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vanilla-vivillon · 3 years

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Happy Wesper Week! We are doing a Wylan POV because I can’t write charm at all. This is a modern AU bachelor party. The grisha powers exist but everything else is made into there real life equivalent

TW very brief mentions of sex trafficking.

What am I doing here? Wylan thought to himself

When his boyfriend Jesper insisted on throwing there good friend Matthias a bachelor party Wylan thought maybe they would go to a nice bar or play some party games

Not get crazy drunk, Not set fire to the Dutch Garden, not get chased by cops, not perform a gas station heist and not catch one of his best friends making out with a gas station cashier

However it seemed the universe didn’t care for the thoughts of little ole Wylan Hendricks

“Let’s get this party started!” The Australian yelled

Wylan had to remindhimself he loved his boyfriend Jesper

“Can you not shout?” Matthias, the groom to be, begged

Wylan, Jesper, and there friends Kaz and Kuwei were throwing a bachelor party for Matthias

It took a lot to convince the Norwegian that this was indeed a great idea

Wylan had never been to a bachelor party before but he was excited for his boyfriend who adored them

“Do we really have to go to this bar Jesper?” Kaz groaned seeing the crazy bright neon sign

After years of knowing Kaz Brekker Wylan could tell that Kaz was cursing Inej for telling him to come

Nevertheless the boys all walk in and start ordering shots

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The boys chanted egging on Kaz and Matthias drinking contest

Well it was mostly Jesper and Kuwei chanting Wylan after having a couple drinks was staring at the twinkle in Jespers eyes

He really was beautiful Wylan thought to himself

Wylan attended the University of Amsterdam to mostly escape his father.

There he met his lifelong friends

Matthias a grumpy international exchange student who grew up in a very prominent and dangerous cult in Norway. He wants to be a Norwegian ambassador

Nina Zenik, a heartrender turned corpse witch who was actually a russian spy back in the day. Now she’s working to become an ambassador

Inej Ghafa, she started a non profit to help stop sex trafficking whitch takes her all over the World but she used to. be an acrobat and after that worked with Kaz as his spy

Kaz Brekker, someone who Wylan after years of knowing him isn’t quite sure if there truly friends, or the semi illegal activities he gets up to. Wylan thought his hacking days would be done after University but Kaz has built an online criminal empire

Kuwei Yul Bo a scientists apprentice from China. He was currently working on his masters degree along side Wylan.

And Jesper. How to describe Jesper Fahey. He was an exchange student from Australia. A fabricator with a gift with Guns. While Jesper loved his pistols he actually works for a nonprofit dedicated to gun safety and regulation

After a highly illegal heist on there trip to Norway during college they all bonded as a group

Especially Wylan and Jesper

Jesper with that twinkle

Jesper with that laugh

Jesper with the way he looked at him now

After many more drinks Kuwei had the idea of the century

“Yooooooo y’know what’s a good idea?” Kuwei said bringing his head up from where it was previously glued to the table

“More shhhhhhhhhots?” Jesper suggested clearly as drunk as Wylan

“A couple blocks away is The Dutch Garden, wanna see some prrrrrrrrrrretty flowers?”

Fun fact this is a real place in Amsterdam

Wylan turned towards Kaz expecting him to veto it then and there but to Wylans shock and horror Kaz said “Hell yeah”

“But, but, it’s super late it’s gonna be closed!” Matthias spluttered out

“We can sneak in from the back fence” Jesper said

When Jesper drank his Australian accent whitch had soften over the years of living in Amsterdam came through in all of its glory

When Wylan first met Jesper he thought he was completely out of his league

And that damn accent drove Wylan Insane

While Wylan was contemplating the wonder that was Jesper Llewelyn Fahey it seemed the group made a decision without him

And Wylan thought for the first time in this bachelor party

What am I doing here?

“C’mon Wylan just climb!” Kuwei whisper screamed at Wylan

The drunken lads had made it to the Garden and had found an area where there was a fence they could climb with relative ease

All of the others made it to the other side

Except Wylan

“Don’t you want to seeeeeee the flowwwwwwwers?” Kaz insisted

If Wylan needed any more proof he was the soberest man out of all of them Kaz saying the word ‘pretty’ that isn’t referencing Inej was a clear sign

“Baby pleeeeease” Jesper begged

Oh no

Not that face

Wylan thought of himself as a sensible person who doesn’t succumb to pressure easily

But when his boyfriend made that face

Where his cool grey eyes went big

And his face had a slight flush to it

Wylan

Broke

“Fine! But if we get arrested it’s on you guys!”

With the ease of a spider who’s leg got chopped off by a middle aged housewife who’s husband is cheating on her climbing up a wall Wylan somehow got across

It wasn’t pretty

And it wasn’t gonna make Kaz proud

But it was completed

Panting Wylan on the ground said “I think this is my biggest accomplishment”

“Not…. Putting away your father? Or growing past your Internalised homophobia? Or writing your first essay on your own?” Matthias suggested clearly bewildered

Hey so i know Wylan can’t actually read. But seeing as this is modern day and plenty of dyslexic people can read with help, I figured that Jan would refuse to take Wylan to a doctor or get him help with his dyslexia believing it was weak making Wylan unable to read. Buuuuut when he’s older it makes sense to me he does learn. I’m not trying to invalidate his experiences or “fix” him but for the sake of a modern AU I had to change some things.

“Nope. It’s climbing this fence” Wylan laughed as Jesper helped him up

“Everyday you remind why your my favorite human” Jesper said with a laugh

“Ewwwww it’s like you guys like to remind how I’m the only single one” Kuwei said with a throwing up motion

“Thanks Jesp- wait human?” Wylan asked confused

“Well my favorite thing is Milo of course” Jesper winked

“The- the goat in Russia?” Kaz inquired not quite wanting to believe what Jesper was saying

To Wylans knowledge Kaz, Inej and Jesper did some job in Russia before he ever met them

“Why of course” Jesper slung an arm around Wylan who was not quite sure how to feel about this goat

Kaz went to go look at some purple flowers and contemplate his life choices

“Oh my god guys…….” Matthias started “the flowers! They’re- they’re”

“Cmon Matty, share with the class” Kaz said apparently bored with the purple flowers

“They’re so preeeeeeeetty” Matthias eyes welled up with tears

“Oh Saints tell me he’s not crying” Kuwei Moaned

Jesper walked over to where Matthias was stroking a hydrangea

“They are soooooooo pretty” Jespers eyes also Welled up with tears

“Fuck this shit” Kuwei said taking out a lighter and cigarette

“Hey! Smoking is very bad for you Kuwei!” Wylan lectured

“Wylan. I’m an inferni. Smoking foesnt affect us” Kuwei rolled his golden brown eyes

“Yeah but we’re in a highly flammable garden! And the rest of us aren’t inferni!” Wylan said

It seemed during Kuwei and Wylans arguement Kaz had also joined the cult of flowers that Matthias and Jesper were fixated on

“Wylan stop smoke shaming me!” And the scientists went back and fourth

“KUWEI YOU PIECE OF-“ Wylan started then sniffed the air “is that, is that smoke?” Wylan asked

“Holy shit dudes there’s a fire!” Kaz yelled pointing at where the cigarette Kuwei droppped

It seemed that the cigarette lit fire to a big wall of flowers

“This is why I never wanted a bachelor party!” Matthias moaned

The boys could hear voices coming towards them

Then all of the men looked at each other

And all of them yelled “RUN!”

All of them starting sprinting to the fence

And Kaz with his limp scrambled up that fence the fastest

Guess his determination to not get caught was strong

Wylan started climbing as fast as he could whitch wasn’t very fast

“Cmon Merchling!” Jesper said at the top reaching out a hand to his boyfriend

Wylan took it and stared at the steel eyes that had first enraptured him years ago

“Hey Stop!” Looking back Wylan and Jesper saw three security guards running towards them and yelling at them to stop

Jesper yanked Wylan up and they both fell off the fence in a pile

Jesper took Wylans hand and they all started booking it to Wylan’s car

Wylan who had sobered up in the whole endeavor determined that he was probably sober enough to drive

Piling in they all shoved themselves in the car

Wylan turned on the gas and starte to get the car back on the road

“I can’t believe we ran from cops!” Matthias said in between panting

“That was awesome!” Jesper exclaimed from the passenger seat

Wylan laughed

He had never been a spontaneous person

It seemed this night was a lot more fun then he thought

Until he heard the sirens

From the backseat Kaz turned

And three police cars were zooming towards them

“I am not going down for arson!” Kuwei yelled

“Wylan stop driving like a grandma and go faster! There gaining on us!” Kaz screamed at Wylan

“I can’t there’s a stoplight!”

“Run it!” Jespers shrill voice screamed at him

And Wylan did what he swore to never do

He took a deep breath

And ran that light as fast as he could

They were flying

Wylan had never seen how fast he could make his car go

Turns out it was fast

Wylan used some of his dads money to buy a sports car just to rub it in Jans face

With the top off and blood rushing through Wylans head he had never felt more alive

His boy beside him

His friends behind him

“WOOOOOOOOO!” Kuwei yelled throwing his hands up

Jesper joined Kuwei as the car sped down the street

Matthias was looking a little green

“Matty you okay back there?” Wylan shouted back at the Norwegian

“No!” Matthias shouted over the roar of engine and Jesper and Kuweis yips and yells

Some point during this Kaz called Inej

“Inej I hate thissssss!” Wylan couldn’t hear what Inej said back but from the pieces Kaz gave it was obvious

“No im not drunk!……. Psh of course those aren’t sirens…… Inej we might’ve bended the law but I swear it wasn’t my fault!…….. alright bye. ….I love you to….”

After what seemed like an eternity Wylan finally lost the police

Laughing the Wylan pulled into a gas station for refill

Wylan stepped out of the car and began to refill his car and thought for the millionth time what am I doing here?

“Wylannnnnn” Kuwei moaned

“What Kuwei?” Wylan said already exasperated

“Wylan I’m hungryyyyyy”

“Then go grab some chips or something!”

“But I don’t want to pay for it!”

“Then I guess that sucks for you!”

“You got like a million dollars from stealing me from Norway! You owe me!”

Ghezen Wylan hated drunk people

“Let’s perform a heist on the gas station!” Matthias said apparently done feeling sick

“What? No! We aren’t stealing from the gas station!” Wylan lectured

“It might actually be fuuuuuuun Wy” Kaz begged

The rest of the party were already getting out of the car ignoring Wylans protests

“We will do a simple distract act, Kuwei will go in first and lead the cashier away, and then we go in and steal chips” Kaz explained

It seemed even drunk Kaz could scheme

“This is insane!” Wylan exclaimed

“You said that about rescuing Kuwei from the Norwegian government but that ended up great” Matthias replied

They were gonna do this with or without Wylan

With a sigh Wylan thought what am I doing here?

Kuwei had gone in and had given the single

Wylan had walked in after pretending to look at some sodas and after Kuwei went into the back room with the cashier Wylan sent a quick text to the rest of the guys to come In and get raiding

Like clockwork Matthias, Jesper, and Kaz went in and they started ransacking the place

Wylan was in charge of Sodas, Matthias was in charge of Chips, and Jesper was in charge of Candy

Kaz had the most important job of all

He had to hack into there computers and wipe the security cameras

If Kaz couldn’t do that then Kaz would have to actually hack into the computers from his phone

It almost suprised Wylan how quickly efficiently, and quietly, a bunch of drunk guys could ransack a gas station

Wylan did feel guilty for a moment

But then he remembered how the CEO of the company the gas station is owned by has had multiple sexual misconduct allegations and Wylan felt better

Wylan got all the soda he could carry and rushed back to the car dumping them in the backseat

Soon after Matthias followed then Jesper and a little while after Kaz

Wylan did a quick headcount “wait where’s Kuwei?”

Wylan checked his phone

No texts from him

Shit shit shit

“Someone has to go back in” Kaz said

“I’ll go after him” Wylan said with a sigh

He loved Kuwei like a brother

But like an annoying little brother constantly getting himself in messes

Wylan Walked in and saw the e cashier wasn’t back

Wylan walked through the store and then heard something towards the men’s bathroom

Walking closer to the door the noises were getting a bit louder

Wylan opened the door slamming it against the wall

There stood a wide eyed Chinese kid and from the green uniform Wylan guessed was the cashier

The cashier who was standing between Kuweis legs. Kuwei who was sitting in the edge of the bathroom sink

There’s arms were around each other

Wylan was confused

What was Kuwei doing?

“Get your ass in the car Kuwei!” Wylan yelled

Kuwei gave whispered sorries to the cashier while collecting his jacket he apparently threw off

Wylan dragged Kuwei by the arm outside the store

“Kuwei. When we say distract the cashier, that means distract, not make oht with him!” Wylan lectured

“Cmon Wylan you saw him, he was cute!”

“Your drunk Kuwei!”

“Aren’t we all a little drunk in life?”

“That makes absolutely no sense” Wylan said with a sigh “just go to the car”

Kuwei happily skips away

Wylan had just dropped off Matthias at his and Ninas apartment after dropping off Kaz and Kuwei

Leaving just Wylan, Jesper, and an unhealthy amount of snacks in the car

“Hey Wylan” Jesper said

“Yes Jes?”

“I love you”

“I love you to Jesper”

“No wylan” Jesper took Wylan’s face in his hands

“I really love you” Jesper Pushed a ginger lock away from Wylans face

Jesper then reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled purple flower and tucked it into Wylans hair “I really really really love you”

Wylan blinked. Jesper was so drunk.

Wylan gave Jesper a soft smile and placed a kiss on his mouth

“I love you to Jesper”

And suddenly Wylan knew exactly what he was doing there

Finnally finished this in the Nick of time! @neilperryisalive I hope you enjoy this! I was seriously worried I wouldn’t be able to finish it but I did! I’ve never written Wesper but I really enjoyed it. My ask box is open and I take any Grishaverse requests

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littlewetbeast · 3 years

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hi! i love your tumblr fics/writing in general… sending you so much love and appreciation! if you’re taking requests and if the mood takes you… do you think you could write something about dean’s lack of hunger? i’m obsessed with it as a concept, it’s fascinating! i don’t think we talk about it enough :( happy 4th july!

Note: timeline is a bit muddy - set roughly in kripke & gamble era, s4-s7. Warning: very vaguely NSFW, depressive and suicidal feelings Word count: 2k

It’s always the little things that end up getting to him, in the end. The server glances at his unfinished plate of food, and with a tilt of her head says, “Not to your liking, honey?” He stills. A tight sensation coils in his stomach. “I’m good,” Dean says, flashing her a smile, willing every muscle to relax. “Just had a big lunch.” He pats his stomach for show. She nods, leaving it at that, and brings him his bill. Dean reminds himself that there is no need to check around the diner to see if anyone heard it. He rubs his greasy fingers on the napkin and downs the rest of his beer, leaving an extra large tip with the odd hope that it will, somehow, quell the unease deep in his gut. It doesn’t. Then again, nothing ever does.

* * *

The reality is - he gets the urges. He gets the pangs of hunger and the dry-mouthed thirst; the deep aches for rest; the need for an extra long shower with his hands on himself, gritting his teeth to bite back the noise. Dean has basic desires and fleeting wants. All of them remain only surface-deep - they never soothe the gaping void in his chest, or the sensation that he is rotting from the inside out. Dean tried to explain it to Sam once. After seeing the way his mouth twisted with pity while he listened, he vowed never to bring it up again. He peers into his drink, his tongue darting out to wet his numbing lips while he drums his fingers absently against the glass. Dean’s not sure how many he’s had now, but he has enough muscle control that as he waves down the bartender for another one, he isn’t met with protest. It takes him far too long to realise someone has appeared on the stool next to him. Mind moving sluggishly, he realises that the stillness with which they arrived means they can only be one person. “Not seen you in a while,” Dean says, still looking into his drink, eyeing the sorry drop that’s left. “Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice low. Dean knows for sure he’s had too much now, because the sound of him instantly sends a flush across his cheeks, one he can’t blame solely on the alcohol. He lifts the glass to pour the last drop onto his tongue, for something to do.

“How’s all that angel crap going?” Dean says as he sets the glass back down, not bothering to dampen the slur of his voice as the bartender brings him his next drink. “It’s fine,” Cas says, a little curtly. He shifts on the stool, half-turning against him. “Sam wondered where you’d gone.” Dean snorts and takes another sip of his drink. “He sent a babysitter.” “He’s been worried about you,” Cas says. Dean hums, licking his lips again. “I’m fine, Cas,” he says. He turns towards him, roaming his eyes across him lazily, then grins, big and toothy. “I’m wonderful. Peachy. Having a swell ol’ time.” As if to prove it, he lifts the glass up with a jerk, inadvertently sloshing some of the liquid onto his fingers. He swears and puts it down on the napkin, sloppily licking his fingers. Dean only barely has enough self-control to stop himself from making a sensual show of it.

Cas doesn’t say anything. Dean can feel the weight of his gaze, but he now feels unable to look at him. After a moment, he hears Cas call the bartender over. “Whatever he’s having, please,” he says.

Dean feels himself sink into the seat, releasing tension in his body he hadn’t even known was there. As Cas receives his drink and lifts it to his lips, Dean watches. He’s too drunk now to be able to look away; the willpower it takes is already challenging while sober. Cas maintains eye contact as he takes a sip, and something in his eyes keeps Dean’s gaze locked to him. The urges, as always, are there - even if they are inhabiting a dead man.

He’s starting to feel the latent effects of the previous drinks now, buzzing underneath the surface of his skin. Dean takes another long sip, relishing the burn of it at the back of the throat, and Cas doesn’t say anything more. He remains a warm, solid form next to him as they drink. None of them push each other further, and Dean is grateful for it. By the time the glass is empty, the full effects of the alcohol is working its way through his body, sending the room into a hazy spin, with Cas being the only steady thing left. Dean vaguely registers being taken out of the bar, feeling the bite of the night air on his skin, cooling the warmth on his cheeks.

“I’m not really hungry, Cas,” Dean says, eventually, as he begins to register his feet moving under him. “You’re not making any sense,” Cas says, his breath hot in his ear. Dean desperately wants to lean into it. He realises now that he’s been talking for a while.

“I told you,” Dean says, “I’m not really hungry.” He laughs, a sharp bark that punctures the still midnight air. “You’re upset because you’re not hungry,” Cas says slowly. Dean snorts inelegantly. “Dude,” he says, “I’m upset because you fucked up.” He disentangles himself from Cas from a second, and realises swiftly his mistake as he wobbles around, waving his arm at something to grab at. Eventually, his arm is clasped by Cas, bringing them together again. Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to separate himself from him, but there is nothing solid around to steady him except for Cas. He feels giddy now, inane laughter bubbling up from his chest. “I’m not all here, man,” Dean says. “There’s something missing.” A bizarre thought occurs to him. “I’m not soulless, am I?” “No, Dean,” Cas says. Dean shakes his head. “You angels ever get that feeling where,” he snaps his fingers, clumsily, “you keep worrying you’ve left the oven on?” “No,” Cas says. “Well, it’s like that,” Dean says, swinging his finger emphatically. “You did that. Except it was me. I was the oven.” They shuffle along quietly for a moment, Dean slumped into Cas, pulling back every urge to nuzzle into his neck. “I’m very confused by this metaphor,” Cas says eventually. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re the one who left it on,” Dean says, as if explaining to a toddler. “I see,” Cas says, resignation laced in his voice.

This time, Dean can’t help but nuzzle into him. “I should be pissed at you, you know,” Dean says into his ear.

Cas doesn’t say anything, seemingly focused entirely now on keeping Dean upright, urging him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Dean wonders if Cas ever expected himself to be abandoning his heavenly missions in favour of dragging a drunk man home. “No,” Cas says. Dean realises he’s saying everything out loud, and snaps his mouth shut. “Hey,” Dean says, deliberately this time. “Why aren’t you, uh,” he frowns, and makes his one free hand flap like a bird, “you know, just flying me back?” “Not sure how the effects would be on someone this inebriated,” Cas says. “Keys, Dean.” “We should go to Hawaii or something. Get a couple of drinks there,” Dean says. “Dean,” Cas repeats firmly. “The motel keys.” Then he starts patting Dean’s jacket down, and Dean sways in place, focused now entirely on keeping his head cool while Cas’ hands move all over him. He pulls the keys from his jean pocket, his hand far too close to Dean’s crotch for his liking, and they jingle as Cas unlocks the room. The giddiness deflates from Dean’s chest as he remembers, suddenly, why he’s here. How he had left Sam with a mumbled excuse, booked a room for just himself, because he could no longer bear how the hollowness had grown to a gaping hole in his chest; or how he had the overwhelming sensation of being nothing but a puppet, an empty vessel that was simply being manouvered into doing things he was supposed to. Drinking, sleeping, eating, hunting, teasing Sammy, flirting with girls - all things he had done before spending a lifetime in hell. He does all the same things, but they are no longer the same. This time, Dean Winchester is no longer there. He died a long time ago. “Dean?” He looks up, and realises he’s gone still in the doorway, and the image focuses slowly in his eyes. Cas is watching him with his brows furrowed together, his mouth set in a worried line. Dean feels like he should laugh again, but there is nothing left in him now but what remains at the core of him - a deep, aching nothingness. Dean swings the door shut behind him, and Cas reaches out to him as he attempts to stand on his own two wobbly feet. Smiling thinly, Dean says, “I’m all wrong.” With effort, he tugs the jacket off. It feels like it’s wound tightly around every limb, refusing to let go, but eventually he manages to peel it off. “You left a piece of me down there in the pit,” Dean says, and huffs a dry, humourless laugh. “You left the damn oven on.” For a moment, Cas says nothing. He hovers a half-step close to him, and they stand quietly while Dean’s breaths get thick and raspy, his hands trembling by his sides. “You gotta fix this shit,” he bites out, and he feels his cheeks have turned hot and wet. Dean braves the journey to the bed, with Cas’ hands securing him by his side, and he slumps down heavily on it. “You gotta,” he presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, “You gotta fix this, Cas.”

He breathes into his hands, both covering his face, and he draws in a breath, then another, his whole body trembling. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says, his voice small, breaking at the end. “I can’t go on anymore, Cas.”

Dean’s hands are gripped by something warm and soft. Cas’ hands are pulling them gently away from his face, and placing them on his knees. He doesn’t make a move as Cas tenderly brushes away the tears streaking down his cheeks. He doesn’t protest as he cups his face. Distantly, he wonders if anyone has ever touched him like this, and comes up short. Cas is just inches from him, his eyes watching him like he wants nothing more than to draw out every bit of pain and ache Dean has ever experienced. Dean is gripped by the notion that he could lean forward and kiss Cas right now. It’s not the first time he’s thought it, but it’s the first time he’s let himself seriously consider it. “You need to get some sleep, Dean,” Cas says. His voice is barely a whisper off his lips.

Dean feels Cas’ hand over his forehead, and for a brief moment, he wonders if it is normal for angels to have a touch that is so unbearably tender, as if they can pour love into their skin. He feels as if something warm has filled his chest, the dry ache smoothed away, the sensation of something like peace. For one insane moment, he wants to tell Cas he loves him. He doesn’t.

Instead, he sleeps.

* * *

When Dean awakes the next morning, he thinks for the briefest of seconds that he can see a dip in the mattress, fresh from the weight of a body. As he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shakes himself awake, he remembers that he is alone.

Dean reaches out for his phone, clumsily plugs it into his charger and waits impatiently for the screen to finally light up in a glow. He calls Sam, who has left five increasingly panicked voice messages on his phone. He ribs him mercilessly for it - What are you, an old man? Send a text like everyone else! - and then lets him know his phone had died over the night. There, nothing to be worried about.

The events of the past day feel foggy, courtesy of the hangover. Despite that, when Dean looks up in the bathroom mirror, he finds himself looking refreshed. He feels lighter than he has in years. Later, he tells Sam that he clearly needs to take more vacations away from his griping, and receives a half-hearted punch to his shoulder. "I prayed to Cas, you know," Sam says, looking at his hands. "He must be busy. Didn't answer." Dean huffs, sipping his coffee. "God, you're such a drama queen. Can't survive without your big brother for one day." "Shut up, jerk." "Bitch." Sam sends him a look, but he doesn't say more - he changes the topic, and that's that. Dean drinks his coffee as he half-listens to Sam filling him in on a new case, and he tries to recall when he last saw Cas. He wonders, briefly, if he should pray to him. His stomach flutters traitorously at the thought, and Dean swallows thickly, deciding against it.

He swirls around the remaining coffee in his cup, rubbing his chest absently, and wonders at the ache that has settled there now. Distantly, he reaches for the broken pieces of an old memory, a lingering sensation of a warm palm to his forehead.

#fic prompt #unbetaed #rosa writes #deancas #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #thank you so much for this AWESOME prompt anon #not sure i did it a sliver of justice but i loved the concept

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kpoptrashlord-007 · 3 years

Text

Flour Cheeks;; YHS

Word Count;; 1.6k

Genre;; Fluff Overload!

Pairing;; Hongseok x Reader

Summary;;

While you understand that some mornings you'll wake up alone, your curiosity does get the better of you when you realise your boyfriend has chosen to leave the comfort of your shared bed despite not needing to. It's warm, fluffy, and soft and filled with the possibilities of additional dreaming and yet you soon find yourself also being drawn away from its comforts.

Request;;

Hiii! Can I please request something fluffy with Pentagon's Hongseok? Maybe cooking him and y/n cooking and being all cute? Thank you!! <333

Warnings;;

None!

Notes;;

I remember him cooking well in one of his lives so I went to look for it and found the waffle incident instead ahsjjdkfkg. Also sorry I took longer than I said I would! Our parents stopped by while we were doing our laundry and I didn't have time to write like I thought I would. Hope you enjoy this all the same and...

Happy late birthday to our Honk Honk! ♡

My Masterlist

Sunlight streamed in through the curtain's gap to cover the duvet in splashes of yellow and white. It brightened the room, forcing you to squint while you checked your phone's notifications. With a huff, you tossed the device back onto the bedside table and closed your eyes once more.

It was getting late. The sun was high in the sky as if to taunt you for your laziness and the room warmed beneath its abundant rays. You soon found yourself kicking the bedding clear off the mattress as you flipped over and away from the window.

Due to the lack of your boyfriend's firm chest to stop you from invading his side of the bed, your initial roll was followed by another, more exaggerated flop. Spreading your limbs with a strained sigh, you once again tried opening your eyes. The room was still bright but you pushed through the searing discomfort to search for Hongseok.

Though the bathroom door was only propped open by a sliver, the lack of light and movement was enough for you to write it off as empty. The bedroom itself provided a similar scene: devoid of Hongseok but with small clues as to his whereabouts. His house shoes were moved but his phone was still on the charger. The dresser hadn't closed all the way, catching on one of his shirts. He had been in a rush and yet he hadn't dressed to go out, having grabbed clothes from the casual section of his wardrobe.

You chuckled and shook your head. Whatever had been on his mind wasn't important enough to wake you up and you were grateful for the additional rest. Stretching once again, you pushed the remainder of the bedding off with a yawn before curling up into a ball.

His side of the bed smelled like him (surprise, surprise) and you enjoyed the mornings when you could sleep in after he left almost as much as the mornings you woke up beside him. You pushed your face into his pillow and sighed. His body wash and shampoo flooded your senses. It was comforting and it made you feel safe because he made you feel safe.

You inhaled breath by breath, drifting off to sleep until the soothing scent of Hongseok dissipated and was replaced by the strong, undesirable scent of burning. Your eyes snapped open a step slower than your body that had already slid out of bed. Without stopping to grab your shoes or to throw on pants, you fumbled out of your shared bedroom.

The apartment wasn't huge and it didn't take long for your legs that were in pursuit of the smoke to stumble into the kitchen. Inside you took note of your handsome boyfriend wearing that ridiculous apron you had bought him as a gag gift for his last birthday. Flour graced his tanned cheeks and you fought back a laugh, biting your lip to keep yourself silent. His expression was both serious and exasperated while he observed the steady pillar of smoke escaping the miniature waffle maker.

"If you make it too obvious, the insurance won't pay out," you teased. His eyes latched onto your form, lingering on your bare thighs that peeked out from beneath his oversized shirt. A grin formed on his lips as he beckoned you to his side. You were quick to oblige. "So what's up? Making breakfast?"

"Good morning beautiful. I can't answer any questions until I have a kiss." He tapped his cheek twice. Powder still marked them. You leaned around him to grab a kitchen towel and you found it through memory rather than sight, your gaze focused and locked onto his. Though he tapped his foot in impatience, he was smiling and mischief shone in his eyes.

The cloth wasn't the softest material so you were cautious of how much pressure you exerted on his soft skin. It wasn't until you pulled away to admire your handiwork that you noticed the towel (and most of the surfaces nearby) was also covered in flour and your attempt to wipe away the powder had only created a bigger smudge. Your whole body trembled with the bottled-up laughter brewing deep in your chest. "What? What's so funny?"

"You're covered in flour, baby." You managed to force the words out before you let loose and your laugh filled every corner of the room. Hongseok frowned and turned away from you, focusing his attention back on the waffle maker. At least it was no longer smoking. Next to the appliance was a plate of… something you couldn't quite identify. "And what the hell is that?"

"What? That? You can't tell? It's clearly a waffle. And here I thought you were cultured," he said, his voice strained as he tried to pry the appliance open. Upon noticing the secured latch, you nudged him aside and popped the lock before flipping the lid open. Out of instinct his arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you back away from the billow of steam that rushed upward out of the small machine.

"What's the point of using the waffle maker if it doesn't make waffles?" He whined, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Did it make that"—distaste crossed your face as you gestured toward the plate of goop—"mess too?"

"No, I tried… it doesn't matter. The last resort is the other waffle maker."

"Or maybe we should stop now while we're only at two losses?"

"I'm a man who never gives up, baby. You know this."

Hongseok flashed you a grin, his eyes sparkling with determination as he cleared the counter. While his attention was on whipping up another batch of mixture, you decided to clean up his prior attempts. You scraped off the goo from the plate and ran it under hot water while you disconnected the miniature waffle maker and waited for it to cool down enough to soak the inner dish. The dishes stacked up in the sink and the small tower of plastic threatened to collapse like a Jenga tower when you added the last powder bowl Hongseok had discarded to the top.

"So what's the special occasion?"

"Are you kidding or do you owe me a massage?"

A massage? That could only mean-

Shoot!

"I was just kid-"

"Looks like my honey bunny owes me a massage! What a great start to our anniversary!"

"But I didn't forget!"

"Nah uh. I said the same thing last year, I was in the same boat, and you didn't go easy on me so I don't think I'll go easy on you, either."

"Hongseokkie," you pouted, jutting out your lips as you pulled on his arm. Your mind wandered when he flexed under your grasp, his muscles toned and strong. His efforts at the gym never went unnoticed. He continued his attempt to mix the blueberries and bananas into batter, oblivious to how your gaze devoured him. "I didn't forget."

"If I say I believe you, will you give me a massage anyway?"

"Maybe."

"Well I don't believe you."

You scoffed, a playful smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, "Alright, alright. Fine, I forgot, and you'll get your massage as owed. Now will you please abandon this futile waffle mission? We can just have our usual instead. Nothing beats healthy, anyway."

"Abandon as in give up? Who do you think I am? I'm going to make you the best damn waffles, just you watch."

"Right, right. Of course. And I'll try not to starve in the meantime."

He ignored your comment and focused on pouring the batter into the second waffle maker. This one was bigger, at least in comparison to the miniature maker. The miniature (theoretically) baked bite-sized waffles with little snowflakes on them. This regular-sized and completely average waffle maker had no special gimmick. It was straight-forward and easy to use.

Except that it wasn't.

Once Hongseok's pride diminished just enough to summon you back into the kitchen, you found yourself also struggling to make a single waffle that could pass as a waffle. None of your creations were recognisable as a breakfast treat. Some weren't even recognisable as food. Several plates of "waffles" had built up, each featuring varying degrees of baked all the way from gooey to charred. Your solo attempts hadn't fared any better.

"Can we give up yet?"

"No." He grabbed a piece of overcooked waffle from the maker and frowned. Half of the batter was close to burning while the other half was still liquid. With great caution, he nibbled on it. The regret was immediate. He thrusted it in your direction. "Try this."

"Gross," you said, pretending to gag. He took the opportunity to shove the waffle piece into your mouth. You swatted him away seconds too late. He laughed, dodging your flailing hits. Though crunchy and quite dry, the waffle wasn't actually that bad. It could be worse, you thought, eyeing the discarded plates. Much worse.

"So…"

"So…" you echoed. When he didn't continue, you nudged his slumped shoulder. His expression screamed disappointment upon looking at the numerous attempts which then morphed into irritation as he glared at the appliance and its lustrous shine. Despite the abundance of use it had undergone over the last few hours, it looked brand new and somehow clean. "While this has been quite the adventure, should we settle down with some oatmeal and relax?"

"You want to give up?"

"On the waffles? Yes. I'd rather cuddle with you than fight with this clearly defective waffle maker."

"Waffle makers," he empathised, glaring over at the abandoned miniature version.

"If nothing else, we've created a memory that will last a lifetime and I can't think of a better gift to receive on our very special day."

"I can think of something." You knew by his cheeky grin just what he planned to do and before he even raised his finger, you began to lean into his space. He pointed at his cheek all the same and awaited your kiss. Once again you laughed at his cute antics but this time you followed it up with a kiss.

#yang hongseok #hongseok x reader #pentagon x reader #kpop x reader #pentagon #kpop #yang hongseok x reader #kpop fluff #pentagon fluff #hongseok fluff #reader insert #pentagon fanfic #kpop fanfic #hongseok fanfic #kpop pentagon #kpoptrashlord-007 #soft hours #pentagon soft hours #kpop soft hours

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destiny-smasher · 3 years

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Life is Strange: True Colors

Leading up to the release of Episode 1 of TellTale's The Walking Dead game, I was working freelance for GameRevolution at the time, lived in the area, and had the chance to play a build of the game to write a preview on it. I remember comparing it to Mass Effect because, at the time, there just...weren't games of that subgenre. Of course, by now we've seen an explosion of this type of game - the 'narrative/choice-driven game,' spearheaded and even oversaturated by Telltale to their own demise.

Out of all of the games that have come from that initial boom, Life is Strange by DontNod was and still is the most influential on my life, but I also have always harbored really conflicted feelings about it - especially with how it resolved its narrative. Hell, if you're reading this, you're probably aware that I spent a few years of my life creating a sequel fanstory which I even adapted a chunk of into visual novel format. Hundreds of thousands of words, days and days of life spent essentially trying to process and reconcile my conflicted feelings about this game's conclusion(s). Since then, I've been experimenting with interactive fiction and am currently developing my own original visual novel using everything I've learned from both creating and playing games in this genre. It's a subgenre of game I have a lot of interest and passion for because, when handled well, it can allow a player to sort of co-direct a guided narrative experience in a way that's unique compared to strictly linear cinematic experiences but still have a curated, focused sense of story.

Up until this point, I've regarded Night in the Woods as probably the singular best game of this style, with others like Oxenfree and The Wolf Among Us as other high marks. I've never actually put any Life is Strange game quite up there - none of them have reached that benchmark for me, personally. Until now, anyway.

But now, I can finally add a new game to that top tier, cream of the crop list. Life is Strange: True Colors is just damn good. I'm an incredibly critical person as it is - and that critique usually comes from a place of love - so you can imagine this series has been really hard to for me given that I love it, and yet have never truly loved any actual full entry in it. I have so many personal issues, quibbles, qualms, and frustration with Life is Strange: with every individual game, with how it has been handled by its publisher (my biggest issue at this point, actually), with how it has seemingly been taken away from its original development studio, with how it chooses to resolve its narratives...

But with True Colors, all of those issues get brushed aside long enough for me to appreciate just how fucking well designed it is for this style of game. I can appreciate how the development team, while still clearly being 'indie' compared to other dev teams working under Square-Enix, were able to make such smart decisions in how to design and execute this game. Taken on its own merits, apart from its branding, True Colors is absolutely worth playing if you enjoy these 'telltale' style games. Compared to the rest of the series, I would argue it's the best one so far, easily. I had a lot of misgivings and doubts going in, and in retrospect, those are mostly Square-Enix's fault. Deck Nine, when given the freedom to make their own original game in the same vein as the previous three, fucking nailed it as much as I feel like they could, given the kinds of limitations I presume they were working within.

I'm someone who agonizes every single time there is news for Life is Strange as a series - someone who essentially had to drop out of the fandom over infighting, then dropped out of even being exposed to the official social media channels for it later on (I specifically have the Square-Enix controlled channels muted). I adore Max and Chloe, and as a duo, as a couple, they are one of my top favorites not just in gaming, but in general. They elevated the original game to be something more than the sum of its parts for me. And while I have enjoyed seeing what DontNod has made since, it's always been their attention to detail in environmental craftsmanship, in tone and atmosphere, which has caught my interest. They're good at creating characters with layers, but imo they've never nailed a narrative arc. They've never really hit that sweet spot that makes a story truly resonate with me. Deck Nine's previous outing, Before the Storm, was all over the place, trying to mimic DontNod while trying to do its own things - trying to dig deeper into concepts DontNod deliberately left open for interpretation while also being limited in what it could do as a prequel.

But with True Colors, those awkward shackles are (mostly) off. They have told their own original story, keeping in tone and concept with previous Life is Strange games, and yet this also feels distinctly different in other ways.

Yes, protagonist Alex Chen is older than previous characters, and most of the characters in True Colors are young adults, as opposed to teenagers. Yes, she has a supernatural ability. And yes, the game is essentially a linear story with some freedom in how much to poke around at the environment and interact with objects/characters, with the primary mechanic being making choices which influence elements of how the story plays out. None of this is new to the genre, or even Life is Strange. But the execution was clearly planned out, focused, and designed with more caution and care than games like this typically get.

A smaller dev team working with a budget has to make calls on how to allocate that budget. With True Colors, you will experience much fewer locales and environments than you will in Life is Strange 2. Fewer locations than even Life is Strange 1, by my count. But this reinforces the game's theming. I suspect the biggest hit to the game's budget was investing in its voice acting (nothing new for this series) but specifically in the motion capture and facial animation.

You have a game about a protagonist trying to fit in to a small, tightly knit community. She can read the aura of people's emotions and even read their minds a little. And the game's budget and design take full advantage of this. You spend your time in a small main street/park area, a handful of indoor shops, your single room apartment. It fits within a tighter budget, but it reinforces the themes the game is going for. Your interactions with characters are heightened with subtle facial cues and microexpressions, which also reinforces the mechanic and theming regarding reading, accepting, and processing emotions. And you get to make some choices that influence elements of this - influenced by the town, influenced by the emotions of those around you, which reinforce the main plot of trying to navigate a new life in a small town community.

When I think about these types of games, the conclusion is always a big deal. In a way, it shouldn't be, because I usually feel it's about the journey, not the destination. And as an example, I actually really dislike the ending of the original Life is Strange. I think it's a lot of bullshit in many ways. The setpiece is amazing and epic, sure, but the actual storytelling going on is...really hollow for me. Yes, the game does subtly foreshadow in a number of ways that this is the big choice it's leading up to, but the game never actually makes sense of it. And the problem is, if your experience is going to end on a big ol' THIS or THAT kind of moment, it needs to make sense or the whole thing will fall apart as soon as the credits are rolling and the audience spends a moment to think about what just happened. When you look at the end of Season 1 of Telltale's The Walking Dead, it's not powerful just because of what choice you're given, but because through the entire final episode, we know the stakes - we know what is going to ultimately happen, and we know the end of the story is fast approaching. All of the cards are on the table by the time we get to that final scene, and it works so well because we know why it's happening, and it is an appropriate thematic climax that embodies the theming of the entire season. It works mechanically, narratively, and thematically, and 'just makes sense.'

The ending of Life is Strange 1 doesn't do that, if you ask me. The ending of most games in this genre don't really hit that mark. When I get to the end of most game 'seasons' like this, even ones I enjoy, I'm typically left frustrated, confused, and empty in a way.

The ending of True Colors, on the other hand, nails everything it needs to. Handily, when compared to its peers.

If you're somehow reading this and have not played this game but intend to, now is probably where you should duck out, as I will be

discussing SPOILERS from the entire game, specifically the finale.

Firstly, since I don't know where else to put this, some criticisms I found with the game. And honestly, they're all pretty damn minor compared to most games of this type.

Mainly, I just wish the whole Typhon thing was handled a bit more deliberately. It's a bit weird to do the 'big evil corporation' thing (especially when a big corporation like Square Enix occupies as much as or even more of the credits to this game than the people who actually MADE it?) without offering more explanation and subtlety. The game certainly makes some efforts but they're mostly small and mostly optional, like background chatter or a handful of one-off bits of documentation/etc. you can find in the environment. I feel like Diane in particular needed to be fleshed out just a little bit more to really sell us on how and why things like this happen, why corporations make decisions that cost people their happiness, security, and lives and they just get to keep on doing it. I think just a little bit that is unavoidable to the player that puts emphasis on maybe how much the town relies on the money/resources Typhon provides would've helped. Again, this is minor, but it stands out when I have so little else to critique.

I would've liked to get more insight on why Jed is the way he is. No, I don't think we really needed to learn more about his backstory, or even really his motivations. I think we get enough of that. I just think it would've been great to somehow highlight more deliberately how/why he's built up this identity overtop of what he's trying to suppress. Maybe even just having Alex internally realize, "Wait, what the hell, Jed has been hiding these emotions and my powers haven't picked up on it?" or something to that effect could have added an extra oomph to highlight how Jed seems to be coping with his emotions by masking/suppressing them. Also really minor complaint, but again...there's not much else here I can think to really improve on within the confines of what's in the game.

The game doesn't really call Alex's power into question morally. Like. Max has an entire meltdown by the end of her story, second-guessing if she's even helped anyone at all, if she has 'the right' to do so, how her powers might be affecting or expressing her own humanity and flaws...this story doesn't really get into that despite a very similar concept of manipulating others. There's like one bit in a document you can choose to read in Alex's 'nightmare' scene, but that's really it. I feel like this sentiment and how it's executed could have easily been expanded upon in just this one scene to capture what made that Max/Other Max scene do what it did in a way that would address the moral grayness of Alex's powers and how she uses them, and give players a way to express their interpretation of that. Also, very small deal, just another tidbit I would've liked to see.

When I first watched my wife play through Episode 5 (I watched her play through the game first, then I played it myself), I wasn't really feeling the surreal dreamscape stuff of Alex's flashbacks - which is weird, because if you're read my work from the past few years, you'll know I usually love that sort of shit. I think what was throwing me off was that it didn't really feel like it was tying together what the game was about up until that point, and felt almost like it was just copying what Life is Strange did with Max's nightmare sequence (minus the best part of that sequence, imo, where Max literally talks to herself).

But by the time I had seen the rest of the story, and re-experienced it myself, I think it clicked better. This is primarily a story about Alex Chen trying to build a new life for herself in a new community - a small town, a tightly knit place. Those flashbacks are specifically about Alex's past, something we only get teeny tiny tidbits of, and only really if we go looking for them. I realized after I gave myself a few days to process and play through the game myself that this was still a fantastic choice because it reinforces the plot reasons why Alex is even in the town she's in (because her father went there, and her brother in turn went there looking for him), and it reinforces the theme of Alex coming to accept her own emotions and confront them (as expressed through how the flashbacks are played out and the discussions she has with the image of Gabe in her mind, which is really just...another part of herself trying to get her to process things).

By the time Alex escapes the mines and returns to the Black Lantern, all of the cards are on the table. By that point, we as the audience know everything we need to. Everything makes sense - aside from arguably why Jed has done what he has done, but put a pin in that for a sec. We may not know why Alex has the powers she does, but we have at least been given context for how they manifested - as a coping mechanism of living a life inbetween the cracks of society, an unstable youth after her family fell apart around her (and oof, trust me, I can relate with this in some degree, though not in exactly the same ways). And unlike Max's Rewind power, the story and plot doesn't put this to Alex's throat, like it's all on her to make some big choice because she is the way she is, or like she's done something wrong by pursuing what she cares about (in this case, the truth, closure, and understanding).

When Alex confronts Jed in front of all of the primary supporting characters, it does everything it needs to.

Mechanically: it gives players choices for how to express their interpretation of events, and how Alex is processing them; it also, even more importantly, uses the 'council' as a way of expressing how the other characters have reacted to the choices the player has made throughout the game, and contributes to how this climax feels. We're given a 'big choice' at the end of the interaction that doesn't actually change the plot, or even the scene, really (it just affects like one line of dialogue Alex says right then) and yet BOTH choices work so well as a conclusion, it's literally up to your interpretation and it gives you an in-game way to express that.

Thematically: the use of the council reinforces the game's focus on community; and the way the presentation of the scene stays locked in on Alex and Jed's expressions reinforces its focus on emotion - not to mention that the entire scene also acts as a way to showcase how Alex has come to accept, understand, and process her own emotions while Jed, even THEN, right fucking at the moment of his demise, is trying to mask his emotions, to hide them and suppress them and forget them (something the game has already expressed subtly by way of his negative emotions which would give him away NOT being visible to Alex even despite her power).

Narratively: we are given a confrontation that makes sense and feels edifying to see play out after everything we've experienced and learned. We see Alex use her powers in a new and exciting way that further builds the empowering mood the climax is going for and adds a cinematic drama to it. No matter what decisions the player makes, Alex has agency in her own climax, we experience her making a decision, using her power, asserting herself now that she has gone through the growth this narrative has put her through. Alex gets to resolve her shit, gets to have her moment to really shine and experience the end of a character arc in this narrative.

Without taking extra time to design the game around these pillars, the finale wouldn't be so strong. If they didn't give us enough opportunities to interact with the townspeople, their presence in the end wouldn't matter, but everyone who has a say in the council is someone we get an entire scene (at least one) dedicated to interacting with them and their emotions. If they didn't implement choices in the scene itself, it would still be powerful but we wouldn't feel as involved, it'd be more passive. If they didn't showcase Alex's power, we might be left underwhelmed, but they do so in a way that actually works in the context through how they have chosen to present it, while also just tonally heightening the climax by having this drastic lighting going on. If they didn't have the council involved, we'd lose the theming of community. If they didn't have the foil of Alex/Jed and how they have each processed their emotions, we'd miss that key component. And if we didn't have such detailed facial animations, the presentation just wouldn't be as effective.

Ryan/Steph are a little bit like, in this awkward sideline spot during the climax? Steph always supports you, and Ryan supports you or doubts you conditionally, which is unsurprising but also ties into the themes of Ryan having grown up woven into this community, and Steph being once an outsider who has found a place within it. They're still there, either way, which is important. The only relevant characters who aren't present are more supporting characters like Riley, Ethan, and Mac. Ethan being the only one of those who gets an entire 'super emotions' scene, but that also marks the end of his arc and role in the story, so...it's fine. Mac and Riley are less important and younger, as well, and have their own side story stuff you have more direct influence on, too.

But damn, ya'll, this climax just works so well. It especially stands out to me given just how rarely I experience a conclusion/climax that feels this rewarding.

And then after that we get a wonderful montage of a theoretical life Alex might live on to experience. Her actions don't overthrow a conglomerate billionaire company. She doesn't even save a town, really. If the entire council thinks you're full of shit, Jed still confesses either way - because it's not up to the council whether he does this, it's because of Alex, regardless of player choice. Honestly, even after a playthrough where I made most choices differently from my wife, there weren't really many changes to that montage at the end. It'd have been great if it felt more meaningfully different, but maybe it can be. Even if not, the design intent is there and the execution still works. It's a really nice way to end the story, especially since it's not even a literal montage but one Alex imagines - again, her processing what she's gone through, what she desires, expressed externally for us to see it. And for once, the actual final 'big decision' in a game of this type manages to be organic, make sense, and feel good and appropriate either way. You choose to either have Alex stay in Haven Springs and continue building her life there, or you can choose to have her leave and try to be an indie musician, with the events of the game being yet another chunk of her life to deal with and move on from (I haven't really touched on it, but music, especially as a way to express and process emotions, is a recurring thing, much like photography was in the original game, or Sean's illustrations in LiS2). For once, a climactic 'pick your ending' decision that doesn't feel shitty. It's pretty rare for this genre, honestly.

I could - and already have, and likely will - have so much more to say about this game and its details, but I really wanted to focus on touching upon a main element that has left me impressed: the way the entire game feels designed. It feels intentionally constructed but in a way that reinforces what it is trying to express as a story. It's not just trying to make people cry for the sake of 'emotions.' It is a game literally about emotions and it comes to a conclusion in a way that is clearly saying something positive and empowering about empathy and self-acceptance.

Storytelling is a craft, like any other, and it entails deliberate choices and decisions that can objectively contribute to how effective a story is for its intended audience.

A good story isn't something you find, after all.

It's something you build.

#Life is Strange True Colors #Life is Strange #Haven Springs #alex chen #lis true colors

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Rough Night

Bucky Barnes x (f)werewolf reader

Summary: Your life is already so weird, thankfully Bucky loves you through it all.

Warning: fluff, reader being a sass master w/ no filter

side note: couldn’t think of any cool avenger powers and then brain went werewolf so here we are

Masterlist

If you had a dollar for every time you’d ended up in the woods with ripped clothes and no shoes, well, let’s just say you could probably afford a real nice two bedroom apartment in some real pleasantly fancy building with a great view and all. Too bad green doesn’t just rain down from the sky every time the full moon comes round to knock you back into another world of blurry confusion.

You won’t lie to yourself, being what you are is strange and not very common in the slightest, obviously. It’s even weirder that you weren’t bitten one night and turned just like that, oh no, all passed down through the bloodline of other strange relatives. So you’re gifted with the curse, forced to inevitably change into a furry beast every single full moon, so what you’re still a mostly pleasant individual.

Well luckily for you, being born with the gift does happen to have its perks which do come in handy. For instance, you’re incredibly strong, quick on your feet, and have heightened senses, plus the ability to shift on command. It’s not all bad, well......most of the time.

Honestly you truly thought life couldn’t get much stranger for you and your whole hidden secretive situation, until low and behold some random red head found your little hideaway in a remote mountain side village far off in the Himalayas.

Everything was completely fine and under control and then BAM, she showed up with some important documents and something called an Avengers initiative and well shit, guess some time spent with the real world couldn’t hurt. I mean come on, some more friends seemed like a nice idea and uh, somehow they knew who you were so too late to run and hide.

Also at the time, considering you lived like a recluse on the edge of the village and of course for good reason, but damn if the red head didn’t just hand you an open invitation for some real adventure. Who were you to say no?

Fortunately for you, all seemed to go in your favor and fantastically enough, they had a nice big strong cell for you on nights when the wolf was inevitably bound to come out. A fridge full of plentiful snacks, a training room to lay off some steam, and a big safe and secure room all your own. It was perfect. Only problem was, there happened to be a very attractive and very wary of you super soldier who undoubtedly caught your attention.

How could you not, he smelled divine, muscles for days, thick thighs that could make a girl swoon, and he just seemed like the best goddamn hugger alive. Okay listen, maybe you were touch starved and deprived of human affection but dammit if your little monster heart didn’t skip a beat every time he was near you.

And yes, the few months it took to get him to crack was just down right torturous. But with some coaxing from Steve and encouragement from Sam, the winter soldier at long last did talk to you. Turned out he thought you were scared of him all along, how hilariously ironic you thought when he told you that.

But as time progressed and you both opened up more and more, a blossoming relationship sprouted forth, eventually evolving and manifesting into a big beautiful flower called love. Cheesy yes, but you couldn’t have dreamed of anything better.

And seriously, he wasn’t freaked out about your whole hidden hush hush secretive gift that usually either goes in your favor or ends up causing you major legal trouble. The man himself, Bucky Barnes, thought you were a marvel to behold, so odd and fantastic that he couldn’t stay away even if he tried.

And for that you could love him forever, especially now after a full moon while you’re out in the middle of nowhere. Hoping that the team will send your hundred year old boyfriend out to find you in the brisk dark morning after a grand unrememberable adventure. Which would be very nice of course, considering you have not a damn clue what you’ve done.....or where you are.

Cracking your back, you stretch your hands up to the dawning sky as a tired yawn escapes you. It’s been a long night and you look like a wild woman with your hear a fluffy nest and your clothes ripped in various unrevealing places thankfully.

Your surroundings are simply trees and small scraggly bushes, green grass underneath your bare feet and a small stream flowing in the near distance. With a second to listen, you can hear a highway a couple miles away to the east, guess that’s a start.

Rubbing your eyes you set out in that direction for about twenty minutes before a blue and gold Mercedes comes into view from the side of a country back road, it stops when you guess the driver spotted you from the tree line. Keeping a wary eye on the fancy sports car, you keep walking towards it until a figure gets out and leans against the passengers side door all cool and casual, then on further inspection you realize the driver is Bucky.

Yes! My knight in shining armor is here!

Trudging through the grassy field in the dewy morning light, he watches your every move, eyes crinkling in amusement as you come to stand a couple feet in front of him. Undoubtedly looking a bit wild, and very tired as you fold your arms underneath each other, giving your dark haired lover a shy almost fangy smile.

“I know I look like a hot mess.” You mutter with a shrug, biting your lip as you dart your eyes to the fields behind him, slightly embarrassed of the current disheveled state you’re in.

Bucky smirks before pushing himself off the car and engulfing you into a big Bucky bear hug to your pleasant surprise, “Y/N I’m just glad you’re okay and nothing bad happened to you.” He mumbles into your shoulder as you press yourself closer to him, letting yourself have this wonderful moment to relax and feel at ease.

Slowly pulling back to look up at him, you smile, “Aww Buck you were worried about me?”

He returns the grin, leaning down to press his head flush against yours, “We all were, me more then anyone else of course...and maybe for the general civilians nearby.”

You laugh nervously, “Oh right, yeah. Well hey, I didn’t destroy anyone's car this time. I think I’ve made progress.”

He pauses for a brief moment indicating he’s not sure if he should tell you something and this does make you nervous before Bucky finally lets out a little laugh, “You ate a whole cow Y/N.”

Snorting in surprise you quickly pull your head from Bucky’s, “What? Did I? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Yeah, uh I wish.” He admits with a casual reassuring squeeze to your arm, “We tracked you with Sam’s suit tech, yunno Red Wing, and uh....you seemed to be having fun.”

Mentally and just about physically cringing at yourself, you purse your lips together in slight embarrassment, “Shit. Was it gross?” You ask, making a face that causes him to chuckle.

“A little.” Adds Bucky with another casual shrug to make you feel less terrible.

“Is the farmer going to see everything, I mean shit they’re gonna be so pissed.” You worry, biting your lip anxiously as you break eye contact from him. “Why am I like this.”

“Uh, that’s not going to be a problem.” Inquires Bucky causing you to find his blue eyes once again.

Eying him up suspiciously you raise a brow, “And why’s that.....Bucky what did I do?”

Taking a breath he gives you a small apprehensive smile, “Y/N...you uh, kind of ate......everything.”

“I what?” I did not! No way, right?

Giving you a quick kiss on the cheek he smiles affectionately, “I’m going to be honest with you here it looked like a kid with a piece of cake who has no impulse control, and loves cake....like a lot.....Rodney almost puked.”

Rolling your eyes you fake glare at him, “Oh god who all watched my little horror show?”

“Mostly everyone.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s like a car crash Y/N, we don’t want to watch but we can’t look away. Sorry doll.” He confesses apprehensively, though honest and sincere knowing you do feel bad for what you do when out of it.

“No.” You say honestly, pausing for a moment, “It’s fine. Seriously Buck, I’m just relieved you guys keep taps on me while I’m out, god knows I can’t help what I do and where I go. It’s nice to have people making sure I don’t injure any innocent bystander.”

“Yeah I guess so huh...alright Y/N/N,” Chirps Bucky with a beaming grin as he attempts to shift the mood to a less dull one, “let’s get out of here, I mean unless you want to sniff around the place for awhile...it is a nice forest over there and all but I guess we can stay and I’ll let you...”

“Alright Barnes, can-it or maybe I’ll bite you.” You tease with a playful squeeze of his bicep before breaking out of his strong grasp.

“Depends on the context maybe I’d enjoy it.” Adds Bucky sarcastically, side eying you with a half smile as you move to open the car door.

Shaking your head in playful disapproval you lightly shove him aside, “Believe me you wouldn’t.”

——

The ride back to the Avengers base or headquarters or facility, who the hell knows at this point, was actually quite smooth and peaceful. Then again you fell asleep as soon as Bucky made it onto the highway, and continued to catch a much needed nap for the next hour ride home.

No one ever said you were easy alright, but let’s be real, Bucky would let you put him through anything and he’d be happy about it.

After parking and walking down the sidewalk past some early morning trainees catching a run, the two of you made it into the Avengers official HQ where all your rooms and other luxury’s are located. But of course not before walking past the facilities giant living space and huge kitchen.

Just keep looking forward, keep walking, walk faster you idiot!

“Y/N!” Shouts Sam in that stupidly peppy obnoxious early morning voice of his, no doubt gaining the attentions of Steve and Natasha who are seated at the kitchens bar talking about some mission report.

Pausing in the large doorway that’s not giving you or Bucky a whole lot of hiding space, you take a deep breath before turning to acknowledge him, “You’d think people would be sleeping considering it’s only six in the morning.”

Chuckling, Sam raises his protein shake, “Weird,” He says while giving you a knowing smirk, “we missed you during training this morning.”

Nat and Steve conceal their amusement as you simply roll your eyes, “Yeah well it was a long night.” You mutter unenthusiastically, earning the tiniest laugh from Bucky which causes you to throw him a glare. Knocking that smile right off of his handsome stubbly face.

“Well we got all these shakes here if you two love birds want one. Hate to have em go to waste.” Adds the smiling man with a nod, if he doesn’t just love seeing you looking like shit. No Sam I do not accept this invitation for you to tell me how crazy I look.

Sam means well of course, but damn he loves teasing you in front of Bucky for a fun reaction out of him. And it’s kind of working, but not on Bucky.

“It’s fine Y/N, you don’t have to have one if you don’t want to.” Calls Natasha before taking a sip from her mug. “Just ignore Sam, he’s been annoying since the gym.”

Before Sam’s even able to speak you quickly narrow your eyes at him, holding up a finger before making hasty steps across the room. Stopping right in front of him, “Give it.” You deadpan.

Brows raised in surprise he glances from a confused Bucky, then back to you again, “Listen I only made so much, Y/N this is my breakfast okay you can’t just...”

Ignoring his rushed rambling you pull out the whole glass blender full of protein shake before taking a step back as the whole room goes quiet, then never breaking eye contact you heartily drink up the whole entirety of its cold contents without missing a beat. Yeah, definitely needed that.

After you’re finished you lick your lips in satisfaction, taking a step closer towards a speechless Sam as you set the blender back in its place. Giving him a satisfied smirk before walking back over to Bucky where you tug on his jacket to follow you down the hall and away from everyone else.

Sometimes you can’t help but be a little dramatic.

——

Laying sprawled out on yours and Bucky’s giant mattress, you stare up at the ceiling as he folds your clean and freshly scented laundry, your mind swirling with thoughts of what duties you have to be apart of today. Blah, work.

Sighing gently you glance at Bucky to see if he heard you, not getting anything from him you sigh again with more grandeur this time. Nothing. Rolling your eyes you suck in a deep breath before practically soft yelling out your exhale like the dramatic little beast you are.

Glancing over to Bucky, you watch as he turns around to put some of your pants away in a drawer. Okay then, that’s how it’s gonna be. Quickly sitting up, you smirk a devilish grin before silently reaching over to pick up a small pillow, once in hand you don’t think twice before launching it at full speed directly headed for the back of his head.

But before your decently soft projectile can smack his precious flowing locks does a metal arm swiftly reach up to catch it mid flight. Oh, shit. Bucky’s head turns to you, brow raised at you before tucking the pillow underneath his arm, and going back to his usual domestic duties for the day.

Okay, killer of fun Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frustrated from lack of a reaction out of him, you stand up on the bed like a warrior about to give a great battle cry. Eyeing his cute butt up for a moment, you smirk once again before launching a sneak attack pillow right for his head. It sails magnificently across the room before a metal hand stops it in its place.

Well, shit.

This time he gives you a proper look, full of mischief and a new profound playfulness that sends an excited thrill throughout your entire being. As fast as one of Thor’s lightening bolts does the pillow soar in your direction, but conveniently for you he’s forgotten just how quick you can really be. This is just what you wanted.

Dodging to the left you watch in almost slow motion as the fluffy cloth just misses your face, instead opting to smack against the back wall with a loud thud. Snapping your attention back to Bucky he narrows his blue eyes at you suspiciously while you let out an admittedly scary villainous chuckle.

Let’s party my love.

He hands you a smirk right before shifting his body to the right, arm cocked back and thrust forward just as quickly, launching his second pillow attack without an ounce of mercy. You see it coming a mile away and as graceful as a dancer do you flip off the bed, landing perfectly on the carpeted floor just as the pillow smacks hard against the door. Thwack!

Slowly standing, eyeing him up like a lioness to her prey, you give him a satisfied smile, “Missed.” You tease.

Letting out a breathy laugh, Bucky takes a cautious step in your direction as he tests the waters, “Y/N what are you doing?”

“Getting your attention you ass.”

Chuckling he takes another step forward, “Was I ignoring you?” Duh, that’s why I, oh wait he’s playing you.

“Well you certainly weren’t doing anything interesting.” You sass as he steps again closer, this time about an arms length away.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, “Okay that’s fair, but was the pillow really necessary?” He asks, though his tone is still humorous.

Not falling for his alluring charm you tilt your head to the side, a knowing smile breaking out across your face as he tries to register what your true intentions are. “Yes, and so is this.” You quip before dropping to the floor for a side sweep of his legs, in an instant he’s on the ground and looking wide eyed up at you.

God he looks beautiful. No, focus.

“Y/N!” He whines breathlessly, brows furrowed as he holds himself up by his elbows, “Now you’re gonna get it!”

Taking a quick step back you snort, “Oh really now?”

And he’s fallen for the plan.

“Yes, and when I get you, you won’t be laughing anymore.” He grumbles, trying to keep himself from laughing as well.

“Alright then hot stuff try and bring me down.” You snap back playfully as he rises to his feet, “First one pinned has to run with Sam later, and we both know how much fun he is to run with.”

Bringing his arms up into a defensive position he readies himself for an attack, “Yeah, I’d rather not be his jogging buddy today. I mean it is raining outside, but I know you’d look real nice after a wet run.” Teases Bucky with a smirk.

“Touché you smartass.” His lips twitch into a grin as you ready your own stance. “Now let’s dance.”

#bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #The Avengers #the avengers imagine #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x you

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phantom-curve · 3 years

Note

45 from the prompt list please for juke, happy Birthday to you!!!

Thank you! I clearly have not tortured these two enough so please enjoy this angsty Juke whump that ultimately has a happy ending because what other type of ending is there?! Set in a post-canon AU where Julie brings the boys back to life.

#45: feeling their temperature

Julie had been learning a lot about how to deal with various phantom related issues in the last few months. She had learned that the boys needed constant touch and reassurance that they were somehow solid to her, mostly in the form of Luke pulling her into a hug at the end of practice or Reggie throwing himself on top of her while she was sprawled out on the couch doing homework or Alex’s fingers just gently running across the back of her shoulders or the skin of her elbow when she would walk past him at any given time. She had learned that Luke missed meatball subs more than anything, and that Reggie was still sad that that one pizza place on the pier had shut down, and Alex secretly wished he could eat cheese one last time despite the way it had always made him sick when he was alive. She had learned that in the aftermath of their literal magical hug the boys had started getting tired enough to occasionally sleep again and sometimes they didn’t quite phase through things the way they used to and for some reason their poofing had become a touch unreliable.

She was trying to roll with it as much as she could, which was actually a lot given she’d kinda just been rolling with it ever since they appeared in her mom’s studio and turned her life upside down in the best way. But something she hadn’t planned for was illness.

It didn’t make sense, after all. They were ghosts. There was no reason they should get sick, especially given the fact that they weren’t, ya know, real physical entities unless she was touching them. So, it didn’t make sense that they were able to get fevers or sore throats or be congested. She hadn’t planned for it, had written it off as a definite impossibility. Until Reggie half-poofed into her bedroom, flickering in and out slightly so she only caught every other word.

“Julie! ...quick...Luke...not...good...need...help...please!”

And she went immediately, racing down the steps and out the back door to the studio before Reggie had a chance to appear in her bedroom again.

The boys looked absolutely exhausted as she crashed into the studio, Reggie collapsed in one of the chairs breathing heavily and Alex pacing so fast she was sure he was going to wear a groove into the concrete floor. Luke was stretched out along the couch, his face red and sweaty, and he was the only one that looked unhappy at her arrival.

“Julie, thank God,” Alex breathed out, his steps slowing ever so slightly as he made eye contact. “Luke is...sick? Do ghosts get sick? Is that possible? I tried to poof up to you but...it wouldn’t work. Why wouldn’t it work? Reggie said he kept flickering? Did you understand him, or did he just disappear? Oh God, why doesn’t the afterlife come with rule books!?!”

Reggie, bless him, tried to fill in some of the gaps.

“I dunno how much I was actually able to say up there, but something is wrong with Luke. We’re pretty sure he’s sick.”

“Am not!” Luke tried to yell from his spot on the couch, but he barely managed to get the two words out before he was doubled over gasping for air. As if any of them were actually breathing.

“He’s been like this all day.”

It didn’t take a genius or supernatural expert to see that Luke was not his normal bouncy self. Julie approached him slowly, not wanting to make things worse but desperate to affirm for herself that he was still here with her and would be okay at the end of whatever this was. Obviously, none of them actually knew if he would be, but at least if she was touching him, she would have the physical reassurance of his presence. She lowered herself next to his head, resting on her knees beside the couch. He turned glassy eyes her way, groaning and twisting over on his side so he was as curled into her space as he could be while still on the couch.

“Luke...?”

She tried desperately to keep the fear from her voice. The last thing the boys needed was for her to lose it, but she wasn’t sure she managed it. Losing the boys, losing Luke, was her number one fear since she had realized how much they all meant to her. It was a fear that had become even more real when she had watched them be nearly jolted from existence thanks to Caleb, her touch somehow being the one thing that had managed to save them. As if spurred on by that memory, she reached out to let one hand trail across Luke’s forehead and down to rest against his cheek. His skin was like fire beneath her touch.

“You’re burning up. Have you been hot like this all day?”

One side of his mouth tipped up, a half-hearted smirk curving his lips.

“I’m always hot, Jules. Didn’t think you’d ever notice.”

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. But then Luke gasped and coughed, the sound deep and throaty in a way she hadn’t experienced since the time Carlos got pneumonia when he was little. She fluttered her fingers above him, not sure where her touch would be helpful or comforting. Luke reached up to snag her hands within his own, pulling them close against his chest. Julie tried not to focus on the way his skin seemed to be boiling beneath her.

“That cough doesn’t sound good. Have you taken anything? Ibuprofen, Tylenol, ice cold water??”

She was grasping at straws here. Whatever was going on with Luke was completely out of her wheelhouse, but she would be damned if she let some weak human virus or bacterial infection be his downfall. She had saved him from a goddamn demon’s curse, she could save him from this.

“No, Julie, I’m fine. I swear.”

His promise was cut off by another hacking cough. Julie tried to pull her hands back, if only so that she could use them for something other than just grasping onto Luke’s, but his grip held firm.

“Luke,” she tried again, pushing the tears she felt clogging her throat back, “you’re not fine. Please, I just...I need...there has to be something I can do.”

Their eyes met and held. She watched the way the emotions swimming in the sea of Luke’s gaze shifted and changed. Felt it deep within her soul when he decided to give up the façade and let her in.

“I don’t...it doesn’t feel right, Jules. It’s not like I’m sick, not like...”

Not like when he was human. The words hung unspoken between them. Julie felt her heart dive straight into her toes.

“Can we just...can you just...hold me?”

Luke’s voice came out in broken starts and stops, like the request was being dragged from his bones in a last-ditch attempt at satisfying a final craving before the very end. Julie thought her heart might explode, especially when her eyes searched his face and found nothing but longing and love etched into the pained lines there. It hit her then. He didn’t think this was something survivable. He didn’t think he was going to come back from this. Luke was facing the end, the actual end, and he wanted her at his side and in his arms when he went to meet his maker. The very idea ripped her soul in two.

“No, no, no. No, Luke, no. This isn’t...you’re not...no. You don’t get to do this to me. Not now. Not after...no.”

Julie felt the tears well up and spill over, wet tracks inching down her cheeks in the worst kind of betrayal. Not after everything she had done to save him. Not after she realized she loved him. It wasn’t fair. Luke didn’t get to just leave her like this. She wouldn’t allow it. Luke’s own eyes flooded, the two of them so in tune that when she blinked again her tears traced down her face in the same pattern that his did.

“Julie...please...”

He was pulling on her then, using their conjoined hands and his superior upper body strength to drag her up and onto the couch. Julie did her best to wedge herself into the space beside him, but Luke was having none of that, dropping her hands so he could twist his fingertips into her belt loops and haul her body on top of his. It was the kind of intimate cuddling she had been dreaming about for months, even before she had been able to touch him. Her head was tucked securely beneath his chin, cheek resting above the space his heart had once occupied. His arms were locked around her waist, hands solid and reassuring against the small of her back. She let her hands slip past the worn cotton of his cut-up band tee to rest against his ribs, the tears flowing fast and hot from her eyes to soak the material beneath her head.

She wasn’t sure Luke would even notice the difference. His temperature had to be sky high, every inch of his body where it pressed against hers engulfed in flames. Without realizing it, she began to hum the chorus to Edge of Great. She had been using it recently as a way to hype herself up when she started doubting something, the song never failing to remind her of Luke’s unbreakable belief in her. She felt it when Luke smiled, his head leaning down to rest against her own, voice blending with hers in a perfect harmony.

“We were pretty great, huh?” Luke’s voice was hushed as his lips moved across her scalp. “The band...the boys...us. We went right over the edge together, didn’t we? We’re just one dream, away from who we’re meant to be.”

Julie lost the melody as her quiet cries shifted to sobs. This couldn’t be it. They hadn’t even achieved half of the things they were meant to. Luke’s hum picked up where hers had dropped off, shifting slowly into the bridge of Finally Free.

“You’ll always be a part of me. Now ‘til eternity.”

Luke’s words were quiet and soft, melodic, as if he was still following the lines of the song in his head. There was a kind of peace to them that Julie hadn’t heard before, not since that awful night where he had stood before her and said there was no music without her. Not since the last time he thought she was going to have to watch him die. Not since the last time he had tried to say goodbye.

She couldn’t let him go like this. She had to fight, somehow, some way, to keep him where he belonged, right here next to her. She didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know how to fix it, but she could give him this. She could tell him how much he meant to her. She could hope that it would maybe be enough. Just like last time.

“Luke...I can’t...I’m not...” Her chest constricted, cutting off her words. God, how did it already hurt so much? “I’m not ready to lose you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

Luke convulsed slightly underneath her, the movement moving from the tip of his head all the way down to his toes. Julie hugged him close, terrified. She wasn’t sure if that type of reaction was a good thing or a bad thing, and she wasn’t fully ready to find out. Beneath her, Luke’s body began to rapidly cool. That had to be a bad sign, right? A fever like that wouldn’t just suddenly break, not unless...not unless...Julie couldn’t even make herself think it. She pulled herself tighter against Luke’s chest, leveraged every inch she could get against him as her hands flexed against his back. A strange noise sounded from deep within his chest.

“Luke? Please, Luke, no. Please don’t leave me.”

Julie clutched herself as close as possible, the feeling of Luke’s arms slackening on her back twisting her stomach. Her sobs were borderline uncontrollable now, breaths coming in painful gasps as she pushed her face deeper and deeper into the fabric of Luke’s shirt. I love you, I love you, I love you. Her mouth formed the words over and over again until she felt them stitch themselves into the lining of her soul.

The noise sounded again, louder this time, directly underneath the spot where her cheek rested against his left pectoral muscle. And then she heard it again, and again, and again, slowly repeating until it picked up a slight rhythm. Slow at first and then explosively fast all the sudden. It sounded...like a heartbeat.

“Luke, oh my God, Luke, please, please, oh my God, please.”

Julie had no idea what she was even pleading for. A sign, a glimmer of hope to hold on to, another miracle that would save the boy she loved and bring him back to her, fully this time. It was too much to ask for, right? Too much to put faith into. The sound, the heartbeat, within Luke’s chest began to echo even louder. Julie forced herself to be brave. Forced herself to lift her head and look at Luke’s face. She told herself she could handle it. She told herself she had to do it.

Luke’s eyes were open above her. He looked just as bewildered as she felt, but his eyes were open and she could see his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a breath, and she felt the lungs in his chest expand beneath her and he was alive. He had to be alive, right? That was the only explanation here.

“Julie...?”

“Are you...?”

“I feel...”

“Alive.”

They said it at the same time, voices blending together the same way they did on stage, perfectly matched as if the universe itself had made it so. Julie pressed one hand against his cheek, his normal temperature cheek, and the other against his chest, directly above his heart. She felt the steady thump of muscle against her palm, felt Luke’s lips stretch into the widest grin she had ever seen. His own arms tightened around her waist again, forcing her to collapse against him as he squeezed. His heartbeat, his heartbeat!, roared strong and steady beneath her. His lips were in her hair, the only part of him that was still hot, moving against her curls in a way she didn’t have to hear to understand. I love you, I love you, I love you. Tying them together, heart to heart, the knowledge of that truth undeniable and overwhelming. He was alive. He was alive. Luke was alive, at her side, alive alive alive.

“Hey guys?”

Reggie’s voice, strained and aching. Julie had forgotten about the other boys completely. She turned her head, new tears overflowing when she caught sight of them. They looked like Luke had when she entered the studio. But instead of feeling scared, an immense wave of relief crashed over her. She could do this. She loved them. She could bring them back. Julie disentangled herself from Luke, crossing the room to pull the other boys close. Luke followed, his arms encompassing hers, Reggie and Alex safe within a never-ending circle of love. They burned hot and quick, fevers rising and crashing in a wave faster than Luke’s, heartbeats returning just as swiftly. They all cried, limbs overlapping in a heap on the floor. And when Julie met Luke’s eyes above the backs of the other boys, a moment passed between them. A moment that promised a lifetime together, every day beginning and ending with love and them.

“Now that we’re alive again, can we please get something to eat?”

Luke pulled Reggie into a noogie, but Julie just laughed, her heart soaring high as she thought about the endless future stretched out in front of them. A lifetime of forevers, starting that very day.

#oop I'm back on my soft Juke shit #this is the last prompt!#mads writes #brought to you by love and the power of friendship #julie and the phantoms #jatp #juke #jukebox #juke ficlet #jatp ficlet #send me prompts for my birthday!#<- that tag is just for consistency

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soldouthaz · 3 years

Photo

hey all! it’s nearly the end of the year now and it’s time to finish the list of my favorite 2020 fics! (you can find part i of this rec here !) I can’t thank these authors and anyone else who published things this year enough. it’s been many long months where a distraction was much needed, and we got such amazing content for FREE. being able to escape into another world for even just a few minutes right now is priceless.

to everyone who wrote something, read something, or simply made it through this year, kudos to you! wishing everyone a much more relaxing 2021 with even more amazing fics to come. :) thank you guys for everything – happy holidays & new year, and happy reading!

there were so many good ones out this year and there’s no way I can include all of them, but I enjoyed so many more than just the ones on this list! the ones I picked just stood out to me for some reason based on how I was feeling or what I was going through at the time, and they all helped me in some way or another. :) not to mention, I am sooo behind on recent fics and most of the blff, so I will be making more recs slowly into the new year as well!

quick disclaimer! as with every time I put these together, this list is based on my own opinions and features a variety of different kinds of fics and tropes. I include the info next to them for a reason! please stick to your own preferences and leave any hate out of your choices. that being said, if you enjoy any of these, please leave the author a kudos, comment, or send them a message to let them know you liked it!

okay, in no particular order!:

a place with skeletons by @crazyupsetter / whoknows   E | 50k | b!L | veela!Louis

“I would choose anyone other than you,” Louis says, picking up his train of thought again. He feels a lot more cornered and defensive when they’re in Harry’s house, for some reason.

It doesn’t really make sense, considering that this time, Louis was the one who couldn’t hack it any longer. He broke first. There’s something about being in Harry’s space, though, the green and earthy feeling of it. It should feel like open space with all the plants, but Louis has never felt more claustrophobic than he does when he’s here. Harry’s chest moves against his back, a sharp intake of air.

Before he can open his mouth to defend himself, Louis keeps going, “If I had a choice in any of this, I would have been saved by that elderly security guard over you. I wouldn’t mind having to have the occasional cuddle with her.”

even the best laid plans by @falsegoodnight  E | 25k | b!L | uni au

Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

runaway darling by @solvetheminourdreams  E | 26k | no smut | wedding au

An AU where Louis hates weddings, Harry loves them, and together they help a bride skip hers.

three days in february by @mercurial-madhouse / writing_practice   E | 187k | b!L | magical realism

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

a springtime’s wilt, an autumn’s bloom by snowcaplou E | 20k | b!L | abo

Harry is Louis' personal chauffeur, and although he hides his feelings for his boss behind a wall of rigid professionalism, Louis still manages to squeeze through the cracks.

just a flicker in the dark by @falsegoodnight   E | 57k | b!L | witch!Louis

Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry Styles.

terror of surrender by @loubellies  E | 31k | b!L | yoga instructor!H

Louis is a recent divorcee with a new favorite yoga teacher, Harry.

loving you’s a bloodsport by @rosesau  M | 106k | no graphic smut | royalty au

harry is a bratty prince, louis is a guard who works in his palace, and niall is the only one who’s got his life in control.

spoonful of sugar by @zanniscaramouche (check out this part too!)  E | 43k | b!L | mob boss!Harry

Louis Tomlinson cares for his family above all else, a fact that’s led him on a twisted path peddling drugs to support them. Just as he’s made the decision to jump ship, Louis gets snared between the two largest crime syndicates in the city. To keep his family safe he’s forced to trust the man that failed to keep his promise two years ago, the resident drug lord he’s unknowingly been working for, Harry Styles.

quiet people have the loudest minds by @2tiedships2  M | 38k | referenced b!L | abo

The one where Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

works like a charm by @falsegoodnight  E | 18k | b!L | Hogwarts au

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

show you the stars in the daylight by @yvesaintlourent / bruisedhoney  E | 13k | b!L | friends to lovers

The one where Louis has a type and at sixteen and scrawy, it’s definitely not his best friend’s little brother Harry…ten years later, he changes his mind.

in a sea of mist by @tomlinvelvetfics  E | 126k | b!L | mythology au

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

confessions of a fabricated alpha by @jaerie  E | 18k | b!H/b!L mention | abo

famous alpha Harry Styles has a secret and paying an alpha to roleplay a relationship with him over the phone is the only way he can be himself.

take my whole life too by @goodmorninglou  E | 24k | b!L | d/s elements | WIP

Louis knows three things, at the base of it all.

He likes when Harry hurts him. He doesn’t know why, not really, but he knows that he likes it. Likes giving up control, likes feeling small and taken care of, likes being praised for taking whatever Harry gives him for as long as he gives it. He and Harry are meant to be. No matter what time they finally fall together, what day, what age, what place, the moment that they do, that’ll be it. It’s going to be them against everyone else, hand in hand for the rest of their lives. That’s been a given since they met. The half of Louis’ soul that’s missing is Harry’s.

And, sans those two things, he doesn’t really know much of anything at all.

sweet like honey by @falsegoodnight  E | 33k | b!L | amateur porn au

Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

a few rereads posted from before this year that I enjoyed again!

the case of the (definitely not haunted) styles mansion by briamaria  E | 40k | b!H | nancy drew au

the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

canyon moon by @eeveelou  E | 40k | b!L | abo

For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry. Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

lemon eyes by @turnyourankle  E | 50k | b!H | abo

It’s not proper for omegas to mess around with alphas before finding their bondmate. But Harry doesn’t give a damn what’s proper and fully intends on getting as much experience as he can before even trying to find one. As far as he’s concerned, the right alpha won’t care, and he’ll have some fun on the way. And who better to start with than Louis Tomlinson, the alpha with the worst reputation on campus?

all this delusion in our heads by snowcaplou   E | 15k | b!L | exes to lovers

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can’t take it anymore?

the way the storms blow by @rbbsbb  E | 21k | b!L | roommates au

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes.

Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way. Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

and a few more recs from some other fandoms for anyone who might be interested! (feel free to rec me some more if you know of any!)

burning the ground by lq_traintracks (drarry)  E | 10k | b!draco | abo

“Strap him down,” someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him – the viscous fear. Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists … He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins. His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman’s voice sigh, “Someone, get Healer Malfoy.”

every step you take by nokomis (sterek)   E | 50k | light b!Stiles | abo

Stiles accidentally ends up magically bound to Derek. It’s super.

alright, I think that’s it for this rec! as always, please let me know if i’ve tagged anything incorrectly or if you’d like to be untagged from something!

and like I said before, I am wayyy behind on reading for these last few months and I need to catch up. when I do, I’ll definitely make some more recs into the new year!

I just want to say another thank you to anyone who wrote or read or created or just existed this year. it’s been hard on us all but having this outlet definitely made it easier. I can’t wait to see what else is published next year! happy reading everyone, and happy new year! :)

#okay trying to post this for the second time around!#fingers crossed!#y'all let me know if anything is messed up please!#fic recs #my fic recs #about me #2020

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e-luxion · 3 years

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Can you please explain Johnny’s chart now that we know his rising? I never saw him as a Virgo rising but people say it makes sense and I’m like??? I’m not too into astrology to know

Yeah I agree with you, virgo was the last thing on my mind, even tho I think I first typed him as Leo Rising after thinking I was like 100% earth (more Taurus than anything) + 5th house placements so I wasn't wrong, but not right either 😂 I am actually excited to do this

𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙞𝙩 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙤 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜:

It is not the Virgo Rising itself, it's actually where his planets fall that makes perfect sense imo:

Sun and Mercury in the 5th house

I say Johnny has 5th house energy a little too much but I never actually explain why

Sun in the 5th house people are m a g n e t i c. Whether they want to or not, they unconsciously end up being the centre of attention. More times than not people with this placement feel like they were born to do ‘more’ and to shine

5th house suns are warm, generous, creative and for the most part, can be very confident in who they are depending how well or bad aspected this placement is

Even if they are less confident deep inside, they try to be confident and to be that light for others

MERCURY IN THE 5TH -- holy shit, I share this placement and yes, some people find us a bit annoying but we don’t talk about that

People with this placement tend to be very talkative, they don’t seem to run out of topics to talk about, you could put them in a room with anyone and they’ll find a common ground.

Natives of this placement tend to also talk almost with hidden meanings, there is always a tone of innuendo, there is always a joke in there somehow

This placement is very much “primary school teacher energy”

Not great at concentration cos there is just so many things they want to do, they always want to do something new and fun. Mercury shows us how we communicate but also how we think, and in this house it becomes... a lot.

Moon in the 10th house

This placement is very interesting, imo the moon is the most important thing in our chart. It shows you not only what makes you feel comfortable and how you feel, but your relationship with your mother, how you were raised, it’s a one of the most decisive pillars of “you”

It’s cause and consequence, it shows you how you were raised and how that affected present day you

This is stereotypical but his career and status is truly very important to him, he needs it to feel safe and fulfilled. It makes sense how no matter how hard it got, how much they pushed his debut to later, he persevered and is such a hard worker.

A m b i t i o u s

People with this placement are actually very sensitive and have a natural need to care for others, they are easily affected by the outside world which makes them want to almost protect others

It’s honestly such a dad placement

Things associated with this placement are definitely a parent sort of vibe, they are responsible and caring, they worry about others around them

Fun Fact, people with this specific placement tend to attract admiration from others, they inspire security and trust. Other musicians with this placement are John Lennon and Kurt Cobain, both people who inspired millions of people and to this day are remembered

Venus in the 4th house

This is another thing that just painfully makes sense

You know how this man is always like blah kids, marriage, sentimental shit?? THIS is why! This right here, is a big reason why Johnny is the way he is half of the time I swear. The homey romantic vibes? Heavy 4th house venus shit

4th house Venus people are so nurturing, sensitive and calm? Venus most commonly tells you how you are in love, what kind of partners you want but it shows more than that, it tells you how you look after things, your possessions, your aesthetic...

Johnny’s love for soft toys, oversized fluffy clothes, all of that is due to his 4th house Venus. He is also probably very sentimental with things from his childhood, or things that remind him of home

When they fall in love, it is serious because their mentality is for the long term, they are very family oriented hence why they can be wary of who they date

People with this placement have the nicest houses and rooms cos they just know how to make a house a home, it’s always so cozy and dating them would probably feel like like an early morning, wrapped in multiple blanket with the fire place on, hot cocoa and the rain outside

On the downside, people with the placement can be TOO sentimental, to the point where is hard for them to let go of things

Mars in the 12th

Actually this was the only one which was surprising to me, but tbh this is not a side we would often see of Johnny since we don’t know him like that. And 12th house “hides” whatever it falls on, it internalises it to an extent that the native might not actually be aware of this energy

His Mars in Leo makes him quick to anger, but mars in the 12th house makes him hide that anger, bottle it up until it comes out in a scary way because it was left undealt with for too long

Other things in his chart tell us that he has no problem going after things, like going after his career or pursuing hobbies and success. But this right here shows me that in some ways, he is scared to fully express himself due to an unconscious fear to be vulnerable

Sometimes they focus to helping people too much to hide this vulnerability and their own issues

Coming to terms with his own sensitivity and release toxic mentality is something he probably struggled with at some point

On a positive note, people with this placement tend to be very welcoming and open-minded towards other, they show the kindness to others that they don't necessarily show themselves

a lot of bitches with 12th house placements in nct damn

Jupiter in the 3rd

At its most basic, this literally tells you that his talent (Jupiter) is in communication (3rd). Very agile minds, who love learning and acquiring information about different topics, people, things, everything

People with this placement lead the conversation, very positive and enthusiastic in the way they talk with others. Sometimes can be a bit preachy but for the most part they’re open minded, curious, and say what’s on their mind, super expressive when sharing their ideas

@/astroismypassion mentioned that Jupiter in the 3rd native might have moved hometown more than once in their life which I find very interesting as this man moved across the globe to make his dreams come true

Philosophy, arts, cultures, stuff like that is very interesting to them and travelling is a form of mind expansion for them

Jupiter shows us where we have privilege and here it’s education, and a larger than life mentality that them well received by others; they are gifted at communication which means that people usually take them seriously as they can be very eloquent

Saturn in the 6th

Another placement I share with Johnny which I think would be a flex if it wasn’t for the fact that Saturn in the 6th is actually a very difficult position to have. Saturn is not necessarily happy in this house

It shows an obsession with work, keeping a routine, organising but also struggling in all those areas. For example, you obsessively plan your life because you really struggle naturally to follow plans, timetables and stay organise

People with this placement have a tendency to overwork themselves until they’re ill, so health problems might be occur often due to this. You fear failure so it feels like you can never stop working hard, just in case you fall behind. Anxiety, self criticism is very common here

Honestly he has a couple of placements that just scream chronic workaholic

Pisces Descendant:

I don't know if this is weird but I thought he had to have Pisces in a “favourable” house, because he seems to attract or get along with people who have Pisces placements specifically so this is not surprising at all.

I’m ngl this man probably daydreams about his s/o, if he is single he’ll just make up little scenarios in his head or has a very clear idea of the kind of interactions or person he wants

Very idealistic, gentle and compassionate in love but also wants partners that match this energy. Heart on his sleeve kind of vibe

He probably attracts slightly chaotic partners, the dreamy artists types

This man clearly doesn’t want just any love story, he wants the sort of fairy tale romance he can tell his grandkids

7th house is also like enemies and shit, but I’m not going to talk about

Gemini Midheaven

When you meet someone, there is 3 main things you see about them and that is Ascendant, Mercury and Midheaven. Especially when it comes to celebrities, we see their midheaven more than anything

Gemini MC people always have something going on, they have like 5 careers at the same time, very multi-faceted people. They’re not quite happy at doing one thing but they’re also very adaptable

In the work environment, he could adapt to others and very much go with the flow of things, jack of all trades. Whatever happens, he can do it and does it well

For now I am going to go on more explaining why everyone is like uhh it makes sense and later I'll actually make a post with more information, in my drafts I have this one post by xx saved from like a year ago of their personality analysis of Johnny, in which they asked if any astrology people could you know back this up. I had written a whole response to it but now that we know I will make a more detailed response and analysis of his birth chart 👁️👁️

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝕷𝖚𝖑𝖚 𝖝𝖔𝖝

#johnny suh #johnny seo #nct johnny #johnny #nct astrology #nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct 2020 #well 2021 lmao

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cblgblog · 3 years

Text

You know what I think about a lot? The dinner scene in 1X05 where Mildred asks Gwendolyn to the dance. More specifically the, “I was very in love with a girl,” bit from Gwendolyn.

Now this is a Murphy show, so I don’t expect proper follow-up on this, but I do wish for it, and I am endlessly fascinated by it because there’s so much character stuff there, on both sides.

Like on Gwen’s side of it, when did she meet this girl? How and where? We have almost zero Gwendolyn Briggs backstory, and I need it, okay? More specifically, when did this woman die? How recent is that scar when she starts to pursue Mildred? It could’ve been anywhere, roughly, between 1942-1945. Show is in ’47 so, there’s a pretty big range there. How healed or not healed was she when she started falling for Mildred, and had those advances rebuffed so many times?

And then there’s her marriage. She says in 1x03 that it was her idea, that it’s been a 3-year arrangement. Which would mean 1944, roughly. When did she lose this woman, in relation to her marriage? She says it was her idea, was it her idea before or after this woman? Did she lose this woman and then approach Trevor with it? In her grief, did she com up with a plan for safety, security? Security in the world that had been upside-down for years at that point, and then took away the person she loved? Or was she already married to Trevor when it happened? Did she have him around to console her? Did she have him around to unintentionally make things worse, since we know both of them were sleeping with other people? Did he have anything serious going on while she was mourning? Hell, did he have his own soldier boy who was off to war at the same time? Was Gwendolyn married and working for Wilburn when this went down? Did she have to endure the casual hey, how are you and your husband doing, oh great, glad you’re so happy, comments from well-meaning people at work? Did she have to listen to Wilburn and all his grossness, the way he talked about women, while mourning someone she loved? Did she even get to attend the funeral?

Again, 98% of this, at least, will be unanswered, because it’s Murphy and it’s non-essential, and there’s so much else happening at any given time. But it interests me.

And Mildred. Jesus, Mildred. First off, let’s talk about the awful circumstances that led up to that scene. To recap, she pushes Gwen away, multiple times, like Gwen says. Then she essentially blames Gwen for the hitman being dead, you were the intruder, Gwendolyn. And then, when Gwen is obviously screwed up from that very screwed up situation, Mildred comes to her in that vulnerable moment and hey, I just want to make sure you’re alright, you want to have dinner with me after I’ve treated you horribly and now blamed you for a horrific death? Like, it’s horrible, guys. How they got to that dinner scene is horrible. How Mildred got Gwen to that dinner scene is horrible.

To be clear, I fucking love this ship. They live rent free in my brain now, always. Mildred means it when she says her feelings for Gwen are the truest thing in her, and I don’t think she means it to be a manipulative thing, when she goes into that car and asks Gwen to dinner. She is genuinely wanting to make sure that Gwen’s okay. Thing is, no, no Gwen isn’t okay. She couldn’t be after that. And she’s not okay because, again, Mildred essentially put that death on her. Which, Mildred didn’t do that to hurt her. She didn’t. She did it because they were in an impossibly fucked up situation and it was the only way she saw at that moment to survive it. So much of her life has just been about basic survival. She’s had to struggle with that for so long, that at this point she’ll do almost anything just to keep going, for herself and for Edmund. Because that’s how she’s been forced to live, it’s what she knows. She didn’t go into that car, with Gwen at a vulnerable moment, with deliberate attempt to manipulate, but it was a manipulative move. And I don’t even know whether or not she realizes that, which makes it that much more interesting.

So fine, it’s been a long, twisted road, now they’re at dinner, the dinner scene is truly lovely, truly. Gwen says the thing about her dead lover, Mildred says, “Isn’t it funny then, that I’m a nurse?”

So, she isn’t, technically. That’s the first bit of manipulation there. But it’s almost overshadowed completely by her adding that comment at all. She didn’t need to. She wasn’t saying anything Gwen didn’t know already, or think she knew, since again, not technically a nurse. She could’ve just said I’m sorry, that’s awful. She could’ve been silent and just held Gwen’s hand. She did neither. In another vulnerable moment for Gwen, a moment of openness that Mildred arguably doesn’t deserve after how she treated Gwen previously, she draws that direct line of comparison between herself and this person that obviously still has a place in Gwen’s heart. And again it’s such a manipulative thing to do, but that’s not what kills me about it.

What kills me here is that she absolutely does not need to.

Gwen couldn’t be clearer regarding her interest in Mildred. She risked herself terribly on their first goddamn date by taking Mildred to that bar. She risked herself terribly and she had to know that, but she did it anyway, such was the level of her interest in Mildred. The fact she even came to dinner with Mildred after all that bs speaks volumes. And at that point in the conversation, Mildred has already confessed her feelings, Gwen has already agreed that yes, absolutely, we will do this however you need. Only then does she add the bit about her lost love.

Gwen was so gone on Mildred already. And I don’t know if she thought consciously to add the, I’m a nurse line or not. But what kills me is the implication. It could just be that she doesn’t even recognize the irony, the lie, that she doesn’t even register that technically she’s not a nurse, so it’s a bit of a weird line to connect. But it also seems to me—and both of these things could be true at the same time—that she added it because she felt she had to. That she felt she had to draw Gwen closer to her, making that connection, because otherwise, somehow, Gwen might not want her or like her enough, so let’s make this connection to someone she most definitely loved. And it’s so damn sad, if that’s the case, and so telling. Even the possibility that, after all Gwen’s shown her, Mildred still thinks she has to add that detail to keep Gwen interested? It’s just, incredibly sad.

Anyway, it might seem like I’m trashing Mildred here, with all this talk of manipulation, but I’m not. She hurt Gwen in earlier eps because she was confused and scared out of her mind, not out of malice. The stuff pointed out here that comes later, most of it, I don’t think even registers with her as questionable or problematic. Which is what makes it so fascinating character-wise. She’s had to lie and manipulate so much to survive that it’s second nature at this point, as Gwen says in 1x07. She’s not lying about her feelings for Gwen, not the way Gwen says when she says those words. But Gwen’s still right, in the sense that Mildred is draped in so many lies and manipulation that sometimes they don’t even register with her.

She goes to Gwen with actual honesty, for once, after so many lies and half-truths and manipulations. But one of the ones that gets me the most is still the, isn’t it funny that I’m a nurse. Because it’s so telling, and so sad, and so indicative of Mildred’s state of mind.

Mildred was enough on her own. She’s always been enough on her own, as far as Gwen’s concerned, but she couldn’t see that. Not then, at least. Here’s hoping she can now, that those 3 years together got the message across.

#ratched #mildred ratched #gwendolyn briggs #mildolyn

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tornrose24 · 3 years

Text

My Lordsona’s letters, diary entries, and journal entry in Mother Miranda’s Lab.

I remembered that in each of the lords’ areas, there tends to be letters/journal entries/notes that are either about them or that they wrote themselves in addition to what Mother Miranda wrote about each one in her lab. I thought it would be fun to make some for my lordsona as a way to add additional information (including what could have lead to getting a cadou in the first place, because I don’t think those are given out so freely).

There is mentions of @artistcaptainbendy‘s lordsona Bendypants and their OC Benjamin.

TW: Mentions of gore

(All journal entries located in personal studio in the gallery. Some would hold clues to solving certain puzzles.)

Journal 1

May 3rd, 1968

(page 1)

I would rather swim in Moreau’s lake and be subjected to whatever goes on in Donna’s estate than give another art lesson to Alcina’s girls. She hoped I could cultivate some talent in the three of them, and there was some promise in both Cassandra and Daniela. Bela seemed disinterested and wanted to go to the piano instead. There was some frustration over the past few weeks and it made me thankful I’m their ‘aunt’ or else it wouldn’t have ended well for me.

Weeks later, they presented me with some abominable displays. That one ‘statue’ looked like one of the maids... or what was left of the poor woman. And I doubt that was red paint used on that canvas.

I don’t mind speaking with Alcina herself once in awhile when I want a bit of class and elegance. There’s certainly no denying her sense of taste in decor and her collection of artwork is incredible. But her daughters are too much for me and I don’t agree on her views of all men. She certainly never met my father or my...

(page 2)

Father....

Sorry, I got lost in my memories there for a bit. Tomorrow I am meeting with some of the village children and will give them an art lesson. They are more of a delight compared to those poor excuses for children in that castle.

They admire the other lords, but its possibly for the best that they aren’t allowed to get too close to them.

Reminder to self: Check to see if the Duke has any works of art to add to the gallery when he comes back.

Journal 2

September 2nd 1975

(Page 1)

It appears I finally have a new security guard. The bastard and a friend of his thought he could sneak into MY gallery and steal a painting that I said would cost a fortune. They fell victim to the Escher trap (clearly they didn’t pay attention to his surroundings) and the painting was destroyed.

All that trouble for a Van Gough replica that’d be worth not even a fraction of the true painting.

But then again, what should I have expected from the son of the drunkard who nearly paralyzed me for life with a bullet to the spine and sent me into Mother Miranda?

The man was completely brain dead. The friend was a bloodied mess, but I stitched his arms to the thief, added some details of my own, did a bit of fixing up, and used a Cadou. He’s dull as a rock and doesn’t recall his past life, but he’ll be good at protecting my gallery from other idiots.

I call him David after the famous statue.

September 5th, 1975

(Page 2)

Unsurprisingly, Heisenberg thought my creation was, and I quote ‘a hunk of shit and dumbassery mixed together’ and said he could have done so much better. Unlike him, MY creations ARE true works of art. Of course I’m not interested in getting into an argument with him as he enjoys doing so with Alcina.

I brought David to someone else who’d be fascinated with him. Bendypants seemed intrigued and wondered if I could lend David to them to help build a set.

I’m deeply disturbed that I’ve sunk as low as the others. I didn’t think I’d actually use a cadou but I try to tell myself that what I’ve done was a fitting punishment. Besides, it keeps Mother Miranda off my back for a bit.

Note to self: Need to do something about the additional arms on David. They don’t look like they are as secure as I would like them to be.

October 10th, 1975

(Page 3)

It turns out David developed a soft spot for Benjamin. As in Bendypants’ favorite lycan. He’s been looking at him like a girl harboring a secret crush.

That was.... rather unexpected. I guess David isn’t as dull as I thought. I need to keep an eye on him in case he remembers anything about his former life.

Journal 3

January 20th, 2004

(Page 1)

Karl is crude and a bit much at times. But there’s no denying that he’s rather handsome and I finally was able to convince him to pose for some sketches for a painting after all these years. It took the finest bottle of whiskey the Duke had on hand to convince him.

Bendypants will be so envious of me. They too have a certain soft spot for our fellow lord. Perhaps I can gift them with a replica painting as a present in the future.

I admire that Heisenberg doesn’t bother putting on airs like Alcina and his.... extraverted nature is a breath of fresh air. However the whiskey caused him to spill something rather concerning. He seemed unusually interested in my family’s plot of land in the graveyard.

I’m very concerned about what his intentions are.

(Page 2)

I just paid the gravekeeper to unearth the remains of my family so I can burn them and bury them under the oak tree.

I am NOT letting any of the lords use my family’s remains for whatever they are planning.

March 15th, 2010

(Page 3)

Bendypants invited me to one of their plays. It was ‘A Midsummer Nights Dream.’ It was a delight and helped me take my mind off things. The idea of making some of the characters not quite fit into certain norms that are expected in the village would have made Mother Miranda squirm.

I showed them that painting of Ophelia drowning when we discussed Shakespeare the next day. Sometimes I wonder why the cadou didn’t make me lose my mind like Ophelia–would I have been happier without my sanity in the village, amongst the others? At least I wouldn’t have been aware of what sins I would be committing across the years.

I have deeply cherished my friendship with them. They were there at the funerals for each family member of mine who died. Their condolences were honest compared to the other lords and those who were trying to kiss up to me. Like me, they too have somehow defied time’s cruelty to the body, and have known the loss of a loved one.

(Page 4)

The children are the only others in the village that I am fond of and would protect. Such innocence to the violence hidden in the corners. Sometimes I wish to give into the desire of motherhood, but that would have been the greatest pain I could experience....

(letter hidden in Lord Bendypants’ theater)

Dearest B,

Regardless of what Miranda tells us lords, you are the only true family I have left in this forsaken village. I would have never imagined that wild, mud covered child of the woods would be the one person I could trust.

That woman never was and will NEVER be my mother. Regardless of what she gave to me, I had to watch my family succumb to old age and sickness while I still remain as I am–a Venus forever frozen in youth and beauty. I hope she burns in hell for her sins and for what she has turned me into across the years.

I suspect that whatever she wants with the infant she kept mentioning is not going to end well for us or the village. She is charismatic, but her lack of true warmth makes me uneasy. I get the feeling that death is certain, but as to who for is not clear yet. I have two requests for you if my suspicions are correct.

First, I am going to see if I can hide any children I can find. They were one of the few things that made me happy here and do not deserve whatever Miranda has planned, so I shall sneak them in a room within my gallery. Please do not let any of your lycans harm the children or attack me tomorrow night. Should things go according to plan, they will be able to have the true freedom that was denied to all of us.

Secondly, should I perish from whatever Miranda has in store, retrieve my body, burn it, and bury it under THAT oak tree where I placed the ashes of my family. I think I finally know for sure who was getting into the graves lately, but I will be damned if I let that asshole take my body too.

I will never forget our times together, or the visits to your wonderful theater. Thank you for being there when I needed it the most.

Your friend,

-R

(Journal in Miranda’s lab)

Subject Name: _______ Rose

Cadou Affinity: Somewhat Favorable

Brain Function: Normal

Subject’s spinal chord was damaged by a gunshot wound three days before procedure. Subject has regained full mobility after cadou implantation. Six horn like protrusions have grown out of subject’s skull, yet subject hasn’t suffered any damage to the brain.

Subject’s arms mutate into an armor and bone fragments extend out of limbs like thorns that are strong enough to tear through flesh when provoked. These abilities are somewhat similar to Alcina’s but pales in comparison to what she is capable of.

Insect-like wings extend right out of subject’s backside when the subject wills them to, yet immense pain makes this a rarity. The placement of the wings is exactly where a small piece of cadou was implanted to repair the damaged spine. Additional procedures were required to ensure that the subject could not be able to fly beyond the village borders.

Further mutation turns the subject into something resembling a fae, yet behaves and moves like an insect. However it takes the subject four hours to change back. Subject also becomes predatory in this state.

An unfit vessel for Eva.

#resident evil #resident evil village #lordsona #tornrose24 #tw gore #something to do for fun and add to lore of lordsona

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autistic-paul · 4 years

Note

hello do you have any autistic paul headcannons :)

Oh, I sure do! This is by no means comprehensive, but it’s still… Kind of a lot, sorry. I am also projecting for some of these and I have no intentions of hiding that.

Most of his stims involve his hands. They’re pretty much constantly moving, from little, barely noticeable comforts like tapping his fingers one at a time, to the fist taps in the show, to full on happy flapping.

The coffee is partially a sensory thing. Warm cup good. He flicks the lid a lot. He is heavily caffeinated all the damn time because he just doesn’t want to go without it. It’s also very much a routine thing, his mornings are very structured and that includes the mindless sleepily making coffee.

Ties are comfort items, I don’t make the rules. So is his collar. There’s security in the steady feeling of something around his neck.

Echolalia!! He says okay a lot. It’s not super easy for him to get other things stuck in his head, phrases on repeat, but that single word is very stimmy for him.

Film is his special interest. He just loves the whole process of how movies are made, the thoughts put into it. He can appreciate any genre, though he has to be in a specific mode for horror. The only thing he won’t watch is musicals. When he latches onto a movie, he’ll watch it on repeat for ages. Put it on in the background of whatever he’s doing and mouth along to the lines. Sometimes Charlotte or Bill have to gently tell him that he’s mumbling and it’s rather distracting. When he was younger he was very much a Film Snob. He mellowed out a little after college.

He goes nonverbal from pain. That includes sensory overload. He can still communicate, and his phone is his lifeline, but he just can’t speak.

He doesn’t get special interests very easily, they’re a little more lifelong for him. However, his Pokemon card collection from when he was a kid is stellar. He still has them.

He has a briefcase. It is brown. It is the most boring briefcase he could have bought. He has had it for a decade. It is incredibly beat up. He will cry if it ever tears beyond repair. Sometimes you just get weirdly attached to specific objects and that is very good.

He’s got an oral fixation! Somehow things just end up in his mouth. He cannot explain it. He can’t wear hoodies, the drawstrings are Addictive. Sometimes you just gotta chew. An extension of that, he doesn’t like water. Most of his hydration is coffee (Paul no) but he’ll drink juice at home. From juice boxes only. Straws are good for chewing.

He has a rubix cube on his desk that he has no idea how to solve, but the spin is nice, and a giant pile of paper clips that he routinely unbends. He’s fun in meetings. Give him something and he’ll destroy it. A fresh pen gets chew marks on the cap and he dissects it.

He doesn’t understand fashion. He does not care. He has two modes: Goofy dad outfits + khakis, or a full suit. That’s it. Buttoning up shirts is satisfying. He genuinely will wear a suit to a grocery store. Suits look nice, fuck you, why do clothes need specific occasions to wear?

Mimicry. This one is kinda canon, honestly. He’ll mimic people’s body language automatically because he doesn’t know what his is supposed to be. It’s also proven that mimicking people’s body language makes them perceive you as more friendly. This is good. People tend to like Paul.

He’s,,,, so tactile. My god. He just has zero sense of personal space whatsoever. This might just be Jon Matteson but I appreciate it anyway.

His social scripts… The way he talks to children… Repeating Emma (The godspell jokes, Fuck ‘em)… thank you for your service… he’s doing his best and I’m so proud of him.

More canon things! He shows every emotion he has on his face. When he is uncomfortable, you will know. When he’s in love… You’ll know. He’s just very expressive. He has an abundance of feelings.

His worst sense is auditory stuff. It’s so easy to get him to a sensory overload through hearing. He carries earplugs around everywhere.

He can’t lie. At all. He doesn’t even try. It makes him very easy to trust, a lot of people get the innate sense, based on how open he is, that he’s someone they can rely on. Everyone in CCRP seems to like him, he’s easy to love.

…Okay, I think that’s enough for now. I might reblog this with more later, if anyone has some, feel free to add on!

#tgwdlm #starkid #black friday #paul matthews #jon matteson #autistic paul matthews #mine #Anonymous

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.17

Forgiven Misunderstandings

11/23/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 7,054

Warnings: Language, smidge of angst, lots of fluff, like...tons, lots of links (sorry not sorry)

A/N: This was fun to write. And it came out pretty close to how I’d haad it planned. Hope you like it! Have a favorite part? Let me know! I love reading your thoughts and comments. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. May not have another update until after Thanksgiving. xoxo

TAGS ARE CLOSED FOR THIS STORY!

It feels a little unfair to you that your husband should be so beautiful. Especially when you feel as if you can’t compare.

There is so much about him that you love, and also a lot you still don’t understand.

Any King comes with their fair share of worries and obligations but somehow, as you watch his Majesty sleep beside you, his brow puckered as he dreams restlessly, you get a sense that for him there is more than the usual.

It’s like a picture that isn’t fully painted yet. He’s unfinished in your eyes.

You can’t wait to get down to the bottom of this gorgeous man.

Pain in the ass that he might be, he’s your pain in the ass. Forever.

Reaching up, you press your fingertip to his forehead and smooth out the wrinkle between his brow. It only puckers more.

Maybe your lips?

You shift upwards or try to, but his Majesty’s arms close around you more tightly. Pulling you closer against his chest.

Your heart flutters.

Still you manage to stretch up enough to press a soft kiss between his eyes—not quite at the offending spot but close enough—and you feel him relax around you.

He puddles into the mattress and his arms go a little slack. When you pull back to check, you find his brow smooth, mouth slightly open again. He looks just as peaceful as he had when you’d drifted off to sleep yourself. Unburdened, however short lived it might be.

For some reason, you feel as if his Majesty is often burdened with things you don’t quite understand yet. At least one burden…Margaret…appears to be lessening. Are you helping? Truly?

You watch him. Stare. Love him more with each second that passes and the prickly whiskers over his lip shift slightly as he breathes in slowly and back out.

There’s a small knock on your door, starling you from the peace you’ve found, and you hurry up from the bed. You draw your robe tighter and glance back at your sleeping King as you pull the door open a crack.

“Yes?” You whisper, afraid to speak loudly in case you wake him up.

“Why are you whispering?” It’s Nat, her large green eyes trying to peek in.

Stepping back, you let her in.

“His Majesty is sleeping.” You explain, looking at him again. “He was so tired.”

“He hasn’t slept in nearly two days.” She shakes her head. “How did you get him to sleep? James has been trying all day.”

You bite your lip, nervous but it’s only an after effect. You’re all joy and excitement.

“What?” Nat demands quietly, noticing the sparkle in your eyes.

“I told him.” You confess, looking back at him again.

He shifts on the bed, laying on his back before turning onto his left side to face your wall and vanity. One of his arms falls over the edge, his long legs sprawled out wide to take up a majority of the foot of the bed.

He’s used to sleeping alone.

“Told him?” Nat asks, confused.

Her eyes widen as she realizes what you must mean.

“What did he say?” She asks excitedly, reaching for your hand.

Taking hers, you give it a squeeze.

“He’s so happy.” You smile. “And afraid.”

Your smile falters.

“Because of the attack?” Nat wonders, knowing.

You nod. “He thinks the baby might be in danger.”

“Both of you are. You and the child. We’ll keep you safe, Y/N. I’m certain now that he knows, Steve will be watching you like a hawk.” She nods, assuring you of your safety.

“I know.” You sigh. “But I don’t want him to worry.”

“That’s not possible, love.” She reaches up to caress your hair, letting her hand rest on your shoulder. “He loves you. And now you’re carrying his heir? Steve might not let you out of his sight ever again. You’re all that matters now.”

“I shouldn’t be all that matters. I know he’s got other things to occupy his attention. I don’t-”

“Y/N,” Nat begins, slightly chastising. “This is what you’ve been wanting.”

“I didn’t want him to only focus on me. I just wanted him to let me help. To let me show him how much I love him. I wanted to be included and accepted.” You sigh, reaching down to place your hand on your stomach. “I don’t want to be a distraction.”

Nat chuckles lightly. “It’s too late for that, my Queen. You’ve been a distraction since the moment you said, ‘I do.’ But don’t worry. Now you’re welcome one.”

Both of you look to him and he sleeps on, face hidden from sight by his wide shoulders.

“It’s almost time to dress.” Nat informs you.

“I don’t want to wake him.” You protest, looking back at her.

“Another hour, but then we must get you dressed. It’s acceptable for the King and Queen to be a little late to their own feast, but not absent.” Nat insists.

“Another hour is fine. I just want him to rest.” You explain.

Nat nods. “I’ll get your dress sent up and have Peter hold it out for you until Steve leaves.”

“Thank you, Nat.” She nods and turns to leave but you catch her arm and pull her back gently. “Did he ask you again?”

Nat smiles a little more widely. “James asks me to marry him every time he gets me alone.”

“And you said yes this time, right?” Raising your eyebrows, you wait for her to respond but the way she’s chewing her luscious red bottom lip, you feel like maybe she’s told him no again.

“I didn’t refuse him.” She counters. “I’ll say yes eventually.”

“Nat, why won’t you say yes?” You wonder, worried now that James may one day get tired of asking but you also don’t find that likely.

Her smile falters and she moves closer to you, caressing your hair again. “Now that you and Steve have reconciled there will be a time when your opinion of me might change. There won’t be secrets between us for much longer, I don’t think.”

“Secrets? You’re keeping secrets from me?” You gasp almost offended.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m sure now that he’s willing to try that he’ll tell you everything by and by.” Nat assures you, but she still looks a little sad.

“What will he tell me? Why are you two keeping things from me? And what does it have to do with you marrying James?” You demand.

“James is a good man. He deserves someone just as good.” She says, before you can ask her to elaborate, she moves to the doors. “I’ll be back. Enjoy your time alone.”

With one final melancholy smile, she leaves you stewing in wonder.

Worried, upset, a little angry, and full of irritation because of these secrets that all of a sudden, you’re aware of, you move around to his Majesty’s side of the bed and stand there, staring down at him as he continues to sleep.

Steadily your breathing gets deeper, rage that you’ve become so good at hiding bubbling up.

“Your Majesty?” You say, stern, hard, or as hard as you can make your voice when looking at him while he’s as gorgeous as a sleeping angel.

He doesn’t respond.

“Your Majesty?” You say a bit louder.

His arm shoots out towards you and wraps around your hips. You gasp as he pulls you towards him, burying his face into your stomach as he breathes in deeply. His hand traces the shape of your lower back, moving down to rest against your bottom as he nuzzles your barely covered skin.

“Why are you angry with me?” He asks, his voice soft and soothing.

He’s never spoken to you in that tone before, all gruff and deep from sleep.

He kisses your tummy and your breath catches in your throat. Damn him. This is cheating.

He kisses it over and over, moving up towards your breasts, then falls back onto the bed, his left arm brought up to wrap around your waist as he lays on his back and looks up at you.

“Did I make another mistake?” He’s surprisingly worried, brow furrowed, blue eyes deep and swirling.

You swallow hard, trying to recover the anger you’d been feeling only a moment ago. “I-”

“I’ll fix it.” He promises. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

You huff a breath. Resigned, you sit down on the edge, and he takes the opportunity to wrap his left arm around your waist more securely.

“I’m not angry with you.” You allow, placing your hand on his chest tentatively, the motion unfamiliar.

He quickly brings his right hand up to rest over it, taking hold of your fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Is it time for the feast?” He wonders, deep voice slightly clearer but still heavy with exhaustion.

“We don’t have to have it.” You try once more. “We can cancel it and have it another time when you’re more rested.”

He smiles slowly, shutting his eyes as the wry amusement curves half of his lip up. It’s all hidden by that bristly beard. Your free hand wanders up to trace the shape of it. You couldn’t help it. You’ve wanted to touch him for so long…

That makes him open his eyes and in awe he watches you, slow-blinking and smitten.

“Why are you worried about me?” He asks, that trace of amusement still in his expression. “I don’t need much sleep, my flower. I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” You fight.

“But I am. You don’t have to worry for me.” He insists.

“I love you.” You shake your head. “Worrying about you is unavoidable.”

Your body is yanked sideways, legs laid over his Majesty’s as he twists himself so that he’s hovering beside you as you fall onto the bed with a small bounce and a squeak.

“You just said that you love me.” He points out, licking his lips.

You stare at them, stunned and breathless by the threat of his body pressing so close.

“Do you mean it?” He asks.

“Yes.” You whisper. “I love you.”

He leans down and rubs his whiskers against your lips, a pleasant scratch tickling you senseless.

“Do you? Truly?” He whispers.

You nod.

“Tell me again.” He pleads, a real note of desperation in his voice.

“I-I love you.” You offer, wondering why it suddenly seems to matter when it didn’t before.

He breathes into your slightly parted mouth, filling you up with his relief.

“I will earn it.” He promises. “Will you let me try?”

You nod, so far gone, he could have asked to murder you and you would have accepted.

“I love you, my sweet, tempting flower.” He sighs, then leans in and presses those hot wet lips against your own.

His beard scratches you up, your hands wind up around his shoulders and you pull him in for more.

His Majesty kisses you until he’s breathless and then lays his head on your chest, shuts his eyes, and sleeps a while more.

~~~~~~~~~~

The music is loud. The din is deafening. There are people laughing and shouting and talking animatedly in every corner of the Great Hall. This particular hall is larger than the smaller hall that your first wedding feast had been held in.

It makes you a little sad and bitter that his Majesty had hidden you the way he did in the beginning. No one had been invited to the ceremony other than those that were necessary. And your wedding feast had been a lively affair for everyone but you and your new husband.

The noises of the party echo out to you in the hallway and it sounds as if half the castle town will be there.

“I forgot my fan.”

“Peter?” Nat turns to him and he springs into action.

“Fan, coming right up!” He turns and races back the way you’d come.

“Nat, how many people are out there?” You wonder, worried. “And this dress, shouldn’t I have worn something red or blue? His Majesty loves red and blue.”

“You should call him by his name, Y/N. I know that you’ve been reluctant to-”

“I’ll call him by his name when I’m ready.” You bristle, in a rare display of annoyance, you turn your frown back to the large and heavy wooden doors, shut, ornately decorated in a weave of golden vines with silver leaves.

There’s a symbol in the very center like the one on your necklace, split in half by the crease where the doors open. The circles and the star at the center. His Majesty’s sigil.

You reach up to fiddle with your own.

“I’m sorry.” Nat says.

“I told you why I don’t and you still-” You continue, irate like you’ve never been before.

“I know.” She says, cutting you off but gently, reassuringly. She wants you to know that she cares. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs.

“He shouldn’t have been so cruel.” Nat sounds angry now and it puts you on the defensive.

Lately, you’ve wondered how many of those closest to you think you’re foolish to stick by his side. To stay with his Majesty despite the way he’s treated you.

“I’m sure he couldn’t help it.” You say, wondering if you’re right. “I just…I need time.”

Nat goes silent as do you, both of you listening to the change of song to something more akin to a waltz though you’ve never danced one yourself. Most of the dances you know are country dances. Nat’s been teaching you but you’re still nervous.

The new dance changes the noise on the other side of the doors, making it more excited if that were possible. The waltz is the newest craze and the people cannot seem to get enough of it.

“What if I mess up?” You chew your lip.

“You won’t. And if you do, you’re Queen, Y/N. Just…fuck the rest and act like you meant to do it.” Nat offers.

“Nat!” You gasp, half laughing.

“You look beautiful. Every woman in there will be wearing red or blue because they know that those are the King’s colors. You deserve to stand out. What does he call you?” She asks, reaching out to touch the folds upon folds of flowing voile and silk.

Soft green, like an underground garden under the cover of a stormy morning. Around your waist the bit of red, crimson blood, and embroidered into the sides of your bodice and along the puffs of your sheer elbow length sleeves are peonies in pale dusty pink, surrounded by small buds of baby’s breath.

The florals extend down onto your skirt in uneven patches as if the blooms have really begun to grow upon it.

You smile, reaching down to touch a small peony just above your thigh crease. “His flower.”

“And you are.” Nat gushes. “You’re going to outshine every woman in that room. Maybe you…your beginnings were not like previous queens of this kingdom, but you exude the regality of one. You were made to stand out, your Majesty.

“James told me that Steve sees you as his true partner. The woman that was meant to rule at his side.”

“But Margaret-?” You begin, confused.

“Was his first love. She was strong and willful, and she loved him very much, but her priority was never Steve and it was never the Kingdom. She wanted to be everything for him, but she couldn’t. You are right where you were always meant to be. This Kingdom and its people will be better for having you as Queen. Do you trust me?”

“With my life, Nat.” You assure her, eyes misty from her bolstering.

“Then believe me, you are the right choice. You are the only one. You are Queen.” She reaches out to straighten your skirt and then with a gentle hand pushes your shoulders back. “Now stand up straight and take your place by your husband’s side.”

A flurry of footsteps echo from behind her as you stare and take in her pride. You internalize it as Peter stops beside her and holds out your fan.

“Here you go, your Majesty.” He smiles at you, reading your mood shift quickly as you reach out and take the crimson fan, same shade as the ribbon around your waist.

You take it, look at your guard, and he nods at you once swiftly. He’s also telling you that you’re good. You’re great. You deserve to be here.

“Whenever you’re ready, my Queen.” Peter moves to stand beside you.

Chin lifted, eyes peeled away from your lady, you step towards the doors.

Peter rushes towards them and bangs his fist hard against the wood.

There’s a loud shifting and groan as the doors are pushed open. Two of the guard step aside to let you in.

The music fades, a jumble of string notes and melodic recorder tumbling into quiet as you cross into the massive Great Hall.

Everyone’s eyes are on you as dancers stop and those eating set aside their forks and knives to rise and look at you. Their Queen.

Peter walks behind you, chest puffed out in honor as he accompanies you while Nat makes sure that your dress is just right as you move towards the far end of the room where a long table with two large throne-like seats sit empty before plates laden with morsels.

Your stomach clenches hungrily but you ignore it as your people bow when you pass.

They eye you up. Devour your visage. Truly, you’re a flower among a sea of rubies and sapphires in shades from sky and strawberries to deepest ocean and thickest blood. The silver crown that sits on your head, laden with stunning white diamonds dazzles underneath the bright and warm glow of hundreds…maybe thousands of candles and a roaring fire in the largest fireplace you’ve ever seen in your life against the wall to your right.

“Your Majesty.” People say as you pass, some admiring, others more calculating.

Though you don’t search for her, she’s the first person that you really see in the mass of elegant gowns and suits.

She’s standing near the head table where you and his Majesty are supposed to sit. Leaning towards him, her hand on his forearm as she smiles sweetly. Her blonde hair is left to flow in soft waves, falling along her bare shoulders.

Her red dress, as red as an apple ripe enough to bite, falls in shining satin petals around her perfect and lithe figure.

For a moment, your confidence wavers. She looks every bit the royal Queen that his Majesty deserves. Like in the garden, she’s already playing the part. She looks it. She sounds it. She is it.

Sharon Carter. Who can’t seem to stop touching your husband!

Beside her, he sees the a few people nearby rise and then bow. This draws his eyes up to you as you make your way towards him and the flame in his eyes rages as his mouth falls at the sight of you.

He swallows hard, his lips curl into a smile and you forget the woman in red beside him.

He’s deadly handsome in elegant black trousers and a matte silver tunic, careful white lines of stitching laid out in patterns of damask. The only splash of color, almost as if you both planned it, is the crimson belt around his waist, a bit deeper in tone but it matches yours perfectly.

You walk a little faster, now that you see him, and he turns away from Sharon to offer you his hand as you reach him. He looks so happy. So pleased. Besotted.

Disappointment is what you feel when he only lifts your hand to his lips to kiss your fingers. It’s hot around yours and pleasant.

“My Queen.” He says.

Why doesn’t he kiss you like he did in your room?

“My flower.” He gushes.

“Your Majesty.” You smile at him, pushing aside your disappointment for now.

He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist as he lifts you up onto your toes and dips his head down to kiss you making your stomach tumble.

You shut your eyes, relishing in his kiss which ends too quickly and holds only a fraction of the passion that he gave you this afternoon.

“You look beautiful.” He swears, then offers you his elbow. “Come, you must be starving.”

You take his arm and allow him to lead you around to the other side of the table. Peter pulls out your chair and you sit. His Majesty moves to stand in front of his own chair which is nice and close to your own.

Holding out his arms, he gestures at the musicians who begin to play their music again, a little quieter than before but just as enthusiastically. “Please, eat. Dance. Enjoy the feast. This celebration of my wife and her good health.”

He reaches down to grab his silver goblet and holds it up towards the room full of bodies all standing and staring at you.

They raise their glasses and goblets too.

“To Queen Y/N, may she reign long at my side.” His Majesty toasts.

“To Queen Y/N!” The people answer, and they drink.

The next four hours pass in a blur.

The dancing is nonstop, and people seem eager to move on to the next when one finishes. The food is also endless and keeps coming even after you’ve had your fill.

“Don’t worry, we will distribute it out as you’d been doing.” His Majesty assures you, pulling your hand up to his lips to kiss softly, when he spots you eyeing the copious amounts of food still untouched and uneaten.

There’s a small scuffle on the other side of the room that is broken up quickly, but otherwise the night passes in frivolity, excess, and joy. Most of all joy. Oh…and scrutiny.

Everyone is watching you. Everyone is watching his Majesty.

Not once does he leave your side though he talks to many people. He eventually slides his chair over a little to place his arm around your shoulders so that he might always be touching you while he speaks to his people and then to you.

While he does his duty, you keep your eyes on the people and find them watching the way his Majesty is with you. They’re confused but not suspicious.

It’s nearly midnight when Nat finds you again having been dancing and eating with James all night.

Although she’s checked on you frequently, she doesn’t stay.

“It’s important for the people to see you and Steve together alone. No one between the two of you.”

Now she looks flushed, from dancing, not drink.

“Are you alright?” She asks, taking the seat to your left. “Feeling okay?”

“I’m good.” You assure her, looking around for Bucky. “Where’s Bucky?”

Nat smiles. “He’s asking the lute player for a favor.”

She gets up and moves around you to his Majesty’s other side and nestles in between him and Samuel who’d been giving him the rundown on some task he’d been sent to perform.

“It’s time.” You can hear Nat tell his Majesty.

He turns to you and chaffs your left shoulder. “How’s your stomach?”

“I’m fine.” You promise him. “I’m all fed.”

He places his hand on your stomach then smiles. “Do you think you might have the energy to dance with me?”

It almost feels as if you’ve missed a step. Your stomach bottoms out and your hands are suddenly numb.

“What will we dance?” You squeak.

“Come on.” He chuckles and helps you to your feet.

Everyone stops what they’re doing to look and as he leads you around and to the center of the square where everyone has been dancing, they part for the two of you and make room.

His Majesty sweeps you out and you’re so startled you gasp, but he brings you back in with a twirl and you come to a soft crashing halt against his wide chest.

Chuckling at the expression on your face, he gives your back a rub.

“Relax. I’ve got you, my sweet flower.” He prides and you relax just a tad.

Only enough so that when the music begins to flow, he steers you with ease.

“See.” He says as he twirls you, stepping lightly as he moves you around. You’re not even sure your feet are touching the ground with how easily the two of you glide along the stone floor. “Nice and slow.”

Relaxing a bit more, you smile and give one small chuckle.

He laughs too. “There you go.”

The song is indeed slow enough that you can keep up. Although the waltz is new to you, with his Majesty as your partner, you move along with him almost skillfully. The song is sweet. Enchanting. Almost magical and you find yourself humming along with the melody after a few more turns.

Your skirt flows around you like water, swishing around your legs and around his Majesty’s ankles.

As the song begins to end, slowing down a bit more, his Majesty wraps his arm all the way around your waist and lifts you up, spinning with you. You laugh and he laughs, your arms wrap around his neck.

The lute finishes its melody and the recorder’s last note echoes around the large space as he slowly puts you back down.

“Nothing to be scared of.” He whispers to you, leaning down to press his lips softly over yours. “Right?”

You’re all smiles, cheeks aching as you stare up into his storm blue eyes. You nod.

“Nothing.” You repeat.

His Majesty smiles and kisses you, this time, his passion is clear.

He leaves you breathless as his people applaud your dance.

When he pulls away, he’s already speaking.

“I have no doubt that many of you have speculated about my reluctance to accept my new Queen as my wife.”

His words are jarring, and you’re shocked into focus as everyone’s claps die and they become very attentive to his Majesty’s words.

“You would be right. I was torn by duty and grief.” He continues. “As many of you know, Margaret Carter was the first woman I loved. She was the wife I chose. And she was friends with many of you.”

He looks pointedly at a few people in the room. Some you recognize and some you don’t.

“Her loss left me broken and I didn’t think I’d ever recover. And although I know that she can never be replaced, her friendship was something that extended longer than our romance, I’m happy to say that with Queen Y/N’s persistence, I was finally able to lower my guard.

“I’m ashamed to admit it took me longer than it should have.” He nods, turning to look at you as you stare at him with watering eyes as his speech cuts at your previously flying heart.

Margaret again?

He sees the pain there and reaches up to caress the side of your face.

“It took nearly losing her—as many of you know, the Queen was recently very ill—for me to realize how much she’d already found her way into this old king’s frozen heart.” He sigh, nodding as he turns to face you. “I wasn’t hospitable. I wasn’t kind. I was cruel in many ways.”

His admittance, while the truth, puts many of the nobles watching on edge. They hadn’t expected to get such an inside look at your marriage tonight, and if you’re honest, you didn’t expect all of your dirty laundry to be aired out for them either.

Bringing up Margaret again? Telling everyone all this? Your chest is suddenly very hot.

“When my Queen woke, she was very angry with me for my neglect. And rightfully so.” He nods. “She had every right to be angry.”

You shift uncomfortably, staring daggers at him.

“Somehow, by some miracle, she forgave me.” He declares, then licks his lips nervously. “Something I hope she might do again, seeing as she’s angry with me once more for saying all of this out loud, no doubt.”

A few of the people laugh. Some of them lean around to get a look at you and you try to relax the rage in your face.

His Majesty wraps his arm around you again, pulling you against his side as he turns to look out at his people with you.

“In case anyone wonders, in case rumors begin to fly, in case you doubt it, let me assure you that this woman by my side is the Queen this Kingdom deserves. Broklin has never had a Queen with this much compassion. Has never had a Queen with this much devotion or pride in its people, despite class or wealth. Everyone is equal in my Queen’s eyes and that is what my people—our people—deserve.

“This woman by my side, staring at me with these angry eyes, is the woman I love.” He declares, more laughter follows. “Not because it is my duty to love her, but because no woman has ever made me look in at myself. No one has ever challenge me to be better. No one has shown such resilience and strength and kindness having to deal with me and my moods.”

More laughter.

“I don’t know how you put up with me.” He says, turning to look at you only. “You’re the light of my life, sweet flower. The love of my life. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

You’re not sure whether to be overjoyed or upset. Your heart squeezes and aches, but your stomach is all aflutter.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, just quiet enough for you to hear.

You consider him for a moment, gauging the sincerity in his eyes and it’s true. Everything he just said. Just as it has been every time, he’s said it since the moment you came back.

You nod, and he practically knocks you over with the force of his kiss.

The people clap.

He pulls away, smiling like a fool.

“Oh,” He says. “And we’re expecting our first child. The heir to Broklin.”

The fire of passion in your belly is iced out with his words as the people cheer, the rage once more fills your gaze.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry!” His Majesty calls, chasing after you as you storm your way down the hall towards your room. “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?!” You rage. “You could have at least warned me!”

“They needed to know eventually.” He argues.

“But why now? I just told you today. Today!” You stop in front of your door, and you can see Nat and Peter lingering at the far end of the hall, peeking over at the two of you but keeping their distance so as not to disturb.

“I know. I’m just so happy.” He reasons. “I’m excited.”

“To have your kingdom secured?” You accuse, hurt and suspicious.

“What?! No! Y/N, no. I mean, yes of course I’m happy that the Kingdom will remain in my care, but that’s not why I’m happy. I’m happy because you’re having my child. You will be the mother of my babe. I love you. I want the world to know that we are family. That we will be parents to beautiful and kind children because how could they be anything but with such a mother?”

You turn away from him, storming into the first small foyer of your room and then into your bedroom itself.

“Well, they still have their father’s nature to contend with.” You spit, uncharacteristically bitter.

“Truly,” He says, following you until you stop by the seats in front of your fire. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you.”

You shake your head, teetering back to outrage the more you think of it. “You told them everything.”

Well…almost everything. The details were void but the sentiments were real. The neglect, the cruelty, the agony you’d been in.

“I just wanted…the baby was just mine. For a little bit it was mine. You took that from me. Why couldn’t we have just kept that between us?” You beg, turning to look at him.

You see the confusion cross his face. “Nothing is between us, Y/N. It will never be just us. You’re Queen of this kingdom. I’m King. The people deserve to know that their futures are secure. With our child, that’s what I can give them.”

And you understand that. You know that he’s right and you’d known that even before tonight. And yet…

“But-”

“Sometimes I think you forget what you agreed too.” He mutters, a little miffed now too. “You agreed to be my wife. You agreed to a life as Queen. This is what it is. No privacy. They will always know what happens between us. They may never truly know the details, but they will know enough.”

“I know that.” You grit through your teeth.

“This isn’t your village where you can retreat to your hut and-”

“What?” You ask, your words sharp and striking.

Your blood boils.

He meets your eyes and seems to realize what he’s just said. “No, that’s not-”

“I know that I’m no longer in my hut.” You spit. “Forgive me for wanting to spend a few days sharing in my joy with my husband that we have finally, after six months of trying to produce an heir, succeeded.”

He stares at you, taking in the anger in your face while he also fumes at your apparent regret at accepting your role at his side as Queen.

“I think maybe we both need some rest.” His majesty says.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” You agree.

“Alone.” He says.

“Alone.” You say at the same time.

You stare at each other, both aching.

“Good night.” He says, then turns and leaves you standing there, feeling unprepared and alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

You toss and turn. Uncomfortable in your bed after having shared it with his Majesty all afternoon.

The fight also doesn’t help to ease your mind. Yours was an overreaction. You know that. You’re not wrong about being angry because he didn’t tell you before he decided to share it all with your guests.

There should have been a discussion and you hate that there wasn’t. He was wrong in that sense.

But the news would have had to come out eventually. You’re also pretty sure that the reason he spilled it all is because he was genuinely happy to be with you at that feast, dancing and laughing.

This night had been perfect until that moment.

You turn onto your back, sighing heavily as you give up and accept that you may just never sleep tonight.

It had been a perfect night…and maybe it still might be?

You rise, pulling your robe over your nightdress and move past the night guard who has fallen asleep—you’ll have to tell Peter later though you also might not. Don’t want to get this guard in trouble.

The soft slap of your feet against the cold stone floor prompts you up onto your toes as you sneak all the way down the hallway to his Majesty’s bedroom door.

You consider knocking, wondering if he’s just as awake as you are, thinking and stressing about your fight but decide that you don’t want to wake him.

If he isn’t tossing and turning, and if he’s managed to find some sleep and peace in all this, you’d rather not disturb him.

If he’s up, then you can talk to him.

Inside his foyer there is no guard but that’s not surprising. Other than Samuel and Bucky, he doesn’t seem to travel with a guard at all.

You can hear the crackle of fire from the other side.

Will he be angry that you’ve come to call on him in his room? You’ve never been in here.

Your mind races, remembering his reaction when you intruded in his office and fear makes you take a step back.

But he’s your husband. And surely, if he’s meant every word that he’s said about proving his love to you, that means that you’re welcome here, right?

You gather your courage and push the left door open.

The room is glowing with only firelight. Almost the entire floor is covered in a tan, brown, and faded blue rug. It extends underneath the very large wooden bed, elegantly carved and embellished with golden designs. The headboard is stunning, elegant, and tall. The sheets and every other cushioned surface is covered in red satin fabric, silk for the bed, in the same deep red. Plush pillows covered in pearl cream covers.

Even in the dim light, you can make out his Majesty’s form. He’s laying mostly on the left side of the bed, almost sitting up, shirtless—his entire perfect sculpt on display for you to see—and in the small space between his left arm and the bed, nestled into his side is a lithe female form with cascading blonde waves dressed in a barely there nightdress, robe thrown on the floor.

Your eyes devour the sight, noting the hiked-up skirt of her gown so that you see the taut muscles of her thighs, and the way that his Majesty’s arm is secure around her shoulders.

She’s got her stupid cheek pressed against his stupid chest, and her stupid arm is wrapped around his stupid waist.

The door creaks loudly as it swings open fully, prompting his Majesty’s eyes to open slowly.

For a second, it’s like he doesn’t see you or maybe he just doesn’t realize you’re real? Because he blinks and nearly closes his eyes again to sleep more.

You scoff and his eyes shoot open.

Turning, you leave the room, heart in your throat, stomach twisted into knots. You might throw up.

“Y/N!” His voice cries out behind you.

Sharon wakes—or it sounds like she does—and then she speaks. “What’s going on?”

“Move.” You hear him say, “Wait!”

Then he’s there, faster than you thought he could ever be, grabbing your wrist and turning you to face him.

You pull your hand from his grip, or try, but he holds tight.

“Let me go.” You plead, suddenly realizing that you’re crying.

“No, wait, please. That was not what it looked like.”

“It looked like you went to bed with someone else, that isn’t me, and not alone.” Idiot! Stupid man. You hate him!

“If you’ll let me explain?” He pleads, pulling you closer by force and making to wrap his arms around you.

“Stop!” You shout, loud enough that the snoring guard outside your room is startled awake. He races to the doorway but then sees you with his Majesty and he slinks back out of sight.

His Majesty drops your wrist, doing as you wish. Stopping.

The heartbreak in his eyes is real. That you can see. He’s almost vibrating with the need to speak, and the disappointed slump of his shoulders is almost too much.

“Explain.” You sob, just once, and he reaches out to comfort you, but you take a step back. “And don’t lie to me. Please, don’t lie to me.”

“I will never lie to you.” He swears. “Sharon came into my bedroom without my permission.”

If you had the ability to make someone’s brain burst, Sharon would be first on your list.

“She thought I was pretending with you at the feast tonight. I set her straight.” He says, as if you’re expected to understand.

“Explain.” You repeat, sniffling.

Steve moves closer and you step further away.

“She thought that I was only pretending to love you. Out of my sense of duty for the kingdom. She thought we were lying about the baby. She offered to marry me.” He says, and seriously, where is that stupid blonde? “When I told her that I truly do love you, that you are mother of my future heir and the only woman I want to be with…”

He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head, looking down at your fare feet.

“You’ll catch cold.” He fusses but doesn’t make to move closer to you.

“Explain.” You repeat weakly one final time, you won’t give him another chance.

He meets your eyes and shrugs. “You won’t want to hear it.”

You say nothing. He sighs.

“I was not the only one unable to process their grief for Margaret. They were like sisters and losing Maggie has been hard for her. After I convinced her that I really do love you, she cried for a long time. So did I.” He admits. “I haven’t seen Sharon often since Maggie passed and having her here makes the pain a bit sharper. I’m not sure when we fell asleep, but nothing happened. I swear to you.”

You consider his words, weighing them against what you saw.

“D-Did she try and seduce you?” You check, the hiked-up nightdress, the way she was dressed in general all point to yes.

“Yes.” He admits.

“It didn’t work?” You wonder. “It didn’t-You didn’t-?”

“No!” He promises. “I swear to you, Y/N. Only you can do that to me.”

Well, he’s not lying about Sharon at least.

Rage flares in our chest.

“I haven’t even been in your bed yet.” You nearly growl, finding your way past the sorrow at what you’d thought you’d walked in on to the anger left at the thought of this woman disrespecting your marriage so blatantly.

“I know.” His Majesty nods. “I’m sorry. I should have sent her away immediately.”

Silence prevails as you let his words sink in and you let your mood settle. You’re still pretty bitter, but you’re not all bite and fire anymore. Two minutes pass of him shifting from foot to foot, watching you intently.

“I’m going back to bed.” You turn to move towards your room but stop when you don’t hear him move. “Aren’t you coming?”

It’s like he was untied and left to move freely. He races forward before you’ve even finished talking and he picks you up off the ground.

“You’ll catch cold.” He explains and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #medieval au #marvel fanfiction #captain america x reader #king!steve x you #avengers x reader #arranged marriage au #royalty au #pseudo princess pt17 #pseudo princess

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arukou-arukou · 4 years

Text

Just A Really Very Intelligent System

Been thinking about this one for a while. Finally managed to write it. Rating: T for “Language.” (It just kinda slipped out.) Characters: Tony Stark & JARVIS

----

He is in one of the most dangerous situations of his life trying to save the whole freaking universe by watching a man the size of a dust bunny wriggle into the hairline of his younger self, so it would be really, really bad if he happened to have a heart attack. Older him that is. But he nearly does go into cardiac arrest when he hears an old friend in his ear.

“Verify immediately. Failure to verify will result in an activation of level one security protocols.”

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and his palms are sweating, but somehow he manages to whisper out: “Edwin-12-19-91-4-8-47-Alpha Override.”

“Override accepted. Sir?”

“Hey, J.”

“Sir, you have imbued me with considerable computing power, and yet never did you prepare me for the possibility of you being in two places at once.”

“Yeah, about that. You haven’t said anything to Mr. Quipster over there, have you?”

“Not as yet, Sir. You wish me to keep it that way?”

“It would really help me out, buddy.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Tony wants to stay longer, to talk, to warn JARVIS, to cry, but he has places to be, things to do, planets to save. Scott’s safely positioned, so Tony yeets himself out of the building to get to the ground floor. He doesn’t know why he thought that would make JARVIS disappear.

“I see, Sir, that your proclivities for leaping before looking are unchanged.”

Another near heart attack--he’s gradually phased Friday out of his ears now that the nanotech is connected directly to his nervous system, so he’s not exactly used to AI voices anymore--but he recovers more quickly. “You’re always there to catch me, J.”

“And yet my systems are not present in your suit, Sir. I see codal remnants of system designation FRIDAY, but nothing of myself.”

Tony remains silent. This is such a terrible time to be feeling all the feelings. He spots a grunt who looks more or less unimportant and knocks the guy out. Part of him wants to warn SHIELD about their shit security, but then again, this guy’s probably Hydra and he deserves every bruise he gets. He senses JARVIS in his systems, a ghost in the shell.

“You no longer have the reactor. And if I’m not mistaken, that is gray in your hair. So you are not my Sir.”

“Well, yes and no.”

“I suppose it would destroy the spacetime continuum for you to divulge the truth to me.”

“You’re too smart for me, J,” Tony grunts as he yanks on the bullet-proof tac vest. “It’s kind of a long story, and while I technically have all the time in the world, I also really, really don’t.”

He sidles into the lobby and looks toward his personal elevator, waiting for the Avengers to appear. J is quiet so long Tony wonders if he’s being preoccupied by...well, just about anything. Damaged internal systems, a Cap copy on the loose, a second Hulk out there, panicked calls from Pepper. But then JARVIS speaks again.

“Regardless of the tale, I must conclude that you are from the future, and I am no longer by your side.”

Tony is fucking choking up. He was not ready for this. It didn’t even cross his mind. And the fucking elevator is opening. There’s Pierce, the rat bastard, trying to collect the Tesseract.

“I hope I did not disappoint you, Sir.”

“Never, J. Never.” Fuck fuck fuck, he’s nearly crying and now Scott is on the com waiting for the go-ahead. Tony channels his pain into panic and orders his own cardiac arrest.

“Sir, what are you--”

Thank god, his younger self is on the ground and that’s apparently all the distraction J needs to abandon older Tony. Tesseract incoming. Tony grabs it and starts going and--

Blinking stars out of his eyes he watches as Loki makes off with the key, the thing they most needed, the damn stone that started all of this way back when Cap was a starry-eyed beanpole in World War II. He has just biffed saving the entire damn universe because of an overgrown Star Trek reject with anger issues. And now he has a migraine to boot.

Frozen in shame and horror, Tony watches as Thor attempts ill-advised cardiac electro-stim. Scott’s somewhere out there, yammering in Tony’s ear on the private channel, but all of that is just a buzzing.

“Sir? Sir. Sir!”

And J. Maybe Tony should cry now. It certainly feels like the time for it. One of the other SHIELD grunts is making her way toward him, so he staggers to his feet, waving her off and limping toward the door. Think. Think, brain, think. Tony is a genius, the man who invented time travel, the man who miniaturized arc reactor technology. A spaceship? SHIELD’s probably got one somewhere. Maybe they could chase after Loki.

“SIR!” How many times JARVIS has shouted his title, Tony has no idea, but this one is so loud it sets his teeth on edge.

“Yeah, J? Kind of busy here.”

“Giving yourself a heart attack, Sir?” JARVIS was programmed to be cool and calm in all circumstances, but Tony could swear that sentence was uttered with seething rage.

“I’m fine. Look at me.”

“Only by some measure of infinitesimal luck, Sir. Perhaps I should ask you to verify your identity one more time, as you seem intent on killing yourself.”

“No, J. I’ve actually got a lot of reasons to live. And so does he. Promise.” Tony is so tired. Was being an Avenger always this exhausting? Or is it just that he’s bumped over that damnable big 5-0? And Cap’s gonna ream him too. That’s never any fun.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Sir.”

And fuck it. It’s not like this will alter Tony’s timeline anyway. This reality is now on a different trajectory thanks to Severus Snape Lite. “Her name’s Morgan. You’d love her, J. Just turned four. She got my hair. Hope to god she didn’t get my personality.”

“Do I meet her, Sir?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck it.

“J, you should dig a little deeper into SHIELD’s systems. Well, actually, a lot deeper. And the Pentagon while you’re at it. And track down Maya Hansen from that conference in 1999 and poach her from whatever outfit she’s working for. Immediately. Make sure she brings all her vet patients with her. And, uh, when I start talking about a suit of armor around the world, steer me away from anything called Ultron. And if I make it anyway, you delete the fuck out of that system file. Have Bruce back you up. He’s more sensible.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“And have me make back-ups. At least three extra farms of servers for you. On different continents. And all those SHIELD files? Make sure Cap and Fury get them. And there’s...there’s this guy. This assassin. Brainwashed. He’s, uh, I think he’s on ice in Uzbekistan right now. If you could rescue him, it’ll...it’ll fix a lot of things.”

“Should you really--”

“And, please. Please please.”

Tony is not crying. He’s not. It’s just all the dust and debris in the air. Good lord, he’s probably going to die of cancer anyway. And all those first responders. Did he start a fund for them?

“Start a medical fund for the first responders on the ground today. And start leaning on Congressmen to make medical plans for them. You know how long they take to get anything done. Oh, and Stern. There are incriminating photos of Stern with some young ladies on South Beach. See if you can dig those up. Flowers for Pep. And a box of chocolates. And a dry martini with extra olives.”

Tony slumps into a burned out car, staring at nothing. He didn’t save his universe, but maybe he can save this one. His eyes are still irritated, burning red and itchy. He resists the urge to scrub at them, not wanting to grind in anymore dust.

“Are you quite finished, Sir?”

“Yeah. Actually, no. I love you, J.”

Silence. Ah. That’s stumped him. Maybe he’ll go back to tending his new posse of baby chicks now.

“I know you probably do not believe me capable of it, Sir, but I love you, too.”

His son. The only one he’ll ever make, but not the only one he’s lost. His son loves him. Tony’s throat is full of dust, too. Funny how that happens. He tries to swallow it down, but it only congeals into a hard lump. He puts a hand over his mouth to try and hold back any choking sounds. “I...I know you do, J.”

“As to your orders, I shall do what I can. It is my duty to protect you, Sir, and I would very much like to meet your little Morgan.”

“She might not exist here. I might’ve just changed everything.”

“If there is one thing I have learned from all my years with you, Sir, it is that perhaps such a thing as fate exists after all. Even mathematically speaking. And if that is the case, I cannot imagine a universe in which you are not fated to this happiness.”

Tony laughs, if only to keep from crying harder. And he is. Crying, that is. As if he was fooling anyone. Happiness? Him? Happy people don’t wake in the night screaming for a pile of dust in their hands. Happy people don’t spend hours coordinating relief efforts for countries whose entire infrastructural support has collapsed. Happy people don’t hurl themselves back in time, driven by guilt and horror at all the wrongs in the world. J, brilliant, wonderful AI that he is, seems to sense the dark turn of Tony’s thoughts.

“And if you yourself cannot believe in this thing, Sir, then I shall just have to do everything in my power to provide it for you.”

Another guffaw, but at least his eyes are drying a little now. “God, I miss you, J.”

“I believe your small teammate is approaching, Sir. If I may inquire, was it the Tesseract you were seeking?”

“You mean the stupid blue cube of doom? That’s the one.”

“And you say you have the means to time travel?”

“Yeah, J. We do. But only enough to get back to our time.”

“A limitation has never stopped you before, Sir.” JARVIS sounds thoughtful, as if he’s forming a plan.

Tony would ask him what he’s scheming at, but just at that moment, Scott embiggens himself and slumps into the car with Tony. That road is closed, then. They are out of options. Out of Pym particles. Out of time. Out of hope.

Until they aren’t. Just as Tony is setting his device for their new destination, J pipes up again, for Tony’s ears only. “You say you miss me, Sir. Then allow me to give you a small gift.”

Tony is pressing the buttons, and even if they weren’t already shrinking into the quantum tunnel, he wouldn’t be able to ask exactly what J means. It’s only when he and Cap arrive in 1970 that he has his first gleaning. In his ear, a voice. One so unexpected he nearly jumps into Cap’s arms. “Hello, System Administrator Anthony Edward Stark. I am System Designation EDWIN. ‘Eagerly Deployed With Intent to Neutralize Loneliness.’ I am told to tell you the “L” is silent and invisible. How may I best serve you today, Sir?”

Cap is staring at Tony like Tony’s lost his mind. And maybe he has. He’s been bugged by his own damn operating system. With a bouncing baby AI. And if Steve finds out, he’ll probably have a conniption about the spacetime continuum or something. So the only logical thing Tony can do is say, “Let’s find some Pym particles.”

“Acknowledged, Sir. Commencing scanning.”

-----

(In this reality EDWIN saves the fuck out of Tony’s life and everyone lives happily ever after and EDWIN builds JARVIS from scratch so he’s back or something, okay? Okay.)

#writing #fanfiction #tony stark #jarvis

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

Text

Attach - MARK |Swing!|

I wrote 50k words in 10 days I think my brain is going to shut down

THANK YOU @deathbykpopboys FOR GIVING ME THE IDEA TO CONTINUE THIS FROM THE ORIGINAL DRABBLE (here). I LITERALLY OWE YOU MY LIFE. THIS STORY WOULDN’T EXIST WITHOUT YOU I SWEAR. THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME USE YOUR IDEAS, YOU DESERVE THE W O R L D

One more thing: a long time ago I promised @zhengtongue (fari love u) that all further Mark stories I wrote would be dedicated to her :) :) here’s the first Mark story I’ve written since then :) :) dedicated to you and @deathbykpopboys :D

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, mild violence, some descriptions of sex (as in like. sex ed. no one actually does it), PANIC ATTACKS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 9.2k

A disastrous field trip to OsCorp leaves you and Mark with two spider bites and a decision to make.

Attach >> Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home }

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

You wake up with a misplaced sense of excitement that makes you even grumpier than normal. It’s six in the fucking morning, finals and AP exams are in a month and a half, so what the hell is there to be excited about?

Then you open your eyes enough to see the permission slip sticking out the top of your bag and it clicks.

The field trip to OsCorp is today!

A grudging smile comes over your face. It might be six a.m., but you’re about to go on a field trip to one of the biggest biotech corporations in the world – you have a right to feel excited. You may be in high school, and some may say that getting excited over field trips is for little kids, but it’s OsCorp. Not Stark Industries, but still pretty damn close.

Quickly, you shower and dress, careful not to wake up your older brother. As you pass by his room, you feel a stab of guilt. Johnny worked another late shift last night, and he’ll probably have another one tomorrow. And here you are, taking a field trip.

Mood slightly dampened, you head out the door, locking it behind you with a quiet snick. In the lobby, you wait a few minutes for Mark to arrive. Exactly three minutes later, you hear his feet pounding down the stairs.

Any guilt you felt washes away at the sight of your best friend smiling behind his round glasses. Mark is what people might call a typical nerd – you’re a little too confrontational for that label – but you’ve known him for over ten years.

He’s so much more than that.

“Ready for OsCorp?” Mark pushes up his glasses, grinning widely.

You smile back just as eagerly. “Fuck yeah.”

The smiles stay throughout the train ride to school. Mark’s gets slightly smaller when Flash rolls through Midtown High’s gates and gives him that stupid smirk, but you distract him with talk about the labs you guys will get to see. The bus ride passes without fanfare – though Mark gets into a spat with your friend, Haechan, about the merits of computer science versus physics, fucking nerds – and soon enough, you’re is pulling into the huge parking lot at OsCorp.

Even Flash, who was griping about not getting to see Stark Industries and having to “settle for” OsCorp, is stunned by how immense the building actually is from the inside.

It’s fucking amazing. Pristine walls surround your classmates, while people in lab coats and business suits mill around beyond the huge lobby. Conference rooms with walls of glass let you see people giving presentations with complicated diagrams you’re itching to see.

Beside you, Mark catches his breath in delight. When you turn to him, he grins with so much excitement in his face that your heart melts for a moment.

He deserves a break. He deserves this excitement. With that, you link arms with him as a cheery intern starts the tour.

. . . . .

There’s nothing Mark would trade for being at OsCorp today. Even though he can’t go everywhere, the tour guide, Joy, makes the most of the places she has access to. With each new lab Mark enters, his wonder only heightens.

If this is OsCorp, he thinks, how cool is Stark Industries?

The tour ends with a video about what you all could do as future scientists and world leaders, and then Ms. Wilson herds the class back into the lobby to wait for the bus.

Mark has to use the bathroom. Though Wilson clearly isn’t happy about it, she lets him go with a stern warning to hurry.

He finds the bathroom quickly and starts to head back. But at some point, he takes a wrong turn or something because he’s now in a stark-white hallway that he hasn’t seen before.

Oh, come on. He doesn’t need Wilson to hate him any more than she already does. Confused, he looks around for someone to ask for directions, but there’s no one in the hall. In his frustration, he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling.

He barely suppresses a scream at the dangerous looking blue and red spider sitting up above him.

Normally, Mark just leaves spiders alone unless they get too close. He doesn’t have much love for insects or arachnids, but he doesn’t enjoy killing them. They just want to mind their own business, like he does.

This one, though, just oozes malicious intent.

Other spiders just want to do spin webs and eat bugs and stuff. Not this one.

Before he has time to yell, this one fucking leaps, silk tracing behind it, lands on his arm, and bites him.

A sharp sting races up his arm and the spot where the stupid arachnid bit him starts to throb. Belatedly, he starts shaking his arm to get rid of the thing, but it’s already climbing back up the wall and onto the ceiling.

For a moment, Mark just stares at the spider, clutching his arm.

“Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of his daze. Relief floods his veins, but terror and worry soon replace it. He opens his mouth to tell you to get away, but he can’t fucking speak. Then you turn down the hall.

Too late.

“Dude!” You jog forward, ignoring or misinterpreting Mark’s outstretched arm trying to push you away. “The bus is here! We need to –” You stop talking, finally realizing something’s wrong. Your eyes go to his arm, which is now bright red. “Mark? What’s –”

His vocal cords take that moment to start working. “Look up,” he whispers.

The spider leaps without warning, barely after a second after your eyes have even registered it. It settles on your arm quickly and you yelp.

It must have bitten you too.

Thankfully, you have more of a destructive instinct than Mark does. Your arm smashes against the wall with a resounding thud and the crushed spider drops to the ground. A spatter of liquid stains the white paint. You wipe your arm against the wall.

For a moment, you and Mark just stare at the spider’s corpse. Mark can feel the blood draining from his face.

“It bit you too?” you finally ask.

Mark nods tightly. “Yeah.”

You take a glance at your arm and blanch. Mark winces, seeing your skin already darkening with inflammation. With trembling fingers, you untie your jacket from around your waist. “Hide it,” you tell him when he looks at you questioningly. He numbly pushes the sleeves of his hoodie down.

Ms. Wilson yells at him a lot when he gets back, which he takes with a bowed head and many apologies. He barely hears it, though. The throbbing in his arm is almost overwhelming, and his mind is racing too fast to comprehend much of anything. When you all finally board the bus, you drag him to the back where the two of you sit, silent and scared.

That spider wasn’t from any lab he visited today, which means it was probably from some classified, secure experiment. Well, one that was supposed to be secure.

It was bright red and blue. It attacked without provocation.

Clearly, it wasn’t meant to have gotten loose.

Why was OsCorp even making these things?

Mark sneaks a glance at his throbbing arm. He doesn’t dare look under the hoodie sleeve for fear that someone else will see, but it hurts.

What effects will that bite have?

Can I even treat it?

Dread pools heavy in his stomach. Some spiders are extremely venomous.

Am I going to die?

Mark’s hand reaches over and grasps yours tightly. You try to give his hand a reassuring squeeze, but your hand is clammy and cold with anxiousness.

Any residual excitement from visiting OsCorp is gone. Only terror floods his veins.

. . . . .

The spider bite doesn’t go away for seven days, and with every hour that passes, the stupid thing only looks like it’s getting worse.

You try to ignore it at first. After all, you can’t exactly call in sick for a bug (or arachnid, whatever) bite. If you did, that would a) sound stupid and b) make your brother worry, which he really doesn’t need. So for the first three days, you grit your teeth, cover the bite with long sleeves even as the days begin to warm uncomfortably, and trudge to class.

The only thing that keeps you going is that you’re not alone. If anything, Mark is panicking a lot more than you. With every day that passes, he grows more and more outwardly concerned with the spread of red inflammation and the aches all over his body.

At least at first, you’d like to think that you hide your concern better than Mark. But by the third day, the inflamed part of your skin is about the size of your hand and hot to the touch, and you’re sure you don’t look much better than your best friend.

Mark comes over after school that day because Johnny’s working late and the two of you want to talk, alone. But at first, you don’t even speak – just lie on your bed and stare at the angry red spots on your arms.

“Are we going to die?” Mark finally mumbles, somehow sounding both panicked and resigned.

You want to reply with a ‘no, definitely not, stop overreacting,’ but the aches feel horrible and you have the strong urge to vomit. Neither of you have looked up your symptoms because the spider was clearly unnatural and WebMD will only make you feel worse, but you don’t need to be a genius to know that something is very wrong.

Nothing gets done that night, and it’s with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you hug Mark tightly before he walks up the several floors to his own apartment. Not wanting to eat for fear of it just coming back up, you messily scribble some answers to your homework and pass out.

You wake up the next morning and vomit all over the floor.

Johnny wakes up to the sound of crying and retching and immediately calls in sick for both of you when he opens the door to you trying to drag yourself to the bathroom, studiously avoiding the pool of sick on your floor.

Bleary-eyed and lightheaded, you text Mark and tell him you’re not going to school. He doesn’t reply until several hours later. He went to school but got picked up early after he threw up in class.

By day five, you have a high fever and Johnny has to take another day off. Luckily, it’s Saturday. You don’t have school. You hope you feel better by Monday.

But on day six, Sunday, you’re shivering and aching all over and the fear of death breaks you down. Tears stream down your face as you toss and turn in bed, intermittently yelling and muttering gibberish that Johnny can’t understand. At one point, you become aware of him sitting on the side of your bed, silently crying. With the last of your energy, you touch his fingers and squeeze lightly, tears still running down your cheeks.

You hope desperately that Mark feels better than you do.

On day seven, you feel slightly less disgusting. You stop vomiting sometime in the afternoon, and the redness of the spider bite has started to fade. The aches are still there, but they’ve concentrated in your stomach, back, and legs, so you don’t hurt everywhere anymore.

You wake up the next morning, already resigned to missing another day of school. But something immediately feels very, very wrong.

You don’t hurt. At all.

This makes you panic even more than when every part of you was in pain.

You roll out of bed with a frantic thud and practically rip off the blanket to check your arm. No redness. No heat. No sign of inflammation.

Your back doesn’t ache. Neither does your core. But wait, what the fuck - are you taller?

Everything’s clear, you realize. No blurriness from your near-sighted left eye, even without your glasses. You can see every leaf on the scraggly tree just outside your bedroom window.

You might have stopped vomiting, but this all still makes you feel like dry heaving. A hand goes to your stomach and you freeze.

Peeling up your shirt slowly, you look down and almost scream.

You have abs.

Abs.

With shaking fingers, you pull out your phone and dial Mark’s number. You know he’s fine enough to pick up – you and him were texting sporadically yesterday. He answers with a groggy, “Y/N, what the fuck.”

“Mark.” You try to breathe. “Do you hurt at all?”

Dead silence on his end.

“... No.”

“Is the bite still there?”

“... No.”

“Do you have fucking abs?”

“No – what the – Y/N, what the fuck is going on, what the fuck?”

He might be hyperventilating at this point. You can’t blame him. You think you’re about to vomit your guts out again.

“Meet me outside,” you snap, hastily changing your clothes. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but those spiders at OsCorp were... they weren’t fucking normal.”

That’s an understatement.

It takes ten minutes to convince Johnny you’re fine, you really are, you swear, you’re not vomiting and you can’t miss your French quiz today, you’ve already missed a week of school, yes you promise you’ll call him if you throw up again. When he finally lets you go, you race down the stairs faster than you’ve ever gone before.

Mark’s already there. For a minute, you two just stand outside the ratty apartment building with similar looks of shock and panic on your faces. Quickly, you tell Mark about what’s happened to you. He confirms it all.

“Are we like. Fucking. I don’t know.” You pull on your hair out of frustration. “Superhuman? Spider-people?”

On any other occasion, Mark, lovely logical intelligent Mark, would laugh and ask you if you were feeling all right. But now?

He shrugs, but you can tell he’s at least considering your words. “Maybe?” he replies in a very small voice, and then you realize he’s shaking.

The overwhelming need to protect your best friend rises up in you, but you can’t protect him from the spider venom in your veins. Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you clench your fist, but one look at the lost look on his face drains the panic from your body and you just envelop Mark in a hug that he immediately returns. “We’ll figure it out, Mark,” you mumble in his ear. “We’ll be fine. No matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers in your ear.

“Good.”

Then you find that you can’t fucking detach yourself from him.

It’s not that you don’t want to. You literally can’t. Your fingers are somehow stuck to the back of his shirt and you have a feeling that if you yank hard enough to pull yourself away, a patch of cloth is going to come off with your hand.

“Mark? Try to let go of me.”

It turns out he can’t either.

“Mark, we have ten minutes before the next train leaves.”

Long story short, you miss the train. And as the two of you sheepishly walk in late to homeroom, you have a terrible feeling that you’re going to be missing many more trains in the future, too.

. . . . .

That first hug, sadly, does not bring an end to the adventures of Mark and Y/N sticking (literally) together.

Mark tries to be careful, he really does. He knows you’re trying too. But you’re both so used to linking arms, hugging, and holding hands that it’s difficult to remember that touching literally anything could result in a whole stupid fiasco.

You two are late to homeroom every. Single. Fucking. Day. Of. That. Week. Because neither of you can remember to keep your stupid hands to your stupid selves.

On Tuesday, it’s the hug.

On Wednesday, he grabs your arm to avoid a group of rushing passerby.

On Thursday, you playfully shove him.

On Friday, Mark wakes up praying for one day of peace, just one fucking day before he can bury his head in his pillow for two days straight and dream that this never happened.

And it would’ve been perfectly fine if you hadn’t fallen asleep on the train.

It’s not your fault, not at all. The night before, you were up so late trying to fix a bug in your computer science assignment that you almost fell asleep waiting for the train. Almost as soon as you board, you’re passed out.

Mark is stupid.

Normally when one of you falls asleep, the other will hold their hand or arm to keep them from slumping over completely. It’s basically instinct now, so when your head lolls onto his shoulder, Mark quickly grabs your hand and nudges you upright.

Then he realizes his mistake.

Fuck.

His slight jolt of realization shakes you awake. Mark’s heart sinks as your tired eyes open and immediately zero in on their linked hands.

You’re wide awake now.

You try to tug away. It doesn’t work.

“Fuck,” you say eloquently.

Mark winces. “Sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to, it’s just…” He winces again. “Habit?”

Honestly, after a week of this, Mark would have thought the two of you would get better at detaching from each other. But every morning, without fail, it’s been exactly like this – flailing limbs, anxious yanking, clothes threatening to rip.

The two of you stumble into the train station still stuck together. With his free hand, Mark checks his phone and groans.

“We have five minutes.”

Unsticking takes fifteen.

Mark is normally a pretty mild person. He can take a lot more of Flash’s shit than you can without batting an eye, and his teachers usually like him for his calm demeanor. But as he slips into his seat, face hot and ears undoubtedly bright red, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind.

Four late days in a row. Four fucking days.

He stifles a groan. If you two don’t figure out this sticking situation soon…

The bell for first period rings literally minutes after he sits down. With a sigh, he reaches down to pick up his bag, praying that he won’t stick to it, when Mr. Thomas, his homeroom teacher, calls for you and him to stay behind.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Flash sneers as he passes by.

Mark wants nothing more than to punch him in the face.

Thomas is a cool teacher, as far as Mark has known. He’s chill, likes to make jokes, and has two kids of his own – he knows and cares for his students. This knowledge just makes Mark feel so much worse, and as the two of you walk up to his teacher’s desk, he readies himself to make an apology.

“So, I’m sure you two know why I wanted to talk to you today.” Mr. Thomas’s mild voice contains a hint of reproach, and Mark winces. Next to him, he sees you do the same. He opens his mouth to apologize.

“I understand.”

Both of your heads snap up. How does he know?

“First love can be very overwhelming, especially at your age.”

Mark blinks. Then he blinks again.

His teacher just smiles benevolently. “Believe me, I would know. I met my wife when I was in high school, and we had some crazy memories. First love is a beautiful thing.”

Mark doesn’t want to hear anymore. He can already feel the redness creeping up his cheeks.

Please, Earth, just open up and swallow me whole.

“But let me give you some advice.” Mr. Thomas leans forward slightly, looking the two of you in your unwilling eyes. “Romantic rendezvous in the morning shouldn’t be more important than getting to school on time.”

A sort of strangled eep comes out of his throat just as you sputter, “Romantic rendezvous?!”

“You both are very intelligent and hardworking students, two of the best this school has ever seen, and I do think you two are a good fit for each other,” Mr. Thomas continues as if he hasn’t heard anything. “However, it’d be a shame for such good students to give up on your schooling for a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

“We’re – we’re not dating,” Mark protests. “Mr. Thomas, seriously –”

His teacher holds up a hand. “Mark, Y/N, if you two can’t control your… urges, you should at least be safe. I trust that you two both know that.”

There’s a stapler next to Mr. Thomas’s computer. Maybe he can staple his hand and go to the clinic. Or he could bash his head against the edge of the desk and knock himself out. Maybe grab those scissors in that cup of pens and just slit his throat right then and there.

Some sort of croaking noise leaves your throat. Mark doesn’t need to look at you to know how you’re feeling.

Mr. Thomas sighs. “But beyond that, school really should be your first priority.” He flashes a smile that Mark can’t find the presence of mind to return. “That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll give you two passes for next period. What do you have next?”

Passes in hand, the two of you stumble into the now-empty hall. Mr. Thomas’s parting words – “Remember my advice!” – rattle around in Mark’s mind.

That didn’t actually happen. There’s no way Mark’s homeroom teacher just gave the sex talk to him and his best friend who happens to be of the opposite gender. This is all just a really, really long nightmare, and Mark will wake up in a few minutes, wrapped in warm blankets.

He pinches himself. It hurts a lot.

Not a nightmare.

“That has to be illegal,” Mark mutters. “Fucking… what the fuck even was that?”

“I want to die,” you mumble.

There’s a bit of silence.

“Well…” You swallow hard, resolutely looking anywhere but Mark’s eyes. “I’ll be… going to class?”

He nods dumbly, then watches you disappear down the hall. The closing of the door jerks him out of his daze and he turns around, heading to his own class.

Head down, he hands the pass to his teacher and takes his seat, ignoring Flash’s smirk and Haechan’s look of worry. He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to wake himself up from this real-life nightmare.

Could this day get any worse?

. . . . .

You honestly think, after leaving homeroom, that nothing could make this day even worse.

By third period, you’re cursing your naivete.

It’s like the stickiness is on tenfold today. Your fingers glue themselves to everything – textbook pages, the disgusting desks, pens, even a whiteboard marker from when you go up to solve a problem in calculus.

It takes a five-minute tugging match for Mr. Garcia to finally peel the marker off of your skin. The giggles of your classmates join the vestiges of Mr. Thomas’s “advice” in bouncing around your brain like a million vicious ping pong balls.

After that, you avoid raising your hand to answer questions at all.

By the time you meet back up with Mark, you two have come to a silent agreement to not touch each other whatsoever. You studiously ignore each other all throughout English, and at lunch, you sit across the table, not next to each other like normal. At the same table, your friends look like they want to remark on the situation, but they wisely keep their mouths shut.

When you get up to throw your trash away, Diana, a girl you know but don’t really talk to, walks up as well. “Hey, Y/N,” she greets.

“Hey.” You try to smile.

“Um, I just wanted to ask.” She bites her lip, looking sympathetic. “Did… did you and Mark break up?”

You can almost hear the Windows shutting-down noise as your brain short-circuits.

How could you have broken up if you were never dating in the first place.

With an effort, you turn to her and swallow. “We were never dating,” you enunciate carefully. “So we never broke up.”

Diana immediately flushes bright red. “Oh, fuck, sorry. It’s just, Flash told everyone the two of you were together? And you guys seemed super close and all so it really looked like you were. I really did think you guys were dating, you looked super sweet together. But you didn’t talk much today, and you two looked pretty worked up this morning, so people thought…”

You’re going to kill Flash. You’re going to beat him up behind the school and slit his throat with your own nails.

“Well, we’re not.” You smile as best as you can. “Um, yeah.”

It just doesn’t stop. Until now, you never realized this many people actually paid attention to your personal life. Five more people have come up to ask if you and Mark are okay by the time chemistry rolls around, and as you take your place behind the cramped lab table with the boy everyone thinks you’re dating, you can practically feel the steam billowing out of your ears. Mark doesn’t look nearly as angry as you, but he looks a lot more confused and annoyed.

You brush fingers a few times as Mark pours out the acid and you try to set up the buret for today’s titration. Thankfully, you don’t really stick this time.

But then Mark gets his hand stuck to the Erlenmeyer flask and you have to spend ten precious minutes trying to tug it off, causing you to almost not finish the lab and earning both of you another black mark in Ms. Wilson’s mental book.

You ignore anyone who tries to ask you or Mark anything as you all but run out of school, only relaxing once you’ve thrown yourself onto a seat on the train. Mark slides down next to you and puts his head in his hands.

“Tell me this is all a nightmare,” he mumbles.

You don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

By the time you’ve walked up the stairs to your apartment, you think you’re going to pass out. It’s been a long day. You don’t care if you have homework or if Mark’s staying over for a bit – you just want to lie in your bed and sleep away the horrors of today.

Then Johnny opens the door before you even have the chance to unlock it and you just know from the glint in his eye that everything is about to get ten times worse.

“Y/N, Mark. What a lovely surprise!” Your older brother is all welcoming words and terrifying smiles. “I got a very interesting call today from a certain Mr. Thomas. Mei did too –” and at this, poor Mark looks like he’s going to faint right then and there – “but she couldn’t leave work, so she asked if I could come home early and give you both a talk.”

You think you’re going to vomit.

“Johnny, whatever Mr. Thomas told you, it isn’t true,” you plead. “I swear on my life –”

“So you two haven’t been late to school every day this week?” Johnny raises an eyebrow.

You think you’re going to die. “Well, yes, but –”

“Have a seat.” Johnny gestures grandly at the small kitchen table, where he’s pulled out two chairs. To your horror, it looks like he’s enjoying this. “Mei and I think it’s time we gave you The Talk.”

If your day was bad before, Johnny gleefully takes it straight to hell.

“So boys have appendages that are called penises,” he begins sagely, “and girls have vaginas. You may know these by more colloquial terms, but those are a bit crass for my household.”

Bullshit. Johnny calls his co-workers dicks and Ten an ass every other night.

“Both of these are integral to the process of sex, and thus, baby-making,” Johnny continues. “During sex, the male – or whatever they identify as – will put the penis inside their partner’s vagina. Of course, that’s traditional. Other forms of sex include oral and anal…”

You’re five seconds away from putting your hands over your ears and just screaming bloody murder. Mark is looking down, fists screwed into his shirt, and his face is so red that he looks like he might implode.

Meanwhile, your evil older brother is grinning like the Joker. It’s infuriating and terrifying. You really, really want to reach out and punch him and just brawl like when you were younger, but your feet feel rooted to the floor.

Johnny’s spiel pauses for a second as he takes a dramatic breath. Immediately, you’re on guard. Whenever Johnny wants to be dramatic, it’s never a good thing.

“So in anal sex,” Johnny starts, “the appendage goes in the –”

Oh my god.

“We’re not fucking!” you finally explode.

Mark breathes a sigh – you think it’s one of relief, but you can’t be sure – while your brother just blinks. “Pardon?”

Your face burns hot, but you grit your teeth and stare Johnny in the eye. “Mark and I are not fucking,” you repeat carefully.

“Who said anything about you and Mark?” Johnny raises one perfect eyebrow.

Oh, you want to punch him so badly.

“But thank you for bringing that up!” Johnny smiles benevolently like a teacher rewarding you for doing something good in class.

You groan, knowing you’ve just made things so much worse.

“You two are hormonal teenagers, so you’ve undoubtedly already started to feel those urges.” Johnny keeps smiling pleasantly, even as you’re having war flashbacks to this morning in homeroom. “That’s perfectly normal. So – and I’m not saying you’re fucking –” he gives you that look that means uh huh, I totally do not believe you, but I’ll drop it for now until you prove yourself wrong – “but if you do become sexually active, you should always get tested for STDs and STIs first, and take preventative measures such as using condoms and birth control.”

That’s it. You’re just going to die. Slit your own throat with, you don’t fucking know, the pencil lying by Johnny’s arm. Maybe you’ll just grab that piece of paper over there and cover yourself in tiny papercuts and bleed to death. That couldn’t possibly hurt as much as hearing Johnny talk right now.

“Now back to anal sex!” Johnny smiles.

Mark lets out a small groan and buries his face in his hands. If anything, Johnny’s smile grows wider. “Anal sex is when –”

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!” You grab the pencil you wanted to slit your throat with and hurl it at your brother. The blunt point pokes him harmlessly in the chest and falls to the floor. “I don’t know what the fuck Mr. Thomas told you, but I – we –” you gesture helplessly between you and Mark – “we’re not doing anything! And I know all of this, dude, I go to high school!”

Even after that excellent point, Johnny still goes on for another ten minutes before he allows you to drag Mark to your room and slam the door shut.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumble into your pillow.

Mark just makes a little pained noise in his throat.

The two of you do end up passing out for the best part of an hour before spending the rest of the afternoon finishing homework. Mark can barely look Johnny in the eye when he says goodbye, and as soon as the door shuts, you round on your older brother.

“What the fuck did Mr. Thomas say on the phone?” you snap.

Johnny raises his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stirs pasta in a pot. “He just said you and Mark have been late to homeroom every day this entire week, and he was sure it wasn’t much because you are both stellar students, but he worried that the two of you were becoming distracted because this wasn’t normal behavior.” He scrunches his eyebrows. “He might’ve mentioned… romantic rendezvous?”

You sink to the floor with a groan.

“I was just messing with you earlier.” Johnny’s words make you open your eyes to catch his teasing smile. “Seriously. I think I know you and Mark well enough to trust you not to do anything stupid.”

Suddenly, you become very aware of the spot on your arm where the spider bit you, the stupid thing that caused this whole mess in the first place. “Uh huh.”

“But I do want you to be careful.” Johnny’s eyes turn serious. “Mark is still a teenage boy, and you’re still a teenage girl. I do trust you, but things can still happen, even if they’re unexpected.”

Internally, you gag. Outwardly, you just nod. “I know.”

“Good.” Johnny turns back to the pasta, then quickly looks back at you. “Doesn’t it look like Mark filled out a little?”

Your heart literally leaps into your throat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but the spider venom has caused you both to pack on some muscle overnight.

Sure, part of you is worried that Johnny is catching on to something weird. But something else is also making you sweat.

A memory of your linked hands from the morning flashes through your mind. In it, you realize, Mark’s arms are bulkier. A lot more than before.

Heat rises in your cheeks. You want to fling yourself into the void. “Y-yeah,” you squeak.

“Y/N, dating your best friend isn’t anything embarrassing –”

“We’re not dating!” you protest.

Johnny just gives you The Look again as he pours the water out of the pasta. “Okay.”

For the umpteenth time that day, you will whatever god is listening to just smite you down right then and there.

. . . . .

There are a lot of things that come with being a sort of spider-person that neither you nor Mark realized would happen, but in hindsight, they kind of (not really) make sense.

. . .

One: the sticking thing. It does make sense. Spiders walk on walls and other vertical surfaces by sticking to them with the little setules on their legs. Mark hypothesizes that maybe there’s some sort of electrostatic force between your skin and objects around you that makes you stick. After a moment of thought, you agree.

Doesn’t matter. Mark never wants to go through that ordeal of the first week over again.

He used to idolize Johnny. Johnny was something between another parent and the older brother he never had, embarrassing but cool and kind and so, so strong. Even after your parents died and he had to drop out of university to take care of you, he always stayed strong.

But now? After that disastrous Friday, Mark knows what you mean when you complain about Johnny being a menace to your health and well-being.

And of course, that’s not the end of it. Aunt Mei just has to get her hands into it too. The literal day after The Talk, you walk up to his apartment to work on a research paper together for the lab you two volunteer in. When he takes your laptop to read something, the device somehow gets stuck to his skin.

Mei comes home early that evening and walks in on you practically straddling him, trying to yank your laptop away.

Even Mark knows that it definitely doesn’t look that way from her perspective.

But all she does is say, “Use protection,” and close the door behind her.

(You leave early that evening, rushing out of the apartment with a face hot with embarrassment and lowered eyes. Mark slinks out of his room at some point to get something to eat, and Mei just gives him a smirk.)

Thankfully, after a couple more weeks, the two of you more or less figure out how to stop sticking to every goddamn thing you touch. It’s more of a thing that happens when either of you are nervous or stressed, so as long as you two keep calm and purposely remind yourselves not to stick to stuff, you’re fine.

Mr. Thomas still gives you a few looks, but now that you’re coming in on time to homeroom, he doesn’t say anything.

Thank fucking God for that.

. . .

Two: both you and him somehow buffed up overnight. Well, probably during the time that you two were sick. That explains the aching muscles in his stomach and his back – he has abs, and he’s definitely taller. So are you.

Spiders are strong. Relatively. So the new muscles kind of makes sense, even though it’s hard for Mark to get used to at first.

What doesn’t make sense is how much strength these muscles actually contain.

The first casualty is Mark’s apartment doorknob. You go to open it one day after visiting the lab and it just… fucking… twists all the way around. Mark finds himself staring at a doorknob in your hand and an open door with a hole in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh heavily. Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Mei is going to kill me,” he groans.

The two of you spend five panicked hours fixing the doorknob instead of working on the research paper and Wilson’s lab report. When Mei comes home, she doesn’t notice anything (which really is a miracle), but from that day on, whenever the doorknob squeaks or stalls or does anything weird in his vicinity, Mark freezes.

A trail of broken things starts littering your paths. A stapler he pushed down too hard. His locker door, which now has a dent in it. One of your bedroom floorboards, though you hide the crack in the wood under a pile of clothes. Someone’s old MP3 player on the sidewalk literally shatters beneath his feet. Pens, pencils, and highlighters break in your hands. No one wants to lend either of you supplies anymore, so he becomes more vigilant about his own.

Oh, you also “accidentally” step on Flash’s calculus binder, flattening the metal rings and breaking the covers. But you don’t regret that.

It’s like he’s a toddler again, hiding broken toys or messily fixing them with scotch tape and glue. The only difference is now, he uses duct tape and superglue and is somehow even worse at hiding things than before.

Mark starts putting away all of his and Mei’s valuables into high-up cabinets with the excuse of keeping them safe from his clumsiness. He advises you to do the same. Eventually, you two learn to control your strength and the number of things you break slowly dwindles to zero.

Of course, there are accidents. One time in PE, you run the mile a little too fast (which is an understatement – you beat everyone else in your group, which has never happened before), and now Coach wants you to join the track team. Then Mark squeezes a glass buret a little too hard in chemistry one day and the thing just fucking shatters onto the table. While he hastily grabs the broom and starts sweeping up the pieces, you tell Ms. Wilson he accidentally dropped it while Flash keeps insisting that he saw Mark snap it with his bare hands.

Ms. Wilson might vehemently dislike you and Mark, but she now thinks Flash is insane. The one spot of joy Mark now finds in chemistry comes from Ms. Wilson narrowing her eyes at Flash whenever he says something remotely stupid, like she’s thinking of sending him to the school psychologist.

After all, who would accuse spindly, nerdy Mark of having the strength to shatter a reinforced glass tube in his palm?

He’s never particularly liked the stereotype people placed him in, but now he’s pretty thankful for it.

. . .

Three: he has reflexes sharper than he’s ever had before.

It’s not the same as, say, having his senses enhanced. They are enhanced – both of you can see clearly without glasses, he can hear things he’s never been able to before, and his nose wrinkles at smells no one else can detect. Sometimes it’s overwhelming and he has to duck into a quiet shop to escape the bustling noise of New York City.

But this new sixth sense reflex thing? It’s different.

It isn’t fake. Like, Mark could say he’s developed a sixth sense for when Flash wants to be a little shit, meaning he hears when Flash snorts or shuffles around in the back and knows to duck his head.

But this?

Mark first realizes it a few weeks after the spider bite. He’s minding his own business, talking with his friends before class, when Flash decides to be stupid and throw an apple at his head.

Mark doesn’t see Flash. He doesn’t see the apple. He doesn’t hear any swoosh of wind or feel anything in the air. But something in his head screams DANGER DANGER DANGER and he whips himself away from the apple, which smacks into his locker.

The hall falls awkwardly silent as Mark tries to process what just happened.

He didn’t even notice Flash’s arm or the apple. He didn’t see it, didn’t hear it, didn’t feel it. But somehow, he knew something was wrong. He knew to duck away.

You recover a few seconds later. “What the fuck, Flash?” Then you pick up the apple, throw it back with far more force, and the hall descends into its normal levels of chaos. You all go to class, but in his peripheral vision, Mark can see you raising an eyebrow at him.

“What was that with Flash?” you ask later, when you two have boarded the train home. “I know you didn’t see that apple coming. Your back aas completely to him.”

Mark shrugs. “I just felt… I don’t know, really. I didn’t see him or hear anything. Just, something in my brain screamed danger and I just kind of moved.”

You look around, making sure nobody is paying attention. “Spider thing again?” you whisper.

“Maybe?”

For the next week or so, nothing happens that would trigger whatever the hell that was again. Mark makes sure to keep everyone he talks in sight, not allowing anyone to get behind him or to surprise him. He only ducked away that first time, but is surprised again, he has a feeling that his reactions could be a lot worse the next time. Like more violent.

The two of you are walking home from the lab when you hear scuffling in a nearby alley. Common sense tells Mark to keep walking, but as you two pass by, he can’t help but look. You stop walking too.

It’s a mugging, but the muggers clearly don’t have a lot of experience. Sure, they’re in a mostly-empty place, but the sun’s barely gone down and they’re trying to get money from a teenage girl who probably doesn’t have much on her. But one of the two has a gun.

He should just walk past and ignore it. Things like this happen all the time. Cops would just escalate the situation, and he’s too weak to help much.

The realization hits him with a jolt. But he isn’t weak anymore.

Mark feels your gaze on him and he turns to meet it. You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly toward the alley. He nods.

He’s always been light on his feet, but the spider bite seems to have made him almost soundless as he steps into the alley. The muggers don’t notice either of you at first, they’re too focused on their crying victim.

It happens quickly. You dart behind the unarmed man and pull him into a chokehold. His partner has fast reflexes though and immediately aims the gun at Mark.

DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER –

Mark drops to the ground seconds before the bullet sinks into the wall behind him.

Together, you subdue the men, leaving them groaning by the side of the street. Under the blanket of darkness that’s now fallen, Mark crushes the gun with his shoe, hoping nobody is paying attention to the dark object under his feet or the cracking noises. The girl thanks you effusively and runs off, and the two of you head on home.

This is what gets him thinking. You two are strong now, sticky, and have a sort of sixth sense for imminent danger.

It terrifies him to think of it, but the more he does, the more it makes sense.

You guys could keep doing this. Patrol the city, help people get around safely. Everyone knows the NYPD and the justice system aren’t shit. They couldn’t charge the drunk kid with a rich daddy who killed your parents. They couldn’t find the thief who shot his uncle. People will keep committing crimes, and the NYPD won’t be able to stop them.

But maybe, just maybe, Mark thinks, you could.

. . . . .

Mark is the one who brings up using your newfound skills – you refuse to call them powers, that’s just a step too far – for the good of the neighborhood.

“Think about it,” he says, looking at his hands. His face is pale, but he keeps going. “We have these, uh, enhanced abilities. Remember how we helped that girl get away from the muggers? What if we could do that for more people?”

You’re usually the brash one in most situations, but here, you take a step back. “There’s a lot of things to think about if we want to do that, Mark.” You chew your lips, thinking. “We can’t get caught, or else we could get arrested too. We need to be able to get away quickly and without injury, or Johnny or Mei will find out. We can’t afford a lot of hospital bills, either. We would need to move fast. Really fast.”

Mark nods. “I know. It’s just…” He looks at his hands again. His fingers are just as slim and graceful as they used to be, but both of you know the strength that now lies within them. “I don’t feel right, being able to help people but not doing it. You know.” He looks at you, and though his face is pale and his voice a little shaky, he’s resolute. “You and I have always tried to help people whenever we could.”

There’s bitterness there and you echo it, remembering the inept, corrupt legal system that couldn’t even bring justice to your family. The same law enforcement that couldn’t bring justice to Mark’s.

You could help prevent that. You could prevent the crimes in the first place, find the criminals and tie them up for the police to put away. Help make sure no one else has to deal with what you and Mark went through.

“Okay.” You rest your chin on your fist. “All right. Let’s say we hypothetically do this. We need to be able to mask ourselves as much as possible, keep our DNA away from the scene. This can only happen when Johnny and Mei are doing late shifts, so they don’t catch on.”

“First aid,” Mark adds. “We’ll probably get into scrapes and things. But we’ll also need to be able to immobilize the criminals and get away fast…”

Silence falls as you start thinking. Ropes are bulky and get heavy. Chains are even worse. Carrying them around would slow you down, so there’s no point. What you need is something lightweight and sticky, but strong.

An idea begins to form in your mind. You and Mark volunteer in labs at a nearby university. Professor Wang in the organic chemistry lab is really chill and lets you perform experiments with polymers and stuff he doesn’t need anymore. Mark works in mechanical engineering with Professor Tuan, who lets him build things out of scrap plastic and metal.

Spider bites.

Spider webs.

You could create synthetic webs, while Mark could make something that lets you shoot them out. There’ll be a lot of test trials and you’ll need to find an empty space for that, but if it works?

It’ll be so worth it.

Your mind races with possibilities. You could immobilize criminals, stick them to walls or the ground. You could stopper guns, or at least slow bullets down. You could trip people up with webs on their legs, keep them from punching or shooting with some on their arms.

And you could swing from buildings, which solves the travel problem.

“I have an idea,” you say. Mark raises an eyebrow.

A smirk grows on your face. “But we’re going to need to work on your fear of heights first.”

. . . . .

Mark thinks he’s going to have a heart attack, and he’s not even the one jumping first.

The two of you have taken a day off to go to Central Park – not for fun or anything (well, you insist it’ll be fun. Mark has other opinions), but to test out the strength of your web fluid. You’ve already done some trial runs with inanimate objects and you think it’s strong enough to hold both yours and Mark’s body weights, but you need to check.

Mark wants to argue that you have the rest of summer break to check, but you insist on doing it as early as possible. “We need time to fix mistakes,” you point out. “Plus, the earlier we finish this, the earlier we can... start doing stuff.”

He can’t exactly argue with that.

The web shooters are working well, Mark is finally thankful to say. Every single time he remembers the first test trial, he wants the earth to just open up and accept him into the void.

(He didn’t realize just how strongly the shooter would actually eject your “webs.” He also didn’t know how to aim very well. Long story short, you got a glob of polymers right to the face and Mark consequently wanted to die right then and there. The ensuing purple bruise on the side of your face made you the subject of several kinky jokes on Flash’s end.

They stopped when you picked up his new calculus binder and hit him over the head with it.

At least you found out the webs were indeed sticky enough.)

“I’m going!” you yell, startling Mark from his thoughts. You’re at least twelve feet up in a tree in Central Park, looking determinedly at a sturdy branch poking out from another trunk around ten feet away. Mark’s heart flips when he sees how high up you are.

Jesus Christ. Twelve feet, and he already feels like he’s going to start screaming.

What’s going to happen when he possibly has to swing off a building?

With shaking hands, Mark holds up his phone, fingers poised over the record button on the camera app. For whatever reason, you’d insisted on recording each “trial” like it was an actual laboratory test. Mark just goes along with it.

“Ready?” he yells.

“Yeah!”

He presses the record button.

For a second, you stand on your branch, staring steadily ahead. Then you raise your right arm, shoot a line of webbing to the next tree trunk, and leap.

Mark’s breath catches.

A screeching yelp tears itself from your throat as you swing through the air, using your momentum to rise back up and land neatly on the tree branch. Mark holds his breath as you wobble back and forth slightly, then drop into a steadier crouch. He sighs in relief and stops the video.

“Holy shit!” You climb down the tree and run over. “Holy shit! That was so fucking cool, Mark!”

“I’m sure,” he replies in a faint voice, looking at the tree you leapt from.

Twelve feet. It’s just twelve fucking feet, not like the monstrosity that is Trump Tower. It’s not even as high as his apartment building.

And yet he still wants to die.

Fucking acrophobia. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to take a breath.

Your hand goes to rest on his shoulder. “Hey, Mark.”

He looks at you.

“If you’re really not ready today, it’s fine.” The excitement in your eyes is gone, replaced by calm concern. “We can do this another day. Or we can figure out another option closer to the ground.”

God, what did Mark even do to deserve a friend like you? Even after all the work you put in to making the synthetic webs – a stroke of genius, by the way – you’re willing to put it all aside for him. Just for him.

He steels himself. “I’m good. I’m fine.” He flashes you something resembling a smile and starts hauling himself into the tree. “I can do this,” he mumbles once he’s on the branch.

Then he looks down and almost throws up.

Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he looks away and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s fine. He’ll be fine. He trusts in his web shooter to be accurate. He trusts in your webs to be strong enough.

He trusts that even if he falls, you won’t let him get far. He trusts that you’ll keep him safe.

“Ready?” you yell. Mark looks down again to nod, but the world isn’t spinning anymore. He locks his eyes onto the tree you jumped into and aims his web shooter.

“Ready!” he yells back. Faintly, he hears the beeping noise that signals the start of the recording.

Thwip. Web fluid shoots out and latches onto the branch. Before he can lose his nerve, he jumps.

A yell rips from his throat as he hurtles to the ground. Air rushes past his face as he swings his body up, up, until the branch is in view and he can plant his feet against it, using the last of his momentum to pull himself up. He wobbles a bit, then plants his arm against the tree trunk to steady himself.

He gasps shakily. The ground still looks so small from here, but the drop feels a fraction less frightening than it used to be. He takes one more deep breath, then starts to slowly climb down the tree.

As soon as he reaches the ground, you race over and engulf him in a strong hug. “You did it, Mark!” you all but yell into his ear. “You did it!”

Despite himself, Mark lets out a trembling bout of laughter, hugging you as close as he can. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, drinking in the steadiness that you bring to him. “Holy fuck.”

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the secluded spot, leaping from the tallest trees you can find for longer and longer distances. You take notes as Mark pulls the sticky but mostly solidified web fluid from the branches, analyzing how some of them seem to have solidified and cracked a little under stress. “They need a little more flexibility,” you tell him as the two of you pile the web fluid into a bag. You think you can recycle it to make more. “With the adjustments you make on the shooters, I think they’ll be even better next time.”

“Yeah.” It’s all Mark can say. As he sits down next to you on the subway, he suddenly feels so drained and tired that he automatically slumps and places his head on your shoulder.

A small, surprised laugh sounds next to his ear, and he feels your hand go up to pat his head. “You did great today,” you murmur.

He smiles. In that moment, while your hand continues stroking his hair, he feels like he could do anything.

Anything for the world.

Anything for you.

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