She rests her chin on her knee and grins lazily up at him as she quips, “To atone for your sins?”

Peter cracks up at that and he’s suddenly laughing so hard that Tony is worried he’ll slip and tumble to the floor like the weird chaotic energy filled bouncing ball that he is. He’s already halfway out of his chair when the teenager composes himself and just sticks the tongue out at him cheekily.

Before Tony can reply, Pepper is reminding them that they should probably get going to collect everyone before they start worrying he forgot. Really, not everyone is as used to him being late to important meetings all the time. Although, this time it’s an actually important meeting.

So he shoos the kid to go brush his teeth and get whatever kids need to go on a field trip nowadays before turning to get ready himself. And, lo and behold, they actually make it on time (well, six minutes and thirty seven seconds late, but really Peter is just overreacting).

He’s at the front of the class with the teacher when they give the excited horde of kids the rundown and it feels weird, if he’s being honest. He has spent enough time with Peter to have a feeling for how to handle teenage kids but standing there and having them look up at him with their big eyes, wanting to learn more?

It’s amazing but scary. Is this what teachers feel like all the time? To know they have the power to educate and thus shape the next generation, the future?

Tony finds himself pondering about the what-ifs and could’ve-been’s and would-I-even-be-any-good’s but eventually his gaze always lands back on Peter who is listening to what his teacher is saying with such an earnest expression and when their eyes meet, he beams at him. And he feels that, maybe, he is doing an alright job in shaping the future.

The trip ends up going a lot more smoothly than he has ever hoped it would. The kids love the private airplane and the games Tony has stocked it with just for this occasion. Most of them haven’t flown before and it’s actually endearing to watch Peter fawn over how pretty the sky is looking with all his nerdy friends.

It seems that campus life is one of the few things that still intimidates teenagers and during their tour no one so much as steps out of line. They’re all too distracted by how big the campus is, by how old and honorable the buildings seem with all their fancy names and Tony simply enjoys watching his kid geek out over the labs they’re being shown even though he’s got his very own work station in Tony’s personal lab but that’s just how Peter is.

He’s excited about all of it. He’s writing every little thing the tour guide and Tony are saying down and takes everything in.

Tony’s heart is hurting with the thought of how close college suddenly seems. Not even a year and Peter will be going someplace else to grow and get even smarter and eventually change the world. He’ll jump out of the nest and spread his wings and actually fly. And while he’s so proud of everything the kid is going to achieve, he has to swallow past a lump in his throat when he beams up at him.

They only get a moment to themselves on the flight back.

Most of the kids are passed out in their seats and it’s quiet enough for Peter to lean into his side almost as if they are alone.

“Thank you so much for this,” he whispers as he stifles a yawn into his mentor’s shoulder. “And thank you for tagging along.”

He smiles, a wave of fondness crushing over all the little things that might have annoyed him that day until all he feels is the familiar feeling of Peter’s soft curls tickling his neck. “Anything for you,” he replies with a smile and brushes a bang from his forehead.

The boy snuggles a bit closer and they enjoy the peace and quiet until they hear some other kids talking in the seats behind them.

“Do you think Peter can get Mister Stark to give us a tour through Stark Industries, too?” A girl wonders. To which some guy replies in a hurried whisper, “Stark Industries? I hope he takes us to the Avenger’s Compound! Can you imagine –“

Tony laughs quietly to himself but Peter is adamantly shaking his head, never lifting it from the warm shoulder. “Over my dead body,” he mumbles, tapping Tony’s wrist for good measure, “We’re not making a field trip there.”

“Oh, really? Don’t you mean over my dead body?” he quips, pulling the kid closer, “Who says I want some gangly teenagers roaming about my company?”

He knows, should Peter ask, he would give his class the world’s best tour through the company anyone has ever seen. He knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this kid.

The first time Tony set foot in Midtown School of Science and Technology he noticed the nauseating smell. He dimly remembers having been nervous and excited at the same time. Proud. Over-whelmed. He remembers feeling good.

When he enters the school now, he doesn’t feel much of anything.

There’s guilt lurking at the door and the grief that has become a part of him, sure. But then, they’re not really there at all. The pain that has been with him with every heartbeat, every breath since – The pain’s not there, either.

There’s nothing.

He is nothing. Merely a shell of what used to be a person. His body is there but not much else. Not his mind, not his gut instinct and definitely not his heart. No, he left all of it on –

“Mister Stark.”

Right. He’s not alone.

The ki – No. Not the kid. Ned.

Ned is the one who tugs at his sleeve clumsily after not having gotten a reply. It’s Ned who leads his body down the never-ending hallways that taunt him with the empty echo of their lone footsteps. It’s Ned who goes to work on the lock, removing the shackle from the solid brass body with practiced ease while Tony watches on dumbly.

The padlock’s clicking sounds dull, Ned’s voice is drowned out once more by the blood rushing in his ears and he can’t breathe because his lungs won’t pull the air in. It’s so familiar he doesn’t feel the pain that shoots through his body when his heart clenches at not getting enough oxygen.

“-eter needs you to breathe. You have to breathe, Mister Stark.”

He’s not breathing?

Tony exhales tentatively. Oh. He wasn’t breathing. Now he is. That’s nice. His heart unclenches and his mind starts picking up on his surroundings again.

They’re in a school. Dirty hallways, dented lockers, dust everywhere. It’s eerily quiet. No school should ever be this quiet, not even in the middle of the night.

It’s not the middle of the night. It’s noon.

Noon? Why are they in a school at noon? Why isn’t he working? Where’s Pet – Oh.

He blinks when the world starts turning, to focus on the open locker and the k – teenager in front of it. There are text books, carelessly thrown in after a long day of school because why bother arranging the books when you would use them again the next day? Advanced trig is standing dangerously close to the edge and only the weight of some tome that looks to be English literature is keeping it from falling.

Funny. Tony can relate. Though, he’s already falling – has been for weeks – and nothing is holding him back. He’s waiting for the moment he finally hits the ground and breaks apart. That would be easier. He can fix himself back up, he’s done it before. And even if he fails, at least it’ll stop the suffering.

Ned looks back to the locker when Tony doesn’t move with a sad sigh. Tony thinks he has been talking all along but he just can’t be sure. He’s zapping in and out. On and off. Alive and de –

“-lways working on the new formulas in chemistry so they should be,” he rummages through the depths of the locker, somehow keeping advanced trig from falling until he stops on a notebook that has seen better days. The sides are full of spilled ink and dog ears. But he doesn’t see that.

His eyes have stopped on the familiar writing – a familiar name – on the upper left corner of the cover. P –

Tony clears his throat, hand shaking as he reaches out to take the pad and it gets worse when he starts flipping through the pages. It’s too much of him in these pages – little doodles and structural formulas and quickly scribbled equations that are too advanced for any high schooler.

Not this one.

He stops when he’s found what he’s come here for, ignoring the way his fingers are gripping the page so tightly he might tear it off. But there, in neat handwriting is the newest recipe for synthetic spider webs. Unprecedented, never tested, never even left the ground of the school they’re standing in.

“That’s it,” he says and his voice feels like it hasn’t been used in months when it’s only been days. Same difference, he supposes, considering that time’s not real anymore. Nothing is.

His eyes are still roaming the page and he lets himself get lost in the science of it. Science is something he can grasp. This is something he can make. This is something that won’t turn to ash in his arms and leave him reeling and fighting for air on an alien planet –

“I- I can make this,” he presses on, desperate to keep himself inside the science and away from the nightmare that is everywhere his k – he isn’t. “I’ll make it for him. He’ll have it the second he’s back.”

Because that is the plan.

It still surprises him that there even is a plan but they’ve gotten back up and that back up is a woman. Figures that she would be able to think of something. He has always known that women are stronger in every way that counts. He’s glad he can let her carry the weight of the universe for now because he can’t even lift the weight of his own guilt.

Everything is set in motion and right now all they can do is wait.

Tony has never been known for his patience. That’s why he’s here – to have something to do, to grasp at something meaningful and important that can keep P – him safe when he’s back.

“He’ll be so happy to have his webs back,” Ned rambles, “Maybe a little mad because we went through his stuff but mostly happy I think. God, I can’t wait to have him back.”

“You will get him back,” Tony replies, closing the notebook and turning on his heel. He has to get out of here. “Just a few more days and you’ll have him back.”

He can hear the frown in Ned’s voice when he follows him, “We both will have him back, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s face smiles. He feels nothing.

vi.

“Your permission slip, Mister Parker?”

He blinks dumbly at his teacher who’s towering above him with an outstretched hand, waiting for the paper that has been burning a hole into the back pocket of his jeans for the past couple of hours. It should be a relief to finally get rid of the thing that has been haunting him for weeks and he can’t wait to never see the damn thing ever again. But – handing it over to his teacher means signing what he’s sure is going to be his death warrant.

For a second he entertains the thought of getting up and walking out of class without a backward glance but even as his gaze settles on the door, his only way out, he knows he doesn’t have the energy to do any of that. Hell, he barely has the energy to get out of the bed in the morning. Most days May literally drags him out by his arms and manhandles him into clothes and force feeds him.

Peter drops his head and reaches into his pocket. The second his hands touch the offending piece of paper the world starts spinning and he almost recoils but doesn’t. He doesn’t do a lot of things he wants lately. He grabs the crumpled-up slip and hands it to his teacher without looking up. He’s hoping if he can’t see the big fat name on the thing, it won’t hurt as much.

Which is ridiculous. How could there possibly be a pain worse than this? (Anymore and it might actually kill him.)

The second his teacher has his slip, he marches back to the front of the class and starts talking about their field trip. And if Peter thought he was feeling like dying before? Well, it only gets worse from here.

He tries to focus on the bright green emergency exit sign above the door instead of on the words that travel through the air and hit him with a force that knocks the air out of his lungs. Every word is like a gunshot wound, like someone putting holes in his body over and over and over again.

Exit.

He has to get out. The little white stick man is waiting for him to follow after him. Where? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

He wonders what it would be like to get lost in a white square. To have light surround him instead of the darkness that has been clinging to him for months. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get that feeling again.

Which doesn’t mean there’s no light in his life, no. There’s May and Ned and even MJ who has stepped up as someone akin to a friend. There’s Mr. Delmar and his sandwiches and there’s his cat. There’s the people he’s saving every day. But there’s no –

“-loyees of Stark Industries have suffered enough and I trust you all to be –“

Emergency exit only.

What constitutes as an emergency, he ponders. Is it an emergency when his lungs feel like collapsing and his entire body feels like it’s disintegrating again? Is it an emergency when he feels like dying but knows he isn’t? Is this constant state of loss and sadness he’s carrying an emergency?

Emergencies are sudden, unexpected. His grief is six months in the making. At this point, it’s neither.

Even though he feels like dying, he knows it’s not an emergency because this has become his new normal. And he has long since realized that there is no immediate action to be taken against this. There’s nothing. Just him and his pain.

He doesn’t know, can’t understand, why May thought this would be a good idea.

Pepper, Rhodey and Happy have all tried to reach out to him. Hell, half of the Avengers have tried and failed to get him to even look at them because when he sees them, he thinks of him and he’s not strong enough to go there. He’s not strong enough to see his name, his genius, his legacy plastered everywhere.

There shouldn’t be a legacy. Peter shouldn’t have had to sign his name on a dotted line making him the heir once he is of age. There shouldn’t be a heritage because he shouldn’t be fucking dead.

He breathes out very deliberately and tries to ignore the worried glances Ned is throwing him. His best friend thinks he’s being subtle but he really is about as subtle as – What’s not subtle?

The only thing he can think of his how he was sitting in front of the TV in 2008 with his uncle and his aunt and they were watching the news and he was hoping to get another glimpse at the newest superhero. He remembers some press conference that he didn’t understand. He remembers what came after, remembers how it changed his life forever.

Well, that’s not subtle at all.

His uncle’s voice is in his head and then another one joins it, overlapping with it until their words are the only thing he hears. Together they make up a tragic melody of loss.

You can’t change the world with subtle. You have to be bold, Pete.

“Hey Parker, think you can get us into the forbidden areas with your intern status? Think that’ll still mean something now that –“

His nails cut into the heel of his hand. He hears his skin tearing and he smells the few droplets of blood that spill. He concentrates on it and clenches his teeth to keep from screaming.

“Don’t know,” he spits out, chest heaving heavily with how fast his heart is beating and he can barely contain the hot rage that is pooling in his stomach. “Haven’t been there in months.”

Six months seventeen days and about twelve hours. Ever since he met Helen Cho’s eyes that only held an apology and he bolted out of the med bay.

Thankfully Flash doesn’t pry further. Even he seems to realize that Peter is close to losing it with how pale he’s looking and how he hasn’t moved a muscle more than he absolutely had to ever since they boarded the bus. He hears them talking about it anyway.

They’re speculating about just what went down, what sacrifices had to be made to save the world this time.

It’s not just the world. And the sacrifice was too high.

You’re alright.

He isn’t. He’s dying and no one realizes because he’s walking, talking and breathing.

“We’re here, Peter,” his best friend tells him and Peter is glad that he’s gripping his shoulder as tightly as he is. He’s singlehandedly pulling him back from the abyss that is his mind and into the next hell which is his reality. He doesn’t know which one is worse.

They make it through the front doors without an incident and up until the front desk, Peter manages to avoid looking at the trademark logo but there’s one hanging right above the area and once his eyes have found it, he can’t bring himself to look away. Even when his vision his becoming blurry, he just keeps staring.

Are you trying to catch flies? It’s just a sign, kid. Through here, that’s where the magic happens.

“Looks like I’m missing one visitor pass,” the cheerful lady that seems to be their guide today notes and is about to turn to the woman at the registration desk when his teacher intersects.

“I was told that Mister Parker won’t need a badge when I called ahead,” he tells them and Peter wishes he would’ve just stayed in his own headspace. He really doesn’t feel like explaining that he hasn’t touched his badge in almost a year because he never actually needed it around here. He just –

“Ah, Mister Parker.”

Knowing eyes find his and the rage in his stomach is rearing its head even as he forces something that he hopes resembles a friendly smile on his lips. He blinks and the red anger settles with his next exhale.

“Do you have your badge with you?”

Don’t be a spoilsport, Happy. The kid doesn’t need to wear a badge.

He shakes his head because his throat is suddenly too dry to get any words out and he fears that even if he did, they would only cause more pain.

Another voice sounds them suddenly. “Mister Parker has full access to all Stark Industry buildings. Welcome back, Peter.”

Peter is on fire. His skin his burning, his insides are consumed by the hot flame that is the rage he can barely control.

It is nice to finally make your acquaintance, Mister Parker. Boss has talked very highly of you. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’m in charge of the tower.

He can hear his classmates talking over each other and even his teacher seems surprised but doesn’t delve further into why a lanky high schooler would need access to all company buildings. Ned shushes them and Peter can go back to concentrating on his breathing.

I’m not letting you sit this one out, Peter. You can’t run from this forever and if it takes a stupid field trip with your class to face your demons? Then so be it. You need to keep living, baby. I miss you.

He misses himself, too.

He misses how he used to laugh too loud and talk too much and how his mind was always moving too fast. He misses how he used to feel so many emotions, how he had the full kaleidoscope of colors when all he sees nowadays is red and black. Red is his anger, black the grief.

Objectively, the tour is nice.

Their guide is going out of her way to make this an interesting experience and she shows them a lot more than visitors are usually shown. Sometimes she stumbles on a more science-related question but before Peter feels the need to jump in, the helpful AI answers from the ceiling, earning surprised gasps and delighted chuckles whenever she chimes in.

Peter is proud how he stays upright the whole time and doesn’t let his anger get the better of him once. He’s in a peaceful state of oblivion. Floating somewhere between the things he’s seeing, hearing and feeling, and something else, something easier to handle. There are no strong emotions in this world, just a deep blue sea with occasional ripples. If he’s not careful he might drown. Maybe he’ll stop being careful for just one –

He’s snapped back into the reality, where the air in his lungs is acid and tries to kill him with every breath he takes, by his phone and a text message he chooses to ignore.

If he keeps ignoring everything about this, maybe he’ll survive the day. If he just stays in that other world, where he might drown in the sea, maybe he won’t die in this world. Because he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to leave his aunt and Ned. He just doesn’t know how to not die anymore.

“If you don’t have any more questions regarding the labs, I will take you to the heart of any tour through our building – an exhibition about the history of Stark Industries,” the cheerful lady is leading them down the staircase again and into a wing of the building Peter has never been to before. His body follows the group mechanically.

“As you all probably know, Stark Industries was founded by Howard Stark in the early twentieth century as a –“

Flying cars, super soldiers and better weapons. That’s all my old man ever talked about.

“-age of twenty one, he assumed the role of CEO and the company flourished for almost two decades –“

Your moral compass has already surpassed mine by – I don’t know, F.R.I.D.A.Y., what’s a good comparison?

“-wanted a whole wing about Miss Virginia Potts and her accomplishments since taking over as CEO. Soon after, Stark Industry started investing more into renewable energies and, with Stark Tower, managed to –“

His phone buzzes again but he quickly presses decline and pushes it back into his backpack. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Why do they have to make it worse?

Peter has almost made it back into the peaceful space of his mind when two things happen at once.

“- the late Tony Stark –“

“Peter!”

The cheerful ladies voice clashes with Pepper’s concerned one and suddenly the CEO and late Tony Stark’s fiancée is standing in front of them, searching the group until her eyes fall on Peter.

For a moment everything is dulled and then the sounds come back. They’re too much. Too loud, too bright, too full, too much.

He searches frantically for something to cling to and all he finds is a picture of his mentor. His late mentor.

I’m never late. Everyone else is simply early.

Something in him breaks when he sees the brown eyes that are guarded on the photograph. The smile is fake but it radiates exactly what he wants. He’s always been good at getting people to see what he wants them to see. He’s always been good at getting what he wants.

Wanted.

Late Tony Stark.

Suddenly the anger is back and he can do nothing but let it consume him. Every last pore is filled with hot blinding rage and he snaps when a hand is on his shoulder and someone is trying to calm him down.

He hasn’t realized he’s been screaming.

“You’re alright, Peter. It’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not!” he bursts out then. Everyone keeps telling him that it’s okay and that he’s alright but it isn’t and he isn’t. He’s lost and broken and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he can’t possibly move on from this.

“He’s fucking gone. He’s gone he’s –“

“He saved the world.” – “He’s a hero.” – “He’s –“

Peter doesn’t care because he might be a hero but he was also his mentor and his father figure and he’s gone. He’s vanished from his life as if he has never been there only then it wouldn’t hurt so fucking much.

Pepper meets his eyes and he’s not sure how she does it because he swears his eyes are shooting flames but Pepper has always been able to handle fire.

“You know why he had to do it.”

Listen, Pete. You’re probably going to hate me when you see this but this was the only way to get you back. I can’t – I can’t keep living like this. I have to get everyone back. I have to get you back.

“I never asked him to,” he screams, “I never would’ve agreed. How could you let him do this? Why didn’t you stop him? I – I thought you loved him, too. I thought –“

He breaks off when a sob forces its way past his dry lips and when he blinks the tears start running down his cheek and they’re doing nothing in cooling his anger and they’re doing nothing in curing his pain.

“I love him.” Pepper’s voice is calm, not accusatory. “Nothing I could’ve said would’ve stopped him.” She’s not taking the bait, she’s not fighting back. He hates it.

“I hate him,” he whispers and in that moment he means it. “If he had cared at all – if he had loved me at all he wouldn’t –“

I love you, Peter. I love you so much it kills me to be without you even one second longer. If you take one thing from this stupid video message, please let it be this. I love you and I will always love you. No matter what.

He’s breaking down.

His nose is running, the tears are flowing freely and he can’t control his body anymore. His hands are shaking and his knees scrape over the ground when he falls over but before his face hits the floor, someone catches him. Pepper is warm and soft and familiar and he buries his head in her neck and lets go of the anger for the first time in months.

It has become an integral part of him and now that it’s slowly seeping out of his pores, all that’s left is the overwhelming pain of losing the third father figure in his life and the feeling that he’s alone again.

Why does he keep losing people? Why did it have to be him for the rest of the universe? Why couldn’t someone else do the sacrifice? Why – Why does Peter have to suffer? Why does he always have to suffer?

It’s selfish but sometimes he wishes he would’ve stayed dead. He’s not strong enough to go through this again, not now that he’s back in the real world and he feels the pain again. He can’t.

You’re the strongest person I know, Peter. Between you and Pepper, there’s no one stronger.

I’m sorry it has to be you. I’m sorry.

Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry –

He must have lost consciousness at some point because when he wakes up, May is carding her fingers through his sweaty hair and he’s tucked into the softest blanket he’s ever felt. He surrounded by a feeling of home. He freezes when he realizes why.

The blanket, the scent and the calming sound of rain hitting the window at a volume he can enjoy. He is home. Sort of.

“Hey sweetie,” his aunt whispers, “Pepper called me. We’re staying over tonight, is that okay?”

Instead of answering he turns his face into the pillow more fully and inhales the scent that is so uniquely Tony. Now that he has it, he doesn’t know how he has made it six months without it. Here, in his bedroom, it’s like he’s just been here. As if he’s just stepped out to get a glass of water.

Tony is still alive in here.

He has tried so hard to bury every memory of the man and it has killed him. But now? Now he remembers.

He remembers how he made him breakfast in bed and helped him with his homework late one night. He remembers how Tony’s snoring woke him after they both fell asleep watching a movie. He remembers the small smiles and hair ruffles.

He remembers the I love you’s. The ones not on some video message but stored away safely in his heart.

Before he knows it, he’s crying again and his aunt pulls him closer and then Pepper is there, too. And he feels like Tony is there, too, as long as he remembers.

fic by @josywbu

art by @lieselfh

#irondad #irondad fic #tony stark #peter parker #1k followers celebration #liesel art #josis fic #field trip #but not your typical field trip fic #YOU ARE MORE THAN WELCOME TO SCREAM AT US VIA INBOX BTW #j&fcollab #major character death

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garypotterboywizard-blog · 5 years

Text

The Mysterious Hagroots Letter

Gary was eleven when his Hagroots letter arrived.

Well, he was eleven when it arrived — but he was eleven years, 27 days and 6 hours when he was finally able to read it.

On the first day of his letter’s arrival, Gary was engaged in a very unassuming Chuck E. Cheese birthday party. Gary’s aunt and uncle meant well, but as muggles, they didn’t understand the importance of a boy wizard’s eleventh birthday — in fact they didn’t know he was a wizard at all. While he should have been waiting excitedly by the mail slot in anticipation of this triumphant milestone, Gary instead chewed on cardboard pizza, clapping along to outdated animatronic robot musicians while contemplating how old exactly was too old to jump into a ball pit.

When they arrived home that evening, exhausted and slightly queasy from riding a VR rollercoaster three times in a row, Gary was greeted not by a piece of parchment welcoming him to his magical new life, but instead a sticky note from the postman.

“Sorry we missed you.” Curiously, the note was addressed to him. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Gary never got mail!

Assuming it was merely this month’s issue of Highlight’s magazine, Gary’s aunt and uncle recycled the note and retired to the living room to watch reruns of Jeopardy.

The next day Gary raced home from school, but he was too late.

“Sorry we missed you,” the note read, again. Only this time, it promised to try again the next business day — which was Monday. Three whole days away!

That weekend, Gary thought about the mystery letter a lot. Well to be fair, he actually spent most of Saturday cleaning his bedroom and Sunday visiting his Grandmother (who had a strange fascination with wristwatches). But in between those other things, the letter did cross his mind.

Gary had Math Olympiads after school on Monday, but after that, he checked the spot on the table where his aunt kept the mail.

“Aunt Tulip,” Gary asked, hanging his backpack on its hook on the wall. “Did any mail come for me today?”

“Right, right,” she said, distracted despite the fact that she was making a very basic pot of spaghetti. “We’ve missed it three times now, so we have to pick it up at the post office."

Gary’s uncle was working the late shift that month and had the car in the evenings, so his aunt promised they’d go first thing Saturday.

The week crawled by, even though Gary had a lot of math to practice for his upcoming meet. When Saturday finally arrived, Aunt Tulip, Uncle Vernoff and his cousin P-Diddy piled in the car for a family drive to the local post office. When they arrived, Aunt Tulip gave Gary the mailman’s note, and he carried it delicately in both hands up to the counter.

“I’m here to get my letter,” he said proudly.

The woman took the note from him and stared for a moment, then handed it back with a shake of her head. “No, see this is at your regional post office. This is the district post office. Understand?”

“Yes of course,” Gary said, even though he was eleven and absolutely did not.

The family piled back in the car and drove to their second post office that day just as a man was locking the front doors.

“No,” Gary said desperately through the glass, holding up the note as proof, “my letter is in there.” But the man was very old, and very tired, and genuinely did not care what Gary was saying as he had a very attractive wife waiting for him at home with a delicious pot roast.

On Thursday of the following week, Gary’s uncle fell ill. While unfortunate, it meant Aunt Tulip and Gary could use the car on a rare weeknight. Gary begged Aunt Tulip to drive him back to the regional post office, in exchange for vacuuming the curtains.

“I’m back,” Gary told the old man once they arrived, thrusting the note at him. “I’ve returned for my letter.”

“It’s been over a week,” the man said apologetically after an extended look through the back bins. “See right here, we return the letter to sender if it’s not retrieved in a week.”

“But I did come for it,” Gary insisted, “I was here Saturday but you locked the doors.”

But the man only handed him a cherry-flavored lollipop, pointed to the hours posted on the door, and moved on to the next customer.

“It was probably just some junk mail,” Aunt Tulip said brightly on the way home, turning the radio to smooth jazz. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

But why would someone choose his eleventh birthday to start sending him junk mail? And anyway, it was his junk mail. He felt he at least deserved to read it. Maybe it would be something cool, like an AOL free trial CD ROM.

By Friday of the following week, Gary had nearly forgotten about the mysterious letter. His team came in a solid eighth out of fifteen in the Math Olympiads, and Gary began working on a model volcano for his science fair project.

When he arrived home, he saw the postman putting a bright blue envelope into the neighbor’s mailbox.

“Excuse me,” Gary said, suddenly remembering the trials and tribulations of the weeks prior. “You don’t by any chance remember me? You were supposed to deliver my letter.”

The postman smiled, adjusting his hat to sit at a jaunty angle on his head. “I’m supposed to deliver a lot of letters.”

Of course. The postman wouldn’t know what he looked like, just because he'd delivered a letter with his name on it. He’d have to be more specific. “I think it was a very important letter. Or possibly junk mail. I actually don’t know what it was, because it never got to me.”

“Well, unless your name is Gary Potter, I think you’re out of luck, kid.”

Gary perked up. “I am! I am Gary Potter!”

The postman looked skeptical. “But I am delivering the letter to this house,” he pointed at the neighbors, “and you seem to be going there,” he pointed at Gary's house.

Gary pulled out his school ID. “Here, look.”

The postman squinted at his ID card. “Well this doesn’t look anything like a driver’s license. Kid, postmen are sharp. You’ll need to get a better fake ID if you’re trying to fool us.”

Gary was starting to feel frustrated. “I’m eleven. Why would I need a fake ID?”

“To commit mail fraud?”

“It’s my school ID.”

“That is not nationally recognized by the government as a valid form of ID. Sorry "Gary”,” he said with air-quotes, “you’re not going to pull the wool over my eyes.”

Gary stomped all the way home, hands empty. He considered going on a hunger strike, but his Aunt Tulip had made spaghetti again and he did love spaghetti, so he ate it — but he ate it grumpily.

After dinner, the family was just sitting down to watch the new episode of America’s Got Talent when the doorbell rang.

“—seems to have ended up in our mail—” Gary heard voices trickle in from the entryway. “—didn’t mean to open it — sorry about that — prank mail?”

More muffled voices, and then the door slammed shut.

“Mail came for you,” Aunt Tulip said, tossing the bright blue envelop from earlier onto the couch beside Gary.

Gary was disappointed to see that it wasn’t an AOL CD ROM at all, and did indeed look like some kind of whimsical prank. Probably from one of the kids at school. His friends were a bunch of jokesters.

“Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you’ve been accepted at Hagroots School of Watchcraft and Wizardry.

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books, snorkel gear and equipment. You can find all this and more at Horizontally, where you can also synchronize your watch (this is mandatory).

Term begins on September 1st at precisely 8:37am and 14 seconds. We await your response via the enclosed self-addressed envelope no later than July 31st. Please use express shipping, first class, and we prefer Fed Ex to USPS.

Yours sincerely,

Headmaster Billabong Bumblebrew”

Gary laughed heartily, wondering which of his friends sent the silly letter. He couldn’t believe the lengths he’d gone to in order to read it — just to find out the whole thing had been a joke!

He didn’t notice as the letter slipped down between the cushions of the couch as he went back to America’s Got Talent — he was already missing a ventriloquist on rollerskates, which suddenly felt much more pressing than the pointless joke letter.

What a good prank. Wizard school. If only.

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floral-and-fine · 7 years

Text

Bidding on The Avengers (part 1)

F!reader x Avengers (eventually)

Summary: Tony is organizing a charity event in which all his teammates (individually) will be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and go on a date.

A/n: This is just the first part, setting up the story. The rest of the series will be the reader x various avengers. I have Thor’s, Bruce’s, T'Challa’s, and Vision’s started.

“What a marvelous idea! This ball of charity!” Thor exclaimed. He had a big grin plastered on his face after hearing Tony’s announcement.

All the Avengers were gathered in the common area.

“You see? Thor, has the right kind of attitude!” Tony stated nodding his head, then he pointed at the rest of the Avengers.

The team continued to glare at Tony in response.

“The rest of you… Could be a little more excited, it’s for underprivileged children after all.“

Pepper cleared her throat.

"The auction is raising money for education. I already gave generous donations to various children organizations on your behalf.”

Tony shrugged, “Either way, it’s for a good cause.”

Tony had just shared with the team, that each of them was being auctioned off as dates to the highest bidders at his charity event.

Thor was fascinated by the whole concept of people bidding large sums of money simply to do something mundane.

“You mortals, your ideas never cease to amaze me!”

“I’m assuming in Asgard you guys don’t do anything like this?” Clint asked amused at how thrilled Thor was behaving.

“Not quite. We have grand festivities, but nothing similar to what Stark described."

"Well, what are Asgardian parties like?” Clint questioned further.

“They are loud! With music, banter, drinking, dancing, and the occasional brawl to demonstrate one’s mightiness.”

Clint laughed, “That’s not too different from most Earth parties.”

“I’d like to mention, how most people volunteer to be auctioned off at these types of events.” Nat interjected.

Tony quickly countered. “If I asked, I know most of you would have refused."

Natasha rolled her eyes. She really despised the idea of someone making decisions for her.

Pepper sensing the tension of the situation quickly added, "Think about it this way, people want to spend time with the Avengers. I am absolutely positive that this event will earn the highest donations.”

While the charity event and auction were Tony’s idea, Pepper has been doing all the work to organize it. It had become her project, and she was determined to see it be a success.

“I agree with Ms. Potts, this auction would be very beneficial for all the educational charities included. I am honored to be participating.” Vision stated calmly.

Pepper gave Tony a quick glance. Tony just shrugged his shoulders. Neither of them considered that Vision would want to be involved.

“Thank you for your support Vision. I think… This will be an exciting opportunity for all of us.” Pepper responded trying not to sound hesitant.

Someone’s phone started ringing.

Tony took out his cell and checked the caller ID.

“Sorry, I gotta take this, it’s long distance.”

He moved away from the group but remained close by before answering.

“Hey, did you get my email?… Really?… That’s great!…” Tony looked over at everyone, “I mean you would not believe the crap the team is giving me about it… Absolutely. See you later. Bye!”

Tony tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, that was just T'Challa, I think most of you might know him. Great guy… Super busy being a king and all… Apparently, he still has time for charity."

Tony smiled smugly. That phone call couldn’t have happened at a better time.

One by one the team begrudgingly agreed.

Sam joked about how all the ladies will swoon over Steve, causing Steve to blush.

"We better have pillows ready, after they start passing out from excitement.” Sam nudged Steve’s arm.

Natasha joined in with the teasing too.

“Look at his face, so cute… He really is America’s little sweetheart.”

Steve coughed. He knew they were just trying to mess with him, (and it was working) so he tried to change the conversation.

“Bucky’s always been more popular with the ladies."

Bucky laughed.

"Yeah I remember those good old days, until you became the first super soldier and I became invisible.” Bucky joked.

Steve groaned.

Natasha smirked, “Don’t get too comfy boys, I bet there are loads of women ready to place bids on the two of you."

"Oh, I know,” Sam replied. “Women love a man in uniform.”

Bucky nodded his head, “I know I haven’t been on a date in a few decades, but that is in no way a reflection on how charming and handsome I am.”

“I guess this auction could be fun.” Wanda said, changing the subject of conversation.

“Help support a good cause, and the date itself might be enjoyable.”

“I’ve organized date packages that I think most you will like.” Pepper added.

“Like what?” Pietro asked, intrigued.

The speedster was starting to warm up to the idea.

“I think I’d rather keep it a surprise, Mr. Maximoff.”

Now he wanted to do it out of pure curiosity. What sort of date did Pepper think he’d enjoy, and what did she have planned for the others.

“Big guy? You’ve been awfully quiet. Something on your mind?” Tony asked.

Bruce had been busy working on things, not really paying attention to the commotion from his peers.

“Oh… I’m fine. It’ll be fun watching from the sidelines.”

Tony looked at Bruce skeptically.

“I believe you’re an Avenger pal, which means that you’re going to be auctioned off to highest bidder with the rest of us.” Tony stated.

“No way Tony. I’m not the kind of guy anyone wants to take out on a date. Not to mention there’s the other guy…” Bruce was interrupted by Tony.

“Come on it’s a date, that is way less stressful than saving the world, and I know plenty of people who would go out with you simply because you’re a doctor.”

Bruce knew there was no way Tony would give up, so he eventually agreed with the rest of the team.

“You guys are not going to regret this!” Tony announced triumphantly.

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passengersvoice · 7 years

Text

The kin quandry

So I am going to ramble to myself some more, in the time-honored tradition of this blog. I am like 95% at this point that I identify AS Dexter, and not just identify WITH him. In this post I lay out my issues with this and compare it directly to my wolfkin side that I have known about am have been comfortable with for many years.

My wolf side:

I am not a specific wolf that lived and died- my wolf side is alive now and is with me. I have zero reason to believe I was a wolf in a past life (or even that past lives are a real thing). My wolf side is just a facet of me and so has grown up with me all my life, experiencing the world in tandem with my human side. I’ve been aware that I’m a wolf for... 19 years-ish? That is a lot of time to go through all the growing pains of discovering a kintype and ultimately becoming intimately comfortable with it. This part of my identity I have zero issues with. I understand myself and like myself. Why I am wolfkin, I don’t know. I have some mixed theories on how this wolf self came to be, but ultimately no one theory satisfies all my questions. Dreams were an early way my subconscious told me I am a wolf, in addition to frequent shifts.

I used to shift a lot as a kid but now it is rare. When I would shift, the wolf side would become more dominant and I would be subject to the wolf’s instincts and whims. My noisy brain would become quiet and I would focus more on what’s around me and ignore the deeper thoughts in my head. Nowadays, my shifts are associated with imbalance- I shift more when I try to actively quell my wolf side, or if I’m intoxicated. Since I am pretty chill with the wolf side of myself, there’s no reason to fight against my wolf side, so I don’t unexpectedly shift that much anymore.

I have no wolf “memories” to recall that I know of- meditation sessions have yielded some visions (mixed bag of first person and third person, ranging from one second to a whole afternoon) but I’d never previously considered them to be actual events that happened- I always assumed it was created in my head. When presented with the theory of reincarnation as it relates to kin, I become less sure that these visions are merely products of my imagination. I’m willing to entertain the theory that these are memories, but I am extremely reluctant to commit to the idea just yet.

Wolf is an important part of my identity but ultimately it affects very little in my day-to-day life. An outsider not privy to my innermost thoughts would have no idea that I am wolfkin. I am happiest when I fully embrace the fact that I am both human and wolf. Furry fandom has been an wonderful place to safely express my wolf side- nobody thinks anything of when I emote as a wolf in text or wear a tail to conventions. I’m able to be honest about who and what I am while still being stealth kin.

Dexter:

I am currently stuck pondering whether I identify WITH Dexter Morgan or if I identify AS him. Huge difference between the two. I have had many strange dreams that basically flash a neon sign at me saying “YOU ARE LIKE DEXTER” spread out over the span of three years. I’ve had a couple strong sense memories associated with this kintype that I have a very hard time explaining away. I’ve meditated short visions that some could call “memories” but again I am extremely reluctant to describe them that way.

I have had a few shifts both involuntary and voluntary where I felt like Dexter- these felt similar but different to wolf shifts. Both kintypes are apex predators for instance, and that comes out strongly in the shifts. The Dexter shifts do have variations that are unique to Dexter. I only have body dysmorphia some of the time- I don’t want to be male, it holds no appeal to me, but I often wish I could basically look like a boy while still being female, or just look like a werewolf monster instead of a human. When I was a kid I thought I should grow up to be a tall thin male shape for some reason instead of a tiny chubby woman, which is a pretty strange expectation.

I feel like if I AM Dexter fictionkin, I am not “THE” Dexter, as he is still a fictional character and I don’t subscribe to the multiverse + reincarnation theory popularized through the fictionkin fandom. All fictionkin resources are colored through this lens so it becomes difficult for me to accept the entire concept of fictionkin since few people think the way I do. If I don’t accept the common definition of fictionkin then I don’t know what fictionkin even IS, so how can I admit to being one? I have been highly distressed going back and forth in circular arguments in my head- am I? am I not?

The one constant is that in SOME way or another, this character means a LOT to me. What that means exactly, I still have not a clue. :/

PROS for claiming Dexter as an ID:

º Finally settle this shitmess in my head and just chill, accept it

º More confidence (I’m fuckin’ dangerous, fite me)

º Acceptance of the more unsavory aspects of my personality and an online kinmunity that will accept me too

º Motivation to continue with my attempts to learn kin-related skills and get in shape

CONS for claiming Dexter as an ID:

ª Get sucked more into my own head and possibly get lost on the tides of fantasy and fallacy, descend slowly into complete madness

ª Giving my unsavory urges attention, which could make them stronger??

ª Have to awkwardly tell my S.O. about all these feelings I’m having

ª Having a really cringeworthy secret that very few outsiders are going to be able to accept

OTHER MISCELLANY CAVEATS:

ª Memories are incredibly easy to implant in people (is it just children? I honeslty am not sure of the science of it but this has been documented to happen in kids, I can cite sources if anyone reading this is interested in the subject)... I am SUPER skeptical of my kin “memories” and want to protect myself against destroying my mind with falsehoods.

ª I am incredibly empathic (the irony of which is not lost on me, having a psychopathic kintype...) but anyway when I was a kid, I would get so sucked into movies that I would often shift into the main character of whatever movie I just saw and would spend a few hours as that character. This feels like maybe an extension of this? I could simply be very emotionally invested in this character without literally BEING him?

ª If I don’t believe in the multiverse + reincarnation theory, then HOW exactly am I Dexter? What explanation is there for identifying as a fictional character? I don’t even have a rough theory about this, and that bothers me. When I say it like that to myself, it sounds fake.

How I feel when I think about dressing as my kintype and learning his skills: Excited, jittery, happy, confident but a little self-conscious because I don’t want others around me to figure out what is going on. Very very concerned with what others think, especially my S.O.

How I feel when I try to ignore my kintype: The subject never truly leaves my head and will come back eventually. I feel squirmy and anxious as I’m undecided on my identity. I wish it would just end so I could be out of this anxiety hell. I can manage a few months without thinking about it but it always comes back, especially when I go read or watch the source material again. I could just never watch the show or read the books again, but why deprive myself of something I love?

Typing all this out helps I think... Identity is fluid anyway, I mean if Dexter ends up not fitting my ID later down the line that’s okay?? I guess my S.O. probably already knows my mind is a weird and wacky place, he’s stuck around this long. :S I think... I will tell him what’s going on with me before the month is out. And I am leaning towards just fully embracing all sides of this ID and just seeing where it goes (hopefully not with me killing people HAHAHAHA).

If you read all this, I owe you a beer (or a cocoa if you’re a kid) ;P

#fictionkin #shut up dex #navel gazing

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tetsuroutxt · 7 years

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It's a shame people are discrediting karasuno before they even started playing. The biggest difference between them and other teams is reputation. Karasuno only recently started rising and it's their first time ever at Nationals. If they could make it there they can play and win bc they proved they deserve to be there. In real sports the favorite to win doesn't always have to win. It's like just bc karasuno are the protagonist team ppl will discredit their accomplishments.

Um this is long and rambly under the cut

It really is a shame!!! And Im gonna say it! Im such a big Karasuno stan Id die for Karasuno Im telling you lol. So it actly hurts me seeing people be so skeptical but I think I can see where they’re coming from despite (imo) Furudate realistically setting up these matches to be fair and like.. not .. dramatic? Like how Knb sets up their opponent teams to be as Big Bads, Haikyuu on the other hand presents them like any other team of high school boys. I mean yeah, Inari is arguably “second strongest” but that doesn’t mean they’re leagues and leagues above Karasuno & the other teams who aren’t in top 8?,. I mean Karasuno defeating Shira (also a Top 8 school!) happened lol.. and like even today theres still people who believe Karasuno are undeserving of that win.

I think it comes down to two things. First.. it’s an underestimation of Karasuno’s strength. In my opinion lol!! These arent tru facts, just my humble thoughts, feel free to dispute. I think people forget the value of Karasuno’s time spent at Fukurodani’s training camp? Fukurodani is a regularly attending school at nationals and Karasuno was not only granted the privilege of playing against them & as a result having that constant exposure and getting used to the intensity of how a nationals-level team plays, but they were also lucky enough to be taken under Fukurodani’s wing (haha). And Nekoma too of course. They both really helped Karasuno shape up and because of that, I dont believe Karasuno should be underestimated .. And also the fact we havent even reached the full potential for the team members.. like Tsukishima is just beginning to bloom, and you can argue that even the more seasoned players like Kageyama have a lot more untapped potential and like. They’re just a lot of raw, unrefined .. power, it’s just a matter of drawing it all out.

Second.. it’s a genre thing I guess? In the shounen sports anime/manga genre, we have the theme of ‘victory’ always explored n interpreted differently. Like what does victory mean? What constitutes a fair/wholesome victory? Is victory the most important thing in sports? And also the question of what the true value of this sports is, what makes this sport special to the writer. In Haikyuu’s case, volleyball.

And like, every writer has a different idea of those… The point of a sports genre manga is for the writer to convey to the audience what they believe victory is and what they believe is at the core of the sport. So for Haikyuu, its what Furudate defines victory to be and what he thinks is central to volleyball. And we’ve been seeing this always. We saw this in the ‘battle of the concepts’ during Karasuno vs Shiratorizawa. Furudate wanted to subvert and challenge the idea that volleyball is reserved only for those that are tall and physically powerful and showed this through Karasuno using their wit and daring (not height and power!) to defeat Shiratorizawa, a team defined by its brute strength and power.

What Im getting at is that, i feel like its… a given that the protagonist team of any sports anime/manga is going to be reaping all those victories and wins lol… in official matches. And I mean, feel free to criticise that (feel free to criticise anything Ive said just now.), but I believe its more of a genre thing (but I could be wrong!) Like its such a core… convention of the genre… Because the protagonist team are literally like the means… the vehicle the writer uses to convey and deliver their feelings about what victory means to them, and what they love about the sport. Instead of fussing over technicalities (ie. X team is more stronger than Y team because Z, so X should’ve won!) I think its more interesting and constructive maybe if we look at why. Why did the writer choose this direction and what does it contribute narratively? And what is the message the writer is trying to deliver? How does that contribute to the overall theme and message of the story?

And the thing is, it’s not… impossible for Haikyuu to also subvert that convention! I am actually rooting for Fukurodani to win nationals lol because of this meta and it would be such a cool direction for Haikyuu to take.

Yes. So those are my thoughts… I just .. yeah. I wish we could stop discrediting and instead… search deeper for… maybe the heart? essence? of what Furudate is trying to communicate to us… if that makes sense. Though yes, think what u will & let me know if you have any more things you wanna discuss!!

And Ill just finish this with quoting you “””If they could make it there they can play and win bc they proved they deserve to be there.””” Exactly!! :-(

#Disclaimer I havent seen baseball anime where I know main teams lose? I think #So yeaaah #Its not.. a defining convention but its.. a thing I see happening #my post #replies #meta

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jesliey · 7 years

Text

The Many Ask Thingymabob

Second times the charm...

Tagged By: @caramiathegreat

Spoofy Soundcloud or Pandora? Im a spoofy kinda man

Messy or clean room? I think my room is comparatively clean

What colour are your eyes? Bluest blue to ever blue

Do you Like your name and why? Its alright. It always seemed a little lackluster to me

Relationship status? The running joke in my friend group is my 3 year dry spell. It isnt a very funny joke.

Describe your personality in 3 words or less? Distanced pragmatic dumbass

What colour is your hair? Golden and luscious

What kind of car do you drive? My moms PTA-mobile

Where do you shop? Bad Dragon

How would you describe your style? Dying, yet fashionable college student

Favourite social media account? We all know timboblr is utter trash, and i picked up natter a while ago and its honestly pretty fun

Bed size? Queenie my man

Any siblings? two older stepsisters and a wee lil half sister

Anywhere to live in the world and why? GERMANY OR POLAND. BECAUSE HERITAGE

Favourite snapchat filter? I really like the flower crown an butterfly ones but my phone is being dumb with snapchat and i cant get them

Favourite makeup brand? I mean i dont wear it, but im definitely not opposed! i dont know anything about brands and i am ashamed...

How many times a week do you shower? I go by how my hair feels. Usually its every other day, or every two days.

Favourite TV show? Currently? Gotta be that weeb and say Jojo...

Shoe Size? Depends on where i go, but like 12 - 13

How tall are you? Very

Sandals or sneakers? I like wearing socks and sandals feel weird on my feet

Do you go to the gym. I LIFT SO MANY THINGS WEEKLY SWOLE SESSIONS BRUH.

Describe your dream date? Existent... T-T

How much money do you have in your wallet? I dont carry cash!

What colour socks are you wearing? Black

How many pillows do you sleep with? Like 6. Ones a memory foam body pillow its soooo nice....

Do you have a job? Nah...its not for lack of trying though

How many friends do you have? Like...sooo many duuude...not really...

Whats the worst thing youve done? Cut someone who was bad for me out of my life. Bad for them, good for me.

Favourite candle scent? I mean i dont do candles but i love lavender

Favourite boy names?

Gabriel

Alistair

Jeremiah

Favourite girl names?

Elizabeth

Abigail

Lauren

Favourite actor? Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson

Favourite actress? Ashley Johnson

Celebrity crush? theres a lot...

Favourite movie? The Boondock Saints. Easy question.

Do you read a lot? Whats your favourite book? I dont read as much as i think i should, but i loved 1984. I wanna try David Foster Wallaces Infinite Jest and i have the first book in Baccano that i borrowed from a friend and havent touched yet :/

Money or brains? Ignorance is bliss and im filthy fuckin rich HOLLA

Do you have a nickname? Jesliey is an old one. People also call me J a lot. Very briefly in highschool someone called me J-Money whenever he saw me

How many times have you been to a hospital? Not very many. I went in a few years ago for a tonsil infection but that was it in recent history

Top 10 Favourite Songs? Ok this is in no particular order and also limiting to 10 is blashpemy

Subdivisions by NSP

Everybody Wants to Rule The World by NSP

Resist and Bite by Sabaton though if im honest most of Heroes belongs here this ones just my fav

Winged Hussars by Sabaton POLISH PRIIIIIIDE

Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch

All of Pendulums Immersion album im not picking one

Come with Me Now by KONGOS

History Maker by Dean Fujioka

Setting Sail, Coming Home by Darren Korb

Sonata For Whitestone Castle by Aiden Chan

Do you take any daily medications? No, but i probably should have...

Whatis your skin type? on a good day, slightly dry. on a bad day, cracked bleeding sandpaper.

Whats your biggest fear? My man i used to battle almost daily with some quite hefty anxiety. I could stare down the Grim Reaper and say “I served my time you come and take me”. Wasps and needles are pretty bad though i guess

How many kids do you want? Id be lying if i said i didnt want a daughter at some point...but theres no way im passing on my genetics. im adopting if i ever want a kid.

Whats your go-to hairstyle? Either free flowing and glorious, or ponytail if i need it out of my face

What ype of house do you live in? Moms house is pretty decently sized i suppose

Who is your role model? I dont really have one...

What was the last compliment you received? I dont know I dont really get those often...this is getting kinda depressing....

What was the last text you sent? “Well i hope shes alright”

How old were you when you stopped believing in Santa? Like 10 or 12

What is your dream car? Oh god i want a 1985 Pontiac Trans Am so bad you have no idea...

Opinion on smoking? I dont get the appeal but everyone can make their own choices

Do you go to college? Yes and im dying

What is your dream job? Metalworking and blacksmithing has lowkey been a huge fascination of mine for like 2 years now. i would love to be able to do that for a living

Rural area or life in suburbia? I like the idea of both, but rural areas have space for metal workshops

Do you take shampoo/conditioner bottles from hotel rooms? Nah i bring my own

Do you have freckles? A few spread sporadically all over my body. no noticeable patches though

Do you smile for pictures? Yeah but most of the time it feels so forced

How many pictures do you have on your phone? Somewhere between 1 and 2 hundred. Im not adding them up among all the folders...

Have you ever peed in the woods? Bruh the forest has seen every bodily fluid ive got

Do you still watch cartoons? ANIME IS NOT A CARTOON DAD. also yes quite often.

Wendys or McDonalds nuggets? GIMME DEM CHICKIN MCNUGGiES

Favourite dipping sauce? Sweet chili thai!

What do you wear to bed? Pajama pants, a shirt, and socks usually. Occasionally whatever i wore during the day. Ive been known to ditch my pants and socks in my sleep.

Ever won a spelling bee? Never been in one, but i think i could have if i wanted to

What are your hobbies? I wont as long as i live under my mothers roof, but i would hella get into amateur blacksmithing!

Can you draw? yes. should i draw? no.

Do you play an instrument? I can play trumpet, but i would really like to pick up playing cello

What was the last concert you saw? If i remember correctly it was the Scorpions

Tea or coffee? Both. Simultaneously. I like to remain calm while containing the energy of a god.

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Fuck you america! Tim Hortons!

Do you want to get married? I wont oppose if a future partner wants to, but if i love someone enough to want to spend the rest of my life with them, then it wont be necessary

What is your crushs first and last initial? Which one tho?

Are you going to change your last name when you get married? Im indifferent

What colour looks best on you? Blue and red are my standard colours

Do you miss anyone right now. If i think about this at all the answer is usually yes

Do you sleep with your door open or closed? I have the lovely habit of losing my pants in my sleep. for the sake of everyone else in this house, closed is best

Do you believe in ghosts? Call me a skeptic

What is your biggest pet peeve? Im pretty laid back about a lot of things. Only thing i can think of now is more of an anxiety thing but i cant stand people randomly touching my hair without me knowing

Last person you called? My mother

Favourite ice cream flavour? Butterscotch ripple

Regular or golden oreos? Golden

Chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Rainbow

What shirt are you wearing? An old white one with some brand graphic on it

What is your phone background? Lockscreen is Goku from DBZ if he were done as a Jojo character, and home screen is a cr1t1kal quote

Are you outgoing or shy? Im not overly comfortable with just meeting new people and striking up conversations without some kind of help

Do you like it when people play with your hair? I mean i used to...theres a girl at my college who has absolutely no concept of personal boundaries who has at least partially ruined that for me now. Like i said earlier, i cant stand people touching my hair now without me acknowledging it

Do you like your neighbors? Ive lived her about 8 years and im still learning their names

Do you wash your face at night? In the morning? lmao

Have you ever been high? Hella my dude

Have you ever been drunk? Also hella my dude?

Last thing you ate? Coscto chicken penne and a salad.

Favourite lyrics right now? “Light up the night./ There is a city that this darkness can’t hide./ There are embers of a fire that’s gone out,/ but I can still feel the heat on my skin./ This mess we’re in, well you and I,/ maybe you and I,/ we can still make it right./ Maybe we can bring back the light!” Light Up the Night by The Protomen

Summer or Winter? Autumn fuck that noise

Day or night? Night

Dark milk or white chocolate? White!

Favourite month? October

What is your zodac sign? League of Legends Cancer

Who was the last person you cried in front of? I legitimately dont remember...probably @vocoterra

GOOD LORD THIS TOOK TOO LONG TO FINISH

If anyone wants to do this feel free and say i tagged you!

#long post #good lord i was as far as the crush initials one #and then chrome closed and i shed a single tear #now excuse me i need to shower

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

951.

5k Survey XLIX

2501. what image, scent, memory, etc. would you take with you into the dark/light, the land of dead, heaven, infinity.....? >> I’m not sure how to answer this. 2502. Who is the most annoying musical artist EVER? >> --- 2503. If you HAD to go to one of the following concerts, which would it be: Snow Vanilla Ice NKOTB Milli Vanilli BSB NSYNC >> No, thank you. 2504. Do you believe in manifest destiny? >> Just that very question insults me, lmao. Sorry, no, I’m not an arrogant imperialist who labours under the delusion that every piece of land I happen to set foot on belongs to me. 2505. Have you ever fallen for an email forwarding hoax (send this to 13 people and old navy will send you a $200.00(100 pound) gift card)? Do you ever think 'well, maybe...' and actually forward those damn things? >> I have not.

2506. Let's say there are 2 schools. one for boys and one for girls. They are both supposed to offer the same facilities so that the girls and boys get equal education. Would you take this to mean that the same courses should be offered to both girls and boys or that the same amount of money should be spent on each school? >> Why are the schools segregated in the first place? That doesn’t make any sense to me and it never did. Imagine that in the boys school fifteen boys sign up for calculus. In the girls school only five girls sign up for calculus. Should the girls calculus class be disolved and replaced with an easir one? >> Of course not. Why deprive those five girls of the class they want to take, just because there’s only five of them? Also, there’s... there’s a lot to unpack about this entire scenario and the implicit sexism involved but I think I’d rather just throw the whole damn suitcase away. Next. 2507. Would it bother you if you found out that the fruits, vegetables, and meat that you eat is genetically altered (in lots of cases it is!)? >> Of course much of the food I eat has been genetically altered in some way, either by centuries of selective breeding or perhaps by some newfangled modern practice. I don’t see why this should automatically disturb me. What does disturb me is corporations like Monsanto blatantly using this power for evil. 2508. What does this world need? >> --- 2509. Is there anything you do just because you want to even though it has no redeeming social value? >> It’d be fucked up for me to measure everything I do by its perceived “social value”. What does that even mean, anyway? 2510. If you drink what kind of drunk are you? >> I don’t drink enough to get drunk anymore, so I can’t really say. I’m probably just a sleepy, lazy drunk at this point. 2511, Do you ever 'convieniently' forget something you don't want to remember? >> I don’t think my brain works that way. 2512. If you have any cousins are you close? >> --- 2513. Are you in love with yourself (your beautiful self)? >> I am not in love with myself. That seems like an odd relationship for me to have with myself. 2514. What was the first movie you got on dvd? >> --- 2515. If you're sexy and you know it clap your hands. Did you clap? >> I did not clap, because like... why. 2516. have you ever called a: psychic hotline? suicide crisis line? sex line? dating line? >> I’ve called none of these. 2517. have you ever placed a personal ad anywhere? >> Maybe on Craigslist once. 2518. Do guys look good in make up? >> I don’t care about how people look in make-up, I care about whether they enjoy wearing makeup and whether it makes them feel good. If that’s true, then I love it. 2519. What are 5 things you don't care about? >> I can’t think of anything right now. Probably because the fact that I don’t care about something means I don’t think about it... 2520. wHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO UNTIL YOU DIE? >> Why is this in caps? I’m assuming it’s a capslock error, but like... why wasn’t it fixed, lol. 2521. What 'issue' do you think your opinion is so right about that you end up trying to sway others to your point of view? >> I don’t do that. 2522. What age do you hope to live until? >> I don’t have a specific age in mind. I just want to live to the point where I feel like death isn’t an intrusion on my living -- where it makes sense to die. 2523. Do you like to tie others down during sex? Have you ever been tied down? >> I’ve never done either, but I’m sure it’d be fun with the right person, if having sex with an outworld person was ever a thing I was going to do again. 2524. Do you own any "toys"? Do you ever use them? >> No. 2525. Have you ever been spanked in that sexy way? Have you ever spanked anyone else? >> I was spanked at at least one play party, but I didn’t particularly enjoy it. It’s not really my thing, although I’m sure spanking someone else would be way more fun. Haven’t done it yet, though. 2526. Do these questions make you uncomfortable? Do you like that feeling? Does it turn you on? >> It never occurred to me to feel uncomfortable, no. 2527. You know those ___ for dummies books (COMPTERS FOR DUMMIES, SURFING FOR DUMMIES, GOLDF FOR DUMMIES, WICCA FOR DUMMIES)? Which one do you need to reaad? >> I do know those books. I don’t know which one I’d read, though. 2528. What do your socks look like? >> I’m not wearing socks. 2529. Which of these really famous music artists started their career as a mime: Alice Cooper David Bowie Bruce Springsteen Moby Jewel Frank Zappa >> I’m sure I’d find out if I googled it, but I don’t care to. 2530. Does love float away if you let go? >> What does this even mean... 2531. Do you think that most people in today's society are: kind? calm? humble? peaceful? helpful? happy? spiritual? creative? friendly? independant? intelligent? having fun? comming up with new ideas? able to think for themselves? able to really connect with others? If you answered no to any of the above, why do you think that is? >> Why am I generalising about “most people”? That seems like a silly thing to do. 2532. Do you believe that every action has a sexual motive (think Freud)? >> No. Pretty sure that theory of his was debunked anyway, because it just doesn’t make any real sense. 2533. Speaking of Freud, did you know he was on drugs (think cocaine)? >> I was vaguely aware. I mean, a lot of people have taken and do take drugs, big deal. 2534. Do you trust psychology as a valid science? >> I acknowledge that it’s a science. However, I also harbour a lot of skepticism about some of the stuff that is either explicitly or implicitly stated in many psychological theories, and I am particularly skeptical about how psychological theories are applied to actual interactions with and diagnoses of clients. 2535. ID: In Freudian theory, the division of the psyche that is totally unconscious and serves as the source of instinctual impulses and demands for immediate satisfaction of primitive needs(sex, food, agressive behavior, drugs, alcohol, yelling, anger, fighting). SUPEREGO: In Freudian theory, the division of the unconscious that is formed through the internalization of moral standards of parents and society, and that censors and restrains the ego. So, which one do you express more, your ID or your SUPEREGO? >> The superego. I mean, you really don’t get very far by just letting your id run wild. 2536. Do you think that people who are alone and depressed are depressed because they are alone or alone because they are depressed? >> I think it’s a feedback loop. 2537. Can you complete any of the following lyrics: I stop and I stare too much, afraid that I care too much... You're a new and better man, he helps youtounderstand,He does everything he can, he's.... Took the needles from my arms and put them to the sky... Top Gun shut down your Firm like Tom Cruise.... Don't you take it so hard now, And please don't take it so bad.... I’ll still be thinking of you, and the times we had. That’s the only one in this list I know. 2538. How about these? From around the way, born in '73, Harcore B-boy named... And this feeling shivers down your spine, Love comes in colors I can't deny.... Before he hung up the phone he took a deep breath, stopped, and replied.... When I want you in my arms, when I want you and all your charms, whenever I want you all I have to do is... Silly games that you were playing, empty words we both were saying... 2539. Have you ever been to see a ballet? >> I haven’t, but I’d like to. 2540. What is the differance between Satan and Pan? >> They’re from completely different mythologies, for one, despite the fact that they often get conflated. 2541. What should a poem be or do if it is a sucessful poem? >> There’s no such thing as a “successful” poem, to me. That’s an odd way to think of poetry. A poem is a poem if it’s written down as such, and that’s it. 2542. When you interpret a poem can each line mean anything you want it to? >> Well, sure, isn’t that what happens when you read something? You interpret it through your own lens. That’s unavoidable. 2543. Are you an orgasm addict? >> Er, no. 2544. Are you a sugar junkie? >> No. 2545. WHAT are you DOING? WHY aren't you marching in line with the rest of them? >> --- 2546. Do you only hear what you want to? >> I mean, I just hear whatever my brain interprets sound waves as. 2547. Are you anal-retentive? >> Er, no? 2548. In and Out Over and Under Around and ??? >> ?????? 2549. What was the last thing you returned to the store? >> I haven’t returned anything to the store in years. 2550. Why ask why? >> Because?

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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astagfirullah-house · 4 years

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Birthday Surprise-HiraMin

"Don't be late!" He yells over the phone, panic evident in his voice.

"Am I ever?" I say, rolling my eyes, as I lock my apartment door. I cut the call as I get into the elevator. The excitement is making me restless.

We are giving Ansa the best surprise birthday party ever! I'm in charge of the cake and decorations. I put the box with the decorations in my trunk and drive to the bakery to pick up the cake.

As I'm getting out of the bakery, thunder crashes and it suddenly starts raining heavily. I make it to my car in time to save the cake from getting drenched but I can't say the same about my clothes.

My phone starts blaring as soon as I shut the car door.

"Hello?" I answer without checking the caller ID.

"It's raining cats and dogs here, what are we going to do?!!" Ammara's voice comes through, near hysterics.

"Oh crap!" It only occurs to me now that we had booked a garden for the party and if it's raining this heavily then it would be a mud pool by the time I get there.

"Oh shit, we don't even have time to book a hall or something!" I don't usually curse but desperate times, desperate measures.

"Hira, what are we going to do??" Ammara is near tears now.

"It's okay love, chill. We'll figure something out. Where's Afraz?" I ask, trying to think of a solution.

"He's here, pacing back and forth." She answers.

"Can you hand him the phone?"

"Okay." She answers then after a couple of seconds Afraz says, "Shoot me, please." Despite the situation, I laugh.

"Chill dude, we'll figure something out." I say, trying to calm him.

Then an idea hits me like the bolt of lightning that crashes through the sky in front of me.

"Hey, what about having the party at my apartment?"

"We discussed this Hira, it wouldn't be that special. I mean we have birthday parties at your place all the time." He says in an exasperated tone.

"Yes, I know." I pinch my face in frustration. "But what other option do we have? We can't book a place at such short notice."

There's a pause at the other end. Then he says, "Hira, I was going to propose to her today. I don't think your apartment is the place I or she would want this to happen at."

I understand what he means but this sort of hurts my feelings. I'm very touchy about my apartment.

"Okay look, we don't really have any other option now do we? Maybe you could propose to her some other day? Plan a perfect getaway or something. I'll help, I promise. Let's just do one thing at a time. Okay?" I try to be patient but we're running out of time. There's only so much Abeer can do to keep Ansa busy.

"Okay, okay." He finally gives in. "Did you get to cake?"

"Yup, I have it with me."

"And you have the decorations too. So go back and decorate your apartment. Ammara and I will grab something to eat on our way there." He instructs.

"Okay sir!" I give a salute, even though he can't see me, and then cut the call. I just hope that I can get home in time with all this traffic.

My phone starts ringing as soon as I get out of the car. It's Abeer.

"Hey! I know, I'm sorry! The traffic was so bad!" I apologize as soon as I pick up the call.

"It's okay." She replies in a whisper. "Ansa is in the trying room right now but I can't make her shop with me forever!"

"I know Abeer, I know! Just one more hour, please?" I plead. It's hard to take out the box of decorations with the cake box in my arm. I guess I'll have to make 2 trips.

"Okay. Gotta go. She's back." Abeer says quickly then cuts the call.

As I am about to shut the trunk someone asks from behind, "Do you need help with that?"

I turn to see my new next door neighbor standing there. He's single and a doctor, like me. And he's pretty cute with good manners to go along with it. But I have never had the chance to talk to him.

"Umm..." I glance towards the box, "that would be great, thanks." He grabs the box from the trunk and I shut it. Well at least now I won't have to make a second trip down.

We both get on the elevator. "Which floor?" He asks. "Same as yours." I answer then curse myself. Now he'll think I'm some stalker who knows what floor he lives on. Why couldn't I just have said 3rd?

I glance at him but he just nods and presses the button. The silence is so uncomfortable I can't wait for the elevator ride to end! I'm not sure if I should make small talk or just let it be. As I am contemplating this we reach our floor and he steps aside to let me pass first.

I make my way to my apartment and he follows. I unlock the door and invite him in but he shakes his head and asks where he should put the box. I point beside the door and he puts it there and makes to leave.

"Uh, thank you. For the help." I say. He turns around and gives me a smile. "No problem." He replies. Then leaves. Oh God he must think I invite boys over all the time with how I invited him in! Why am I so stupid?!

But I don't have time for thinking. I grab the box and start decorating my place. Good thing I cleaned it this morning.

The bell rings and I rush to open the door. Afraz and Ammara enter with pizza boxes in their arms.

"Pizza? Seriously?" I make a face.

"That's the best we could do. Do you know how bad the rain is? And the traffic!" Afraz answers, putting the boxes on the kitchen counter.

"I love what you've done with the place." Ammara says looking around. "Thank you." I beam and take the boxes from her.

I had blown up balloons and strewn them all across the floor. But now my jaw hurt so much it was hard to talk or even smile for that matter. I had also pasted a hand-made "Happy Birthday Ansay" sign on the wall. And there were multicolored frills hanging from all the surfaces, even the fans. Even I couldn't believe I had done all that in an hour.

"Abeer is on her way." I tell them. She had told Ansa that she had to pick something up from my house but I knew Ansa was wise enough to know by now what was up. It wasn't like we hadn't been doing this for all of our birthdays for about 6 years now. It was sort of expected. But we still acted surprised each time.

"We're here." Came Abeer's text.

"They're here!" I announce and grab a party popper from the coffee table. Afraz grabs a bottle of snow spray and Ammara takes out her phone to record the moment. All of them have a key to my house though they rarely use it and like to abuse the doorbell. But Abeer uses the key and they enter the apartment. I release the party popper and all the glittery frills fall on Ansa with a bang. Afraz releases the snow spray on her and soon she's covered in white foam and laughing like crazy. Ammara captures all the moments and Abeer tries to save herself from the snowstorm. After Ansa is covered in foam from head to toe Afraz grabs the second bottle and starts spraying it on us. I grab the third one and spray it on him thinking of how sticky my floor will be after this. And I had cleaned it that morning!

Laughter booms in my apartment as everyone runs to save themselves from the snow sprays and Abeer releases the other two part poppers. I grab my phone to take pictures. After our mandatory selfie session we bring the cake out.

This time we went all out and ordered a big one that has a picture of the five of us on it from our graduation day. We are laughing in our shiny black gowns, throwing our hats in the air, that typical graduation pose. But it's special because it's us.

Ansa gives a gasp when she sees it. "You guys..." She's out of words but her eyes convey all the emotions she's feeling. There are tears of happiness and love in her eyes as she looks at each one of us conveying her gratitude.

"Okay, enough with the sentimental stuff! Let's cut the cake! It looks delicious!" Abeer says, trying to lighten the mood.

Ansa bends down with a chuckle and blows on the candles. We all sing happy birthday. I take pictures of all the moments and my lens falls on Afraz looking at Ansa with such love and compassion in his eyes that I have to capture that moment.

After we're done with the cake cutting, we sit in my living room overdosed on pizza. The TV is switched onto some sports channel but the volume is turned down. Ansa and Afraz sit on one side of my huge couch, talking in hushed voices. Ammara and Abeer sit on the other side, talking in not-very-hushed voices.

I throw the pizza boxes in the bin and try to sort through the mess of plates and cups.

"Don't do that. We'll do it together afterwards." Comes Ansa's voice.

"I know, I'm not cleaning up. Just trying to declutter some." I answer back.

"Leave that. Come here. Sit with us." She replies.

I make my way back to the living room but not towards the couch. I go to my window to see if the rain has stopped. It has and the night view is breathtaking. The dark sky is strewn with stars and streetlights shine on the wet pavement. There are patches of water here and there and it looks so peaceful out. I gasp audibly as an idea hits me.

"What happened?" Abeer asks with concern?

"It's beautiful outside. Let's go for a walk!" All of them protest that they're too tired and it must be wet out.

"Oh come on! It's seriously the perfect weather for a walk!" All of them look at me skeptically but Ammara finally understands what I mean and says, "You're right! It's not everyday we get such beautiful nights. Come on, let's go out." With that she grabs Abeer's arm and pulls her up with herself.

Ansa and Afraz shrug and stand up too. As we leave the apartment I grab Afraz's sleeve to pull him back. "Do you have the ring with you?" I whisper.

He nods then understanding dawns on his face. He gives me a knowing smile and walks forward.

We all walk side by side on the wet road, talking in hushed voices. As we walk I link arms with Ammara and Abeer and we naturally fall back letting Ansa and Afraz walk together ahead of us. If Ansa notices this she doesn't let on and keeps talking to Afraz.

Looking at them walking side by side in the rain I'm reminded of that day all those years ago when it rained in our college and they walked side by side like this.

Just like that day, Ansa jumps in the puddles. Just like that day, Afraz looks at her lovingly, making sure she's okay.

"They look so cute." Abeer whispers.

"I know!!" I and Ammara exclaim in unison.

Eventually we fall back enough that we can't hear their voices anymore. Only see them walking.

Suddenly they stop in the middle of the road and all three of us hold hands, giving excited but muffled screams.

"He's gonna propose to her, isn't he?" Abeer whispers.

"Yes!" I and Ammara squeal.

All three of us are fixed on the scene happening before us.

Afraz fishes the little red box out of his front pocket and kneels down on both knees. Ansa stares at him at first confused. Then her eyes open wide as he says something and opens the box. We can't see from here what's inside but we know because we helped him pick it out. Inside is the cutest little diamond ring with a gold band.

Ansa's hands fly to her mouth as Afraz takes out the ring and raises it towards Ansa. The tears of joy on her cheeks glisten under the streetlights as she nods and extends her hand towards him. He slips the ring on and she helps him up. He's grinning from ear to ear and so is she. Both of them can't hide their happiness, their faces are beaming. And so are ours. We rush towards them and envelope Ansa in a huge hug. As we make our way back we ask Ansa to give us all the details but she keeps her face down, blushing so hard her ears are red. I get it. She wants to keep this special moment to herself.

When we reach our apartment Afraz volunteers to drop Ansa home. We hoot to tease them until the security guard shouts at us to shut it. Abeer brought her car so she drives back home. Ammara decides to stay the night over and I tell her I'll drop her off tomorrow.

We see the retreating figures of Ansa and Afraz and Ammara and I share a knowing smile. That night we stay up until 3 discussing all our plans for Ansa's wedding. And finally I dose off with a smile on my face, happy for both of my friends who deserve the world and more.

#astaghfirullahhouse #hiramin

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