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#love weird uncle and weirder aunt

gx-gameon · 2 months

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Gx season 2 trip to Domino city in Yugi raising Jaden au

The funniest part will have to be when they take a field trip to Domino city.

Like all of Jaden’s friends are pumped! Sure there is an evil cult trying to take over the school, but the home town of Yugi Muto, Seto Kaiba, Joey Wheeler, and the Battle City tournament! This is awesome! It will be such a nice break.

Syrus and Hassleberry are so excited to run around the city. To see all the iconic places from the original battle city. They are also competing to be Jaden’s best friend. They are going to show Jaden all the cool spots because Jaden loves dueling and Battle city was the most iconic tournament ever. Obviously Jaden will love seeing the city.

Jaden is not excited. He grew up in this city and while he’s he loves dueling and the og Battle City is iconic, he grew up hearing the story from the people who dueled in it. He thinks this is his Oto-san’s idea. Bringing the whole school to their home town so he can fight the evil cult himself on his own turf is absolutely a Seto Kaiba move.

But he doesn’t put it past his Oto-san to dramatically reveal Jaden as his son in front of the whole school. Jaden wants it to be a secret until he is ready to tell his friends. He never wants the whole school to know.

But watching his Oto-san, Dad, Uncles, and Aunts wreck the evil cult possessing all of his friends would be awesome. Like it would be nice to not have to worry anymore, to have a normal year with all of his friends. And if the price is revealing his family relations than it’s a small price to pay.

Syrus and Hasselberry and talking his ear off the whole boat ride over and Jaden is emotionally preparing himself for his Oto-San and Uncle Mokuba meeting them at the docks.

Imagine his surprise when they’re not there. No one from his family meets them at the docks. Thats weird.

Even weirder when he finds out that they’re not even in the city, or country. They’re all playing in a tournament in Germany. Which means either this trip was not schedualed by his family and they didn’t know about it, (because there’s no way one of them wouldn’t have stayed behind to ‘bump’ into Jaden and his friends (Joey or Atem) or just straight up hijack the field trip (Seto and Mokuba)) or they did know it was happening and Yugi, the awesome Dad that he is, got all of their relatives out of the city so that Jaden would be left alone. But that only makes sense if they didn’t know about the cult. Jaden’s got a lot to think about.

Syrus and Hasselberry drag him all over the city trying to impress him with different spots of battle city but Jaden is busy thinking about the cult and his family’s mysterious absence. What if the cult got to them to?

He’s starting to get worried when Syrus drags them towards Kame game shop. Where they run into Solomon.

And for a split second Jaden panics. Because his Great grandpa loves him, there is no way he’s going to keep Jaden’s identity a secret.

Solomon who remembers how many people tried to kidnap Mokuba through out the years. How many people went after his grandson for both being the king of games and being Seto’s boyfriend and later husband. How important Jaden’s privacy is to both his parents. And how important Jaden’s secret is to him.

If there’s one thing Grandpa Moto isn’t, it’s a snitch. But he’s also a horrible liar. So he just acts super senile.

But he joins the boys on their little journey though the city, telling them stories of battle city and other adventures. But at one point he defiantly sends Syrus and Hasselberry on a wild goose chase (something about booster packs) so he can look at his great grandson and ask “what are you doing here?”

Very quickly they put together that; no this was not a trip planned or approved by the Kaiba family. There should be no field trip right now. That means that the cult planned it. What cult? The cult that’s possessing all of Jaden’s friends and classmates and trying to take over the world.

The rest of the field trip carries on as cannon and Jaden and his friends go back to duel academy.

Solomon immediately calls Yugi. “How was the tournament?”

“It was good. I won.”

“I had no doubt, by the way you’ll never guess who came into the store the other day.”

“Who grandpa?”

“Your son.”

Cue Yugi putting him on speaker because what is Jaden doing in town when he’s supposed to be to be at Duel academy???? Seto, Atem, Joey, Mokuba, Mai, and anyone who had traveled with them are all gathered around the phone listening as Solomon tells them everything.

The evil cult

The unapproved field trip

Jaden and his friends getting stuck in a digital world (where have I heard that before)

Seto is ready to storm the school and fire everyone. But the Genex tournaments about to begin at the school and they can’t interfere with it. They have to trust Jaden. But that doesn’t mean they can’t go as ‘Spectators’ and if thing go sideways or Jaden needs them to step in they will.

(They get there just in time to watch Jaden fight a copy of the wing dragon of Ra. All the battle city vets freak out!!)

#seto kaiba #dad yugi #yugioh gx #yugi moto #yugi mutou #judai yuki #jaden yuki #yami yugi #yugioh #atem #mokuba kaiba #syrus truesdale #tyrano hasseleberry #rivalshipping

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aemiron-main · 5 months

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TFS and Chuck E’s In Love: All Roads Truly Do Lead To Edward

So, in TFS, Walter has this line re: Charles Sinclair where he says that “Chucky’s in love with the only girl in school who’s too smart to date him”:

And the wording of that line seemed weirdly familiar to me, and then it hit me: it reminded me of the 1979 song “Chuck E’s In Love,” with Walter’s line verbally sounding exactly the same as the song title, despite Walter likely saying “Chucky,” instead of “Chuck E.”

However, this gets REALLY interesting when we consider the fact that the song “Chuck E’s In Love,” was about a real guy- Charles Weiss.

And guess what Charles Weiss’ middle name is.

Edward. Because of course it is. Because everything in this show somehow fucking leads back to Edward Creel at this point.

And if it seems like a stretch to connect this/that the Duffers may not have known that Charles Weiss’ middle name is Edward, I want to point out that it’s literally in the song title. That’s what the “E” in “Chuck E” stands for. It stands for Edward.

They totally know about this & totally chose to write Walter’s dialogue in a way that references the song on purpose.

It’s also weird to me that Walter is the one who says this line because while usually I’d just say that Walter, as a character, isn’t actually referencing the song “Chuck E’s In Love,” because TFS is set in 1959 & that song didn’t come out until 1979, I actually won’t be surprised if Walter WAS referencing that song- because , like I talked about in this post, Walter also references Rachel, Nevada by name- a town that didn’t exist until 1978.

It also gets even WEIRDER that Walter is the one to say this line, because like I talked about in this post, Walter Henderson has kissed his cousin:

And Charles Edward Weiss fell in love with his cousin- and that’s what the song Chuck E’s In Love was inspired by:

And this gets EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA weird when we consider that technically, Henry Creel and Edward Creel are eachother’s uncles across timelines, as Alice Creel is Edward’s mother and Virginia Creel is Edward’s sister and vice versa with Henry, so, by being Henry’s mother’s brother, Edward is Henry’s uncle, and vice versa.

Which, that then means that Edward’s kids would technically be cousins with Henry and vice versa, as a cousin is your uncle/aunt’s child, and Henry and Edward are eachother’s uncles. It’s all really weird.

What the hell is going on here??? Edward Creel is so fucking real.

#stranger things #the first shadow #edward creel #stranger things analysis

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luminnara · 2 years

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As someone that loves weird pets, whats is the weirdest one that you saw yourself? Mine was a friend having an alive bug collection with all sorts of thing from ants to scorpions and beetles. And dont forget the crickets, butterflies and dragonflies. Before you aso why, he just said why not 🤷‍♀️

(I am the weird pet friend)

I grew up on a farm so I had a lot of experiences involving finding injured wildlife and trying to nurse them back to health. This was in a very rural area and back before info about things like wildlife rescues was very widespread, so it made a lot of sense to try it on my own (pls call experts now, we have the technology)

I had things like wild doves and other birds, my dad almost bought a zebra once, I had lots of bugs…I had a giant African land snail for a while because my teacher just. Bred them?? So I was like hell yeah sign me up

Turtles, little lizards, my parents bred seahorses for a while (so also little snails and shrimp that lived in the tank too), frogs and toads…my friend’s aunt had a bobcat and my uncle had a coyote dog hybrid

Now the wildest thing I have are two turtles but you can bet your ASS when I own a house I’m gettin something weirder

I’m not really sure what the weirdest pet I’ve ever encountered was, though! I had some neighbors who did falconry, but the birds aren’t really pets…I’ve met people with zedonks and camels and stuff which are definitely harder to find in the US than in places where they’re common lol

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actually-autisticc · 2 years

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I feel like everyone always fights about who the best film adaptation of Spider-Man is.

Personally, I think each and every one of them brings an amazing way of being Spider-Man/Peter Parker

1. Tobey Maguire: Peter Parker

Tobey’s Peter was IMO the best Peter Parker. He was nerdy, awkward, and a push-over. He was intelligent and being Spider-Man took a toll of his grades. He fell in love with Mary Jane Watson even if Gwen Stacy was first I believe in comics. But when he was Spider-Man, he felt free. Even if it was cringey and made the best memes ever, Emo Maguire is literally the best thing ever. I loved that idea of Venom affecting Peter’s behavior as his civilian self and hero persona. Spider-Man became rough.

Rewatching Spider-Man 1 also made me realize that Tobey had the best origin story for a cinematic adaptation for the comic. Sure, he had organic webbing which wasn’t accurate but it was interesting. It made Peter seem more of a mutant which he kinda is. I love the concept of web shooters and Peter making his own fluid. It only makes him seem even more genius and makes me want my own (god sounds weird..but then white stuff that’s organic is weirder) but the organic webs were dope. The death of Uncle Ben was predictable if you knew the origins of Spider-Man but still hit hard. Aunt May was amazing and more comic accurate than the younger Mays. May isn’t supposed to be a milf (ailf?) but is older which only creates more problems for Peter to juggle like oh no my aunt is sick but there is a man with tentacle arms.

2. Andrew Garfield: Spider-Man

When I hear Spider-Man, it’s either Tobey Maguire’s Spider-Man or Andrew. I loved how snarky and quippy Andrew’s Spidey was. I am amazed at how they had first person view shots of Spider-Man crawling and zipping. It made you feel like you were Spider-Man. This suit? GORGEOUS. I hate the first movie’s eyes. Loved its uniqueness but hate the eyes. Tobey’s Aunt May would say “those eyes! Those horrible yellow eyes!” I also loved how Andrew played with kids in NYC behind the scenes. Andrew Garfield is also so hot.

3. Tom Holland: A Mix Of Both

I think Tom plays a brilliant mix of Spider-Man AND Peter.

It reminds me of this comic panel in the comics.

Anyway, I love how he both interacts with the Avengers and just civilians in general. He’s so sweet to them like in Home-coming. His Peter Parker was nerdy, able to get girls, and just so motivated to be the little guy. His suit was almost comic accurate in Homecoming (the eyes to Ditko’s design, the lighter blue). Tom’s interactions with the Avengers was great. Loved his quips and how it showed just how young he was. I didn’t like how Tony replaces Uncle Ben pretty much but I still loved him. Peter started being Spidey at a young age and Tom did it well. Tobey and Andrew seemed a bit mature but no shame.

Can we maybe just stop arguing who the best adaptation is?

#spider-man #marvel #Tom Holland #andrew garfield #spiderman tobey maguire #toby maguire

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watergave · 3 years

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MAXIE KILMARTIN.

GENERAL.

NAME. maxime kilmartin

ALIASES. maxie

AGE. sixteen

BIRTHDATE. june 23

GENDER. female

SEXUALITY. closeted bisexual

STATUS. in a relationship

ETHNICITY. german

NATIONALITY. german american

BIRTHPLACE. new york city, new york

RESIDENCE. san juan hill, new york city

OCCUPATION. waitress

PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT. 5’8”

WEIGHT. 130 lbs

BODY TYPE. mesomorph

SKIN TONE. fair

HAIRSTYLE. wavy

HAIR COLOR. brown

EYE COLOR. brown

SCARS. none

FACECLAIM. tba

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS. relies on other people, happy-go-lucky, good at hiding things that bother her, yet a poor liar

HABITS. voice gets high and squeaky when she gets nervous

HOBBIES. botany

FEARS tba.

FAMILY.

FATHER. benedikt kilmartin (alive)

MOTHER. ines kilmartin (deceased)

SISTER. none

BROTHER. isaac kilmartin, jonathan kilmartin, arnold kilmartin

SIGNIFICANT OTHER. numbers

SON. none

DAUGHTER. none

EXTRA.

MBTI. enfj

ENNEAGRAM. tba.

ALIGNMENT. true neutral

HISTORY.

her mother passed away the same day she was born, leaving her father who was already struggling to get a job and her three older brothers who weren't much older than her.

desperate, her father eventually turned to drug dealing to pay the bills. he was eventually caught and arrested. when the cops came to the apartment, her older brother shrieked at her in a hushed whisper to hide! despite their attempts, they were found. later on, maxie would realize her brother was trying to prevent them from getting thrown in the system.

maxie and her siblings were split up among family. she was sent to their aunt who was already a foster parent, one of her kids being karen hansen. maxie adored karen, pretending like she was her long-lost big sister. a good fantasy to fall into when her uncle's brother asked her weird questions.

her uncle's brother got weirder and weirder until she woke up to find him looming over her. she froze as karen sent a blade through his hand, but caught hold of herself in time to follow her out the door.

doc found them the next morning and brought them to valentina. desperate not to return to her aunt, she nodded along as karen argued with her. ( though, she made up for karen's brashness by being extra thankful to miss valentina and being double polite to her. )

karen eventually left, but maxie stayed behind. she spent nearly a year sleeping in their basement.

during this time, she realized her love for plants. her brother told her once that their mother would plant the most beautiful petunias in little pots near their kitchen window. after school, maxie would tend to the plants around the shop. eventually, neighbors started paying her a some sum to offer them advice on their own flowers and greens.

fate brought her newly-eighteen year old oldest brother to doc's drugstore. he had saved up a good amount and was taking night classes. he'd successfully gotten custody of their brothers, but he'd been told that maxie ran off. he was looking to be an appetence to a pharmacist when he found his long-lost baby sister.

he was able to secure custody of her as well as an apartment in san juan hill. maxie could still visit doc and valentina and take care of their plants whenever she wanted to.

the bills added up, however, and her brother had to drop night classes to keep up. at the moment, they're barely making it as it is.

with the help of rhonda, maxie got a job as a waitress at the diner she worked at. it would help with bills.

she's still very close to karen, still viewing her as an older sister. she frequently begs her to come stay with her brother. karen let down her pride just enough to agree to keep a few things over there, mostly her fancy things that she was afraid would get stolen. maxie protects her nice dress and her dancing shoes with her life.

#m. kilmartin

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pimpernals · 2 years

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MAXIE KILMARTIN.

GENERAL.

NAME. maxime kilmartin

ALIASES. maxie

AGE. sixteen+

BIRTHDATE. june 23

GENDER. female

SEXUALITY. closeted bisexual

STATUS. in a relationship

ETHNICITY. german

NATIONALITY. german american

BIRTHPLACE. new york city, new york

RESIDENCE. san juan hill, new york city

OCCUPATION. waitress

PHYSICAL.

HEIGHT. 5’8”

WEIGHT. 130 lbs

BODY TYPE. mesomorph

SKIN TONE. fair

HAIRSTYLE. wavy

HAIR COLOR. brown

EYE COLOR. brown

SCARS. none

FACECLAIM. tba

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS. tba

HABITS. tba.

HOBBIES. botany

FEARS tba.

FAMILY.

FATHER. benedikt kilmartin (alive)

MOTHER. ines kilmartin (deceased)

SISTER. none

BROTHER. isaac kilmartin, jonathan kilmartin, arnold kilmartin

SIGNIFICANT OTHER. numbers

SON. none

DAUGHTER. none

EXTRA.

MBTI. tba.

ENNEAGRAM. tba.

ALIGNMENT. tba.

HISTORY.

her mother passed away the same day she was born, leaving her father who was already struggling to get a job and her three older brothers who weren't much older than her.

karen eventually left, but maxie stayed behind. she spent nearly a year sleeping in their basement.

he was able to secure custody of her as well as an apartment in san juan hill. maxie could still visit doc and valentina and take care of their plants whenever she wanted to.

the bills added up, however, and her brother had to drop night classes to keep up. at the moment, they're barely making it as it is.

with the help of rhonda, maxie got a job as a waitress at the diner she worked at. it would help with bills.

#visage: m. kilmartin #headcanon: m. kilmartin #interaction: m. kilmartin #study: m. kilmartin

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ladydeubug · 1 year

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The Tenth Love

but numbers are just numbers really, even though it feels like a blessing being able to count them:

begins

grows

solidifies

breaks

rebuilds

and breaks

re-rebuilds

and breaks

AND BREAKS

but keeps on rebuilding until there’s no more breaking

still, rationalizing their meanings to me is a waste of time. as if time isn't to be wasted and savored and hated and flavored of moments that take you back from craving death. and time is an enemy at the same time it's a friend, and making you love is its only debt.

The First Love

is to the ones who gifted love. It is to teach how to love and who to love. It is to make you need it or to make you fear it. It is made of your pillow and it sounds like a lullaby. It is to fight away nightmares and let dreams come by. It is ethereal, it is Agape, it’s far from perfect but it’s suave. You’ll never know when it leaves you, but many say you’ll be left with an ungrounding pain.

Until then.

The Second Love

is somewhat doubtful. Nobody actually yearns for closure with their cousins unless it’s for pleasure. In my case, for my parents’ pleasure of knowing their kid is socializing with their siblings’ kids.

And to me, the thin line between Love and Hate doesn't make them the opposite. That thin line may as well be the ends of one’s fingertips interlaced with the beginning of the other’s hand. So I do feel something for my grandparents after all, and this hatred comes back like a mirror when I realize how villainous it sounds. Meh.

But if they stop holding hands and part ways, the vacuum now created is named Indifference, and the gap is so big it’s enough for all my uncles and some aunts to fit.

This love is necessary to make you understand two things about being human: that everybody is flawed and constantly in hurt, and that nobody knows what they're doing with their life. This love is humbling, it's dumb, it teaches empathy, and maybe how to cook. You learn to make faces and to hold a grudge, and you finally understand the family you were born to.

The Third Love

gets deep within your guts. It is one that makes your stomach churn and turn, and you love it. It is one that blows your brain into pieces and you're left collecting it from the floor. It is one that teaches you how cruel flowers can be and how fucked humanity is. It teaches you to curse.

It is one that makes you see letters and numbers and symbols and images floating around your head and leaves you the choice to love them or hate them. This love respects this choice because it actually matters to them and they know your worth. It is a love that battles the world with you because they remember very well what it's like to be the only soldier in your platoon. And they've been to enough parties to know how lonely they can be. They've been drunk many times to remember how sour the taste can be. But they have gathered all their guts and their organs from the floor and they loved it. And they keep fighting to make you as sadistic and as miserable as they are. But in reality, all this love can be is deep and big, like the stars we see in space telescopes, not the ones we blindly look at in the sky.

The Fourth Love

is a star we blindly gaze at from a clear sky. It shines naively and makes you forget it is just a big mass of gas, really. This love is silly, and it feels like a new first (it isn't like The First Love, but rather a first love). It is silent, so you stay silent. It is undemanding, so you stay undemanding. It is innocently desirable, and you stay desirable. It is estranged, but you keep it that way to not make the ‘e’ go away. It makes Love and Hate stare at each other’s hands until Indifference leaves, but it never does, and you swear to yourself you don't care, that you're okay (and maybe you are). And though you never swore to keep it a secret, it remains unspoken as it doesn't want to make itself heard. And gets weird and weirder as you remember the scene that used to constantly run through your heart, and did you really think that was romance? And your heart doesn't know how to dance, but it stomps its feet to the beat. It used to be a cute love, and it used to hurt like a bitch, but Indifference wins over one more time, as you really don't care to come back and fight.

The Fifth Love,

and this is the one that moves me the most, is one that is so selfless it forgets to be jealous, so breathtaking it forgets likes air, so faithful it forgets religions, so infuriating it forgets to be angry, so loud it forgets to be quiet, so silent it forgets to scream. It can be so childish while being so mature and be so empty while tempting to be full. This love encapsulates you and gravitates around you because it knows you’d do the same, even if you never do. The meanings mean and what goes unsaid is known, while the avoided is forgiven and all bad undone. It is so happy that is sad because they would do anything to make you happy when it does or does not make them happy. It is so small it wouldn't fit in hate, but so big it would fix the entire planet. It is so sorry it forgets to be apologetic and so punk it forgets to be polite. It is so thankful that you forget what this word means when repeated tirelessly, but you are quickly reminded through their actions. It is so lovely that people forget that it is Love and so hated some forget to say I love you. Either way, what is known can go unsaid and it stays beautiful and painless as it ever was because it is as simple as it's supposed to be.

The Sixth Love

is romantic. When I think about it, I think of a boy who loved me. He did because I said I did. I did love our conversations, and I love waking up to his texts. I did love that he was a nerd and a metalhead. I loved that he found me interesting and that he was happy for me coming to terms with my gender. I loved that I could be friends with his friends and that he’d be my friends’ friend. I loved that my parents liked him and rooted for us. I loved that I felt like a normal teenager, until I didn't. Because out of a sudden, this love I thought I felt for him fell down the hill on a lake. And I saw the truth reflected there:

.miʜ ϱnivol bǝvol υoY

The Seventh Love

(I know this is too extent, sometimes you don't think there's much to say, but suddenly there is) is for thyself. (ok now im at loss for words. i still struggle to understand that one. cant expect me to be certain of what im writing. sorry for letting you down on this one. ill come back with something better once i figure it out.)

(im back. i must be a disappointment. still have nothing.)

Back Again. Forget all the apologizing, I'm not sorry, you should be. Reading into my thoughts and feelings that way, are you not ashamed? You got yourself relating a bit too much there, am I right? Shame on you. All this bullshit I wrote is MY shit, only MINE.

I AM SORRY FOR THE PREVIOUS PARAGRAPH THAT WAS MEAN AND I DON’T MEAN ALL THAT ONLY THE PART WHERE I SAY THESE THOUGHTS ARE MINE IS TRUE CAUSE I KNOW IT DOENS’T NECESSARILY APPLY TO EVERYONE THE SAME SO SORRY

(and i still don't have an answer on seventh love.)

The Eighth Love

is similar to the Sixth because there were also lakes and hard truths (at least this time there were no ‘I love you’s). This love is sensual. It is the want to kiss, cuddle, go out and have fun, stay in and watch TV, be in love, and stay in love. But this love isn't those things. This love is wanting when I can never have. This love is the fear of love.

The Ninth Love

is dedicated to the ones who couldn't read the signs. It is there for the ones who didn't know the unsaid, or for those that didn't want to mean. This love is a graveyard for those I couldn't name a love and those who refused to love back.

As you know, a graveyard is basically composed of tombstones, flowers, the weather, and an altar. The tombstones of each one I still love are ornamented in three different ways: Hatred, Indifference, and [redacted].

Hatred is for friends who hurt someone I love, something I care about. It's for the neighbor who has no mercy, who has no empathy. Hatred is for the greedy, for the unsatisfied who will step on others’ backs to achieve their peace of mind and make it everybody else’s problem, for those whose peace of mind is disgusting and dishonorable, it is for those who, deep down, I know don't deserve to live but still do because who am I to know it.

Indifference, as you may have guessed, is for my distant family, the ones that hurt while I'm still bound to their disgraceful blood (my disgraceful blood). It is also for those whose friendship and attention I craved, for those who had bigger goals than to rely on me, and those who shore too bright to let me rely on them.

[Redacted] isnt its actual name. Its real name is much too strong to be displayed (more than love, more than any english word). It is for those who I forgot I once loved, for those whose love was too grand for me. One Angel is buried there (hopefully im buried in their graveyard too).

The flowers vary in specimen and quantity. If the metaphor inst clear yet, ill tell you that they represent the amount of thought, energy, and love (or hate or indifference or [redacted]) I put into them, in hopes of it flourishing into something better next time.

The Sun is my happiness, the Rain is my tears. They change my perspective on love every day. It’s hard to say whether I love or hate them when they’re fighting non-stop, though I do wish this place was cloudy and nebulous more often, then I wouldn't have to visit it as much.

(The altar is mostly for decorative purposes and less for religious trauma.)

The Sixth Love

is the last because it is the one I'll have. Not much is known about it, only fantasized and imagined, but it is sworn to be the sweetest. I choose to believe the Tenth Muse’s poems are right in their descriptions, and that I shall love her, and keep loving her until I die because I can't afford to put her on my graveyard. And it will be blissful and truthful and lustful and sincere, once you become me and I become you, and we will be one, for love has won.

In the verge of my 19 i beg you to make yourself known, because time wont be enough to love you, even if time is forever.

But if i do already know you, I'll pray to Venus and I'll pray to Cupid and they shall give me your heart, for your heart is to be mine, not in possession, but in the presence (please make yourself present.)

P.S.: the seventh love is trusting yourself above others. and taking yourself on dates. and appreciating your individuality. and being the absurd. and loving thy neighbor as thyself amen.

— Debbie

#writing #prose #creative writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #melancholia #love #types of love #hopelessly romantic #gothic

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apinchofm · 2 years

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Busy-Bodies

Requested by @whoffle-747: I love your ADOW human AUs 💗. Maybe one with Marcus and Phoebe are dating in secret. Like the family has noticed that Marcus has been acting strange and it’s because he’s secretly in a serious relationship with his new girlfriend Phoebe.

"All right, I am done!" Marcus kicked away from his desk.

"You are awful chipper for someone who has a long A&E shift." Matthew said, "Diana was hoping you would come by for dinner. The twins want you to read to them,"

"Uh, yeah. Long shift tonight, but I will come by Sunday, promise," Marcus quickly said before leaving.

Matthew looked at Miriam, "Is it just me, or is he getting weirder by the day?"

"No, he's always been like that," Miriam murmured. His son's eccentricities were nothing new.

"No, I mean. He's more grown-up," Matthew said.

"He's been a grownup for a while," Miriam pointed out amused, "But now you mention it, he's going home earlier, he doesn't go out as much."

"Perhaps focusing more on his medical practice?" Matthew suggested, "I saw him picking up tampons the other day, he said he was teaching a workshop at one of the local secondaries."

Miriam scoffed, "No, Jenny from gyno at John Radcliffe does that. So he's still weird,"

.....

Ysabeau was also confused by her grandson's weird behaviour, especially when they were having their monthly catch up. They were on facetime when she noticed.

"Honey, the heating's going weird," A voice said and the woman had a blanket. Marcus' eyes widened.

"Bye grand-mere!" He quickly ended the call, leaving her very confused.

"Marcus hung up on me," She complained to Philippe when he walked into the room.

"He is a grown-up, mon coeur," Philippe reassured, "He was probably busy,"

"There was someone there with him," Ysabeau said. She had seen the hands that had wrapped a blanket around him.

"Well, then. Did you really want him to continue?" Ysabeau thought about it and then shook her head.

....

A well-dressed man, and a brunette woman.

Phoebe was fine with Marcus keeping his relationship with her private. She preferred it, especially considering the attention his family could bring.

She was working from home one day when she received two very unexpected visitors at the door.

"Hi," The two looked very confused, not expecting her to be at the door, "Can I help you?"

"We're looking for Marcus," The man said gruffly.

"He's on shift today," Phoebe explained, "Can I help you in any way?"

"Yes, quick question - who are you?" The man asked rudely, and the woman slapped him.

"I'm Phoebe Taylor, I live here. Who are you?"

"Freyja. Baldwin. His aunt and uncle, just checking in." Freyja introduced. She had a wide smile on her face, "Wait, you live here?"

"Yes, I've lived here for six months," Phoebe replied cautiously, "Do you want to come in?"

Baldwin was about to say yes, but Freyja, grabbed her brother's arm, "No, just tell Marcus we said hi. Bye Phoebe Taylor!" She dragged her brother back to the car, and the two left and Phoebe was very confused.

Meanwhile, Baldwin and Freyja went to update Matthew and Mirima on their new discovery.

Freyja bounced into the lab, Matthew looking at his sister amused, "What?"

"We found out what's wrong with Marcus!" But she looked too happy for it to be bad.

"What is it?" Miriam asked with interest.

"He has a girlfriend, she's been living with him for six months," Baldwin said and glared at his siblings, "I have better things to do than investigate the ongoings in an adult's life," He cancelled meetings, thinking he would have to take his nephew to rehab.

"But he has a girlfriend!" Freyja squealed, grabbing Matthew's shoulders, shaking them until he was laughing, "And she's so pretty!"

"That's good. Baldwin, can you do a check?" Matthew asked. Miriam and Freyja looked at him pleadingly.

"I hate you all."

.....

"I met your aunt and uncle today," Phoebe said to Marcus that evening as they made dinner.

"Which ones?" He asked. No one had texted, saying they were in town.

"Um, Freyja and Baldwin," Phoebe recalled, "They seemed nice, if not a bit strange. They were looking for you,"

Marcus groaned, stopping his chopping, "Grand-mere sent them. Everyone has been saying how different I've been acting.

"Maybe we should tell them? I mean, you've met my family," Phoebe reasoned.

"Okay, are you sure?" Marcus checked, "My family and everything that comes with it is... a lot."

"I love you, and all your baggage," Phoebe assured, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I think I can handle your family,"

"I love you too." Marcus said, kissing her quickly, "And I apologise in advance for my family. We're insane."

#adow fic #modern au #marcus whitmore #phoebe taylor #marcus x phoebe #matthew clairmont #miriam shephard #baldwin montclair #freyja de clermont

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matbenetti17 · 3 years

Photo

To celebrate the alliance between the Harpy Village and the Emperor's Coven Juno, the head of the Harpy Council, has organized a party. And she decided to make Tempest and some other girls sing for the occasion, this is what happened soon after their show.

Hunter: So you came! I thought you said you'd never dance with someone like me.

Tempest: Now don't flatter yourself. I only came to sing for your uncle, certainly not to dance with you. Now shut it, he's watching here-

Hunter: he makes her do a twirl

Tempest: Since when do you dance anyway~?

Hunter: Necessity. Don't get strange ideas. another twirl And since when do you sing that dull and choirs stuff? You never seemed like the type

Tempest: There are so many things you don't know about me~ chuckles No anyway, if it was up to me I wouldn't even come to this party...

Hunter: For that matter neither would I.

Tempest: ...I did it more for my mother, and the others of the village were counting on me to be here

Hunter: looks down Yeah...

Tempest: she looks at him for a moment, worried Did your uncle do something to you..?

Hunter: he lets her go WHAT?! How dare you?! gets away from the middle of the dance floor

Tempest: Hunter wait! she follows him, raising the hem of her dress to not stumble on it

Hunter: is about to go down the steps but catches eyes with Belos and pulls his ears back

Tempest: H-Hunter-!

Hunter: he clenches his fists, turns around taking Tempest's hand and dragging her back to the center Come on, let's get over this quickly.

Tempest: looks down O-okay... they both remain silent dancing for a few moments then she looks at him I-I'm sorry for before! I didn't mean to insinuate anything-!

Hunter: Forget it.

Tempest: No now listen to me! I don't know exactly how things are between you and the Emperor, and I don't even want to get you to talk about it, I'm not intrusive like- she widens her and looks down Someone... I know... she clears her throat What I want to say is that: if you have any problem with him you can tell me, I've confided with you about my father, it wouldn't be fair if I were the only one of us to always vent...

Hunter: he remains silent thinking about it for a moment, also turning a glance at Belos and then whispering Maybe at another time.

Tempest: she looks at him in surprise and smiles

Hunter: after a while he gets close and whispers in her ear Temp, who are those two who keep point at us and laugh?

Tempest: Uh? Who? she turns and blushes when she sees them

Apollinea and Artemis: both wave at them Yuhuh~

Tempest: turns at him O-oh those~? Those are just my aunts Apollinea and Artemis~ Leave them be, they're a bit airheaded~ she giggles nervously, then waves the two off and whispers at them Cut it out!

Hunter: They embarrass you... I like them~

Tempest: Hey!

Hunter: chuckles

Tempest: she glares at him and stamps his foot

Hunter: is about to scream in pain but bites his lip

Tempest: That'll teach you u.u gets off the floor as soon as the song ends

Hunter: watches her go You little-

soon after

Hunter: approaches Tempest The one who's dancing with the ambassador is..?

Tempest: That's Lamia, my other mom, I told you about her right? she smiles sweetly looking at them They are so beautiful together~

Hunter: ...A-anyway, you too- You're not... that bad, today.

Tempest: looks at him amused Was that a compliment~?

Hunter: Now you're the one who's flattering herself! he looks the other way embarrassed I-I was just trying to be polite-!

Tempest: nudges him Relax for once, now the Emperor is not around to tell you how to behave~ And by the way, for what it's worth... she comes over and fixes the Coven crest pinned on his sash ...You too look very elegant tonight she smiles at him

Hunter: Uhh... Thanks?

Tempest: holds back a chuckle You're not used to compliments, are you~?

Hunter: 'Cause you do? e.e

Tempest: Of course~ she turns around slapping him with her hair

Hunter: H-hey!

Tempest: Modestly I'm pretty popular~

Hunter: rolls his eyes

Tempest: Just yesterday I was talking about it with a schoolmate of mine- she widens her eyes seeing Apollinea and Artemis approaching them Oh Titan not them again! looks around, takes Hunter by the wrist, and drags him away

Hunter: What are you doing??

Tempest: Shut up and walk!

Hunter: I can't get away from the Emperor-! Tempest!

Tempest: she drags him to a secluded corner of the village, not far from the party and checks that no one arrives

Hunter: May I know what's got to you-?!

Tempest: Shh! without thinking she puts a hand over his mouth Those two nosy aunts of mine were aiming at us, I couldn't let them stop us! They would have bombarded us with embarrassing questions- she widens her eyes and pulls her hand away YOU LICKED IT! WHAT PROBLEMS DO YOU HAVE??! she wipes her hand on the hem of his jacket

Hunter: Hey what are you doing?! This is my good suit!

Tempest: The spit is yours and you keep it!

Hunter: hears someone coming Shh!

Tempest: whispers Is it them?

Hunter: I don't know.

Apollinea: I can no longer see them Artemis! Who knows where they ended up!

Artemis: C'mon, let's leave them alone, they'll have other things to do~ giggles

Apollinea: Yeah~ she makes kisses sound with her mouth and giggles Let's go see Hecate~ goes away taking her arm

Hunter: he blushes as he hears Apollinea

Tempest: whispers What are they saying?

Hunter: N-nothing, forget it... They are gone

Tempest: she sighs of relief sitting on the ground Oh thank the Titan~

Hunter: Tempest?

Tempest: Mh?

Hunter: What did you mean before? I mean, what questions would those two ask us?

Tempest: blushes violently Er... Oh look what a beautiful moon there is today~

Hunter: Temp...

Tempest: gets up No I mean it! Look how beautiful~

Hunter: Tempest-

Tempest: I've never seen one like this~

Hunter: takes her by the shoulders, turning her towards him For the love of the Titan, would you shut up??!

Tempest: I-I was trying to change the subject okay?! They would have been stupid questions. Thats it.

Hunter: he sighs letting her go You're acting weird, weirder than usual-

Tempest: W-why don't we go back to the party~? The Emperor must be looking for you~ she giggles nervously

Hunter: He can wait!

Tempest: looks surprised at him Are you serious?

Hunter: Of course I'm serious! Can I be the worried one of us for once?

Tempest: blushes violently You are worried... about me?

Hunter: he blushes too as soon as he realizes what he said N-no! I didn't mean it! I meant- I mean I-

Tempest: smiles amused and kisses his cheek Thank you~ she runs off the hideout and goes back to the party

Hunter: he stands there with his eyes wide open, not quite understanding what just happened, touching his cheek

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onlyangelcas · 3 years

Text

rosé flowing with your chosen family

my addition to @spnwomenweek ☼ day 2: family | read on ao3

“Claire,” Kaia says softly, placing her hand on Claire’s shoulder. “This is your family, what are you so worried about?”

Claire sighs, unsure of what exactly is so nerve wracking about walking into a house filled with her loved ones. Her back is resting against the side of her beat up station wagon, one sneaker kicking uselessly at the gravel under her feet and Kaia is looking at her with those concerned eyes that make her stomach knot up with guilt.

In front of her, past the somewhat wild front lawn, is Sam and Eileen’s new home, where their family is gathered for a last minute housewarming party. Sam and Eileen had put in an offer a few days after their wedding back in March, eager to get out of the dingy bunker and begin their life as a married couple. Claire was happy for them, Sam deserved a life of domesticity, just as Cas and Dean did.

It was weird, those first few weeks after the Winchsesters had defeated Chuck, God, whatever. Claire was devastated by the news of Cas being taken by the Empty, she hardly moved from her bed in the days following. Left confused, broken, and grieving an angel who was like her father in more ways than just his appearance. Kaia was supportive, of course, content to cuddle up next to her and run a soothing hand through her hair or convince her to eat a real meal at least once a day.

Before she even had the chance to fully process the loss of Cas, Jack and Dean had rescued him from the Empty. She remembered Jody’s voice calling out to her, she had slid from her bed and padded toward the front door. Claire was shocked to see Cas standing there, normal trench coat and suit traded in for a sweater and jeans, his hand tightly holding Dean’s. The two men had looked at her with concern, probably taking in her wrinkled pajamas, two-day-old bun, and the dark circles under her eyes. She had passed on asking the millions of questions that had flooded her mind in favor of wrapping herself tightly around Cas.

Claire had never been one to show her emotions so viscerally, but in that moment she couldn’t help the tears that quickly rolled down her cheeks. The joy of seeing Cas, when she thought he was gone for good, standing in her living room full of life and having apparently worked out whatever feelings he had for Dean, was overwhelming. Cas held her tightly while Dean ran a soothing hand across her back, and she wept openly for the first time since the Bad Place.

After that, things had returned to normal. Not normal for Claire, because all she had really known for the last few years was hunting, but the kind of normal where she didn’t have to kill monsters or worry that Sam and Dean were off getting themselves in trouble. There weren’t any monsters to hunt anymore, which left her feeling empty and useless for months. Kaia had pulled her out of that, like Kaia always did, and they decided to travel across the country and see the places they had never been able to enjoy before. It was freeing, to be on the open road, enjoying just being alive.

Claire and Kaia often passed through Kansas to visit Cas, Dean, and Jack at their house on the lake or to swing by the bunker to see Sam and Eileen. They never missed a birthday, wedding, or big event. Which is how they found themselves back in Kansas, Jody had called to let them know everyone was getting together for a housewarming party for Sam and Eileen. Her and Kaia had been in Memphis, enjoying barbecue and Blues, so the drive wasn’t too much of a hassle.

“Earth to blondie,” Kaia says, snapping Claire back to the present. “Are we going inside anytime soon? I’m starving, babe.”

Claire clears her throat, “Yeah, sorry. Lost in my head.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She looks into Kaia’s eyes, the usual soft brown painted with worry, and smiles in hopes it will ease her girlfriend’s concern, “No, I’m good, just overthinking. Let’s go eat.”

Kaia gives her a tentative smile, wrapping her hand around Claire’s and pulling her in for a chaste kiss.

They approach the front door, Claire raises her hand to knock but before her knuckles make contact the door swings open, revealing Sam with a grin spread across his face. He quickly wraps them both up in a hug and pulls them inside the loud and lively house. Claire and Kaia congratulate him on the house before breaking away to greet Jody, Donna, Alex, and Patience.

After hugs are exchanged and road trip updates are given, Claire slips away to the kitchen for a drink and Kaia heads toward Cas and Eileen who are clearly gossiping in ASL in the far corner of the living room.

Claire yanks open the fridge and helps herself to a beer, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink before propping herself against the counter.

“Hello Claire,” Jack says happily from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, Claire hadn’t even noticed him when she first came in.

“Jack, jeeze, you scared me.”

“My apologies, I didn’t realize you hadn’t seen me.” Jack responds, his hands wrapped around a can of root beer.

“Yeah, I guess I was a little lost in thought.” She says, turning her head toward the door where the sound of Dean’s laughter is filtering through.

There’s a pause then, as Claire contemplates how she ended up here, with this ragtag group of former hunters, angels, and a witch that she calls family. It’s weird, she had always expected her dad to show back up one day and make their family whole again, back when she was young and naive. It’s even weirder, she thinks, that this band of misfits has become a better image of family than she could ever imagine to have with her mother and father. Claire had come to think of herself as a combination of Novak-Winchester-Mills-Hanscum for quite some time now, content to be part of this chosen family.

She still missed her mom and dad, from time to time, wondered what life would have been like if they had stayed with her. Claire never let herself spend too long on that path, knowing that if things had been different she would have never known Jody or Alex, she would never have known Cas, or Sam and Dean, she never would have fallen in love with Kaia. She has a family now; she found a mother in Jody and Donna, Castiel and Dean became her kind-of dads, Sam and Eileen the closest thing she has to an uncle and aunt, Alex and Patience are her sisters, Jack her brother. It’s weird and mismatched, but it’s hers and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Claire,” Jack says, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You seem troubled.”

Claire flashes him a watery smile, suddenly overcome with affection for her perfectly messed up family, “Actually the opposite.”

Jack smiles back at her, a gap-toothed goofy grin, “Oh, I thought you were upset.”

She pushes herself away from the counter, abandoning her beer on the stone surface, and makes her way over to Jack. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Claire, anything.” Jack says, his head tilting up slightly to lock eyes with Claire, who is standing close enough that she’s marginally taller than Jack sitting down.

Claire pulls Jack into a hug, wrapping her arms so tightly around him that her ribs ache, “I love you.”

Jack slowly loops his arms around Claire, resting his cheek against her shoulder, “I love you, too.”

She lets out a wet laugh, giving Jack one final squeeze before pulling away.

“Well,” A gruff voice says from the doorway. “Isn’t that just a sight for sore eyes.”

Claire whips her head around to find Dean lounging against the doorframe, his face soft with a bit of fondness in his eyes.

“Hello Dean,” Jack says, his face still twisted up in a goofy grin.

Dean stalks forward into the kitchen, quickly wrapping the two up in a warm embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of their heads. He pulls away just as quickly as he pulled them in, locking eyes with Claire and giving her a look that conveys all the words he can’t say out loud.

“Jack helped me get a bunch of Sammy’s baby pictures scanned onto a CD and I’m gonna put ‘em up on the TV for everyone, you don't wanna miss it.” Dean says, giving her a gentle pat on the back.

She laughs, “Sounds mortifying, I can’t wait to see Sam’s face.”

“C’mon,” He says, jerking his head toward the living room before turning and heading out the door.

Claire watches him and Jack disappear into the other room, smiling to herself as she snatches up her beer and heads into the chaos. Cas, Kaia, and Eileen are still deep in conversation. Jody and Donna are whispering quietly to each other on the other side of the room. Rowena, Patience, and Alex are pressed together on the couch, a martini glass dangling from Rowena’s hand as she gestures wildly, obviously recounting an insane tale as the other women listen with rapt attention.

She slides in next to Sam, who is leaning against the stairway railing, eyeing Jack and Dean with suspicion as they fiddle with the disc player next to the TV.

“This is a great house, Sammy.”

Sam looks down at her, smiling slightly, “It’s not bad, but it’s the people who really make it home.”

Claire returns his smile, then turns back to the scene in front of her; all her favorite people, the people she loves most in the world, gathered in one room.

Dean always says, family don’t end with blood, something his own stand-in father, Bobby, used to tell him. Claire never met Bobby, but she thinks he might have been onto something.

#spnwomenweek #they are a big family!!!#writing in claire’s pov is new to me so i hope i did her justice #claire novak #spn #supernatural

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starlight-vixen-emiko · 3 years

Text

Team Miraculous Introduction

Hey all! This is coming out of nowhere.

Basically I had this fanfic chapter about the Lukanette and Adrigami fankids I created becoming the new wielders of the miraculous...And Marinette and Luka’s oldest son becoming the new Ladybug.

I am posting this because @lenoraishere said she wanted to write about him so I felt I may as well post this introduction chapter.

The reason why Halloween is mentioned is because this is an introduction chapter to a Halloween fanfic I wrote last year...Speaking of which that fanfic is still in my files and I do intend to finish it and publish it once Halloween rolls around. Soon my darlings!

So anyways I hope you guys enjoy...This was my first time writing fankids and I will be humble and say this may not be the best introduction.

I hope you enjoy it Lenora...Believe me this doesn’t count as your birthday gift I have something better planned. Then again I realize your birthday is fast approaching and I have lost track of time! Eep!

~~~~~

My name is Leon Couffaine-Cheng. If you haven't heard of me, I am the son of Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Luka Couffaine, otherwise known as Ladybug and Viperion, the protectors of Paris.

The best protectors in the world. But shortly after I turned 15, my mom told me she felt a "sign from the Miraculous box" or something. I still remember it. It seemed like a typical day with my parents and little sisters. Then my mom gave me a devious smile and showered me with compliments when I just wanted to go to school early.

She told me that the box chose me to be the newer holder of the Ladybug Miraculous.

I just didn't get it. I mean, being a superhero sounds cool and all. Still, I don't know why I, in particular, was chosen to be the Ladybug. Or, as much as Tikki disagrees, I call myself Luckybug.

I figured my 13-year-old sister Marina was more suited. She is a fiery tomboy with electric blue hair and long pigtails, and she can skate and bike through anything. But my dad smiled at her and said she was chosen to carry the snake miraculous, Sass. Which she happily accepted.

Then there is my youngest sister Melanie. A beautiful little 9-year-old girl, kind-hearted, mature, helps around the house, and likes to bake sweets.

I figured Melanie would be the new Ladybug since she is Ladybug's biggest fan. She was super close to her Ladybug dolls when she was younger.

But recently, Melanie discovered a connection to the mouse miraculous.

I figured if this whole Ladybug thing did not work out for me, my little sister could take her place. But my parents are already protective of her and would prefer she not be a superhero until she is older.

It was too much for me to take, and I just wanted to go to school and have a typical day with my friends.

I met up with my best friend Masamori first.

Masamori Tsurugi-Agreste. Son of Adrien Agreste and Kagami Tsurugi. Also known as Chat Noir and Ryuuko.

They are the second greatest heroes of Paris, as much as Uncle Adrien and Aunt Kagami hate it when I say that.

Masamori lit up as usual when he saw me and said. "You'll never guess Leon! My mother told me that I was called by the dragon kwami Long!"

Long floated out of Masa's necklace and greeted me with a bow.

I looked at Masa straight in the eye with a sullen face.

"Leon, what's wrong?" Masa yelped.

I was about to open my mouth, and then Tikki appeared in front of me.

"I have been chosen to be Leon's partner!" Tikki said.

Masamori was overjoyed, but I couldn't help but vent to him about how this was a lot to take in. I question why I was chosen instead of Melanie.

We sat on a bench, and Masa gave me a pep talk. "This is a huge responsibility Leon, but I believe you can take it. There is a bigger reason for this, and weirder things have happened!"

As we walked through the crowd of students, I suddenly became self-conscious about the earrings I had to wear.

I covered my ears and said, "My dad can make earrings work, but I can't."

"You never looked better, Leon!" Masamori said.

I groaned under my breath and continued walking.

And then, just when I thought I could catch my breath.

"Leon! Take a look!" Masa said.

Up ahead was the recent transfer student Jinfeng. A beautiful Chinese girl with shiny long hair.

Now I felt even more self-conscious. I just wanted to hide my ears and run away. But I dropped my bag mid-escape and had no choice but to grab it. I had no idea Jinfeng was behind me.

"Leon," she said in a voice that made my heart skip a beat. "I love those earrings. They really suit you."

I turned out of politeness and tried to keep a benign expression, but I felt a big drop of sweat on my forehead and the back of my neck.

"Thank you for saying that!" I blurted out.

I realized it was a bit more frantic than I expected since she stepped back, looking a bit concerned.

Masamori gave me a bit of a push to get away.

"Come on, Leon, we have to head back to class!" Masamori cried.

After school, we met up with my sister Marina and Masamori's 13-year-old younger sister Erina. She is a blonde-haired Japanese-French girl, like someone out of an anime.

She spent nearly an entire summer in Japan and was lucky Marina was still best friends with her. She became the holder of the black cat miraculous. Sometimes we would team up, like my mom and Uncle Adrien teaming up back in the day, and I would joke about her being a cute kitty. Which she replied with, "Shut up, Bug Boy!"

"You're really good at scaring off girls with your cold demeanor, Lee-Kun!" Erina said.

Marina and Erina playfully laughed at my romance issues. Marina and Erina always caused mischief together. At least I had Masamori to get me out of mischief.

"Well, Erina and I are going to hang out tonight," Marina said.

Marina walked away with a skateboard in hand, and Erina had her kendo sword.

"I am not covering for you tonight!" I said.

Marina groaned and shrugged. "Fine!" She spat.

Masamori joined me in walking back to my house, where, as expected, my sister Melanie was watching movies with Masamori's youngest brother, Aiden Tsurugi-Agreste.

A boy mature for his age despite being only 9. Since Agreste-san and Tsurugi-san are usually busy with work, Aiden usually spends time here with Melanie. The two are inseparable friends watching movies here and making baked goods.

Melanie and Aiden looked at us as we came in.

"Hi Mel Mel," I said. "Hi, Aiden."

Melanie lit up. "Big brother!" She held her adorable little hands up. "I am so happy you're home safe. I hope nothing dangerous happened."

I sighed. "Nothing happened today, Mels." Just the way I like it.

"Luckybug is the great new hero of Paris!" Melanie said triumphantly. "Just like Mama was!" Melanie looked so incredibly starstruck.

Aiden smiled. "Yeah, it was great how you saved our school from The Food Fighter."

All I remember from that is bananas in my hair and stepping in gross puddles of spinach.

"I can take you home now, Aiden," Masamori said.

Aiden crossed his arms. "Five more minutes!"

Surprisingly Aiden hasn't felt a connection to a kwami. Which I guess isn't a terrible thing since Aiden is such a good boy, and I can't imagine him fighting anyone. But he is still an honorary member of Team Miraculous, so he deserves mention. That and he has been so good to my beloved younger sister.

Why am I bringing this up, you may ask? Because this Halloween is our first Halloween being miraculous holders. I just hope no weird Halloween akumatization happens that night. I just want to spend Halloween with my friends and my family. That isn't too much to ask for, right?!

"Mel-Chan!" Aiden cried. "I wonder what Halloween is going to be like for Team Miraculous."

Melanie smiled at Aiden as if she was just as excited over the idea. "Maybe the streets will be filled with walking skeletons, talking pumpkins, and ghosts Ai-Kun!"

I was flabbergasted! Melanie and Aiden treated this like this was a fun Halloween episode of a cartoon.

Akumas can make any event weird and freaky, and I am nervous just thinking about what could happen on Halloween night. It could be a scarier Halloween night than we could ever imagine.

Author’s Note: I apologize if this isn’t perfect. Honestly I didn’t care as much about making this pitch perfect because I wasn’t planning on publishing it on my ao3.

But yes I was considering writing a next generation fanfic.....Of course that sounds a bit nervewracking to me.

Yes there is a bit of a history repeats itself thing going on with Leon having a highschool crush...Granted recently I decided to make Leon bi and give him a male love rival as well but in this fanfic I couldn’t find a way to put the male love rival in just yet so I left that part out.

#pro lukamari #lukanette #adrigami #well ok adrien and kagami aren't present here sorry!#they will be present in the halloween fanfic though #endgame lukanette #endgame adrigami #lukanette fankids #adrigami fankids #my writing #my fanfiction

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chaoticvampirejedi · 3 years

Text

TBB!20's paranormal AU

(Yay! More weird headcanons!)

Omega - part one:

One night Bad Batchers were awakened by a knock on the door and when they opened it they saw Omega. She looked very confused and disoriented. She knew their names and claimed they were her brothers whom she had been told to find; she even had a note with their address. Apart from that and her name she remembered nothing, not even the person who told her to find them.

Omega also had a small purse with money and some food. She was sure she still had her train ticket with her, but she must had lost it. She only remembered slight fragments of her journey here.

What was even weirder, as soon as she saw the picture of their parents hanging on the wall, she immediately recognized them and started talking about them. Bad Batchers didn't doubt that she really was talking about her parents (or uncle and aunt).

Neither of the brothers had contact with their parents for years (it's complicated), could they have another child? Maybe?

The next day they started looking for information about her. They found nothing. Nobody reported her missing, they were unable to find out where or when she was born. No one in the family knew anything, and they weren't able to contact their parents. There was just nothing about her as if she never existed.

It was obvious to Hunter that they had to take care of her. What else were they supposed to do? She was (very likely) their sister, and she didn't have anyone else.

Not long after it turned out that Omega knows things. Like, paranormal things.

Unfortunately, she can't just recall the information they need, but when she once heard the name of a certain spell, she was able to say everything about it without reading about it.

Crosshair doesn't trust Omega. He doesn't believe she's their sister. Surely she's some kind of a demon or an eldritch being who has wrapped his family around her fingers. Especially Hunter. Of course, Omega, being herself, is still nice to him and tries to befriend him.

Hunter and Wrecker trusted her right away. Echo and Tech needed a little more time. This doesn't mean that they have stopped trying to find out the truth about her.

Gonky follows her almost everywhere. He sleeps in her bed and is her four-legged shadow.

Omega doesn't go to school right now. She is homeschooled by Tech and Echo (and she's a very good student!). Hunter feels guilty about it; he wants her to have a normal childhood, but is it safe to leave her alone with strangers for all day? Who knows what might happen?

At first, they didn't want to let her solve cases with them, but when Omega proved that she's very useful and can take care of her own safety, they changed their minds.

Sometimes she has very weird dreams. Not nightmares. Just weird dreams. She can't even explain what they are about. She sees some strange figure, but after waking up, she does not remember what it looked like. She's somewhere but she doesn't know where. She hears voices, but whose voices?

But Omega really loves her current life. She's with her brothers and cousin and she's simply happy about it. And those investigations are really exciting! Although she would like to have more friends among her peers.

And she loves cinema! Wrecker took her to a movie one day and she really enjoyed it!

When she grows up she wants to do exactly what her brothers and cousins do.

She keeps a diary in which she describes her thoughts as well as what recently happened to her and she illustrates almost every page.

#tbb #tbb au #crosshair #hunter #sw tbb #echo #omega #gonky #tbb!20's paranormal au #These headcanons were brought to you by the buzzing of a very mean mosquito which made me stay awake until 5 a.m last night #so if something doesn't make any sense blame mosquito

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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earliebirb · 4 years

Text

our tales are the building blocks of home

superfamily, steve/tony, domestic fluff, 1790 words

“Hey, Pop.”

Steve looks up from the book he is reading, thumb slipped between the pages.

“Yeah?”

Peter is lying across the long couch situated beside the armchair Steve is sitting in, tossing a Rubik’s cube up and down. It’s a lazy Sunday. Tony is still away on a business trip to Japan and Steve hates the thought of lingering in the too-wide bed without his husband, so he decides to make his way into the living room and make a dent in his reading list for the year. So far, he’s in the middle of his thirty-fifth book out of a hundred. Peter joined him in the living room an hour into his reading session, remnants of sleep in his heavy eyelids, sporting an impressive bed hair, and still dressed in his pajamas.

“Do you know that we’re getting into, like, the history of you in history class?”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, we’re studying about, uh,” Peter says distractedly as he catches the cube as it falls down, “the history of Captain America, and stuff?”

“Really?” Steve smiles, intrigued.

“Yeah. And I have to say�� Seeing pictures of you in my history textbook or pictures of Dad in my science textbooks? Weird. Still super weird. Probably will never stop being weird. Pictures of Uncle Bruce, too, for that matter. And Aunt Nat. And so many others.”

Steve chuckles. “Weirder than the detention video?”

Peter groans. “Oh, no. Of course not. That will always be the weirdest. They don’t really take into account the fact that having Captain America preach at you about following the rules isn’t really that effective when you’ve seen him cheat countless of times at Monopoly.”

“It’s not really cheating. There are no rules against hiding a secret stash of money before bringing it out when it truly counts to subvert your opponent’s expectations. It’s called being a good strategist,” Steve attempts to defend himself, even as his lips curl up into a helpless smile when he thinks of Monopoly nights with his family, always super loud, messy, and chaotic. Steve wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Ha. I beg to differ. Dad would certainly beg to differ.”

Steve leans back in his seat, raises his hands, palms out. “I rest my case.”

“Anyway… It got me thinking, I guess.” The tone of Peter’s voice morphs into something more serious. Contemplative.

“About?”

“About… It’s just—” Peter takes a deep breath, catching the cube for one last time before holding it against his chest. “You went through so much to get here today. It must have been terrifying. I can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in an entirely new world. New technology, new way of life, new everything. All the places I usually frequent are gone or have changed in some way. All the people I know and love are dead. You must have felt really alone.” Peter looks at him, his gaze heavy and wistful.

Steve smiles ruefully to himself, remembering those first few months after waking up, a time when everything was so new and foreign and terrifying to him. Misery had settled deep within his chest, refusing to budge and sucking the life out of him like a parasite. He couldn’t stop feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Some days, he wished for death, or for him to go to sleep and magically wake up back in the forties where he belonged.

“I did,” Steve concedes, holding his son’s gaze.

“And it just made me think,” Peter says, breaking eye contact as he turns to lie on his side, cheek mashed against one of the couch cushions, one of his hands reaching down to the carpeted floor to trace random swirls with his fingers as his eyes follow the movement intently, “do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

Peter shrugs, or moves in a way that is akin to a shrug in the position he is currently in. He is still not looking at Steve. When he speaks, his voice is small.

“Coming to this century. Meeting Dad. Meeting us,” Peter mumbles, and when he says “us” Steve knows he means not only himself and Tony, but also Harley and Morgan.

Steve’s heart twinges painfully as he gazes at his middle child, uncertainty present in every corner of his body, eyes still fixed on the carpet below. Steve knows him well enough to know that this question is something that must have been bothering him for quite some time, that the casual way in which Peter has approached him with the subject is a façade, that Steve needs to tread carefully here because whatever answer Steve gives him right in this moment is going to stay with him for a long, long time.

Steve takes a deep breath before moving to the couch Peter is lying on, lifting up Peter’s long legs and sitting down at the opposite end of where Peter’s head is resting, his son’s feet in his lap.

“Peter Stark-Rogers,” Steve calls gently, “look at me.”

Peter does so obediently and Steve thinks he sees something akin to fear flit lightning quick in Peter’s eyes.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Steve begins, slow and steady, making sure to look Peter in the eye. “There were times, those first few months after I woke up, when I felt like there wasn’t anything I wanted more in the world than to go back to sleep and wake up in the forties again.”

Something shifts in Peter and there is a shuttered look in his eyes.

Steve squeezes one of Peter’s ankles reassuringly.

“But,” Steve continues, maintaining Peter’s gaze, “when I look at you, at Harley, at Morgan, at Dad, at this little family I have right now?”

Steve allows himself a moment, glancing at the row of framed photographs on a nearby bookshelf. A photo of eleven-year-old Harley at his soccer match. A photo of Morgan, dressed in a purple tutu at her ballet recital. Another one of Peter and his best friend Ned, proudly presenting their project at a science fair. Another older one of Peter, Harley, and Morgan all crowded around a science experiment Tony was showing them in his workshop. A photo of Steve and Tony doing the first dance on their wedding day, the two of them utterly lost in each other, paying no mind to the onlookers surrounding the dance floor. Finally, at the end of the row, fitted in the biggest frame: a family photo of them taken on Steve’s birthday just last year. Steve’s eyes linger on that last photo in particular, taking in the details.

Steve was sitting on the very couch he is sitting on right now, Morgan in his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek. Seated on his right was Harley, hugging his arm with a bright expression on his face, mid-laugh. Peter was sitting down on the floor in front of them, back leaning against the small expanse of the couch between Steve’s legs, grinning up at the camera. Tony was standing behind the couch, hands pulling at Steve’s hair jokingly, a crazy expression on his face.

Steve looks at his own figure that was immortalized in the picture. Seated in the middle of his crazy bunch, he had tears of laughter welling up in his eyes, smiling so wide and looking like he was about to split his whole face in half. The winning detail of the photo is, of course, that each and every one of their happy faces was marred by bits of red, white, and blue icing here and there.

Steve meets Peter’s gaze again and with every bit of sincerity he can muster, he tells Peter what he knows is true:

“There is no part of me, right now, that wishes for things to be different from the way they are. I wouldn’t trade this for anything. Ever.”

Peter’s eyes are searching his own for the truth. Steve lets him, because there is nothing to hide.

Steve smiles, caressing Peter’s ankle with his thumb. “If I could travel back in time to before the serum, knowing what I know now, what I would have to go through, the people I would have to lose… I would still do all the things I did. Because I wouldn’t be able to give this up. You. Harley. Morgan. Your dad. Our family.”

Steve takes a deep breath and leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling wistfully. “Yes, I do miss the forties sometimes. I certainly miss my friends. I still think about them a lot. Almost every single day,” he confesses, Peggy’s brilliant smile clear as day in his mind’s eye.

“But this?” Steve punctuates his question with a pat on Peter’s shins. “I can’t imagine my life without all of you. I don’t even want to imagine a world without all of you. You guys—”

Steve pauses, his heart clenching with longing as he thinks of Tony resting in a hotel room somewhere in Tokyo after a day of meetings. He thinks of Harley with burgeoning pride in his chest, his eldest son who is away at college, the brightest freshman at M.I.T. He thinks of Morgan, the little rascal still asleep in bed in her room upstairs, a fierce need to protect her washing over him.

He thinks of Peter, his second child, who is currently looking up at him and hanging on his every word. Peter is a junior in high school now. His mind is brilliant as ever, his brown eyes always wide and curious. He reminds Steve a lot of Tony. He has a quiet and pensive side to him that shows up in rare quiet moments like this, showing that his tender heart feels things so much more deeply than he lets on. His middle child, slowly growing into adulthood faster than Steve would have liked. Affection surges through his veins.

“You guys make me so unbelievably happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. Happier than I thought I ever had the right to be.”

Peter swallows, sitting up on the couch. Steve doesn’t comment on the way Peter’s eyes glitter with something that looks suspiciously like tears.

Steve opens his arms wordlessly and Peter falls into his embrace, his thin arms looping around Steve’s shoulders.

“I love you, Peter Pan,” Steve whispers, turning his head to plant a feather-light kiss on his son’s cheek.

Peter sniffles against Steve’s shoulder and instead of complaining about the childhood nickname Steve and Tony had lovingly bestowed upon him like he usually does, he burrows further into Steve’s arms, whispering a quiet confession, voice low and rough with emotion:

“Love you too, Papa.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superfamily #superfamily fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something

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portvalehq · 3 years

Photo

history is your lifeblood, and port vale is a cauldron of undiscovered secrets. the magic that has founded this town calls to your heart, and you wonder if you will ever find the truth to any of it. some nights, you sit by the waves and dive into old journals, pouring over legend and myth until it all becomes one within your mind. they say you are losing grip on reality; but you’ve never felt closer to it.

STEPHANIE ANAND ● SEAWEED ● THE HISTORIAN

age & birthdate: 31, born in 1990

birthplace: port vale

length of time in port vale: lifetime

occupation: full time librarian, co-owner at the mermaid inn & the starbeach cafe

faceclaim: summer bishil

HISTORY

Stephanie Anand was born and raised in Port Vale, which was a best case scenario for her - she felt like she’s grown up in a fairytale, magic-filled town all her childhood. She loved all kinds of fairytales and she loved her parents reading stories to her at night, but her favorite were the mermaids since she was very little. For a while she wanted to become a mermaid, but mostly she would have been happy to just meet one. Or two. Or a lot.

Her dream became reality when she was six. On a school trip to the beach she almost drowned and was saved by a mermaid. She didn’t get a good look at the creature, but she did see it, and that solidified her obsession with mermaids and made it impossible for her to lose what was mostly considered a childish belief in them. She became the mermaid girl, and while she was little, it was cute and people indulged her, found her adorable, the older she got, the more people just looked at her weird and thought she was an idiot for still believing in magical beings.

After she almost drowned, her parents got overly protective of her and the older she got, the more it annoyed her. And this protectiveness only grew after a tragedy struck the family, her aunt and uncle dying in a car accident. It struck the entire family, and Steph, barely being ten at the time, had a hard time dealing with what was happening and what loss and death really was, but she was trying to help her cousin as much as she could during that time, too.

Once she was done with high school, she remained in Port Vale for about two years. She called it a gap year, but instead of travelling and seeing the world, she tried to find mermaids and prove that they were real while occasionally taking a couple of shifts in the family Inn or the cafe to get herself some money. Eventually her parents gave her an ultimatum - either go to college and study, or get an actual job, she couldn’t remain in limbo anymore. She decided to go to college, majoring in history and minoring in marine biology. The two ingredients she needed to help her on her quest to prove that she was right.

She loved the freedom of college, finally not being under her parents’ watchful, protective eyes (though they tried their best to keep an eye on her even from the distance), and she loved studying, but part of her expected other parts of the world to have the same kind of history, the same kind of magic in them, and it was nothing like that. Nothing could compare to Port Vale, not to mention people looked at her even weirder when she talked about mermaids. At Port Vale people at least knew her and her obsession already, outside of the town they thought she was just batshit crazy. Eventually she ended up moving back, only learning when she was back in town that her father suffered a sudden heart attack and stroke that nobody told her about to make sure it didn’t derail her studies and she wouldn’t rush home and flunk out. It worked, but it also made Steph feel completely left out and unnecessary in the family.

PRESENT

After she moved back home, she found herself a book in the local library and she is currently also works there full time, but she helps out in the Inn and the Cafe and helps to take care of her father as well, when she is needed. She takes more responsibility in the Cafe, but really, she believes that Renzie has a good handle on both sides of the family business and she is perfectly happy not taking too much responsibility for herself, even though the parents want the two of them to deal with everything equally.

She has her own place, but she often crashes at the Mermaid Inn, sometimes because she does a late night shift, sometimes because her dad needed some help and sometimes because she just wants to annoy Renzie and she is too lazy to get back home. She often spends her free time either on the rooftop of the Inn where she can look out to the ocean, but she spends most of her time on the actual beach, looking out to the water, hoping after all these years she would spot another mermaid.

PERSONALITY

Steph has an open, inquisitive and curious nature. She is somebody who happily and excitedly goes on any kind of adventure, especially if it involves discovering the secrets of the town or Assyria. She is used to not being believed and being the crazy person of the town and while she can shrug that off most of the time, it is something that hurts her and she can get frustrated and snappy at people who keep repeatedly telling her that she is in the wrong. She can get obsessive, to say the least - most notably about mermaids, but she is like that about a lot of things in her life - books, art, any plan she has, even the few friends she does have.

CONNECTIONS

EMERALD: the first time anyone ever said the words i believe you, it was from her, and you nearly fall flat on your ass. since being quite small, you’ve known that the legends were true. you’d seen one, once, long ago - a true merperson, and from then on, you’ve just known. she likes listening, and her eyes contain an admirable and understanding you’ve waited your whole life to see.

CORAL: you hope they never leave port vale. to them, you don’t feel like the designated crazy local, but instead someone with an amazing mind; their words, not yours. sure, you’re pretty sure they think you’re wrong about mermaids, but it doesn’t matter. they listen and at least pretend to care, so you are becoming quite attached to them, despite knowing that port vale has a way of scaring off every new face to come by.

PORCELAIN: if you were to guess at who in port vale could be a creature from the sea; they would be your first pick. daunting and knowing, and always watching, you seem to make them nervous. it’s odd, really, the way they listen so intently and get a worried expression whenever they catch your eyes. however, nothing about him fits what you believe to be true about merfolk, so you can’t help but feel confused.

#closed #human #seaweed

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